CARDONA HAS A HUNCH
RALPH WESTON, police commissioner, was seated at his desk. With one elbow on the broad, glass-topped surface, he rested his chin upon his hand and stared intently at Detective Joe Cardona.
It was the first meeting between the recently appointed police commissioner and the ace detective, who was recognized as the best sleuth in New York.
Beside the commissioner’s elbow rested a large stack of typewritten reports. He had been referring to these.
Now, with the detective actually present, Weston tapped the pile of papers as he spoke.
“I have been studying your records, Cardona,” he said. “I wish to commend you upon the capability which you have displayed. You have been a most important factor in the combat against crime.”
Cardona, swarthy and stern-visaged, showed no change of expression as he heard the compliment. Weston’s commendation pleased him, but the detective had a habit of maintaining his poker face under all circumstances.
Weston, keenly observant, smiled thoughtfully as he watched the detective.
“I have made an exhaustive survey of your work,” the commissioner continued. “I find that you possess a remarkable aptitude in the practical solution of crime problems.
“I note, however, that you seldom resort to theory. That is the matter which I wish to discuss with you today.”
Cardona’s eyes narrowed as he returned the commissioner’s stare.
“Just what do you regard as theory, commissioner?” he questioned.
“All crimes,” explained Weston, “demand a double treatment. Practical methods, such as arrests, grilling, dragnets, and the like, are useful in the majority of cases. Theory, in which crime is considered as a serious study, is just as essential as practice when one is confronted by a baffling problem.”
“That’s well and good, sir,” declared Cardona. “I use theory, but I mix it with practice. My idea is to get at the facts in a case. The quicker you do that, the quicker you get results.
“I can track down half a dozen facts while I might be bothering around with one fancy stunt that would lead to nothing. Get the goods, and forget the rest of it. That’s what works!”
The commissioner was silent. A slow, thin smile appeared upon his lips.
The smile made Joe Cardona uneasy. He felt that his emphatic statement was due for a criticism. He waited, resolved to stand by what he had said.
“You have given me your definite opinion?” questioned the commissioner.
Cardona nodded.
“You actually believe,” continued Weston, “that the final report on a solved case should be free of all extraneous impressions and unsound notions?”
“Certainly,” said Cardona.
“Then why” — Weston’s voice was deliberate as he tapped the typewritten papers — “why have you frequently left an element of profound uncertainty in connection with cases that you have declared to be completely closed?”
Cardona looked puzzled. He tried to grasp the commissioner’s thoughts, but failed. The detective did not know what to reply, and Weston seemed to enjoy Cardona’s bewilderment.
“Let me speak more specifically,” declared Weston, leaning back in his chair. “In at least six of your reports, you have referred definitely to one individual, whom you claim has played an important part.
“You have established this person in your own mind. You have linked him with widely differing affairs. Yet, you have not presented one tangible bit of evidence to prove that this person is a single individual.
“He might be one, as you suggest. He might be three. He might be six. He might” — the commissioner’s voice slowed with emphasis — “he might be none at all!”
“You mean” — Cardona was speaking in a confused manner — “you mean that I — that in those cases—”
“I am referring,” interposed Weston, “to a person whom you have called The Shadow; an individual whom I am forced to regard as mythical.”
THE words were stunning to Cardona. The detective realized that the commissioner had picked his weakness.
To Joe Cardona, The Shadow was a most important personage — a living being who fought with crime, but who had always managed to mask his identity.
Often, during his career, Cardona had been aided by both information and action which had come from an unknown source. The similarity of these instances had convinced him that one man was back of them all.
So far, the detective’s theory had not been seriously questioned at headquarters. Now, the new police commissioner had delivered a bombshell, and Cardona was at loss.
“You say that you deal in facts,” came Weston’s voice. “Therefore, you should form your conclusions upon facts.
“So far as The Shadow is concerned, your only identification is that he is a man dressed in black, who appears and vanishes in a most fantastic fashion!”
“That proves that he is real,” declared Cardona.
“It proves nothing of the sort!” responded Weston. “Suppose, Cardona, that you had come into this office and found me sitting at this desk, wearing a black cloak and a black hat. In accordance with your past policy, you could have gone back to headquarters to report that you had seen The Shadow here. Actually, you would have seen me — with my identity hidden — not even disguised.”
“But the crooks know that The Shadow is real!” protested Cardona. “I’ve heard dying men call out his name. I’ve heard others testify—”
Weston held up his hand, and the detective ended his excited statement.
