Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 098 - The Third Shadow

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THE THIRD SHADOW
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. THE MAN IN THE CAB
? CHAPTER II. DEATH AFTER DUSK
? CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW DEDUCES
? CHAPTER IV. ONE MAN SEES
? CHAPTER V. THE SECOND SHADOW
? CHAPTER VI. SPOILS TO THE VICTOR
? CHAPTER VII. ONE MAN RETURNS
? CHAPTER VIII. THE SHADOW LEARNS
? CHAPTER IX. THE MAN FROM HAVANA
? CHAPTER X. SHADOWS OF NIGHT
? CHAPTER XI. A BIG SHOT PLANS
? CHAPTER XII. THE LINK TO CRIME
? CHAPTER XIII. CLOAKED RIVALS MEET
? CHAPTER XIV. THE NAME IN THE BOOK
? CHAPTER XV. SHADOW VERSUS SHADOW
? CHAPTER XVI. THE SHADOW KNOWS
? CHAPTER XVII. WESTON TAKES ADVICE
? CHAPTER XVIII. CROOKS SURPRISED
? CHAPTER XIX. SPARKLER'S STORY
? CHAPTER XX. DEATH IS DEALT
? CHAPTER XXI. CRIME'S AFTERMATH
CHAPTER I. THE MAN IN THE CAB
TRAFFIC was jammed about Times Square. The rush hour was on; a heavy drizzle added its impeding
influence. Umbrella-laden pedestrians were blundering across crowded sidewalks; while taxicabs and
other vehicles were skidding to sudden stops along the slippery paving.
A sallow, long-faced taxi driver was peering from the wheel of his parked cab. He was stationed on an
eastbound street, fifty yards east of Broadway. Though his spot was a gloomy one, the cabby had high
hopes of a passenger. On nights like this, wise persons who were seeking cabs invariably picked those
that were parked away from heavy traffic.
Looking backward along the street, the cab driver was watching pedestrians on the other side. He was
ready to hail any prospective customer who might be walking eastward. The cabby was counting upon a
lucky break. He gained one unexpectedly. A man stepped up suddenly from the sidewalk on the right
side of the cab, opened the door and clambered aboard.
The taxi driver heard the door slam. He swung about and looked through the partition to see a muffled
man, whose overcoat collar was high above his chin. The driver spied the outline of a whitish face
beneath a derby. He inquired:
"What address, sir?"
Huskily, the passenger gave an address near Park Avenue, on a side street. His voice choked as he
completed the statement; and he followed with a spasm of heavy coughing. The driver started the taxi
forward. The coughing ended; the passenger leaned forward and put a wheezy question:
"What time is it?"
The taxi driver pulled a cheap watch from his pocket and consulted it as he guided the cab toward Sixth
Avenue. The light from a small hotel front enabled him to note the time.
"Quarter of six," said the driver. "I'll get you there in ten minutes, sir."
Swinging left on Sixth Avenue, the driver encountered trouble beneath the pillars of the elevated. Traffic
was badly jammed; the cause was visible after the cab had managed to proceed one block. Smoke was
pouring from the front of a little Chinese laundry; three fire trucks were on hand, dealing with the blaze.
A hoarse ejaculation of impatience came from the passenger in the cab. The driver responded. Without
waiting for traffic to unsplice, he swung across to the left of the avenue; bucked oncoming cars, then
thrust the cab between the "el" pillars toward his right. Skidding across the path of a southbound trolley
car, he gained the slippery northbound tracks.
Safe from disaster, the driver regained control and spun for a right turn at the next eastbound street. An
arm-waving traffic cop certified the driver's action. Away from the jam, the cab sped eastward.
THE cabby was still grinning over his smartness when he pulled up at the destination. He had made the
trip in the ten minutes that he had estimated. A grunt of approval came from the muffled passenger. Then
an inquiry:
"Do you have change for a large bill?"
The driver fished in his pocket.
"For five bucks," he stated. "Wait - maybe I've got enough change for a tenner -"
"A twenty is my smallest," interposed the passenger, huskily. "Here. Take this to the drug store." He
thrust a twenty-dollar bill from a gloved hand. "Tell them it's change for Mr. Yorne. Bring the change to
my house. The name is on the door-plate: 'Lucian Yorne.'"
The passenger stooped his head. The driver knew that he was reading the registration card, whereon the
driver's own name - Luke Ronig - appeared with his photograph. A natural precaution, since the
passenger was risking twenty dollars on Ronig's honesty. The driver saw his fare alight; he watched the
muffled man ascend the brownstone steps of an old house.
