DEATH CONTINUES
IT was nine o’clock in the morning when Detective Joe Cardona left Silas Harshaw’s apartment. It was exactly twenty-four hours afterward when he appeared in Commissioner Weston’s office to discuss the only new development that might be a clew.
This was a third note, which Cardona had brought with him from headquarters.
The detective nodded grimly to both Weston and Biscayne, who was present. Without a word, he laid the letter on the table, so the other men could see it. It was in the same form of typing. It read:
IN MEMORY OF T.S. WHO DIED LAST NIGHT HE WAS THE THIRD
“What do you think of it, Cardona?” questioned Weston.
“It’s a tough case,” declared Cardona glumly. “The further I go, the worse it gets. I only hope we’re reaching the end of it.”
“What about the dead man up at Harshaw’s?” questioned Biscayne.
“Well,” said Cardona, pointing to the note, “here’s the way I figure it: He is the third victim. His initials must be T.S. But we haven’t been able to identify him.”
“Wait a moment, Cardona,” suggested Biscayne. “How about the time element?
“First, Silas Harshaw died; the next morning, you received a note. Second, Louis Glenn — just two nights after Harshaw was killed. You received a note the next morning.
“I expected a lapse of forty-eight hours before the third killing — if there was one. Instead of that, this man was shot twenty-four hours after Glenn was murdered.
“That seems wrong to me. He should have died last night — not the night before — if he is T.S.
“This note” — Biscayne glanced at the envelope — “must have come in this morning’s mail.”
“That’s when the sender expected it to reach me,” declared Cardona, “but I got in ahead of him.
“The post-office authorities sent that letter down to headquarters at eleven o’clock last night. They were looking for it, and they got it. Where do you think it came from?”
“Where?”
“From the mail box in the Redan Hotel!”
“What!”
The exclamation was uttered by Weston and Biscayne in unison. Cardona nodded.
“Sure enough,” he said. “The killer is somewhere around the hotel. We’ve been on the job up there all night — quizzing guests and watching the place. But we haven’t got to first base.
“All we know is that the dead man in Harshaw’s apartment had been staying at the hotel for five days. He registered under the name of Howard, or Horace, Perkins.
“You can’t tell which from the way he scrawled his name on the register. That’s an alias, of course.
“He brought the collapsible ladder in with him in the suitcase. He must have gone to 918 — the room under Harshaw’s study — on the night that the old man was killed.
“So, according to my theory, he was the guy that bumped Harshaw. But, night before last, he tried to gain entrance to Harshaw’s suite again from 918 — and he got bumped himself.”
“Which supports my theory,” smiled Biscayne. “I said that the burglary and the murder were two different motives, involving separate persons.”
“Well, professor,” declared Cardona, “we’re getting to the place where we’ve got to figure on this theory stuff.
“I thought your idea of Harshaw being killed inside the apartment must be phony. But now — since night before last — your idea looks O.K.
“There was a fellow in there, somehow, but I can’t understand how he got by Mayhew.
“I’m going to tell you the way I dope it,” Cardona went on. “Somebody — the guy who has sent these notes — is the big brain in back of it. He’s bold, all right, for he’s operating right around the hotel.
“There’s three fellows he wanted to get: S. H., that’s Silas Harshaw; L. G., that’s Louis Glenn; and T.S. who must be the fake Perkins; the third dead man. I’m going to call T.S., the third man, because that’s who I think he is.
“I’m going to accept your theory about Harshaw. The big brain bumped off the old man. Then he killed Louis Glenn.
“But he knew that this fellow T.S. who was living at the Redan Hotel, had tried to get in Harshaw’s apartment. and would try again.
“So the big brain got in instead, and laid for T.S. Bumped him off and got away. What do you think of that?”
“It doesn’t explain one important factor,” declared Biscayne. “Why didn’t the murderer send the third note the same night, instead of waiting twenty-four hours?”
“I’VE doped that out,” said Cardona. “From what the post office says, all three notes were mailed from the Redan Hotel.