“What does that prove?” questioned the commissioner smoothly. “It shows one of two things: Either that certain criminals have been deceived as easily as you, or else that those crooks have taken advantage of your weakness, and have deceived you.
“Your fault, Cardona, is lack of analysis, so far as this one point is concerned. You have permitted yourself to fall into an error that could cause you disaster.
“Suppose that criminals at large should learn of this absurd notion? Suppose, also, that your mistaken judgment should be supported by our other detectives?
“Surely you can see the logical result,” continued the commissioner. “Any malefactor who chose to hide himself within the folds of a black cloak would enjoy virtual immunity.” The commissioner smiled.
“He could come and go at will — while in their reports, detectives would mention The Shadow — and that would be the end of it!”
“That’s a bit exaggerated, sir,” objected Cardona. “You’ve got to see my viewpoint. The Shadow doesn’t appear every day in the week — not by a long shot! But whenever he has shown up, it’s always helped.
“I didn’t have to mention him in my reports. None of that stuff went to the newspapers. At the same time, I’m positive that The Shadow was in the picture — and it was my job to say so!”
“Cardona,” said Weston seriously, “I gave you an exaggerated impression merely to enable you to appreciate your own mistakes.
“No thinking man could share your views on this matter of The Shadow. Let us agree that some unknown person, or persons, can be connected with certain crimes that have occurred.
“To give that person, or those persons, an identity that is vague and uncertain is an unwarranted procedure.
“As your superior, I am instructing you at this time to make no such references in the future. Should you discover any one who has cloaked himself in black and has adopted the name of The Shadow, you may make a report to that effect.
“‘John Doe, alias The Shadow,’ would be an actuality. The Shadow — as a personality — is nonexistent. Is that clear?”
Cardona nodded. He saw perfectly the commissioner’s point. Weston was right. Nevertheless, Cardona could not fully reject his own impressions.
“Have you talked with Inspector Klein?” Cardona asked. “He knows something about this—”
“I have held a discussion with Inspector Klein,” interrupted Weston, “and his views are in accord with mine. He has never accepted your view that The Shadow was an actual person.
“Nevertheless, Klein recognized your capability, and accepted your reports in a negative way. When I made it a definite issue with him, he admitted that the only logical viewpoint was the one which I hold.
“On that account, I decided to discuss the matter with you personally.”
“Suppose,” said Cardona, “that I run into another case in which The Shadow figures; that is” — he made a hasty correction — “a case in which I think The Shadow figures. What am I to do about it?”
“THAT is easily answered,” smiled the commissioner. “You will merely be dealing with a person unknown.
“If that person could be apprehended, you should make it your duty to capture him. If there should be no reason to make an arrest of the anonymous person, then take no action.
“Forget your preconceived notion that you are dealing with a mysterious individual who possesses a fantastic identity. However, I do not think that you will encounter the difficulty in the future.”
“Why, sir?”
“Because, Cardona, I have arranged to make a very valuable series of experiments. In going over your records, I find that your capability is unexcelled — so far as practical methods are concerned. Whatever theoretical ability you possess is chiefly intuitive.”
“I follow hunches,” said Cardona. “Is that what you mean?”
“Exactly,” resumed the commissioner warmly. “But you do not possess the faculty of analyzing those impressions. Usually, your practical methods come to your aid. But they have failed — and will always fail — when circumstances depend solely upon deductive reasoning.
“I do not hold to the opinion that theoretical reasoning is the proper method of combating crime. I do believe, however, that when baffling and unexplainable mysteries occur, the ideal detective must turn to deduction.
“Therefore, I intend to combine practice with theory. I have selected you as the practical man. I have also selected a man who should prove to be an excellent theorist.
“He is Professor Roger Biscayne, whose experiments in psychology have included an exhaustive study of the criminal mind.
“I do not consider Biscayne a detective; but I am positive that, as an analyst, he can produce remarkable results.
“I am withholding my experiment until some unusual crime occurs. Then I shall have Biscayne cooperate with you in its solution.”
As Weston finished speaking, he fancied that he saw resentfulness in Cardona’s eyes. The commissioner could understand it.
There was every reason why the detective should regard this scheme as a form of interference with his work. Weston, accordingly, made a definite effort to curb Cardona’s budding antagonism.
“You will understand,” he said, “that Professor Biscayne is not seeking publicity, nor is he desirous of taking credit that should rightfully belong to you.
