Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 014 - Hidden Death

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HIDDEN DEATH
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. CARDONA HAS A HUNCH
? CHAPTER II. A STRANGE DEATH
? CHAPTER III. THE SECOND MESSAGE
? CHAPTER IV. CARDONA MAKES PLANS
? CHAPTER V. DEATH IN THE DARK
? CHAPTER VI. DEATH UNEXPLAINED
? CHAPTER VII. DEATH CONTINUES
? CHAPTER VIII. A SINGLE CLEW
? CHAPTER IX. THE SHADOW TAKES A HAND
? CHAPTER X. THE WORRIED MAN
? CHAPTER XI. AN INTERRUPTED WARNING
? CHAPTER XII. DEATH TO THE SHADOW!
? CHAPTER XIII. HOMER SPEAKS
? CHAPTER XIV. THE SHADOW SEEKS
? CHAPTER XV. THE FOURTH VICTIM
? CHAPTER XVI. THE SHADOW'S WORK
? CHAPTER XVII. THE THREE CLEWS
? CHAPTER XVIII. THE HAND OF THE SHADOW
? CHAPTER XIX. THE WORD OF THE SHADOW
? CHAPTER XX. THE SHOT THAT TOLD
? CHAPTER XXI. THE HIDDEN TRAP
? CHAPTER XXII. THE SHADOW INTERVENES
? CHAPTER XXIII. MURDER WILL OUT
? CHAPTER XXIV. THE LAST DEATH
CHAPTER I. CARDONA HAS A HUNCH
RALPH WESTON, police commissioner, was seated at his desk. With one elbow on the broad,
glass-topped surface, he rested his chin upon his hand and stared intently at Detective Joe Cardona.
It was the first meeting between the recently appointed police commissioner and the ace detective, who
was recognized as the best sleuth in New York.
Beside the commissioner's elbow rested a large stack of typewritten reports. He had been referring to
these.
Now, with the detective actually present, Weston tapped the pile of papers as he spoke.
“I have been studying your records, Cardona,” he said. “I wish to commend you upon the capability
which you have displayed. You have been a most important factor in the combat against crime.”
Cardona, swarthy and stern-visaged, showed no change of expression as he heard the compliment.
Weston's commendation pleased him, but the detective had a habit of maintaining his poker face under all
circumstances.
Weston, keenly observant, smiled thoughtfully as he watched the detective.
“I have made an exhaustive survey of your work,” the commissioner continued. “I find that you possess a
remarkable aptitude in the practical solution of crime problems.
“I note, however, that you seldom resort to theory. That is the matter which I wish to discuss with you
today.”
Cardona's eyes narrowed as he returned the commissioner's stare.
“Just what do you regard as theory, commissioner?” he questioned.
“All crimes,” explained Weston, “demand a double treatment. Practical methods, such as arrests, grilling,
dragnets, and the like, are useful in the majority of cases. Theory, in which crime is considered as a
serious study, is just as essential as practice when one is confronted by a baffling problem.”
“That's well and good, sir,” declared Cardona. “I use theory, but I mix it with practice. My idea is to get
at the facts in a case. The quicker you do that, the quicker you get results.
“I can track down half a dozen facts while I might be bothering around with one fancy stunt that would
lead to nothing. Get the goods, and forget the rest of it. That's what works!”
The commissioner was silent. A slow, thin smile appeared upon his lips.
The smile made Joe Cardona uneasy. He felt that his emphatic statement was due for a criticism. He
waited, resolved to stand by what he had said.
“You have given me your definite opinion?” questioned the commissioner.
Cardona nodded.
“You actually believe,” continued Weston, “that the final report on a solved case should be free of all
extraneous impressions and unsound notions?”
“Certainly,” said Cardona.
“Then why”—Weston's voice was deliberate as he tapped the typewritten papers—“why have you
frequently left an element of profound uncertainty in connection with cases that you have declared to be
completely closed?”
