The Shadow - The Ribbon Clues Part 4

"Is that the only way out?" growled the policeman, who had drawn a revolver.

Bill nodded.

"That and this elevator," he affirmed. "The regular stairway's locked at the bottom. I've got the only key.

So strangers won't go up; but the fire laws won't let us lock the tower."

"Well, that doorman's a husky," decided the policeman. "He'll help out below; and there'll be a patrol car along any minute."

THE elevator had reached the twelfth floor. Jerry banged open the door. A pale-faced man in shirt sleeves uttered a welcoming cry from a doorway down the corridor. It was Lattan.

"n.o.body's come down the stairs," he informed excitedly. "But there's been no more shots!"

The policeman headed to the stairway that he saw on the other side of the hall. Clerk and operator followed him. They pa.s.sed a turn in the stairs; then arrived at a blocking door. The officer tried to open it; he found it locked; then pounded against the barrier.

"Open in the name of the law" There was no response from within. The policeman drove a bulky shoulder against the door. Bill and Jerry aided him, hammering furiously from the little landing.

The door was not a formidable one; it began to weaken at the hinges. The policeman landed with all his weight; the door crashed inward.

Staggering into the penthouse, the uniformed invader caught himself and swung his revolver back and forth within a lighted living room. No enemy was in sight. Breeze-blown curtains at an opened window indicated a path for the get-away. The officer looked toward the floor.

There, he and his companions saw two men. One was James Shurrick, tenant of this penthouse. The stoop-shouldered man was lying face upward, his arms sprawled wide. His eyes were sightless as they bulged toward the ceiling.

Shurrick's shirt front was stained with blood. Gaping wounds showed that he had been riddled with revolver bullets from close range.

Near Shurrick lay another man, whose presence here brought a gasp of surprise from the apartment clerk. This was Courtney Dolver, bound and gagged.

Dolver was lying face downward; his body arched backward like that of a contortionist. His arms were pinioned tightly behind his back; the ropes that held them also trussed his legs up against his body.

Vainly, Dolver raised his head and tried to speak through the m.u.f.fled folds of a handkerchief that was tight between his teeth. He failed; his form became weak after the effort.

Jerry produced a knife and cut the ropes. Released, Dolver's body flattened limply. The elevator man cut the tightly knotted bandanna. Dolver lay panting, unable to speak.

THE policeman ordered the operator down to the elevator. He told the clerk to remain in charge.

Swinging from the window, the officer saw a ledge beneath.

He dropped to it; in the darkness, he stumbled on a revolver, wedged against the parapet. The policeman picked up the weapon and pocketed it.

Continuing along the ledge, the bluecoat found an open doorway. He stepped through it and reached the entrance of the fire tower. Footsteps were clattering from far below; the cop stood ready until he heard them coming closer. He knew then that other emissaries of the law were arriving.

Shouts from below; the policeman answered. A minute later, two new officers appeared, puffing from their hasty climb. The man who had entered. the penthouse questioned them. Their answer was given with headshakes. They had found no one on the fire tower.

The three policemen marched through the hall; as they reached the elevator, the door opened and two more bluecoats stepped out. Bill had brought these officers up from the lobby. They announced that police and detectives were converging upon the apartment house.

Yet the law, despite its promptness, had arrived too late. It was murder, like that of the night before. A slaying that matched the killing of Ralgood and Ba.s.slett. New death despite the campaign of the law; new death despite the vigilance of The Shadow!

CHAPTER VII. LINKS OF DEATH.

HALF an hour later, a large automobile pulled up in from of the apartment building wherein JamesShurrick had been slain. Two men alighted. One was a brisk individual, of military bearing, whose short-clipped mustache showed pointed ends. A policeman saluted as he recognized the Police Commissioner, Ralph Weston.

The other arrival was a tall personage of quiet demeanor. He was clad in evening clothes; his face appeared masklike above the white collar just beneath it. There was something hawklike in the molded visage of Weston's companion. The policeman remembered that he had seen that face before. Weston's a.s.sociate was Lamont Cranston, millionaire globe-trotter.

"I am glad you were chatting with me at the club, Cranston," observed Weston, as they walked into the apartment house lobby. "From what Cardona tells me, this case links with the death of Luther Ralgood.

Both were friends of Milton Callard. Like yourself."

"I was not actually acquainted with Milton Callard," corrected Cranston, in a steady tone. "I told you, commissioner, that I merely knew who Callard was, when he was still alive."

"That might be important," a.s.sured Weston. "Anything may prove of value in this situation. That was why I insisted that you come with me here."

They had reached the elevator. As they entered, the light showed the faint flicker of a smile upon the steady lips of Lamont Cranston. Keen eyes flashed from the masklike face; their gleam faded without the commissioner noting the momentary change in his companion's expression. That brief interlude, however, was a revelation. This personage who pa.s.sed as Lamont Cranston, was actually The Shadow.

