THE second morning after the battle at Loy Rook’s, Detective Joe Cardona held a conference with Inspector Timothy Klein. The two police officers discussed the new upheaval that had startled gangland; the death of Jake Dermott, the chieftain who had replaced Dave Markan.
The gun play at Loy Rook’s had been a welcome relief. It made good copy for reporters, and it was a change from the insidious methods of Double Z.
It brought gang war into the picture, and the public was accustomed to such affrays in New York.
Double Z was temporarily shelved by the press. Hence Joe Cardona and his superior had experienced a breathing spell.
In his investigation of the Chinatown quarrel, Joe Cardona could find no trace of Double Z. Jake Dermott was not a gigantic figure in the underworld, and Sneaks Rubin was of trifling importance.
Nevertheless, Double Z would probably have sent one of his predicting messages if he had known that killings were on the way. Perhaps Double Z was becoming cautious. Joe hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry.
“I’d give my right eye to get the guy!” he told Inspector Klein. “If he’d only try something once again — I think I could get him!”
“You think so?” quizzed Klein. “Well, Joe, you’d better get him if he shows his nose again.”
The remark was not encouraging to the star detective. He had a troubled look on his face when he left.
Little did Joe Cardona suspect that Double Z had been closely concerned with that fight at Loy Rook’s — that three of the mad murderer’s most trusted and important agents, Dermott, Rubin, and the Chinaman, had met their doom because they had meddled with The Shadow!
A mighty conflict of unseen forces had taken place, and New York’s best detective had not stumbled upon a single clew!
“Double Z,” thought Joe Cardona. He muttered the name as he sat by his desk. “Double Z! Will he bob up again?”
The telephone rang. Cardona answered it. He heard a strange, anxious voice at the other end asking for him.
“This is Cardona,” said Joe. “Who’s calling?”
“Matthew Wade,” came the reply.
The detective jumped at the name. Matthew Wade! One of the biggest multimillionaires in the East! A man of great influence, and tremendous holdings which he had inherited and had afterward increased.
What could Matthew Wade want?
“What can I do for you?” asked Cardona.
“Come up to see me,” replied Wade. “At my home on Fifth Avenue.”
Cardona knew the place. The man of wealth still lived in a costly mansion that had belonged to his family.
The detective wasted no time in further parley. He heard Wade’s final instructions — to make the visit confidentially. That was enough. Joe Cardona was on his way.
THE detective was ushered into a luxurious smoking room when he called at Wade’s mansion. There he met the millionaire. He eyed Matthew Wade with respect. The man was not much over forty. He was tall and broad-shouldered, a typical sportsman.
Matthew Wade had hunted tigers and elephants in India. He had patrolled the South African veldt. He was a man of many parts and boundless wealth. Despite his indolence of manner and his ease of living, he showed signs of latent power and dynamic personality.
What impressed Cardona most was the expression upon Matthew Wade’s face. The man was trying to seem indifferent. Actually he was ill at ease. He seemed to be repressing a dread.
“Have you spoken to any one about this visit?” inquired Wade in a tone of apprehension.
“To no one,” said Cardona.
“Good,” responded Wade. “Then we can talk.”
He strode up and down the room several times. He finally stopped and faced Cardona. He spoke abruptly.
“It looks like trouble for me,” he declared. “It’s meant trouble for others before. What do you think of this?”
He pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket and thrust it into Cardona’s hands. The detective’s heart jumped. He recognized that crude typewriting, with the cryptic signature beneath. The message read: You will be next! Unless you pay one million dollars, you may count on death. Instructions will come later. Tell no one!
“Is that from Double Z?” questioned Wade.
“It is,” replied Cardona grimly.
The millionaire sat down suddenly. He rubbed his beaded forehead. He looked at Joe Cardona rather sheepishly.
“I’m worried,” he admitted. “I don’t mind dying. I can lose a million. But to be threatened and blackmailed by a crazy man! Killed, perhaps—”
Cardona was solemn. He wanted to promise Matthew Wade protection; but he knew too well the power of Double Z. Only on rare occasions— months ago — had Double Z failed in his predictions. Now that the unknown man had become a killer — Cardona thought of Caulkins and Farmington and was silent.
“We’ve got to beat him,” declared Wade emphatically. “It’s worth money to me if you can help me, Cardona.”
“It’s my duty to help you,” replied the detective.
“This man must be shrewd,” said Wade. “Shrewd, even though he is a maniac. He’s a killer. He murdered Farmington — a good friend of mine. You know, Cardona” — Wade’s voice became thoughtful — “I wouldn’t be surprised if he had hounded Judge Tolland!”
The statement brought a gasp from Cardona. His mind went back to what Joel Caulkins had told his city editor over the telephone just before the reporter met his strange death.
Until now Cardona had considered it a hoax. But with the statement coming from Matthew Wade, the case was different.
“Judge Tolland was a friend of mine,” added Wade. “I know that he was honest. There were cases of gangsters coming up before him. Perhaps one of them might have concerned Double Z. I have never been able to understand Tolland’s disappearance until now. But with this threat hovering over me, I can see why any man would wish to flee.”