Stepping from the cab, Ronig went to the drug store, which was at the corner, forty paces distant. The
clerks were busy; it was a few minutes before one of them received Ronig's request to change a twenty.
The clerk looked dubious, until he heard that the change was for Mr. Lucian Yorne. Then he changed the
bill immediately.
"Talking to Mr. Yorne, were you?" he inquired.
Ronig nodded.
"How was his cold?"
"Sounded pretty bad. His voice was husky; he coughed like he was goin' to crack apart."
"Too bad. He's been that way for a week. Only yesterday, I told him he ought to stay indoors. Said he
was too busy - didn't even have time to see a physician."
Carrying the change in his fist, Ronig left the drug store and went back to Yorne's house. He noted the
name-plate as he rang the bell. A minute passed; then the door was opened by a tall, weary-faced
servant whom Ronig took for an Englishman.
"Change for Mr. Yorne," he informed. "He told me to bring it to him."
"You may deliver the money to me," informed the servant, dryly. "I am Parlington, Mr. Yorne's butler.
Kindly wait here a few moments, please."
The change amounted to nineteen dollars and forty cents. Parlington was counting it as Ronig watched
him cross a gloomy hall and enter the distant door of a lighted room, which, from its location, might have
been a study.
Ronig waited; the hall was silent except for the ticking of an old-fashioned grandfather's clock that
registered a few minutes past six. The taxi driver compared the time with his watch. While he was doing
this, he heard the sound of Yorne's hacking cough, coming from the open door of the distant study.
Half a minute later, Parlington returned. Eyeing the taxi driver rather dourly, the butler inquired:
"Your name is Luke Ronig?"
Ronig nodded.
"Mr. Yorne wanted to be sure," informed Parlington. "He does not trust cab drivers, as a rule. He saw
your name on the card; so he told me to make positive that you were the right man."
"What's that got to do with it?" demanded Ronig. "I showed up with the dough, didn't I? Say -"
"Here is your tip," interrupted Parlington, frigidly. He handed Ronig forty cents. "Good evening."
RONIG pocketed the change. Parlington opened the door; the cabby went out and boarded his taxi. He
headed for an avenue, swung southward and kept on until he reached a westbound street. Turning into
that thoroughfare, Ronig looked over the pedestrians whom he passed. He pulled up to the curb and
hailed a shabbily dressed man who was shambling through the drizzle.
"Hey, fellow!" greeted Ronig. "You walkin' over to Broadway?"
The shabby man nodded.
"Hop aboard," invited the cab driver. "I'll give you a lift; and a dime besides, for a cup of Java."
The shambler grinned as be climbed into the back of the cab.
"I get the idea," he chuckled. "Them coppers on Sixth Avenue won't let you jam into Broadway with an
empty cab."
"You hit it, buddy," returned Ronig. "Half the cabs in town are over around Times Square, grabbing
fares. The traffic cops keep us out until the lines get short. But they can't stop me if I've got a passenger."
Ronig was right. He crossed Sixth Avenue past the inspecting eye of a watchful traffic officer. When he
neared the Times Square area, he spotted an opening and pulled up to the curb. The shabby man alighted
and the taxi driver handed his fake passenger a dime.
"Here's your change," he said with a grin.
"And here's something for you, hackie," returned the shabby man. He held up an expensive umbrella with
a gold handle. "Just found it on the floor when I was getting out. Guess your last passenger must have left
it."
Ronig looked at the umbrella. Its handle bore the initials "L. Y." The cabby grunted and handed the
shabby finder a quarter.
"I'll get a tip for takin' this where it belongs," said Ronig, "so the two-bits is yours, buddy. L. Y. - those
initials mean Lucian Yorne. That was the name of the guy I just dropped."
"Better charge him for the full distance on the meter."
"Naw! That won't matter. I'm not takin' it back there now. Too much business around here; and there'll
be plenty clear through until after the show-break. Plenty of fares from the theater crowds on a night like
this.
"Yorne will have to wait until midnight for his umbrella. If he's asleep when I stop by there, I'll keep ringin'
until I wake up his funny-faced flunky. Well - so long, buddy."
RONIG stood the gold-handled umbrella beside the driver's seat. The shabby man strolled away; a
minute later, the cabby opened the door for two passengers who had spied his waiting taxi. Soon, Ronig
was on his way again, wangling through traffic, making the most of the rainy weather that every alert taxi
driver welcomes as a boon.