“Now, the murderer couldn’t have mailed that third note, very well, before he bumped off T.S., because he couldn’t be sure the man was coming up to Harshaw’s that very night.
“After the bump-off, he had to run from the hotel, and it was too late to send the letter. So he waited until last night — then sent it—”
Biscayne shook his head solemnly and peered, owl-like, through his spectacles. He slapped his hand upon the glass-topped desk.
“Cardona,” he said, in a convinced tone, “you are getting too much unsupported theory into this case. Do not think that I am criticizing, because I am not.
“You are working with facts and you are trying to make them lead you to the solution. You will get there, because there is bound to be a break sooner or later.
“But if you listen to me now, I think we shall arrive at some more definite conclusion much sooner.
“I still believe that it is a matter of cross-purposes. We shall commence with Silas Harshaw.
“For some reason, his death was desired by a person so sure of his invulnerability that he not only contrived death for the old man, but also sent an announcement of Silas Harshaw’s demise.
“The same person desired the death of Louis Glenn. Again, he arranged that death and sent a message.
“Now, our big brain, as you term him, has arranged the death of a third party — a death scheduled to take place last night.
“He has again posted an announcement. He refers to the third person as T.S. We have not yet discovered the actual death of T.S., whoever he may be.
“Has the big brain, as you call him, contemplated more killings? Perhaps. We shall ascertain that fact later on. But I have given you, in compact form, the vital points that concern the deaths of Silas Harshaw and Louis Glenn.
“I have also considered the possibilities of a third death — which concerns a man whose initials are T.S.”
“That’s a clean-cut theory,” admitted Cardona. “It rings clear, professor. But where does this other killing figure into it? What about the man who got away after he killed the fellow?”
“Cross-purposes,” replied Roger Biscayne. “Some one had the burglary motive. He came in through the window. He entered a trap. He was shot and killed.”
“By whom?”
“Well,” said Biscayne slowly, “I can only believe that there were two men who entered the window. They might have been working together.
“Why one should kill the other is more than I can fathom, at present. It seems quite creditable that such purpose may have been present.
“You have the fact that one man died while the other escaped. He had to battle the police to flee to safety. He simply abandoned the window as a method of escape.”
“Then you think that this is a separate affair?” Cardona queried.
“Absolutely! It doesn’t fit in with the other progression, at all. Harshaw and Glenn were eliminated by cunningness. The murderer has remained completely hidden.
“Why should he have suddenly changed his method and performed a bold, reckless slaying?”
“You’ve got a clear idea of it, professor,” said Cardona. “It’s all right, from your standpoint, because you’re working on these crimes like an observer. But I’m running up against the hard facts that we meet in all police work.
“I can’t go ahead and forget this last shooting up at Harshaw’s. It’s a crime, just like the killing of the old man.
“It may be doubling my work, and making me go two ways at once, but — I’ve got to solve it!”
“Certainly, Cardona,” interposed the commissioner. “We appreciate your position, and you may rest assured that I have already gained a first-hand impression of your efficiency.
“I have the utmost confidence in you, Cardona. While you are handicapped with these necessary details, Biscayne is able to study these problems from an advantageous position. I trust that he will be able to offer you valuable assistance.”
“Thanks, commissioner,” said Cardona warmly. “I’ve got flyers out, trying to get some dope on this fellow who was killed at Harshaw’s.
“He isn’t an ordinary crook, but I’m going to get his record, if he’s got one at all. There was a telegram that came in from St. Louis to-day — telling about a burglar and yegg that got away from them out there.
“Max Parker is the bird’s name. They’re sending a man out to see the body. Other calls are in from Buffalo and Atlanta.
“They’re taking care of all that down at headquarters. But in the meantime, I’m figuring on this T.S. angle. I want to know what those letters mean.”
“The Shadow,” suggested Biscayne, with a smile.
A QUICK gasp came from Cardona. The detective glanced toward Commissioner Weston. He noted a stern look upon the commissioner’s face.
Cardona picked up the letter on the table.
