The Shadow - The Sledge Hammer Crimes Part 7

Jorn glared an interruption.

"I get orders," he growled, "and I follow them. One of the jobs you've got is to do the same. You're working for me, d.y.k.el; and the less you know about some things-and the less you talk about them- the better it is all around."

d.y.k.el tried to become nonchalant. He strolled toward the outer office; Jorn arose and followed him. The squatty man clapped his tall partner on the shoulder.

"Come on out and eat," suggested Jorn. "I've got a couple of telephone calls to make. I'd rather use an outside phone."

THE two men left the office. The lights were extinguished; only the glare from the street showed the battered desk where the pair had conferred. The blink of a huge electric sign one block away caused a changing glow upon Jorn's desk.

There was something diabolical in that ruddy flicker. It seemed to indicate that this was a den where plots were hatched.

Much had happened since five o'clock, although just one hour had elapsed. Clyde Burke, despite his early work, had missed out during the past sixty minutes.

Clyde had done well in spotting the dummy executives at the offices which he had visited. He had linked the Century Burglary Alarm Co. with the Industrial Mining Corporation. He had observed a man who might be questioned to good advantage: namely, Sanbrook Greel, the inventor.

But the aftermath had slipped past Clyde. His failure to spy Lettigue had prevented him from spotting Clinton Jorn. Thus Clyde had dispatched no report concerning the partnership of Jorn and d.y.k.el.

That pair formed a smooth team. As investigators, they were within the bounds prescribed by law. But they were a duo who would sell out to the highest bidder. Honesty would be their policy only when it paid.

Jorn had referred to Joe Cardona. It was plain that Jorn-whatever his game might be-was free from worry so far as Joe was concerned. Perhaps Jorn believed that he could bluff the ace sleuth when thetime came.

But if he persisted in his present work, Clinton Jorn would eventually encounter a keener brain than Cardona's. For the affairs that involved Joe Cardona also concerned The Shadow.

CHAPTER IX. THE SECOND THRUST.

HAD Clinton Jorn decided to call on Joe Cardona, he would not have found the ace detective in his office. Down at headquarters, a big clock was ticking on toward seven o'clock. Yet Cardona had not returned.

He had been there earlier in the afternoon; but he had gone out. Two persons were waiting for him. One, who sat impatiently in a chair across from Cardona's desk, was Detective Sergeant Markham. The other, who was lingering in the hall, was The Shadow.

Continuing his role of Fritz, The Shadow was stolidly mopping the floor of the dingy corridor. All the while, his course was close to the door of Cardona's office.

At exactly seven o'clock, Cardona arrived. He entered his office briskly, scarcely noting the stooped, inconspicuous form that looked like Fritz. Cardona greeted Markham; then put a prompt question: "Where's that sledge hammer?"

"I put it in the old safe," rejoined the detective sergeant. "Want it, Joe?"

Cardona nodded.

"Bring it in here," he ordered. "There's a guy coming to take a look at it."

Markham went from the office. Almost immediately, a tall form shuffled into view. Cardona looked up as he heard a bucket clatter against the floor. Joe stroked his chin.

"h.e.l.lo, Fritz," he greeted. "Say-what're you doing here to-day? I thought this was your day off."

"Yah."

"Well, if it's your day off, why don't you stay away? What's the matter- would you rather work than do nothing?"

"Yah."

Cardona grinned and shook his head. Fritz's love for industry puzzled him. The fellow was one janitor who was frequently on the job after others had gone. Working on an off day appeared to be a new twist, but a consistent one.

MARKHAM arrived with the broken sledge hammer. He placed the pieces on Cardona's desk. Joe fitted the portions of the heavy handle. He put a question to Markham.

"What would be your idea," queried Cardona, "about the guy who had used this big mallet. Would he be a husky?"

Markham eyed the hammer head. He shook his head.

"I've seen heavier sledges, Joe. The guy wouldn't have to be hefty. A middleweight could handle it."

Fritz had paused in mopping. He was looking toward the desk. Cardona grinned and beckoned. Hewatched the stooped mopper approach.

"What about it, Fritz?" queried Cardona. "Who busted this sledge hammer. A big guy or a little one?"

"Yah."

"What do you mean by 'yah'?"

"Big man, yah. Little man, yah."