The umbrella was jogging by the cabby's elbow, its gold head catching the colored glimmer of passing
neon lights. It would serve as a reminder of Ronig's later mission. As he drove along, the taxi man was
repeating the names of Yorne and Parlington. He was wondering, too, how much of a reward he might
expect when he returned the expensive umbrella to its owner.
Had Ronig been able to foresee the future, he would not have looked forward to it with pleasure. For
that umbrella was due to cost him much in time and trouble. By the time Luke Ronig returned it, the law
would be investigating the affairs of Lucian Yorne. For crime was abroad upon this drizzly night.
CHAPTER II. DEATH AFTER DUSK
A DOZEN minutes after Luke Ronig had driven from Lucian Yorne's, two other cabs pulled up in front
of the old house near Park Avenue. Two couples alighted from each taxi. Prompt greetings were
exchanged in the rain; then the four - two men and two women - ascended the steps of the house.
Parlington admitted them.
Gravely, the butler greeted the arrivals by name. One was a middle-aged man, whom Parlington
addressed as Mr. Elward; the lady with him was Mrs. Elward. The other man was younger. Parlington
spoke to him as Mr. Renwood. The lady with Renwood was Miss Arthur.
Parlington ushered the guests into Yorne's study. Elward spoke in surprise when he saw that the room
was empty.
"Where is Mr. Yorne?" he inquired. "Ah - I see that he is somewhere about. His coat and hat are hanging
here."
"Mr. Yorne has gone out, sir," put in Parlington.
"But his coat and hat!" repeated Elward. "They are here, Parlington -"
"Only because I insisted that he don fresh garments, sir. His cold is quite severe; it would have been a
great mistake for him to venture forth in a soaked overcoat."
"Yorne is making a mistake to go out at all," interposed Renwood. "You should take better care of him,
Parlington."
"What can I do, sir?" pleaded the butler. "It was six o'clock when Mr. Yorne arrived home. I had been
awaiting his arrival since five. I thought surely that he would stay; instead, he spent only a few minutes
here. He went out, despite my protests."
"Quarter past six," remarked Elward, as the big clock chimed from the hallway. "Mr. Yorne told us that
dinner would be at half past."
"He told me to postpone dinner, sir," stated Parlington. "It will not be served until seven o'clock."
"Then Mr. Yorne will be back by that time?"
"I hope so, sir; but I am not positive. Mr. Yorne said that his guests should begin dinner even if he had
not arrived."
WITH that Parlington left the study and crossed the hall to a kitchen. While the guests chatted among
themselves, the butler brought drinks. After that, they could hear him busied in the kitchen. Parlington
was a capable servant. Despite the fact that he was cook as well as butler, he kept paying frequent visits
to the study to make sure that the guests were constantly supplied with preliminary refreshments.
Conversation was flowing well between the guests. Elward and Renwood were friends of some standing,
although their talk showed that they had not met recently.
"It's good to see you again, Jerry," remarked Elward to Renwood. "I hope business has been picking up
with you."
"Not much, Kent," returned Renwood, with a shake of his head. "Some brokerage offices have been
doing fairly well; but ours has been practically at a standstill. How is the advertising game?"
Kent Elward considered the question, as he puffed at his cigar. He nodded slowly.
"Quite good," he stated, "so far as certain types of accounts are concerned. Jerry, if there happened to
be a way of promoting advertising with certain untouched industries, there would be a fortune in it!"
"You mean that certain businesses do not advertise in proportion to their earnings?"
"Yes. That is when compared with businesses that do advertise. Take Lucian Yorne's business, for
example. He sells jewelry. Does he advertise it?"
"I don't think he does."
"I know that he doesn't. He is connected with the Allied Jewelry Company. Not a line of advertising
comes from their offices. Those offices, by the way, are important enough to occupy a full floor of the
Tower Building, on Thirty-fourth Street."
"But they are wholesalers -"
"Granted. Yet wholesalers advertise in other lines of business. But let us take a more specific case.
Lucian Yorne handles retail accounts. He does not advertise."
"Yorne handles retail? Does he have a store?"
"No. He has a little office on West Forty-third Street. He meets special customers there. That is the only
way he does business. I have known him to carry jewels valued at more than a hundred thousand dollars,
just to display them to special customers."
"Where does he keep all those gems?"
"In the vaults of the Allied Jewelry Company. Of course, I can see why Lucian should preserve secrecy
regarding his present transactions. I find no fault with that procedure. But what I can not understand is
why he does not open a store of his own and keep his jewels there."
