the
matter impressed him. At the same time Perry Wallace looked relieved.
This was a complication which he had not anticipated, in the role of Legira. He knew that whatever had
happened, both he and Lopez were innocent; hence, in true Legira fashion, he bowed to give his consent.
TEN minutes later Cardona and Cranston were back in the millionaire's limousine, riding toward the
apartment where Hendrix had lived.
“You handled that admirably,” commended Cardona. “It's a difficult job to deal with such people, and it
sometimes runs us into complications. That was a great idea, telling him that you had given me
impressions, yourself.”
“I thought of it on the spur of the moment,” admitted Cranston, “as soon as we get back to the Hendrix
apartment, I shall give you those very impressions. It is your business as a detective to suspect every one.
It will save me, as well as Legira, the inconvenience of going into details regarding my whereabouts
to-night.”
Cardona laughed at Cranston's frankness. He decided that the millionaire would have made a good
detective.
They arrived at the apartment. Cranston did exactly as he said he would. He gave Cardona the finger
prints. It did not take the detective long to ascertain that none of the three—Legira, Lopez, or
Cranston—could have been the man who fired the fatal shots.
“Well, there are three eliminated,” declared Cardona, with a short laugh. “I hope I have better luck with
the next impressions I get.”
“Perhaps you will,” responded Cranston, in a cryptic tone.
THE millionaire left the apartment. Joe Cardona was thinking about him after he had gone. He liked
Cranston's quiet, businesslike manner. Again Cardona said to himself that Cranston would have made a
great detective.
Cardona had now formulated a theory. Legira was definitely out of the picture. He had no idea who the
murderer might be, but he intended to scour the underworld, believing that some gangster might be
responsible.
It was logical to suppose that a gunman had entered to make certain demands upon so wealthy a man as
Hendrix, and that, in the ensuing fight, Hendrix and his companions had been slain.
Cardona felt very pleased because he had the evidence of clear finger prints. His one regret was that he
had not managed to prevent the escape of the man he believed to have been the murderer. Not for one
minute did the star detective begin to realize the tremendous amount of data that he had missed.
Lamont Cranston, friendly and helpful, could have told Cardona facts that would have amazed him.
Cardona was looking at Cranston's finger prints now. What would he have thought if he had known that
they were the finger prints of The Shadow; that strange, mysterious personage whose very name spelled
terror to the underworld?
Cardona would not have believed it if some one had told him that Cranston was the same man who had
fought his way through the cordon of police surrounding the apartment house. Yet that was only a
fraction of the work The Shadow had done to-night.
As The Shadow, he had taken away documents which linked Hendrix with Legira, thus lulling suspicion
in the direction of the consul. He had settled the matter of Cody's worries regarding the transaction in
