Murdered by a ghost!
Of all the strange deaths that Detective Joe Cardona had investigated, the case of Herbert Harvey, stabbed to the heart with a keen-bladed knife, was the most mysterious.
To the ace of New York detectives, summoned to the seance room within half an hour after the murder, the situation presented baffling angles that afforded no tangible solution. After a night of witness quizzing, after an exhaustive search for clues, Cardona was back to the point from which he started.
In the morning, the detective was summoned to the office of Police Commissioner Ralph Weston. This, in itself, was sufficient to arouse Cardona's apprehensions. The police commissioner, despite his fastidious tastes, was a keen analyst of crime.
Weston relied on Cardona, but he had a habit of criticizing the detective's pet theories on those rare occasions when he and Cardona went into consultation.
Joe Cardona was a man inured to criticism; with most persons he was quick with a keen retort. But Weston played on the detective's weaknesses.
Now, as Cardona approached the office, he felt that he was due to encounter a barrage of well-founded disapproval.
Commissioner Weston, well-groomed and leisurely, smiled in friendly fashion when Cardona was ushered into the office. The detective knew that lulling smile. He was not deceived by it. He sat down on the opposite side of the glass-topped table, and watched Weston, while the commissioner studied a newspaper. Finally, Weston laid the journal aside and looked at Cardona.
"Well?" questioned Weston.
"I know what you want to know, commissioner," answered Cardona solemnly. "This Harvey case. Well" — he pointed to the newspaper with his thumb — "it's all there. For once, the tabloids have got it straight!"
An expression of amazement came over the commissioner's face. Cardona repressed a grim smile. He had dumfounded Commissioner Ralph Weston!
It was a full minute before the official recovered from his surprise. Then he thumped his fist on the newspaper and stared at Cardona defiantly.
"Do you mean to say," demanded Weston, "that this tommyrot about a killer ghost is all that you have discovered in this case? What has possessed you, Cardona?"
"Out of eleven persons present," declared Cardona, "ten bear witness to that fact. Only one offered a different theory."
"Ten fools!" exclaimed the commissioner. "Ten ignorant, stupid fools who—"
"Have you read their names, commissioner?" asked Cardona mildly.
"Yes," admitted Commissioner Weston reluctantly.
"I found those people very excited," said Cardona, in a quiet tone, "but I wouldn't like to say that any one of them was ignorant or stupid. They were very intelligent people, commissioner. People who have brains as well as money."
Weston folded his hands and sat back in his chair. He surveyed Cardona thoughtfully. He nodded slowly.
"Start with the beginning, Cardona," he requested. "I don't want to miss any portion of this case."
"The meeting was going on up at the Hotel Dalban," began Cardona. "That's where this Professor Raoul Jacques holds his seances, once a week, in a private room, off where they won't be disturbed.
"From what the witnesses say, most of the people were old customers. But they all didn't know everybody else the professor says he's glad to admit strangers. Claims he can get messages for any one.
"Well, last night, he was getting a contact for a new member of the ring. A Mrs. Henderson — she's in the list there, in the Daily Classic. Right in the middle of it, there was a lot of wild laughing. They got scared, and put on the lights. The professor claimed an evil spirit was jinxing the affair."
"Was that when the murder occurred?" questioned Weston.
"No," replied Cardona. "They started in again. The professor claims he called for a good influence to fight the bad. They saw a knife — a dagger— flashing in the air.
"Then came the laughs again. Someone yelled; they switched on the lights. There was Harvey, dead — and the laugh was still coming from somewhere. It stopped right after the lights went on."
"Is that where they evolved the ghost theory?"
"Yes. The professor says that two spirits were in conflict, the good and the bad. He claims that Harvey mixed in the mess, and got the worst of it."
"Preposterous!" exclaimed Weston. "A knife can't come out of nothingness, Cardona!"
"I am telling you what the professor said, commissioner. I started a cross-examination on the spot. When you quiz excitable women, they don't begin to cook up stories. I talked to them. Nine people besides the professor all had the same story. They lay it on the ghost."
