IT was a different Rutledge Mann who appeared that night at the Cobalt Club. No longer did his face wear a harassed look. Instead of sitting solemnly in an obscure spot, Mann strolled about through lounge and lobby with the spirit of contentment that had been his former wont.
There was nothing in Mann’s bearing that attracted attention, however. Mann was of a quiet, self-effacing type. Normally pleasant and courteous, he merely nodded to old acquaintances.
Mann had always believed that business would come to those who worked patiently and awaited it. His late misfortunes had somewhat riddled that theory; but his newly found opportunity had restored his self-confidence.
Mann was thinking as he lounged about the club. He was puzzling over business matters, and his thoughts were not of investments. Instead, he was dwelling on the activities of Double Z, the strange crime master who had baffled the police.
All that day, after reading instructions in the envelope upon his desk, Rutledge Mann had spent his time in reviewing copies of daily newspapers, with their varied reports of recent murders.
Who killed Joel Caulkins? What mystery surrounded the death of Philip Farmington?
Another question perplexed Rutledge Mann. That was the connection of Judge Harvey Tolland with the Caulkins murder. For within the envelope left him by The Shadow, Mann had found a complete report of the data supplied by Clyde Burke.
In brief, Mann was now fully acquainted with every angle of the Double Z business, And he was totally baffled!
These thoughts brought a frown to Mann’s forehead. Then he laughed softly to himself. After all, he was no detective. Why had he been chosen to study this case? He had spent the entire day, considering the details in a methodical manner.
Hence he felt a clear conscience, so far as his duty to his mysterious employer was concerned. But he had added no constructive effort.
As on the preceding evening, clusters of club members were discussing the death of Philip Farmington.
The first wave of interest had passed; but such a matter would not soon be forgotten at the Cobalt Club, where the dead banker had been so active.
Mann unassumingly joined a group and listened to the conversation. He learned nothing that he did not already know.
Mann looked for Lamont Cranston among the men present. He did not see him. Somehow, Mann could not help but associate Cranston with the good fortune which had befallen him. For months, he had been brooding over his financial troubles, but had mentioned them to no one until he had encountered Cranston last night.
IT was shortly after that that the man in black had appeared to offer life instead of death. Mann, careful and analytical in reasoning, could see no definite connection between Cranston and the mysterious stranger; yet the association persisted in his mind.
It was eleven o’clock. Mann decided to return to his apartment. He went to the check room for his coat.
He was leisurely tonight, for the old, worn coat had been replaced by a new one. Mann donned the garment and received his cane and hat with it. Like the coat, these articles were new.
He strolled across the lobby, said good night to the man stationed at the door, and stepped out to the sidewalk.
It was drizzling again. Mann looked for a cab. He heard a horn toot. A taxi man had spotted him beneath the lighted marquee in front of the club.
But before he could bring up his vehicle, another cab shot from across the street and stopped suddenly in front of Rutledge Mann. A businesslike driver opened the door, and Mann stepped in. The cab rolled away while Mann was giving his destination.
The disappointed taxi driver swung alongside with his cab and delivered a barrage of oaths at Mann’s driver, but that was the end of it. Mann smiled. These fellows took their competition keenly.
“Now,” said Mann aloud, as he sank back in the cushions of the cab, “let’s think some more about Double Z.”
“Have you formed any conclusions?” The words caused Mann to start. They had come from beside him, in a whispered voice that he recognized instantly. He turned in astonishment. Beside him sat the mysterious man who had visited him last night! At least, Mann was positive of his companion’s identity, even though he could see nothing but a black form in the corner of the cab.
“YOU — YOU are here — ” stammered Mann.
“To receive your report,” came the quiet reply. “I take it that you followed my instructions.”
“I did,” said Mann quietly. He had regained his composure after the first surprise. “But I must confess that I am completely in the dark.”
“After reading all the reports?”
“Yes.”
“You have formed no impression regarding Double Z?”
“None. Except that he must be eccentric to the extreme — and possessed of the cunningness that often goes with eccentricity.”