Cardona looked puzzled. He tried to grasp the commissioner's thoughts, but failed. The detective did not
know what to reply, and Weston seemed to enjoy Cardona's bewilderment.
“Let me speak more specifically,” declared Weston, leaning back in his chair. “In at least six of your
reports, you have referred definitely to one individual, whom you claim has played an important part.
“You have established this person in your own mind. You have linked him with widely differing affairs.
Yet, you have not presented one tangible bit of evidence to prove that this person is a single individual.
“He might be one, as you suggest. He might be three. He might be six. He might”—the commissioner's
voice slowed with emphasis—“he might be none at all!”
“You mean”—Cardona was speaking in a confused manner—“you mean that I —that in those cases—“
“I am referring,” interposed Weston, “to a person whom you have called The Shadow; an individual
whom I am forced to regard as mythical.”
THE words were stunning to Cardona. The detective realized that the commissioner had picked his
weakness.
To Joe Cardona, The Shadow was a most important personage—a living being who fought with crime,
but who had always managed to mask his identity.
Often, during his career, Cardona had been aided by both information and action which had come from
an unknown source. The similarity of these instances had convinced him that one man was back of them
all.
So far, the detective's theory had not been seriously questioned at headquarters. Now, the new police
commissioner had delivered a bombshell, and Cardona was at loss.
“You say that you deal in facts,” came Weston's voice. “Therefore, you should form your conclusions
upon facts.
“So far as The Shadow is concerned, your only identification is that he is a man dressed in black, who
appears and vanishes in a most fantastic fashion!”
“That proves that he is real,” declared Cardona.
“It proves nothing of the sort!” responded Weston. “Suppose, Cardona, that you had come into this
office and found me sitting at this desk, wearing a black cloak and a black hat. In accordance with your
past policy, you could have gone back to headquarters to report that you had seen The Shadow here.
Actually, you would have seen me— with my identity hidden—not even disguised.”
“But the crooks know that The Shadow is real!” protested Cardona. "I've heard dying men call out his
name. I've heard others testify—“
Weston held up his hand, and the detective ended his excited statement.
“What does that prove?” questioned the commissioner smoothly. “It shows one of two things: Either that
certain criminals have been deceived as easily as you, or else that those crooks have taken advantage of
your weakness, and have deceived you.
“Your fault, Cardona, is lack of analysis, so far as this one point is concerned. You have permitted
yourself to fall into an error that could cause you disaster.
“Suppose that criminals at large should learn of this absurd notion? Suppose, also, that your mistaken
judgment should be supported by our other detectives?
“Surely you can see the logical result,” continued the commissioner. “Any malefactor who chose to hide
himself within the folds of a black cloak would enjoy virtual immunity.” The commissioner smiled.
“He could come and go at will—while in their reports, detectives would mention The Shadow—and that
would be the end of it!”
“That's a bit exaggerated, sir,” objected Cardona. “You've got to see my viewpoint. The Shadow doesn't
appear every day in the week— not by a long shot! But whenever he has shown up, it's always helped.
“I didn't have to mention him in my reports. None of that stuff went to the newspapers. At the same time,
I'm positive that The Shadow was in the picture—and it was my job to say so!”
“Cardona,” said Weston seriously, “I gave you an exaggerated impression merely to enable you to
appreciate your own mistakes.
“No thinking man could share your views on this matter of The Shadow. Let us agree that some
unknown person, or persons, can be connected with certain crimes that have occurred.
“To give that person, or those persons, an identity that is vague and uncertain is an unwarranted
procedure.
“As your superior, I am instructing you at this time to make no such references in the future. Should you
discover any one who has cloaked himself in black and has adopted the name of The Shadow, you may
make a report to that effect.
“'John Doe, alias The Shadow,' would be an actuality. The Shadow— as a personality—is nonexistent.
Is that clear?”
Cardona nodded. He saw perfectly the commissioner's point. Weston was right. Nevertheless, Cardona
could not fully reject his own impressions.