"You are right. His special customers could come to the store. He would gain other trade besides."
"Particularly if he advertised. We are back to the original premise, Jerry. If Lucian Yorne -"
Kent Elward paused as Parlington entered. The butler had come to announce that dinner was ready. The
company went to the dining room and began their repast. They dined from seven until eight. Lucian
Yorne did not return.
AFTER dinner, the four guests went back to the study. Jerry Renwood remarked that Lucian Yorne
must have met some special customers. Kent Elward looked worried.
"I doubt that Lucian would have forgotten us," he stated. "He should have called by telephone, to tell us
that he would be delayed. Unless he forgot the time."
Renwood pointed to the desk, where a large gold watch was lying. He turned to Parlington, who had
entered with a tray of cordials.
"Is that Mr. Yorne's watch?" inquired Renwood.
"Yes, sir," answered the butler. "Mr. Yorne forgot the watch two times today. When he went out at
noon; and when he went out just after six."
"That is why Yorne has forgotten the time," said Renwood to Elward. "Don't worry about him, Kent."
An hour passed. It was after nine when the doorbell rang. Parlington answered; the guests expected to
see Lucian Yorne. Renwood remarked, chuckling, that their host must have forgotten his key as well as
his watch. But it was not Yorne who entered the study. The man who came with Parlington was a tall,
bald-headed individual, whose face was serious.
"My name is Loftus," he announced. "Clark Loftus, from Detroit. Two friends and myself had an
appointment with Mr. Yorne, at his Forty-third Street office. We were to meet him there at half past
eight. He did not arrive. His office is locked."
"Mr. Yorne left here a few minutes after six," declared Elward. "We arrived about six-fifteen. We came
to have dinner with him -"
"So the servant tells me," interposed Loftus. "Frankly, gentlemen, it worries me. Mr. Yorne has jewels of
mine, along with others that I had not yet purchased. That is why I came here personally, to talk to him.
My friends are still outside his office."
No one had a suggestion. Loftus went to the telephone.
"Does anyone object to my calling the police?"
There were no objections. Loftus made the call. He turned to the solemn-faced guests.
"Detectives are to meet me outside the office," he stated. "Do any of you wish to come along?"
Elward hesitated; then shook his head.
"No," he decided. "It would be best for us to remain here, in case Lucian arrives. We shall have him call
his office as soon as he comes in."
Clark Loftus bowed, and donned his drizzle-soaked hat. Elward and Renwood followed him to the door.
They saw the stranger enter a waiting taxi cab.
IT was fifteen minutes later when Clark Loftus arrived at a small office building on West Forty-third
Street. A police car was already there; a man in plain clothes stopped the arrival. Loftus identified
himself. The dick nodded.
"Thought it was you," he stated. "Come on up. We've broken into Yorne's office. Inspector Cardona
wants to see you."
Yorne's office was on the second floor. Arriving there, Loftus saw his two friends standing by the door, a
detective beside them. One started to speak; the dick ordered quiet. Loftus stepped into the office. His
path was blocked by a swarthy, stocky man, whom Loftus guessed to be Acting Inspector Cardona.
"What about Yorne?" queried Loftus, anxiously. "Have you found him?"
In reply, Cardona stepped aside. Loftus stared aghast at the sight across the room. There, sprawled in a
swivel chair, lay a man whose outstretched arms hung limply toward the floor. Loftus saw a bloodstained
shirt front; above it, a face that was rigid in death. He recognized the countenance.
"Lucian Yorne!" gasped Loftus. "He - he is dead -"
"Murdered!" added Cardona. "Shot through the heart."
Loftus choked; his words were inarticulate. At last, he managed to gasp:
"But - but we have been here - since half past eight. I heard no shots. Did - did my friends -"
Cardona spoke to a police surgeon who was standing beside the desk. The physician responded.
"This man was slain before half past eight," he stated. "He has been dead at least three hours."
"It is nine-thirty, right now," added Cardona. "That puts the murder at six-thirty or earlier."
"Six-thirty!" exclaimed Loftus. "That is just about the time when Yorne should have arrived here. He left
his residence shortly after six. It's only a dozen minutes or so, by cab."
"A good point," decided Cardona. "We'll go up to the house. I've already ordered two men to be there.
But before we start, there are some questions I'd like you to answer, Mr. Loftus."
IT was nearly eleven when Cardona and Loftus arrived at Yorne's residence. An hour and a half had
cemented their relationship.