Uniformed policemen were on guard when the arrivals reached the twelfth floor. Continuing past saluting bluecoats, the commissioner and The Shadow reached the penthouse. There they were greeted by Joe Cardona, acting inspector in charge. With the ace was his side-kick, Detective Sergeant Markham.

A police surgeon was completing his examination of Shurrick's body. Three solemn-faced men - Bill, Jerry and Lattan - were grouped against the wall. Near them, limp in a chair, was Courtney Dolver, still weary from the ordeal that he had undergone.

"Let me hear your report," ordered Weston, briskly.

CARDONA read statements that had been made by the clerk and elevator man. He followed with the report of the officer who had crashed into the penthouse. He exhibited the revolver that the policeman had found on the ledge below. It was an antique weapon with five chambers. All its cartridges had been emptied.

"Here's Mr. Lattan, commissioner," stated Cardona. "Timothy Lattan. He lives in apartment 12 G on the floor below. He heard the shots."

Weston turned to Lattan. The shirt-sleeved man spoke in a troubled tremolo.

"My window was open," he explained jerkily. "Guess I'd have heard the shots anyway. The doors aren't thick and I'm right at the end of the hall. They were quick shots; bang-bang. Seems like I heard five.

"I was sort of bewildered for a minute. Listened, wondering what was coming next. I was sure the shots had been from up here. I looked out into the hall and didn't see anybody. So I called downstairs. Then I kept watching from my door until people arrived."

"How long was that?" queried Weston.

"Five minutes maybe," responded Lattan. "Could have been a little longer, commissioner; but not much.I'm counting from when I heard the shots."

"I understand. Were you acquainted with the dead man?"

"Only by sight, commissioner. I had never spoken with him."

WESTON eyed the witness; then motioned him to a chair. The commissioner turned back to Cardona, who indicated Dolver. The dignified man looked up, smiled weakly and nodded.

"I think that estimate was about correct," declared Dolver. "Of course, my experience began before the shots were fired. It was most grueling, commissioner; yet I think that I preserved most of the details. My story begins with my arrival on the twelfth floor."

"Just after Mr. Shurrick had gone up," informed the clerk.

Weston motioned for silence. Bill subsided. Dolver resumed his story.

"I have lived in this apartment house for a month," he explained. "I took a furnished apartment while my Long Island residence was being redecorated. Like Mr. Lattan, I knew James Shurrick only by sight.

"Tonight, when I was entering my apartment - number 12 B - I happened to glance toward the fire tower. I was sure that I saw a man move out of sight. The elevator had gone down. When I arrived inside my apartment, my first thought was to call the clerk.

"At that moment, I heard footsteps. These doors are thin; I was sure that the intruder was coming from the fire tower. The footsteps pa.s.sed; purely upon impulse I opened my door, very cautiously. I saw a man sneaking up the stairs to the penthouse.

"I thought the fellow must be a sneak thief; one who would welsh if surprised. I decided to follow him, believing that I could deal with any rascal of such low caliber. As I neared the top of the stairs, I heard the man rapping lightly on the door. I arrived on the landing just as Mr. Shurrick answered the summons.

I saw the intruder entering. To my horror, I observed that the rogue was masked and had a revolver in his hand.

"I sprang into view and pounced upon the fellow before he could close the door. I saw James Shurrick standing terrified in the center of the room. Had he aided me, we might have overpowered the murderer.

But Shurrick was too frightened to raise a hand."

DOLVER paused. He puffed wheezily and clapped his hand against his chest. His voice was less husky when he resumed.

"The murderer swung at me with his revolver," he stated. "His vicious attack failed; I could see his eyes glaring through the slits of the bandanna handkerchief that he was using as a mask. I tried to seize his revolver. He punched with his other hand, squarely against my chest.

"The blow sent me back against the open door. It slammed shut; and I collapsed. While I was gasping on the floor - the punch had taken my breath away - I heard the revolver shots. I glimpsed James Shurrick falling forward. As I tried to rise, I saw him sprawl upon the floor.

"Then the murderer pounced upon me. He rolled me on my face. He began to truss me with a rope that he must have had upon his person. I could struggle but weakly; the man was most expert in his performance. It could not have taken him more than a minute to bind me.

"I tried to cry out. As I found my voice, the rogue s.n.a.t.c.hed off his mask and gagged me with it. Hegrowled for quiet, as he kept my head face downward so I could not see his features. I was helpless, almost choking. I heard the murderer open the window; I could hear him leap below. That was all until the rescuers arrived."

Dolver subsided. His voice had altered to a new wheeze. Weston waited until the man had regained his breath; then questioned: "Would you recognize the murderer if you saw him again?"

"I think so," replied Dolver, slowly. "He was rugged in build. His voice was harsh, although its gruffness might have been a disguise. His lower face seemed hard, as though his teeth were gritted. He was square-jawed, I would say."

"A photograph of Dave Callard would help us, commissioner," put in Cardona. "But we haven't been able to find one."

"Tell me, Cardona," questioned Weston, "what evidence have you to link up this case with that of Ralgood?"