“Have you talked with Inspector Klein?” Cardona asked. “He knows something about this—“
“I have held a discussion with Inspector Klein,” interrupted Weston, “and his views are in accord with
mine. He has never accepted your view that The Shadow was an actual person.
“Nevertheless, Klein recognized your capability, and accepted your reports in a negative way. When I
made it a definite issue with him, he admitted that the only logical viewpoint was the one which I hold.
“On that account, I decided to discuss the matter with you personally.”
“Suppose,” said Cardona, “that I run into another case in which The Shadow figures; that is”—he made
a hasty correction—“a case in which I think The Shadow figures. What am I to do about it?”
“THAT is easily answered,” smiled the commissioner. “You will merely be dealing with a person
unknown.
“If that person could be apprehended, you should make it your duty to capture him. If there should be no
reason to make an arrest of the anonymous person, then take no action.
“Forget your preconceived notion that you are dealing with a mysterious individual who possesses a
fantastic identity. However, I do not think that you will encounter the difficulty in the future.”
“Why, sir?”
“Because, Cardona, I have arranged to make a very valuable series of experiments. In going over your
records, I find that your capability is unexcelled—so far as practical methods are concerned. Whatever
theoretical ability you possess is chiefly intuitive.”
“I follow hunches,” said Cardona. “Is that what you mean?”
“Exactly,” resumed the commissioner warmly. “But you do not possess the faculty of analyzing those
impressions. Usually, your practical methods come to your aid. But they have failed—and will always fail
- when circumstances depend solely upon deductive reasoning.
“I do not hold to the opinion that theoretical reasoning is the proper method of combating crime. I do
believe, however, that when baffling and unexplainable mysteries occur, the ideal detective must turn to
deduction.
“Therefore, I intend to combine practice with theory. I have selected you as the practical man. I have
also selected a man who should prove to be an excellent theorist.
“He is Professor Roger Biscayne, whose experiments in psychology have included an exhaustive study of
the criminal mind.
“I do not consider Biscayne a detective; but I am positive that, as an analyst, he can produce remarkable
results.
“I am withholding my experiment until some unusual crime occurs. Then I shall have Biscayne cooperate
with you in its solution.”
As Weston finished speaking, he fancied that he saw resentfulness in Cardona's eyes. The commissioner
could understand it.
There was every reason why the detective should regard this scheme as a form of interference with his
work. Weston, accordingly, made a definite effort to curb Cardona's budding antagonism.
“You will understand,” he said, “that Professor Biscayne is not seeking publicity, nor is he desirous of
taking credit that should rightfully belong to you.
“He agrees with me in the opinion that he will learn more from you than you could possibly learn from
him. He will not be officially employed in this work.
“He has always commended the methods of professional detectives. I can safely predict that when
Biscayne publishes his next book on psychology, his references to your work will add greatly to the fine
reputation that you have already gained.”
The tone of the commissioner's voice as well as his actual words were pleasing to Joe Cardona. They
showed him that Ralph Weston would be a valuable friend in the future.
He realized that he held a high position in the new commissioner's esteem, and that Weston's power and
influence could be used to advantage.
“I get your idea, commissioner,” said Cardona. “You can count on me. I'll be glad to work with the
professor. I've got plenty to learn - I find that out the older I get!
“If the professor can figure out where my hunches come from, it will please me plenty.”
“Excellent!” declared Weston. “I am glad that you like the plan. Should you encounter a crime that
involves a mysterious, unknown individual, your contact with Biscayne will prove of advantage to you.
“Reverting to the matter of The Shadow, I want you to remember what I have said. Avoid references to
such an uncertain quantity. The Shadow—as you have described him—can be regarded only as an
impossibility!
“I shall instruct Inspector Klein to notify me of the first crime that seems well suited to my experiment.
“There is, at present, no case which calls for cooperation between yourself and Professor Biscayne. We
may have to wait a considerable length of time.”
“Maybe not, commissioner,” declared Cardona suddenly.