Cardona suddenly recollected that Judge Tolland had been pressing investigations at the time of his disappearance. One of them had involved members of Dave Markan’s gang. Rumors had said that Tolland was bought off. Certain it was that the investigations had ceased when the justice had disappeared.
“I’d like to rely on you, Cardona,” said Wade. “But you know too well that the police have been unable to cope with this murderous man.”
“We’ll keep the threat out of the papers,” began Cardona.
“That won’t do,” argued Wade. “Publicity might help us rather than hinder. Think of my viewpoint. I want to be beyond the reach of Double Z. If I—”
“How about leaving town,” suggested Cardona. “Start on one of your trips to—”
“I might be followed. We’ve got to do more than that. We must deceive the man completely. If he thought that I was dead—”
CARDONA pondered. He was anxious to be of aid to Matthew Wade. The last suggestion was a happy one.
“If you were dead,” said Cardona, taking up the uncompleted sentence, “there would be no fear from Double Z. For the time at least. Your death is what he wants — provided that he cannot get his million. You have given us a tip to-day. At last we have learned that he is after money. But as I said, if you were dead — if he thought you were dead—”
Matthew Wade brightened suddenly.
“You’ve got it, Cardona!” he exclaimed. “Fake my death! Make him think I’m dead!”
“That would be difficult,” mused Cardona.
“I can do it,” said Wade eagerly. “I can do it. Perfectly. But you’ve got to be with me — because I’m coming back later.”
“How can you work it?” asked Cardona.
“Listen,” said Wade. “I’ve got a great plane — a Lockwood Aryan— that travels two hundred and fifty miles an hour. Suppose I set out for Florida with my pilot. Followed the shore line — and disappeared—”
“I get you,” said Cardona, “but where—”
“Where would I land?” Wade laughed. “I’ve got a thousand-acre place in North Carolina. A landing field there that the natives don’t even know about. My pilot I can trust. We’ll put in there; and I’ll lay low until something breaks that will give you a line on Double Z.”
“It ought to work,” declared Cardona. “It ought to work. Your affairs here, though—”
“That’s easy!” exclaimed Wade. “I’m always set to travel somewhere. I leave for Florida unexpectedly. No one knows about it until after I’m gone. I may be off on a long trip. My plane is presumably lost at sea. What happens here?”
“They settle your estate,” said Cardona shortly.
“Not right away,” replied Wade. “They haven’t found the body. There’s no proof that I’m dead. They’ve got to wait.
“Meanwhile, you may have this Double Z mess under control. If it comes to a pinch and I have to get back, you can notify me. I’ll be living in comfort, and Double Z will think that death cheated him of a victim.”
The big man began to chuckle. His whole manner had changed. Cardona began to admire the merits of the scheme, particularly because he had been its sponsor.
“That’s a go?” asked Wade, proffering his hand.
“Yes,” said Cardona, shaking.
“Keep the letter,” said Wade. “Hold it for evidence. Not a word to any one — my life depends on it!”
“You can count on me,” said Cardona, and Wade could tell that the detective meant it. Joe Cardona was a man of his word.
“You’re the only person I’m trusting,” said Wade solemnly. “The only one except my pilot, and he’ll be with me.”
“Right,” said Cardona.
On his way back to headquarters, the detective’s ears still rang with the congratulations which Wade had showered upon him for bringing the thought that had led to this magnificent scheme. They had made the final arrangements. Cardona was to keep his knowledge to himself and to wait for word from Wade. The millionaire, his confidence restored, had shown a return of bravery.
“I might decide to come back,” he had said in parting. “Incognito, you know. If I do, the one place I’ll pop up will be in your office. I like danger, Cardona, if I have a chance to study it. I can do that better in North Carolina than there.”
Long after midnight a small coupe slipped away from a side entrance of Matthew Wade’s home. It traveled to a Long Island airport. There Matthew Wade boarded his plane. The motor whirred; the ship rose and pointed down along the Jersey coast.
Only a few persons present knew who was in the plane. The news spread. There was an item for the newspapers. Matthew Wade had suddenly left New York.
Joe Cardona was among the persons who saw the plane leave. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it safely off. He thought that he alone saw significance in the departure. But he was wrong. Another observer had seen the plane leave — a man in a long, dark coat with upturned collar and broad-brimmed slouch hat.
This man was standing in the background as the plane left the ground. He laughed as the speedy airplane ascended, and his laugh was a strange one. It was weird but mirthless, that laugh. It was a laugh that would have startled Joe Cardona had he heard it, for the eerie sound was the laugh of The Shadow!
How had the mysterious man of the dark arrived at that spot? Only he knew. His presence there proved that he was ever alert; that through his own observation, or through that of his agents, The Shadow had learned of Joe Cardona’s visit to the home of Matthew Wade.
But the detective did not know of The Shadow’s presence. The dark-clad man was scarcely visible upon the gloomy field, over which the faint gray of dawn was just appearing. His laugh, too, was unnoticed. It was lost in the roar of the departing plane.