“I’m going to give this to the reporters,” he said. “They’ve been demanding to know all about these killings. I kept the notes quiet up until now.”
“Do you think that advisable?” questioned Weston.
“We’ve got to consider the newspapers,” declared Cardona. “They want to know what’s going on. There have been three mysterious deaths.
“If we let them know that we’ve got letters and have traced them to the Redan Hotel, it’s going to work to our credit — and that may prove to be an advantage. Especially, since we are watching the hotel and making no bones about it, now.
“We’re going to nab the sender if he comes around the place.”
“What will you tell them?” asked Biscayne.
“I’m going to stick to my theory,” said Cardona deliberately. “Harshaw was the first; Glenn the second; the third may be the man that was killed night before last.
“You don’t agree with that last point, professor, and I’m not rejecting your opinion. You think the real T.S. should have been killed last night. Well, he wasn’t, so far as we know now.
“If you’re right, the killer may have missed out on the job. If I let the newspapers play up the T. S; angle, we may get a tip-off from some fellow who has those initials.
“In other words, I’m going to play it safe all around.”
“Without mentioning The Shadow,” said Weston dryly.
“Right, commissioner,” agreed Cardona. “I’m working the way you ordered. I’m not going off on any wild trail.
“You say The Shadow is my weakness. All right, sir! If I get The Shadow on my mind, I’ll talk it all over with Professor Biscayne.
“There’s nothing I’d like so much as to have a keen fellow like him looking into The Shadow stuff. It would help me a lot, I’ll tell you.”
“I think that the statement to the newspapers is an excellent idea,” declared Biscayne. “I still persist in my theory that the third killing — if there was one — took place last night.
“I believe that the dead man in Harshaw’s apartment is apart from the regular series of crimes.
“That makes me all the more in favor of the newspaper statement. The murderer — whom Cardona has called the big brain — will have no knowledge of my theory if he reads the newspaper accounts.”
THE noon editions carried accounts of Silas Harshaw and his inventions; of Louis Glenn and his brief trip to New York; of the mysterious notes that had announced three deaths.
What did the initials T.S. mean? That was the great perplexity. But Cardona did not mention the name of The Shadow.
Secretly, the star detective believed that Roger Biscayne had struck upon a real idea. Cardona believed that the murderer had picked The Shadow for his third victim.
It might be that the unidentified man killed at Harshaw’s was The Shadow.
It might also be that The Shadow, himself, had slain the man who had tried to murder him!
If so, it was The Shadow who had escaped. It was also possible that The Shadow, himself, had mailed the third letter, the next night, as a bit of irony.
For The Shadow invariably mocked those who sought to frustrate him.
Cardona also was almost convinced that Professor Biscayne had gone wide in his theory that these murders must follow a regular progression — forty-eight hours apart.
No news had arrived of the death of a man with the initials T.S.
The detective felt that the killings were over. It remained to solve the crimes — to apprehend the true murderer, unless the hand of The Shadow had already performed that task.
Cardona was anticipating some new break that would lead to the solutions.
The break came at one o’clock, just as Cardona was about to leave for the commissioner’s office.
The telephone rang. When Cardona lifted the receiver, he was rewarded by an unexpected report from an uptown police station.
But the words that came over the wire left him dumfounded. In one short minute, Cardona’s theories were shattered, and Biscayne’s were supported.
A man had been found dead, in his home. The tragedy did not appear definitely to be a crime.
The victim was a retired railroad executive. He had gone into the closet under the stairway leading to the second floor of the house. The door had closed, trapping him. He had been suffocated.
A murder? Ordinarily, Cardona would have rejected the idea. But in this case, he knew, instinctively, that the death had not been accidental.
For Cardona had been given the name of the dead executive, and he stood by the telephone, mumbling that name again and again, while his mind seemed numbed and helpless.
This was the third crime! The victim had been trapped last night. He had not been found until half an hour ago. He had been killed by design.
For the victim’s name fitted the initials that had appeared in the third mysterious note.
The dead man’s name was Thomas Sutton!