“That may all be true,” came the whispered voice. “But let us be specific. What are your opinions in regard to the Caulkins murder?”
“I think the police have it about right,” declared Mann. “Double Z has gone in for crime. In person. He lured Caulkins to that house, after sending him a written threat. He killed him — while he was telephoning. Cardona’s theory, that Double Z is not an expert murderer, seems logical. Those four bullets—”
“And the mention of Judge Tolland?” came the interruption.
“Another proof of Double Z’s eccentricity,” declared Mann. “I think Cardona was wise to keep it quiet.”
THERE was a short silence while the cab rolled on. Mann realized that the driver was not going directly to the apartment. They were entering Central Park, now. He realized that the man at the wheel must also be in the employ of this stranger in black.
“I have tested your impressions,” came the voice from the corner, “by giving you the simple facts as the police see them. Now let me ask you this: Would Caulkins, as a newspaper reporter, go to that house on East Eightieth Street before he told his city editor that he had received a threat from Double Z?”
“No,” replied Mann thoughtfully.
“Then what about the message?”
“I see!” exclaimed Mann. “It was planted on him!”
“Why?”
“Because — well, because he had mentioned Double Z over the telephone.”
“Now you are getting to the point.” The whispered voice expressed approval. “But why did Double Z allow Caulkins to mention his name over the phone?”
“Probably another eccentricity.”
“That is possible. But it is not in keeping with Double Z’s policy. An interrupted statement. Why was Joel Caulkins not permitted to complete it?”
“Because he was revealing Double Z’s identity.”
“You believe Double Z told him that?”
“Hm-m-m,” said Mann. He was staring straight ahead at the back of the driver, almost oblivious to the man beside him. “That doesn’t sound logical, does it? I should think Double Z would have given Caulkins wrong information, and then let him go through with it—”
“Why did Caulkins mention Judge Harvey Tolland before he spoke of Double Z?” came the questioning whisper.
“I don’t know,” admitted Mann.
“Could he have considered Tolland of greater importance at the moment?”
A gasp of sudden understanding came from Mann. His methodical mind was beginning to grasp the situation. He saw a new light, but even yet he was still confused.
“Let us presume,” came the voice, “that Double Z knew nothing whatever of Joel Caulkins.”
“Then why did Caulkins go there?”
“To find out something regarding Judge Tolland.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Mann. “But why was Double Z there?”
“For the same reason as Caulkins. Judge Tolland is the missing connection between the two.”
Rutledge Mann was nodding, but his brain was in a turmoil. He could not figure the connection; but he realized that new depths of the mystery were being probed.
He heard a soft laugh from the darkness. It was a mirthless laugh that brought a shudder, even though Mann knew that his weird companion was his friend.
“You have not seen the scene of the crime,” came the whispered comment, “but I have. I went there, assuming that Caulkins had been killed on the spur of the moment, and not through premeditation on the part of his murderer. I found evidence to prove that point.”
“Double Z did not go there to kill?”
“Double Z did go there to kill,” contradicted the voice, “but his intended victim was not Joel Caulkins. He was after Judge Harvey Tolland. Let us picture the situation.
“Judge Tolland was living in that old house under the name of Joseph T. Dodd. The name card in the vestibule is warped and grimy. It shows traces of having been there many months.
“The thin carpet in the upstairs room is worn in spots. One place is before the mirror. A man must have stood there often, studying his own reflection, considering his disguise, and trying to practice new facial expressions.
“Caulkins went there and discovered Tolland. It is obvious that the judge decided to tell the reporter his story. So Caulkins called his city editor. First, he mentioned Tolland, but quickly turned to the important information— the identity of Double Z. He could have learned it from only one source — from Judge Tolland. Therefore, it is safe to suppose that Tolland had given Caulkins proof — for instance, a threat from Double Z.”
“The paper in the reporter’s hand!” exclaimed Mann.
“Exactly,” confirmed the soft whisper. “Tolland was expecting danger from Double Z. While Caulkins was phoning, Tolland was beside him. The position of the chair and the telephone — at one side of the table-indicates that. Picture the situation. Then realize that at the crucial moment, Double Z entered the room!”
