The Shadow - The Sledge Hammer Crimes Part 11

Clyde had previously thought it over.

So had The Shadow. Cardona's new suspicions would be something to report.

OUTSIDE Lettigue's, Clyde saw Harry's car. Leaning from Joe's machine, Clyde flicked a cigarette b.u.t.t and followed with a hand signal. Harry caught it and responded. Both agents understood. Harry knew that he was to start back to Manhattan and get instructions from Burbank. Clyde knew that Lettigue had not left his driveway.

As they pulled into Lettigue's, Cardona slowed his car. He looked sharply toward the side of the house, then nudged Clyde. The latter saw a squatty, square-shouldered man sliding from a door that led into the house near Lettigue's study. The man darted a hasty look toward the car. Clyde spied a darkish, hard-set face. Then the man was off, heading to a rear gate at the hedge.

"I know that bird," a.s.serted Cardona, as he pulled up in front of the house. "I'd give ten bucks to know what he was out here for."

"Probably to talk with Lettigue," prompted Clyde.

"Wise-cracking, eh?" snorted Cardona. "Sure, he was out here to talk with Lettigue. But what about?"

"Who is the fellow?"

"He runs a private detective agency. That's what it amounts to, although he calls himself a special investigator. His name is Clinton Jorn -"

Cardona paused momentarily. He did not notice the sudden interest that Clyde displayed.

"And he has a partner," added Cardona. "Tom d.y.k.el-who's a smart bird, too. Not as smart as Jorn, though he -"

They were stepping from the car. Clyde preserved silence as they rang the door bell. There was a long interval. Finally, Daniel, the butler, appeared in answer.

"Mr. Lettigue is not at home," began the servant. "If you care to wait -"

"Not at home?" demanded Cardona. "When did he go out?"

"About a half hour ago, sir."

Clyde sprang a quick one.

"We've been out front for the last half hour," remarked the reporter, shooting a look at Cardona. "It must have been before that when Mr. Lettigue went."

"He went out by the rear wicket," stated Daniel, uneasily. "His car is not kept here. It is in a garage, beyond the back of this estate."

"Going for a trip, eh?" snapped Cardona.

"Only to the village," returned Daniel. "Perhaps to the float, to inspect his new motor boat. He will be back soon -" "Who went with him? The fellow who was just here?"

Daniel looked blank. He shook his head.

"No one was here to see Mr. Lettigue. Positively no one. If you saw any one on the premises, the person was a trespa.s.ser."

"And I suppose," put in Cardona, "that you keep a lookout for trespa.s.sers?"

"Usually, sir. But I have been lax to-day. I was busied with work upstairs. I went there just after Mr.

Lettigue left -"

"All right." Cardona ended the explanations. "Show us into the study, Daniel. We'll wait for Mr. Lettigue."

THERE was no chance for Clyde to contact Burbank. It was hardly necessary, though, for Clyde had no idea where Clinton Jorn had gone. It was annoying to know that he had spotted the missing investigator.

Clyde could only hope that Harry Vincent would have a similar break.

His hope was to be realized.

It was nearly five o'clock when Harry arrived outside of Jorn's building to relieve Moe Shrevnitz. He found the hackie leaning from the cab. Moe nudged a thumb toward the building.

"Jorn's in," whispered Moe. "Blew in from somewhere, in a big hurry. His pal's with him."

"d.y.k.el?" queried Harry.

Moe nodded.

"Jorn must have met him somewhere. They were talking a lot when Jorn parked. That's his car over there. He was lucky to grab a s.p.a.ce."

Harry entered the building. He went up the stairs and found Jorn's office. He could hear voices buzzing beyond the door. Harry knocked. A tall, slouchy man answered. Harry saw a sharp look on the fellow's long-jawed face.

"Mr. Jorn?" queried Harry.

"No," was the answer. "I'm Mr. d.y.k.el. Step in; maybe Mr. Jorn will see you. What's the name?"

Harry gave it. d.y.k.el stepped into the inner office; held conference; then returned.

"Mr. Jorn will see you."

Harry entered the office to find a squatty, darkish man awaiting him. Jorn motioned him to a chair on the side of the desk. Harry took it, while Jorn eyed the clean-cut countenance of his visitor.

Harry Vincent was calm. He had reached an important goal. It was his task, as an agent of The Shadow, to parry well in the coming conversation with Clinton Jorn.

CHAPTER XIV. THE VITAL HOUR.

"YOU came to see me earlier?"

Clinton Jorn shot the question at Harry Vincent. It was plain that the squatty investigator wanted to knowif Harry had been calling at the closed office. Harry was ready for such a question. He had talked with Burbank.

That, in fact, was why he had not reached the office ahead of Jorn.

"I stopped by, early in the afternoon." Harry, in giving this reply, was thinking of Clyde Burke as proxy.

"But your office was closed -"

"I was out of town," interposed Jorn. "Had a case in Philadelphia. Mr. d.y.k.el was down there with me."

The statement struck Harry as an alibi, even though he did not know that Jorn had been seen recently on Long Island.

"One of us is usually here," continued Jorn, glibly. "You just happened to pick an odd day to call, Mr.

Vincent. But since you are here, I would like to know your business. You have a case for me?"