"The professor told his story first?"
"Yes, commissioner," said Cardona wisely. "That's the wrinkle. I figured just as you are figuring — that he was keeping something back. If this spook stuff is a fake, he would be the one to know it. So he would be the bird to lay it on. But that part doesn't hold."
"Why?"
"The professor couldn't have done it. He was tied to a fare-you-well. Get this, commissioner. Someone gave the alarm. There were two house detectives there inside of three minutes — good men, both of them. They pay for good men at the Dalban.
"Nobody went out of that room after they got there. They watched the professor. He was tied in his chair — and when I examined the knots, they were plenty tight. He didn't have a chance to get out of them — let alone get back in again."
"You're sure of that, Cardona?" the commissioner queried.
"Positive. It took us five minutes to get him loose. Even a wizard like Houdini was couldn't have got out of that chair, let alone this professor. He's no weakling, but he isn't husky."
"I don't like his story," persisted Weston.
"Neither do I," returned Cardona. "I think he's stalling. But it's not because he did anything — as I said before, he couldn't have."
"What is his purpose, then?"
"That spirit racket is his living, commissioner. With nine other people laying it on the spirits, is he going to say different?
"The point is this, commissioner. He knows some real person did that job— not a ghost. But he doesn't know who the party is. Get the angle? What happens to his reputation if he lets that out?"
"I understand," said Weston, nodding. "You have landed something there, Cardona. The man must be a fraud — I believe most of these mediums are fakes. But with this murder happening right beside him— while he was bound and helpless—"
"That's just it," interposed Cardona, as Weston became speculative. "But don't give me too much credit until I tell you where I got the tip. I've got something up my sleeve, commissioner."
"Yes?"
"Yes, sir. And you won't find it in the newspapers, either! With ten witnesses shouting that a ghost was the killer, there wasn't much chance for the one who said different crashing into print, was there?"
"Ah! There was another—"
"Commissioner," declared Cardona gravely, "there were twelve people in that room when I got there. Twelve, including the dead man.
"The professor had his say. All the others together or apart — said the same. At first, that was. But later on, I got one man by himself."
"Who was that?"
"Benjamin Castelle, a big-money man. His name's on the list. You've got to figure this, commissioner. All those folks believe in spooks except Castelle."
"Ah! He is a skeptic?"
"Well, he thinks the professor is pretty much of a square shooter. Castelle says he's heard him tell some mighty remarkable things.
"But when it comes to ghosts slinging daggers, Castelle draws the line. He saw something there to-night that none of the rest of them noticed."
"At the time of the murder?" asked Weston.
"No. Before. I told you that there were twelve in the room, including the dead man. Well, Castelle tells me that there were thirteen!"
"He is sure of it?" The commissioner showed his interest.
"He counted them. The time the lights came on," Cardona went on. "He said the place seemed really spooky, after they heard the first laugh. He's a bit superstitious, Castelle is. He was looking around, and just naturally he counted noses. Thirteen there — something he swears he is right about."
"Then the thirteenth person—"
"May be the murderer!"
Weston stared reflectively. He seemed to be visualizing the scene as he had read of it, and as Cardona had described it. He looked at Cardona questioningly.
"What became of the odd person?" he asked.
"He must have left," returned Cardona. "Castelle isn't sure, but he thinks there were seven men and six women in the place. There were six men and six women — Harvey included — when the house detectives got there. That makes an odd man in the crowd."
"How could he have disappeared?"
"There's a mystery," declared Cardona. "It's pretty near as bad as the ghost theory. When he went, he must have slid out the door just after the lights came on.
"He had a straight hallway ahead of him. No doors on either side. He might have slipped along to the balcony above the lobby, then down the stairs at the side.
"Castelle grabbed a telephone, and called for help right after the lights came on. The house men were there mighty quick. But when you're dealing with an uncertain time element—"
"It would have been possible, however?" interjected Weston. "Possible for a man to have left by the hall?"