Joe Cardona had long been recognized as the ace detective on the New York police force. In the
capacity of acting inspector, he had enlarged his fame. There were times when Cardona was quick to
recognize persons who were free from blame in crime. Tonight was one of them; for Joe's initial suspicion
of Loftus had ended by the time they reached Yorne's.
At the old mansion, Cardona found four very impatient people awaiting him. They were the guests, all
detained by the police.
Cardona listened to Kent Elward and Jerry Renwood. He believed their statement that they had arrived
at six-fifteen. More than that, Elward and his wife both established the fact that they had come directly
from their home; while Renwood proved that he and Miss Arthur had been with friends at a tea dance in
the Hotel Goliath.
"None of you could have been at Yorne's office," stated Cardona, "but that's not the point we're after.
What I want to know is, when and where Lucian Yorne was last seen alive."
"According to Parlington," declared Elward, "he was here between six and six-ten. Long enough to put
on another coat and hat."
"So I've been told." Cardona studied the hat and coat that were hanging in the study. "An old coat and an
old derby just about like the ones that Yorne was wearing when we found his body. What about these?"
Joe turned to Parlington. "Did Yorne generally wear them?"
"No, sir," replied the butler. "He wore them this afternoon because the weather was inclement. I insisted
that he change to his new hat and overcoat, despite the drizzle. He was almost drenched, sir, when he
arrived at six o'clock."
"You're sure it was at six o'clock?"
"Positive, sir! He sent the taxi driver to the drug store to change a twenty-dollar bill. I received the cab
man when he came to the front door."
"A twenty-dollar bill, eh?" queried Cardona. "How many of them did he have?"
"I don't know, sir. Mr. Yorne usually carried at least a hundred dollars."
"No money in his pockets when we found him. Whoever took the jewels must have lifted his cash, too.
Suppose we find out who changed that money down at the drug store."
CARDONA eyed Parlington as if he doubted the servant's story. Parlington noted it and looked
troubled. He began to protest, swearing that his account was a true one. Cardona silenced him.
"Yorne was murdered before six-thirty," emphasized Joe. "He could have left here at six-ten and gone
directly to his office. But we only have one man's statement - yours, Parlington - that Yorne was here.
We need more than that -"
An interruption. An officer had arrived from the front door, bringing a man with him. The fellow was a
taxi driver; he was carrying a gold-headed umbrella. Parlington uttered an ejaculation of happy relief.
"This is the man!" exclaimed the butler. "He brought Mr. Yorne home at six o'clock! He is the taxi driver
who changed the twenty-dollar bill! His name is Ronig -"
"How do you know that?" snapped Cardona.
"His boss told him," put in Ronig. "He took a squint at my license card. Wanted to lamp my mug and my
moniker, in case I didn't show up with the change for his twenty. Then he was dumb enough to leave his
umbrella in my hack. I didn't have a chance to bring it back here until after the show-break."
Another policeman was arriving with the clerk from the corner drug store. This fellow recognized Ronig
and nodded to the taxi driver. Cardona began to quiz the hackie.
Ronig's account was concise. He gave every detail from the moment when his muffled passenger had
entered the cab near Times Square. He gave an imitation of Yorne's husky voice. It was corroborated by
the drug clerk; also by Elward and Renwood.
Parlington identified the umbrella. The initials on the handle supported the butler's testimony. Cardona
took final notes; then announced that his quiz was finished. He departed with Clark Loftus. On the way
to the Detroiter's hotel Cardona delivered an opinion.
"We've established the time of the murder," decided the acting inspector. "According to the facts at hand,
it was between six-twenty and six-thirty. We knew that Yorne was killed before six-thirty; now we've
found out just how long before. What's more, that time element has eliminated three persons who were
pretty close to Yorne.
"Elward - Renwood - Parlington. Those three have a clean bill. The job is to find out who else could
have known Yorne well enough to guess that he had jewels on him. I've got a hunch that the murderer
won't be far away. It won't be long before I pick him out."
Though often blind ones, Cardona's hunches were usually correct. Such was the case with this one. Joe
Cardona might have picked out the murderer tonight, had he used deduction with his hunch. That task,
however, happened to be beyond Cardona's limit.
The murder of Lucian Yorne had been a clever crime; more than the direct killing which Joe Cardona
supposed it to be. The ace detective had failed to guess the flaws. So far as Cardona was concerned, the
crime would remain an unsolved one. Until some keener brain intervened, the murderer of Lucian Yorne
would remain unpunished.