“I see it now!” exclaimed Mann.
“Four shots,” went on the voice. “Four well-aimed shots, that accomplished two purposes: First, the death of Caulkins, before he could complete his statement. Second, the death of Judge Tolland, which Double Z had sought.”
“But there were four bullets in the body of Caulkins—”
“Certainly. Two were fired after the telephone was hung up by the murderer. Two shots to make it look as if a bungler had done the work. There is one of Cardona’s fallacies. Two shots were perfectly placed; two were wide. A man may be a good shot or a bad one — he is never both. Double Z would not have attempted murder himself without being sure of his own ability.”
“But only one body was found in the room,” objected Mann.
“The body of Judge Tolland was removed. The evidence of his death and his removal were both obvious. A tiny bloodstain on the carpet— away from the spot where Caulkins lay. Then, more spots on the stairway. Places where shoulders had rubbed against the wall. It took two men to remove the body.”
“There was some one besides Double Z?”
“Yes. Double Z entered by picking the locks. There were tiny marks to prove it. He left his companion in the vestibule. The man was smoking. There are cigarette butts in the corner, and traces of ashes.
“Double Z went upstairs, opened the door of Tolland’s room, and committed the double murder. He went down and summoned his man. They carried out Tolland’s body, as the stair and wall marks show.
“To confuse the police, Double Z fired two shots; then he took his own message which Tolland had received, and left it with Caulkins. I have seen that message. Both the paper and the ink show that it was written some time ago.
“As I said before, Caulkins would not have kept it under cover. Cardona has simply added it to the other correspondence received from Double Z, without questioning its age.”
RUTLEDGE MANN was silent as the cab rolled on. Then, again came the voice beside him.
“We know now,” were its words, “that Double Z has been active for more than one year. He is a shrewd schemer. His activities are designed to create terror. They must have kept Tolland in constant fear.
“Double Z is not simply an eccentric individual. He is a bold murderer; a good shot with an automatic; a man who has accomplices. He is also a man of strength, who, with one other, can quickly remove a body. He knows what is going on in the underworld, and he’s a master of subtle murder, as the death of Philip Farmington shows.
“Yet so far, I have no exact clew to his identity. My plan is to search at every possible angle. You will play a passive part, directing the movements of my agents at my order. I have talked with you tonight, to learn your reactions to my findings. Are they clear?”
“They are,” declared Mann.
“In this envelope” — a packet was thrust in Mann’s hands — “you will find instructions regarding my agents, and also facts pertaining to the death of Philip Farmington. Follow all the details and make complete reports. You will receive new orders from me. But do not expect to meet me again for a long while.
“Remember. I am — The Shadow!”
The revelation of the stranger’s identity brought weird thoughts to Mann’s mind. He had heard of The Shadow, the mysterious man of the night. He had half suspected his employer’s identity; but the actual statement brought a sense of realism that he had not experienced before.
The cab had come out of the park; it was whirling along a side street. The lights of an avenue were ahead. Mann heard a shrill hiss from the dark figure beside him. Before he could look toward The Shadow, the cab swerved suddenly and one wheel climbed the curb.
Mann clutched the strap that hung beside the window. The cab had stopped, and the driver was expostulating with a man at the wheel of a car alongside. A policeman arrived at that moment.
“All right,” Mann heard the officer say to the driver of his cab. “Pull along. Wait. You’ve got a passenger? Better see if he’s all right.”
The door was swung open; the inside of the cab showed clear beneath the glare of a street lamp. Mann, in answer to the policeman’s question, said he was unhurt. And then, before the door closed, gasped in astonishment. Dazed, eyes bulging from their sockets, he sat still as the cab rolled on toward his apartment.
For the light that had entered the cab had shown no other occupant. Rutledge Mann was alone!
Somehow, in the space of a few short seconds, the mysterious figure beside him had left the cab.
Invisibly, The Shadow had vanished into the night!