The detective drew an envelope from his pocket. It had been cut open at the top. Cardona extracted a
folded sheet of paper and passed it, with the empty envelope, across the desk.
THE envelope was addressed to police headquarters. It was typed in capital letters. Weston opened the
sheet of paper and read the typed statement that appeared within:
IN MEMORY OF
S. H.
WHO DIED
LAST NIGHT
HE WAS THE FIRST
“When did this come in?” asked the commissioner, frowning at the document.
“Yesterday morning,” declared Cardona. “It was mailed night before last. Postmarked ten o'clock.”
“It looks like an ordinary crank note,” said Weston. “We get hundreds of them. Did any person with the
initials 'S. H.' die two nights ago?”
“Not to my knowledge. We looked through the obituaries yesterday and today. There was no S. H.
among them.”
“Then the letter is a hoax!”
“I'm not sure about that,” stated Cardona. “It's different from the usual crank note. It makes no threats. It
gives no warning. It carries no tip-off to any crime that is now being investigated.
“It is simply a statement of something that has happened. The last line is important. One person has died.
Another death will follow—if the implication is correct.”
“What have you done about it?” Weston asked.
“Nothing—as yet. It may be a crank note, as you say. If it proves to be otherwise, we'll investigate it.
There's only one chance in a hundred that the letter means anything, but I have a hunch that that one
chance is going to hit.”
“A hunch,” repeated Weston slowly. “Well, Cardona, from what I have ascertained, you attach too much
significance to hunches. I prefer to accept the ninety-nine, rather than the one.
“Nearly forty-eight hours have now elapsed since this letter was posted. You believe that it may be
important; I believe that it is not. We shall see who is correct.”
Cardona felt a return of resentfulness as the commissioner tossed the letter and the envelope across the
desk. He wisely veiled his feeling, but he did not like Weston's attitude.
It had been a mistake to mention this letter, Cardona felt; and to argue the subject would only make his
position worse. So he placed the paper in the envelope and pocketed it.
He looked glumly toward Weston. Before the commissioner had more to say, the telephone rang.
Weston answered the ring and passed the telephone to Cardona.
“Inspector Klein is calling,” he said. “I suppose he wants to speak to you, Cardona.”
The commissioner saw the detective's eyes narrow as he received the message. There was eagerness in
Cardona's voice as he gave short, quick response to the words that he was hearing.
“I'll be over right away!” said Cardona. “It's five thirty, now. I'll be there before six!”
He hung up the receiver and looked at the commissioner. Cardona spoke and reached in his pocket at
the same time.
“An old man found dead,” he said. “Shot through the heart. An old inventor. Living alone in an apartment
at the Redan Hotel.”
Weston looked up inquiringly.
“The dead man's name is Silas Harshaw!” added Cardona.
Weston noted an emphasis on the name. “Silas Harshaw?” he repeated. "Who is Silas Harshaw?”
Cardona flung the envelope triumphantly upon the table, and stared squarely at the commissioner.
“Silas Harshaw,” said the detective, “is S. H.!”
CHAPTER II. A STRANGE DEATH
EARLY evening found Detective Joe Cardona in Silas Harshaw's apartment at the Redan Hotel. There,
the detective anxiously awaited the arrival of Commissioner Ralph Weston.
The death of the old inventor was the very type of mystery that the commissioner had been awaiting.
Harshaw's suite occupied one entire side of the building. It was on the top floor of the old hotel.
Cardona stood at the entrance of the apartment, beside the door which had been smashed from its
hinges.
Within the apartment was Detective Sergeant Mayhew, who was taking orders from Cardona.
A clinking sound announced the ascending of the elevator. The slow-moving car was on its way to the
tenth floor. When it arrived, two men stepped out.
One was Commissioner Weston. The other was a tall, stoop-shouldered man, whose shrewd eyes
peered through gold-rimmed spectacles. The man's high forehead and overhanging brow indicated him a
scholar.
Cardona divined that this was Professor Roger Biscayne. The introduction proved him to be correct.
Cardona was about to lead the way into the apartment when the commissioner stopped him.