Harry nodded.

"I'd like to get inside facts on a certain stock promotion," he told Jorn. "One that concerns some Oklahoma oil wells. A friend of mine invested heavily; but I'm afraid he met up with a gyp concern. Do you handle such investigations, Mr. Jorn?"

"My specialty," replied the investigator. Then, his face furrowing: "That is, d.y.k.el and I have handled a few cases of the sort. When I said it was my specialty, I mean that we have had good results with the few jobs that we have undertaken in that line."

Jorn had glibly covered his first slip. He had mixed in more cases of this sort than he cared to mention.

Harry thought of Century Burglary Alarm and Industrial Mining. He was sure that Jorn knew details of how those concerns had been manipulated.

Probably, Jorn had once dealt with Jerry Quimble. Yet it would be difficult to guess Jorn's connection.

Jorn was the type of fellow who might be on either side of the fence.

"I have the oil prospectus at my hotel," remarked Harry. "I can bring it here, Mr. Jorn; or perhaps you could have dinner with me. I am stopping at the Metrolite."

Jorn considered. Harry made an added invitation.

"And Mr. d.y.k.el, also -"

"I think we can make it," decided Jorn. He glanced at his watch: "Quarter past five. Well, I'm expecting some telephone calls. Possibly an appointment later. At any rate, d.y.k.el and I should be free by seven o'clock. Would that be suitable?"

"Yes," agreed Harry. "Could you come directly from the office?"

"Pretty near," replied Jorn. "d.y.k.el will probably leave early, to go to the Almeda, where he lives. I could pick him up there in a cab -"

THE telephone bell interrupted. Jorn picked up the receiver. He began a terse conversation.

"Yeah... It's done..." Jorn was emphatic. "Yeah, I meant what I said... No, I haven't changed my mind since our talk. The extra cash has got to come, or I'll queer the deal.

"That's better... Yeah, I figured you'd think it over after what I'd told you... Six o'clock? Sure. I'll behere...Six o'clock...

Jorn hung up. A satisfied expression showed upon his face. Methodically, he picked up a pencil and opened an appointment book. Harry noted two pages: one-yesterday's-contained a list of names.

To-day's page was blank.

Jorn placed the pencil point in the s.p.a.ce beside six o'clock. Harry saw the pencil poise, as if Jorn were about to inscribe a name. Then the investigator thought better. He lifted the pencil from the book, leaving the appointment s.p.a.ce nameless. He pocketed the pencil and closed the book.

d.y.k.el was at the door. The tall man's face showed interest.

"Was it -"

d.y.k.el stopped, not mentioning a name. Jorn grinned and nodded.

"It was," he replied. "He came through, like I expected. Said he'd been thinking matters over."

"He'll pay the dough?"

"He'd better. You know how easily we could crimp him."

"Sure. If you spilled the word in the right place, it would mean greased skids for -"

Again, d.y.k.el stopped. This time, Jorn had made a warning gesture. To Harry Vincent came the positive thought that he had landed the final trail.

The man who had spoken to Jorn was the fiend who had murdered Lewis Lemand and Rufus Moreland.

The same supercrook who had gained huge spoils through crime. Jorn was deep in the game; yet, true to form, he was staying close to the fence.

More money. That was what Jorn had demanded to further the master crook's schemes. He had talked with the fiend himself, to give a final ultimatum.

When had that conference been held? To-day?

Not necessarily. It might have been held shortly after the first crime. Even, in fact, before crime had reared its head. But those considerations were unimportant. The vital matter was that the superkiller was coming here to see Jorn in person, at six o'clock.

The Shadow must be informed at once.

"I'll see you later, Mr. Jorn." Harry had risen. "At seven o'clock. I'll be in the lobby of the Metrolite. And Mr. d.y.k.el -"

"Will be with me. He'll leave earlier. But I'll stop for him at the Almeda. It's near the Metrolite."

HARRY departed. He descended the stairs and reached the street. Moe was still parked beside the curb. Harry slipped the news to the hackie. Moe sped away, while Harry crossed the street. There, Harry found a good watch post in a side-arm restaurant. He ordered coffee and kept watch through the hash-house window.

Harry could see the door of Jorn's building, but not the lobby within. There was only one used entrance, however, so the watching post was a good one. Harry could observe all who entered or departed. He intended to keep vigil until The Shadow's arrival. Five minutes after Harry had taken his new post, d.y.k.el strolled from the office building and walked westward. Harry guessed that Jorn's partner was en route to the Almeda Hotel.

AT Sanbrook Greel's, The Shadow was seated in front of a table. He was in the inventor's improvised laboratory, watching vibrators at work within slabs of tile. These slabs were of triple thickness. Greel was demonstrating the full worth of his electrical machine.

The inventor was not about. Greel had gone to a storeroom in the bas.e.m.e.nt, to obtain larger slabs of tile.

He had warned his visitor not to stay too close to the clamped tiles.

The Shadow had been studying the tiles for more than twenty minutes, observing them from every angle.

He looked up as Greel entered, carrying an armful of small, thick oblong slabs.

"Any cracks yet?" queried the inventor.

"None," replied The Shadow.

Greel glanced at his watch and shook his head in disappointment.