'Which they did not do,' inserted Melbrun. 'As a result, Kelson is dead.'
Melbrun's voice was choky. It took an effort for him to recover his composure. Meanwhile, Weston was explaining matters to The Shadow, recounting the details from the start.
He told of the crew-money story that had appeared in the afternoon newspapers; how it had induced a crook named Jake Smarley to raid Melbrun's office, with gunners waiting to aid his getaway.
Coming to the climax of his tale, the commissioner announced:
'Yet the box which Smarley took was worthless, Cranston. When Inspector Cardona recovered it, he found the money missing -'
'Because Mr. Melbrun had previously removed it,' interposed The Shadow, in
a casual tone. 'Fearing that criminals might make a thrust, he wisely took the funds with him when he left the office.'
The commissioner stared, astonished. Such knowledge on the part of Cranston amazed him. Slowly, Weston began to nod; then, finding his voice, he demanded brusquely:
'Who gave you those details, Cranston?'
'I saw an armored truck outside the club,' returned The Shadow, 'and I find Mr. Melbrun inside. As for that suitcase' - he gestured, as he lighted a cigarette - 'it isn't yours, commissioner. It happens to have Mr. Melbrun's initials on it.'
THE suitcase was standing beside Weston's chair. With a cross between a grimace and a smile, the commissioner lifted it to the table. Opening the bag, he showed stacks of money, all in neat bundles.
'Your guess was right, Cranston,' conceded Weston, in a depreciating tone.
'Melbrun took the cash before the robbery and checked his bag at a hotel. When he called my office, asking for an escort to take him to the pier, I told him of the robbery.'
'If I had only called sooner,' groaned Melbrun. 'But I dined first. I knew
there might be trouble at the office, but not the serious sort that occurred there.'
'You left enough men to handle matters,' insisted Weston, 'and the dummy cash box was excellent bait. It made Smarley show his hand, and your whole office staff, as well as the private detectives, made an earnest effort to save
the box, thinking it was really valuable.'
Weston's argument did not help Melbrun. He felt that his strategy had been
a mistake; that it was the direct cause of Kelson's death. Naturally, Kelson's ardent pursuit of Smarley was based upon his lack of facts; but had the secretary used good judgment, he would still be alive. So Weston argued, and Melbrun finally began to believe him.
'Take the money to the pier,' ordered the commissioner, pushing the suitcase to Melbrun. 'You will be quite safe in the armored truck, and the pier
is thoroughly guarded. Proceed with the distribution of the bonus money to the crew of the Anitoga, and stop worrying about Kelson. The chap is dead, Melbrun,
and it can't be helped.'
Soon after Melbrun's departure, Inspector Cardona arrived. Cardona had been quizzing wounded crooks, and doing a rapid job of it. Riddled with police bullets, in addition to the slugs that The Shadow delivered, the thugs had been
dying off while Cardona questioned them.
'All they could say was 'Smarley',' growled Cardona. 'It was Smarley who hired them; Smarley, who was out to grab the dough; Smarley who made the getaway.'
'Quite correct,' nodded Weston. 'What else could the hoodlums say?'
'They could have told me how Smarley got hold of them,' snapped Cardona.
'They never worked for him before. You can't build a mob up overnight, commissioner.'
'I never intend to do so.'
'Sorry, commissioner. I was referring to Smarley. We know what he was - a bookie, running a small-time horse parlor. All of a sudden, he sprouts out like
a big-shot. Where did he get all of those mobbies?'
The commissioner had an answer. Crime had been quiet over a long period.
It would have been easy for Jake Smarley, or anyone else, to enlist a thuggish horde. The fact that the gunners were of varied types, merely supported Weston's theory. Apparently, Smarley had approached any who were on the loose.
'They were men who placed bets through Smarley,' analyzed Weston. 'That is
how he learned about them, inspector. If he paid them in advance, which is probable, he naturally would not have told them where he intended to go.
'Your job is to find Smarley. Use every means to do so. Treat him as a public enemy, a lone wolf bent on murder. But from all descriptions of the fellow' - the commissioner's tone became contemptuous - 'he is an amateur at crime. You will probably find him cowering in some hide-away that your stool pigeons will uncover.'
WESTON and his ace inspector were still discussing matters, and getting closer in accord, when The Shadow left the Cobalt Club. He was Cranston when he
stepped into his limousine; but after a ride of a few blocks, he became a figure
cloaked in black.
The Shadow had not forgotten the armored truck, with its hundred-thousand-dollar load. Though the police commissioner had taken full precautions to insure its arrival at the pier, The Shadow did not regard the delivery of the cash as a certainty.
In The Shadow's opinion, Jake Smarley was more than a small-fry criminal who had attempted a robbery through sheer bravado.
Smarley's quick-witted work in Melbrun's office, his coolness under fire, and his disposal of Kelson showed how dangerous the man could be. His getaway, accompanied by at least a dozen followers, proved Smarley a skillful organizer.
In short, The Shadow, while in the thick of battle, had recognized something that had entirely escaped the police.
The Shadow knew that lesser crooks had been left to take the brunt; that the cream of Smarley's forces had gone with him. He sensed, too, that the repeated name of 'Smarley!' that dying hoodlums had squawked in parrot fashion could be a cover-up for certain lieutenants who had provided Smarley with his mob.
As the core of a compact criminal organization, Smarley could attempt new crime despite the law. He still had plenty of shock troops at command, and The Shadow could conceive of Smarley ordering another, and more daring, thrust to get Melbrun's funds this very night.
Near the North River, The Shadow left the limousine. He became a gliding, fleeing shape that followed an untraceable course to a darkened pier, where a skeleton force of guards kept watch over a huge liner that had been interned because of war.
Slipping through the thin cordon of guards, The Shadow boarded the great ship. Reaching the liner's superstructure, he had a perfect view of an adjoining pier.
There, The Shadow saw the steamship Anitoga, dwarfed beside the great vessel which he used as his observation post. The decks of the Anitoga were brilliant with light. More than a hundred men were clustered there, like figures on a stage.
Among one tiny batch, The Shadow spied Melbrun, together with the shippers
who had provided the bonus money for the crew of the Anitoga. Sailors were stepping forward, one by one, while Melbrun, as spokesman for the shippers, gave them their awards.
While the hundred thousand dollars was being pieced out to the men who deserved it, The Shadow's eyes roved the pier from the land end to the river.
Police were on hand, a score of them, ready for any emergency. The pier, however, provided a long stretch to patrol. Should crooks choose some salient point and make a concerted attack, they would have a chance of driving upon the