“He agrees with me in the opinion that he will learn more from you than you could possibly learn from him. He will not be officially employed in this work.
“He has always commended the methods of professional detectives. I can safely predict that when Biscayne publishes his next book on psychology, his references to your work will add greatly to the fine reputation that you have already gained.”
The tone of the commissioner’s voice as well as his actual words were pleasing to Joe Cardona. They showed him that Ralph Weston would be a valuable friend in the future.
He realized that he held a high position in the new commissioner’s esteem, and that Weston’s power and influence could be used to advantage.
“I get your idea, commissioner,” said Cardona. “You can count on me. I’ll be glad to work with the professor. I’ve got plenty to learn — I find that out the older I get!
“If the professor can figure out where my hunches come from, it will please me plenty.”
“Excellent!” declared Weston. “I am glad that you like the plan. Should you encounter a crime that involves a mysterious, unknown individual, your contact with Biscayne will prove of advantage to you.
“Reverting to the matter of The Shadow, I want you to remember what I have said. Avoid references to such an uncertain quantity. The Shadow — as you have described him — can be regarded only as an impossibility!
“I shall instruct Inspector Klein to notify me of the first crime that seems well suited to my experiment.
“There is, at present, no case which calls for cooperation between yourself and Professor Biscayne. We may have to wait a considerable length of time.”
“Maybe not, commissioner,” declared Cardona suddenly.
The detective drew an envelope from his pocket. It had been cut open at the top. Cardona extracted a folded sheet of paper and passed it, with the empty envelope, across the desk.
THE envelope was addressed to police headquarters. It was typed in capital letters. Weston opened the sheet of paper and read the typed statement that appeared within:
IN MEMORY OF S. H. WHO DIED LAST NIGHT HE WAS THE FIRST
“When did this come in?” asked the commissioner, frowning at the document.
“Yesterday morning,” declared Cardona. “It was mailed night before last. Postmarked ten o’clock.”
“It looks like an ordinary crank note,” said Weston. “We get hundreds of them. Did any person with the initials ‘S. H.’ die two nights ago?”
“Not to my knowledge. We looked through the obituaries yesterday and today. There was no S. H. among them.”
“Then the letter is a hoax!”
“I’m not sure about that,” stated Cardona. “It’s different from the usual crank note. It makes no threats. It gives no warning. It carries no tip-off to any crime that is now being investigated.
“It is simply a statement of something that has happened. The last line is important. One person has died. Another death will follow — if the implication is correct.”
“What have you done about it?” Weston asked.
“Nothing — as yet. It may be a crank note, as you say. If it proves to be otherwise, we’ll investigate it. There’s only one chance in a hundred that the letter means anything, but I have a hunch that that one chance is going to hit.”
“A hunch,” repeated Weston slowly. “Well, Cardona, from what I have ascertained, you attach too much significance to hunches. I prefer to accept the ninety-nine, rather than the one.
“Nearly forty-eight hours have now elapsed since this letter was posted. You believe that it may be important; I believe that it is not. We shall see who is correct.”
Cardona felt a return of resentfulness as the commissioner tossed the letter and the envelope across the desk. He wisely veiled his feeling, but he did not like Weston’s attitude.
It had been a mistake to mention this letter, Cardona felt; and to argue the subject would only make his position worse. So he placed the paper in the envelope and pocketed it.
He looked glumly toward Weston. Before the commissioner had more to say, the telephone rang.
Weston answered the ring and passed the telephone to Cardona.
“Inspector Klein is calling,” he said. “I suppose he wants to speak to you, Cardona.”
The commissioner saw the detective’s eyes narrow as he received the message. There was eagerness in Cardona’s voice as he gave short, quick response to the words that he was hearing.
“I’ll be over right away!” said Cardona. “It’s five thirty, now. I’ll be there before six!”
He hung up the receiver and looked at the commissioner. Cardona spoke and reached in his pocket at the same time.
“An old man found dead,” he said. “Shot through the heart. An old inventor. Living alone in an apartment at the Redan Hotel.”
Weston looked up inquiringly.
“The dead man’s name is Silas Harshaw!” added Cardona.
Weston noted an emphasis on the name. “Silas Harshaw?” he repeated. “Who is Silas Harshaw?”
Cardona flung the envelope triumphantly upon the table, and stared squarely at the commissioner.
“Silas Harshaw,” said the detective, “is S. H.!”