“Let us go over this, step by step,” he suggested. “So far, neither Professor Biscayne nor myself know
what has happened here.
“We have been discussing Silas Harshaw on the way to this place, and I find that Professor Biscayne
knew the old man. Therefore, he may be able to give us some unexpected assistance.”
“Very well,” said Cardona. “This afternoon, Doctor George Fredericks, Harshaw's physician, called at
the hotel and asked if the old man was in his apartment.
“Harshaw had no telephone in the place. He wanted to be alone and undisturbed. A boy came up and
tapped at the door. There was no response.
“Doctor Fredericks expressed anxiety. He stated that he feared something had happened to the old man.
“A policeman was summoned. It was necessary to smash the door off its hinges, as it was double-bolted
on the inside. There is the wreckage.”
Cardona led the way into a plainly furnished living room and indicated another door at the rear of the
room. Like the first, this door was broken also.
“No one was in here,” declared Cardona, “nor was any one in the room that Harshaw used as a
laboratory”—he pointed to the other side of the living room —“so they broke into the old man's study.
There, they found his body.”
The three men walked into the study. The doorway formed an entrance at one corner. The study was a
long room, with a single window at the far end.
The window was open; but it was covered with an iron grating. It had a projecting sill, beneath which
was a radiator. In front of the window lay the body of Silas Harshaw, sprawled face upward.
As the men approached, they saw a bloody wound in the old man's chest.
A SINGLE bullet had ended the life of Silas Harshaw. Here, in this locked and secluded room, he had
been shot to death. Cardona pointed to a door at the side of the room.
“That's the bedroom,” he said. “It only has one door, opening off this room. It has two windows, both
with gratings. Nothing in there. That's the layout, commissioner.
“Old Harshaw very seldom let visitors in here. He usually met them in the outer room.”
Commissioner Weston turned to Professor Biscayne.
“Tell Cardona what you know about the place,” he said.
“I am familiar with this room,” declared Biscayne. “I visited Silas Harshaw here, perhaps a half dozen
times, in the course of the last six months.
“I suppose that you have learned a great deal about him already; let me give you the information which I
possess. Then you can check with what you have discovered.
“Silas Harshaw was working on an invention—a remote-control machine. He was very secretive about
his plans, and he had very little success in interesting people in them.
“He wrote to me and asked me to visit him, which I did, about six months ago. The old man took me to
his laboratory and brought me in here. He showed me just enough of his work to arouse my interest.
“Then it developed that he wanted me to influence my cousin, Arthur Wilhelm, to invest money in the
experiments.”
“Arthur Wilhelm, the soap manufacturer?” inquired Cardona.
“Yes,” replied Biscayne. “Arthur is very wealthy. He agreed to let Silas Harshaw have three thousand
dollars as a preliminary fund. Harshaw went to work, and I came here occasionally to see how he was
progressing. My last visit was two days ago.
“I came here late in the afternoon. Harshaw's servant, a man named Homer, let me in. Harshaw met me
and brought me into this room.
“He said that he was going out for an hour, and asked me to remain here. He gave me a manuscript that
he had written on remote control. I read it during his absence. It was crudely scrawled, in longhand, and
was very vague in its details.
“After Harshaw returned, he asked me if I could obtain more money from Arthur Wilhelm. I said that I
would find out; but I offered no assurance.
“I left at seven o'clock, and Homer went with me. The servant told me that he had been discharged, and
that he was not coming back. He did not know why Harshaw had dismissed him. I could have told him,
but I refrained from doing so.”
“Why was that?” asked Cardona.
“First,” explained Biscayne, “I think Harshaw must have mistrusted the man. I don't think he ever left
Homer here alone. He insisted that I bolt the door while I was inside here, two days ago.
“Second, Harshaw was planning to take a trip to Florida, for his health. He told me that in confidence.
Naturally, he would not need the servant while he was gone. He did not want people to know of his
absence.”