"Either one, eh? Well, that's a better answer than Markham's. Well, my answer is that the fellow was a big one." It was Markham who put a query while The Shadow still eyed the broken sledge hammer.

"How come, Joe?" was Markham's question. "What makes you think the guy was big?"

"Look at the thickness of that handle," returned Cardona. "The right grip for big fists, isn't it? And how do you think the thing was smashed? It took a husky wallop, didn't it?"

Markham nodded.

"A big fellow," answered Cardona. "Plenty big to swing that hammer hard enough to snap the handle in the middle."

The Shadow's head was bent forward. His dull eyes had gained a flash.

They were noting the peculiarity of the break, with the indentation at one side of the handle. The Shadow was checking on a feature which Clyde Burke had reported, but Cardona had ignored.

"Here's Dopey Mollen," announced Cardona, suddenly. "Move away, Fritz. I want this fellow to see the sledge hammer."

A SWEATERED man had sidled into the office. He was a sneaky, white-faced individual of flimsy build.

Markham knew the fellow for a stool pigeon. "Dopey" was obviously the person whom Cardona had expected.

"Look it over, Dopey," ordered Joe. "Do you think we're right about the guy?"

Dopey studied the sledge hammer. He tested the weight of the head; he gripped the handle with scrawny fingers. He nodded; then spoke huskily.

"Dat's de kind o' mallet I was tellin' you about," affirmed the stoolie. "Yeah. De kind dat Sledge Ringo would use. It woulda took a beefy mug like Sledge to crack it dat way."

Markham was listening, intently. He had heard tell of "Sledge" Ringo. The fellow had once been a notorious dock walloper who had slipped from view.

"Sledge used t' brag about drivin' stakes," informed Dopey. "Dat's why he didn't use too big a hammer.

Said he could get two wallops in while anudder guy was gettin' one. I seen him smash a hammer once."

"Like this one?"

"A hammer like dat. But it didn't bust de same way. It cracked up by de head."

"That doesn't matter. You can't tell where a sledge hammer is likely to break. Let's get back to Sledge Ringo. You've spotted him- you're sure about it?" "I seen him yesterday, Joe. But Sledge is layin' low. It's a bet he's got a hide-out -"

"We'll locate it. He's the bird we want. That stuff about him getting two wallops in as quick time as one is another tip. Those mallet jabs were speedy ones."

"I'll keep an eye peeled, Joe -"

"Keep under cover. Leave it to us to nab Sledge. We'll land him, even if we have to spring a round-up.

All right, Dopey. You can scram."

The stoolie sidled from the office. The Shadow shambled out a few moments later, leaving Cardona in conference with Markham. Carrying mop and bucket, The Shadow kept up the gait of Fritz as he headed for the locker room.

SOON afterward, a shrouded form left headquarters. Later, a light clicked in The Shadow's sanctum-a hidden abode where darkness persisted, except when its lone occupant was present. White hands showed beneath a bluish glare. The girasol glimmered as fingers drew earphones from the wall.

The Shadow contacted Burbank. He heard the quiet-voiced report. The Shadow made notations that covered Clyde Burke's findings. A whispered laugh sounded as The Shadow replaced the earphones.

The Shadow's right hand penned five names: Lowring Algar Brindell Greel Quimble Carefully, The Shadow crossed out Lowring and Brindell; but he marked a heavy line beneath the name of Quimble. The connection was apparent. Lowring and Brindell were of a pattern. Both were know-nothings who had been put in positions of authority. The man who had placed them was Quimble.

At present, Quimble was absent from the United States. Therefore, he was not concerned with present crime. Moreover, Jerry Quimble was one whose name was known to The Shadow. Quimble was a shrewd promoter, who had figured in some slippery deals. He had not been heard of for some time; and The Shadow had the reason. Quimble had been busy synchronizing the Century Burglary Alarm Co. with the Industrial Mining Corporation.

Quimble was no more than a lieutenant who had worked for some supercrook. Quimble could supply full information if trapped; but he could not be reached in South America. The Shadow wanted facts; there were two men who might supply them. The Shadow put circles about the names of Algar and Greel.

Clyde Burke had contacted Algar. The reporter could continue with that task. The Shadow would take it upon himself to meet Sanbrook Greel. Burbank had given Greel's address from the telephone book. The inventor lived at the Findlay Apartments.