Cardona smiled. The ace detective always relished an opportunity to score with the commissioner.

Facing Weston, Joe began a statement.

"Luther Ralgood was a friend of Milton Callard, wasn't he?" demanded Cardona. "Well, if there was reason to kill him, there might be reason to kill any other friend of Milton Callard's."

"Correct," acknowledged Weston. "But was this dead man also a friend of old Milton Callard?"

"Yes," a.s.sured Cardona. "Look at this commissioner; it's an old memoranda book that I found right here in this penthouse. Buried in a desk drawer. It belonged to James Shurrick and it lists Milton Callard's address and telephone number."

Weston nodded as he received the little book and studied the page that Cardona indicated.

"Take a look at these ropes, commissioner," insisted Cardona, turning to a table to pick up the cut bonds that had held Courtney Dolver. "See the knots on them? It would have taken a man who knew his business to handle ropes the way this fellow did."

"Young Callard was a sailor -"

"Right. These are sailor's knots. Plenty tight."

WESTON nodded; then pa.s.sed the ropes to The Shadow. Still retaining the fixed expression of Lamont Cranston, The Shadow studied the heavy, hard-drawn knots. In leisurely fashion, he brought cut portions of the rope together, to observe the exact formation of the bonds as they had been.

"When I was up at Ralgood's," continued Cardona, "I found a box of cartridges in a desk drawer. Here's one of the cartridges, commissioner. Look it over. They haven't made these for years. They didn't fit Ba.s.slett's gun; so we figured that Ralgood's murderer must have taken a revolver that belonged to the old man."

Weston nodded.

"All right." Cardona smiled triumphantly as he picked up the five-chambered revolver that the policeman had found on the ledge. "Look at this, commissioner. These emptied cartridges. They're the same as thatgood one you're holding."

"You mean that the murderer used Ralgood's gun?" exclaimed Weston. "Used it to kill Shurrick and dropped it in his flight?"

"That's it, commissioner. Plain as day. Dave Callard didn't want to use the same rod that he worked with up at Ralgood's. That's why he swiped the one he found there. He thought we wouldn't guess that he took that revolver. Didn't realize that the cartridges would be a give-away.

"There's no fingerprints on this gun. He wiped them off, all right. But he left the gun, so as to fool us.

Figured we'd never trail it back to Ralgood. He made another slip-up there - not digging up that letter he wrote to Ralgood. And he didn't have time enough here to dig through Shurrick's papers and find the book with the names and addresses."

There was emphasis in Cardona's pause. The star sleuth watched Commissioner Weston nod. The evidence at hand fitted Cardona's theory; and Weston was pleased with the acting inspector's prompt findings.

"Good work, Cardona," complimented the commissioner. "You are showing real ability at deductive reason. A point of investigation that I have always admitted. Did you hear that summary, Cranston?"

THE SHADOW nodded. His long-fingered hands had finished their toying with the rope. In the leisurely fashion of Lamont Cranston, The Shadow replaced the cut coils upon the table. He spoke casually to Weston.

"Cleverly done, that tying job," commented The Shadow. "Cardona is right when he states that the knots were worthy of a sailor's skill. The man who tied them was evidently well versed in his study of the half hitch and the slipknot."

"Those were used?" queried Weston, picking up the rope and disarranging the loops from the position in which The Shadow had left them.

"Yes," replied The Shadow. "They were employed in modified form. Pressure or tugging against such knots merely serves to tighten them."

"No wonder you couldn't get out," said Weston to Dolver, who had advanced shakily from the wall. "Did your struggles seem to handicap you further, Mr. Dolver?"

"They did," nodded the importer. "I could scarcely move when I was cut free. The gag was dreadfully tight as well."

Jerry grunted his seconding of Dolver's statement. The elevator man remembered the difficulty that he had experienced in cutting the prisoner's bonds. Weston was about to speak again when Courtney Dolver gripped his arm. In steadied tone, the importer spoke.

"I have recalled something," he declared. "Words that James Shurrick groaned while he was dying on the floor. I could not see him; but I heard what he uttered, just as the murderer was leaving."

"What was it?" quizzed Weston.

"I made out two words," returned Dolver. "The rest were indistinguishable. But those two words were repeated. He said: 'The locket - the locket' - that was all that I could understand."

"The locket?" queried Weston. "What locket?" Bill, the hotel clerk came forward from the wall. The police surgeon had risen from beside Shurrick's body. Bill pointed excitedly; Weston followed the direction of the fellow's gesture. The clerk was indicating a watch chain that ran across the front of the dead man's vest.

"There was a locket on that chain!" cried Bill. "One that Mr. Shurrick always wore! A large locket, with a cameo front. Remember it, Jerry?"

"Sure thing," vouched the elevator man, stepping forward. "A swell piece of joolry, I'd have called it. It ain't there now, though. It's been s.n.a.t.c.hed, right enough."

Courtney Dolver looked toward the body; then nodded slowly.