SUCH a brain would soon enter the case. For in New York was a master sleuth, whose specialty lay in
solving crimes like this one. That being was The Shadow, mysterious avenger who dealt with men of evil.
Perhaps Joe Cardona's confidence was due to the fact that the ace knew of The Shadow's presence.
It was The Shadow, not Joe Cardona, who would pick out the murderer of Lucian Yorne. Yet oddly, his
detection of that crime when it came, would start a chain of other, unexpected circumstances. The
Shadow, from the moment when he concentrated on this case, would be upon the threshold of
criss-crossed adventures that would rival any that even he had previously experienced.
CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW DEDUCES
TWO days had passed since the death of Lucian Yorne. Joe Cardona was seated at his desk in police
headquarters, fuming over a stack of typewritten reports. Across from him was a stolid-faced
companion: Detective Sergeant Markham. He was listening to Cardona's comments.
"It's a one-man job!" Cardona thwacked his fist upon the desk. "And there are no thugs in it! They
wouldn't have let Yorne get into his office. They'd have decoyed him - or snatched him -"
Cardona paused and shook his head. He glowered at a pile of newspapers - journals that blazoned the
news of murder. The very sight of those stacked sheets was irritating to Joe.
"I talked with Barstow Leland," stated the ace, referring to a report. "He's the president of the Allied
Jewelry Company. The only man there who knew that Yorne had gone out with a hundred thousand
dollars worth of sparklers. Yorne left that office before five-thirty. At quarter of six, he entered Ronig's
cab at Times Square."
A long, streaky shadow spread across the desk. Cardona looked up to see a lanky, stoop-shouldered
man entering the office. Joe grinned at the sight of the wan-faced arrival who was carrying mop and
bucket. The newcomer was attired in overalls.
"Hello, Fritz!" greeted the acting inspector. "Early again, eh? Five-thirty isn't soon enough for you. Every
now and then you show up at five."
"Yah!"
Fritz uttered the reply in a guttural tone. He started to work with mop and bucket. Unmindful of the
janitor's presence, Cardona resumed his talk with Markham.
"Yorne could have taken the subway to Times Square," declared the ace, "then hopped a taxi to avoid
the jammed shuttle line over to the Lexington Avenue sub. Or he may have hopped a taxi right outside of
the Tower Building, there at Thirty-fourth Street. If his cab got in that Times Square jam, he'd have been
wise to ditch it and take another."
"He could have gone to his office," suggested Markham. "It was right there on Forty-third Street."
"I've thought of that," nodded Cardona. "But I can't see why he would have gone there once, then home
and back again. If he'd gone to his little office and stayed there a half hour, that would have made sense.
He could have had some work to do - some phone calls to make -"
"Maybe he stowed the jewels there, then got worried about them on the way home."
"Not a chance! There's no safe in the office. Yorne was no sap. He knew how to take care of gems
when he carried them."
Glumly, Cardona began to finger the report sheets. One by one, he discussed the names mentioned
there.
"CLARK LOFTUS was the only customer who knew that Yorne would be at his office at eight-thirty,"
declared Joe. "Half of the gems belonged to Loftus. The friends that he brought with him were reliable;
they didn't know their destination until they arrived. I've double-checked on Loftus. He stands the strain.
"Kent Elward apparently knew a lot about Yorne's business. Elward is an advertising man of good
standing; what's more, he has an alibi right up to the time when he arrived at Yorne's house. So the fact
that he knew a lot doesn't hold against him.
"Jerry Renwood works in a stockbroker's office; he's sort of a man-about-town, so he doesn't rate as
high as Elward. But Renwood didn't know much about Yorne's business. What little he learned was
mentioned to him up there at the house, while they were waiting for Yorne to show up. That puts
Renwood out.
"As for Parlington, the butler, he could have known a lot about Yorne. But Parlington was there at the
house when Yorne came in at six. When Ronig, the cabby, showed up with that umbrella, it clinched
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THETHIRDSHADOWMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.THEMANINTHECAB?CHAPTERII.DEATHAFTERDUSK?CHAPTERIII.THESHADOWDEDUCES?CHAPTERIV.ONEMANSEES?CHAPTERV.THESECONDSHADOW?CHAPTERVI.SPOILSTOTHEVICTOR?CHAPTERVII.ONEMANRETURNS?CHAPTERVIII.THESHADOWLEARNS?CHAPTER...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：91 页 大小：224.4KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-22

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