IT was quarter past eight when The Shadow rapped at the door of an apartment marked 4 C. He was again in the guise of Lamont Cranston; this time attired in tuxedo. Footsteps responded to The Shadow's knock. The door opened; a withered-faced man looked at the visitor. The Shadow recognized SanbrookGreel, for the old man fitted Clyde Burke's description.

The Shadow introduced himself as Cranston. Apparently, Greel had heard of the millionaire, for he welcomed The Shadow with a pleased smile. The Shadow stepped into an untidy living room.

"You have come to see my invention?" clucked Greel. "You have heard of my electro-vibrator?"

"I have heard of you as an inventor," returned The Shadow. "That is why I called. I am sometimes in the market for rights to new inventions."

Greel shook his head wearily.

"I have sold the rights," he stated. "Still, if you are interested, there might be opportunity. Come, let me show you the models of my machine."

He led the way into an adjoining room. There, The Shadow saw a small motor with wires that led to k.n.o.bs set in a board. Greel pressed a switch; the motor began to buzz.

"Watch the k.n.o.bs," chuckled the inventor. "See how they respond."

Sparks snapped from each k.n.o.b. There were six of them, and they began a vibration while they sparkled. The Shadow's face remained inflexible. He seemed unimpressed.

"Those vibrators work their way through solid material," a.s.serted Greel. "The current reduces the resistance. The vibration follows, allowing the k.n.o.bs to force an inward course. Let me demonstrate."

He turned off the motor. Spryly, he drew two slabs of thin tile from beneath a table. He placed these upon the wooden block and drew the k.n.o.bs upward, to wedge them in s.p.a.ces between the tiles.

Using four metal clamps, the old man tightened the pieces of tile so that they formed a compact ma.s.s.

This required heavy pressure from his scrawny fingers, but Greel was capable of the effort. His task done, Greel again started the motor.

For five minutes, the hum was regular. Then came a sharp click, that was repeated. A slight crack appeared in one tile. Another interval; then, again, the double click. The crack widened.

"The vibrators always cause the double click," explained Greel. "As they progress, results become more frequent."

Click-click- A crack appeared in the second tile. The clicks continued. One tile spread. The Shadow stepped forward, hand extended. Greel uttered a clucked cry and sprang forward. He seized his visitor's arm and swung him away from the cracking tiles. In his anxiety, Greel used force; and it was well that he did.

Scarcely had The Shadow staggered to a stop before the tiles split wide apart. Fragments scattered; one chunk was catapulted straight past the spot where The Shadow had been.

GREEL yanked the switch to stop the motor. He tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his withered forehead.

"The power is tremendous!" explained the inventor. "There is enough force in that machine to cleave stone walls, even though it requires no more than an ordinary electric light circuit!"

"Astonishing!" remarked The Shadow, examining a piece of broken tile. "How long would the processrequire with a heavy wall?"

"A long while," admitted Greel. "Months, perhaps, unless a heavier current were employed. Then, of course, the process would be speeded."

"But of what advantage is the device?" inquired The Shadow. "It works only from the interior so far as I can understand."

"Ah, no!" Greel bunched the k.n.o.bs and thrust them through a wide, concave disk, that looked like a plate with a hole in the center. "This demonstrates the exterior process."

He brought another slab of tile from beneath the table and laid it on the wooden block. He pushed the edges of the disk against the slab. A rubber fringe caused suction. Greel turned on the motor.

"Those tentacles will work their way into the stone," he predicted. "Once they have begun to grip, their efficiency will increase. We must allow a longer time; that is all."

Apparently, the inventor was willing to chat while the demonstration was in progress.

"What is the commercial use of the machine?" queried The Shadow.

"I intended it for the demolition of old buildings," replied Greel. "With many vibrators working, under the impetus of a heavy current, the device would crumble the strongest foundations-particularly those of old structures, wherein these electric tentacles might gain crevices."

"And the device has been marketed?"

"Yes, but in a peculiar way." Greel shook his head. "I was approached by a man named Brindell, the head of the Industrial Mining Corporation."

"A mine operator?"

"No. On the contrary, Brindell owns no mines. He deals in mining equipment. He bought the rights to my machine, to use it in drilling mine shafts."