"Possible, yes," agreed the detective. "That was the only way. One door to the room.
Windows with locked shutters. Out through the hall— but if a man made his get-away there, he must have been a wonder. Nevertheless, Castelle has given me the tip. I figure he must be right."
"About the people in the room," began Weston.
"Commissioner," said Cardona, "there is not one suspect in the lot. Peas in a pod, all except Castelle. He's a skeptic as you say, but you can't hook up any motive for him."
"He speaks of an extra man. That might be a blind—"
"Not at all," said Cardona emphatically. "Castelle is talking straight. If he wasn't trying to help, he would have taken the easy route sided with the rest of them. He's right — absolutely.
"There was another man in that room, and he made his get-away. When we find him, we'll have the murderer!"
Weston picked up the newspaper. He made a study of the names in the list. He started a series of pointed questions regarding the various individuals. Cardona answered each query in methodical fashion. Weston dropped the newspaper and extended his hand.
It was a triumph for Joe Cardona — a glorious finish to this conference which he had approached so uneasily. Weston's conviction was evident.
"There was another man," declared the commissioner, with a note of final emphasis. "A man who wanted to kill Herbert Harvey. But why did he choose such a strange method?"
"That's easy," said Cardona, a slight smile upon his swarthy countenance. "It was a cinch, in the dark. They were all sitting around that circle. When the dagger began to float above, the only one who could have known it was phony was the medium.
"He says he had his eyes shut — always does when he is in a trance. The witnesses agree. But supposing he did catch a flash of that dirk. What could he do?
"If he squawked and hollered for the lights, it might have got him. He was helpless, tied up in the chair."
"Right again!" exclaimed Weston, in a congratulating tone.
"Yes," said Cardona, "the professor sat tight, afraid to squawk. That's the story. The rest were scared stiff — and I include Castelle with the lot. But he had enough sense to use his head."
"CardonaA," said Weston, standing beside the desk, "I aim giving you free rein in this matter. You have done wonders, so far. The case is in your hands."
"Thanks, commissioner," said Cardona, rising. "I'm glad you feel that way about it. I don't want to waste any time, yet I want to feel that I'm not rushed. This trail — if I pick it up — may lead anywhere."
"What do you propose to do? Hold any of these people?"
"Not a one. The professor lives at the Hotel Dalban. He's safe there. We'll give him leeway, but he won't have a chance to skip town. He'll be a good witness, later on. I'm going to let his story ride for the present.
"All the rest are safe enough. Castelle lives at the Merrimac Club. He's a big man, well known and well liked. I can talk with him any time. But right now, I'm going back and work on a clue that will lead me to this man who made the slip."
"Let me make one suggestion," said Weston seriously. "Some time ago, Cardona, you had a great failing. You were inclined to attribute certain unexplainable events to a nonexistent person whom you termed The Shadow. You have corrected that fault. Do not let it undermine your sound opinions in connection with this case."
Cardona's face lengthened for a minute; then the detective laughed in a forced manner.
"I've forgotten that, commissioner," he said. "Let's not talk about it."
"Agreed," smiled Weston, clapping the star detective on the back. "Go to it, my man! I am relying upon you. The case is in your hands. Find the missing murderer."
As Cardona left the commissioner's office, he wore a solemn look upon his face a look that Commissioner Weston would have eyed suspiciously.
For Weston's words had aroused the detective's intent memory. As he headed for the Hotel Dalban, Cardona was wondering deeply.
Some unknown being had figured in this crime. The tabloids were loud in their cry of a ghostly hand — a wild theory that looked good in print, but which Cardona had rejected absolutely. Yet the strange disappearance of the missing personage must either be supernatural or superhuman. Ghosts, Cardona had heard, were supernatural. The Shadow, Cardona knew, was superhuman. Spook or Shadow — which?
Cardona spoke his decision mentally.
"The Shadow!"