“Do you think,” questioned Cardona, “that Harshaw was afraid some one might try to get in here and
steal his plans?”
“Yes,” replied Biscayne, “I do. He told me once that he had a model of his remote-control machine, and
that he had put it where no one could possibly find it. He also spoke vaguely of enemies.
“He said—I can recall his exact words—that he kept their names in his head, and that was where he
kept his plans, also. He said that they would like to steal his model, but that he had planned to prevent
them.
“He mentioned those enemies two nights ago, and his remarks might have been construed as threats
against those unknown persons. But he was so vague and eccentric in all his statements that it was
difficult to get his exact meaning.”
“Do you really think that he had enemies?” Cardona asked.
Biscayne replied with a broad smile:
“Perhaps they were actual only in his own head—as he himself said. Harshaw was an interesting but
complex study in psychology, and my contact with him was too occasional to enable me to fathom him.”
CARDONA drew a report sheet from his pocket and referred to notations which he had made.
“We have covered just about everything that you have told me, professor,” said the detective. “We have
tried to trace Harshaw's servant. The man's name is Homer Briggs. We have been unable to locate him.
“We learned at the desk that you and Homer left here two nights ago. About an hour afterward,
Harshaw came downstairs and made a telephone call. He went back to his apartment.
“He was not seen after that. The police surgeon who examined the body believes that Harshaw was shot
some time before midnight—the same night.”
“Within the last forty-eight hours,” observed Weston.
“Yes,” said Cardona. “I am expecting Doctor Fredericks, now. He is coming in from Long Island.
Perhaps he can give us more information.”
The police commissioner was walking about the study, examining the place with curiosity. Cardona
began to point out certain objects, and Biscayne intervened to explain a few points of Silas Harshaw's
eccentricities.
“The old man was a great student of chess,” he said, indicating a small table with an inlaid board and
expensive chessmen.
“I don't think he played a great deal, but I know that he spent much time over problems. That is a sign of
a mind that is both self-centered and unusual —perhaps an eccentric one.
“He was an expert mechanic, and he was constantly forgetting his important work to toy with other
devices. You will find an odd assortment of peculiar contrivances in the room he used for both workshop
and laboratory.
“He devoted a great deal of time to chemical experiments. One other oddity was a passing interest he
had in crude modeling and sculpture. Here is an indication of it.”
Biscayne pointed to a table in the front corner of the room. Along with other crudely fashioned subjects
was a bust of somewhat less than life-size.
It bore a striking resemblance to the dead man by the window. It was evidently an attempt at a likeness
of Silas Harshaw, made by the old man himself. All the modelings were formed of hard clay, as Weston
discovered by inspection.
The commissioner turned around to speak to Biscayne, and noted that the professor and Cardona had
gone to look at the dead man.
Before Weston could join them, Detective Mayhew entered, accompanied by a stout, middle-aged man.
The newcomer was Doctor George Fredericks. He had already seen Harshaw's body that afternoon, but
had been forced to leave when the police surgeon arrived.
Fredericks had been at a Long Island hospital until an hour ago. He had hurried back to the city.
“Tell us what you knew about Silas Harshaw, doctor,” said Cardona.
“He was a sick man,” said Fredericks solemnly. “His heart was bad; his blood pressure was high. He
was in poor condition, generally. I advised him to take a trip South; to stay away from his laboratory and
forget his experiments for a while.
“He called me up, two nights ago, to say that he was leaving the next day. I told him to call at my office
for a prescription.”
“That explains the eight-o'clock phone call,” interposed Cardona.
摘要：

HIDDENDEATHMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2002BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.CARDONAHASAHUNCH?CHAPTERII.ASTRANGEDEATH?CHAPTERIII.THESECONDMESSAGE?CHAPTERIV.CARDONAMAKESPLANS?CHAPTERV.DEATHINTHEDARK?CHAPTERVI.DEATHUNEXPLAINED?CHAPTERVII.DEATHCONTINUES?CHAPTERVIII.ASINGLECLEW?CHAPTER...

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