A quiet, monotonous voice came over the wire. Its tones were scarcely recognizable as those of a living
being. They carried a note that was ghostly in its semblance.
“The time is midnight,” declared the voice.
“Where?” queried Cardona, breathless.
“You will be informed before that hour,” said the voice.
“Where will I receive word?” asked the detective.
“Where you now are,” came the all-important words. “You will learn the plan in time to act.”
“Who is the man I want?”
“You will be told when you receive the plan.”
“Will I need other men?”
“Yes. A large squad.”
The voice ended suddenly. Cardona clicked at the hook to no avail. The message was finished.
A trifle bewildered, Cardona hung up the receiver. This had been an unexpected item in the case which
confronted him. He knew no more now than he had known before, regarding the actual identity of the
murderer who had killed three men.
Somewhere, somehow, he would have an opportunity to capture the man he wanted—and the time
would be at midnight. That depended purely upon whether the information which he had just received
was accurate.
Pondering, Cardona experienced serious qualms. He realized that if he were the victim of a hoax, his
following of the suggested plans would be greatly to his disadvantage.
Suppose that this was the work of some one connected with the murderer—a plot to delude Cardona
and throw him off the trail? If Cardona worked in accordance with the plan, he would be forced to
remain at headquarters for twelve hours, idle all the while.
Cardona began to pound the desk with his fist. He stared at the paper with its fingered impressions. He
recalled the tones of the voice that had come over the wire. Carefully, Cardona picked up the piece of
newspaper and placed it, with its envelope, in a desk drawer. He left the office and strolled in to see
Inspector Klein.
“I'm working on a hunch,” declared Cardona, solemnly. “I want to follow it, if there is no objection.
Maybe, by to-morrow morning—”
Inspector Klein smiled. Cardona's hunches were famous at headquarters. Some said they were luck;
others, that they were exaggerated. Klein regarded them as the keen intuitions of a shrewd crime- fighter.
He had great faith in Cardona's hunches.
“Go ahead, Joe,” said Klein approvingly. “I have nothing to say. Work on this as you see best— until
to-morrow morning.”
“O. K.,” replied Cardona.
Inspector Klein watched the detective as he left the room. Cardona, Klein believed, was at his best when
following his own dictates. For the next twenty hours, the detective would be a man unencumbered by
instructions.
In this, Klein was wrong. Joe Cardona, despite his preference for the life of a lone ace, was following
instructions. The star detective had received orders and expected to abide by them. Those were the
orders which Cardona had heard across the wire—instructions which he fully believed could have come
