covered by a perfect alibi, supported by disinterested witnesses.
One by one, the testifiers filed from the room. Only three people remained: Joe Cardona, Harry Vincent, and the doctor, who was there to examine the body. While the physician was at work, Cardona turned to speak to Harry Vincent.
'You were checking out to-day,' remarked the detective.
'Yes,' replied Harry. 'I intended to make a trip to Michigan. I can arrange to remain in New York, however. There was nothing urgent about my journey.'
Cardona studied Harry; then spoke frankly.
'I am not anxious to inconvenience you,' said the detective, 'nevertheless, your presence here would be advisable. In a case like this, I should like to call on reliable witnesses if it becomes necessary.'
Harry nodded. Cardona's words were pleasing. They showed that the detective was considering Harry's release.
'You will be here at the Metrolite?' asked Cardona.
'In another room,' responded Harry dryly.
There was a pause.
Harry was thoughtful. What would Cardona do if he suspected the existence of the mysterious envelope that Harry had appropriated? All the other articles beside the dead body had been taken by the detective. They had given no clew to the man's identity.
The physician spoke to Cardona. He was very positive in his declaration concerning the death. The man on the floor was a victim of a slow but virulent poison. His end had evidently come with a sudden spasm of agony.
Cardona noted the report. The physician left. The detective was alone with Harry Vincent. Cardona turned suddenly and asked an unexpected question.
'Did you ever hear of Zipper Marsh?' he quizzed.
'No,' replied Harry, shaking his head.
'I didn't think so,' said Cardona. 'You don't have the earmarks of a gangster.'
The detective stared at the body thoughtfully, then again addressed Harry.
'There's no use holding you,' declared Cardona. 'The statements you and the others made shows you are O.K. Coming into a room like this is enough for a man to worry about, when he's a regular guest at a good hotel.
'But it's not the testimony alone that's influencing me. Under the circumstances, I might just as well tell you what's in back of it. I happen to know who this dead man is. I've seen his mug a good many times before. Dobie Wentz—that's who he is. Ever hear that name?'
'No,' Harry again responded.
'He was a tough guy,' said Cardona reminiscently. 'I guess he thought he was tougher than Zipper Marsh, the bird he worked with. That's why he's here. Pulled a double cross.'
Harry, listening, thought of the envelope. A dead gangster—a pal of another ruffian—a letter to The Shadow —the facts connected themselves in his mind. Harry made no comment, nor did he change expression.
'Dobie was in wrong all around,' continued Cardona, 'that's why he got what he got. These mobsters pull stuff in any hotel. If Zipper didn't get him, some other gangster did. That's why I'm easing you out.
You're just an innocent goat in the mix-up. They don't care who gets in wrong, those fellows.'
Cardona was studying the body; Harry was watching the detective. This revelation of the dead man's name was important news. With the mysterious envelope, it must go to The Shadow. Here, Harry knew, might be the beginning of insidious crime.
HARRY had a friendly feeling toward Joe Cardona. He knew the detective well by reputation; he also knew facts that Cardona could not possibly suspect.
Stupendous crimes had been solved by Cardona—according to the New York newspapers. Harry was one of the few who knew the truth about the cases. Credit which Cardona had received, rightfully belonged to The Shadow.
Harry repressed a smile as he considered his own indirect connection with Cardona. Should the detective suddenly decide to hold him, his release would not be long forthcoming, of that Harry was certain.
Often—to what extent Harry did not fully know—Cardona had been aided by The Shadow. Harry realized that it would be no task at all for The Shadow to see that one of his agents was freed from custody when Joe Cardona was in charge.
This, however, would not be necessary, unless the detective suddenly changed his mind. Cardona gave no sign of so doing. He was engrossed in thought, and Harry wondered if the sleuth were thinking of The Shadow.
Should this case of Dobie Wentz prove the forerunner of greater crimes, The Shadow would most surely appear in the offing.
'That's all!' remarked Cardona abruptly, as he turned to Harry. 'I've put you wise just so you'll remember to say nothing about this matter. Chances are I won't need to talk to you again. I've got all the dope there is to know. But if I want to get your testimony over again, I'll find you here, eh?'
'Yes,' responded Harry. 'I intend to stay at this hotel. I'm in no mood for traveling after this. I'm going to pick a room on another floor. That's all.'
HALF an hour afterward, Harry Vincent was secluded in a room on a higher story of the Metrolite Hotel. The young man was seated at a writing desk. Before him lay that mysterious object—the letter to The Shadow. Harry congratulated himself that he had carried it away without Cardona's knowledge.
He wondered what lay within the envelope; yet he resisted all impulse to open the mysterious wrapper.
That act must be left to The Shadow.
Taking a sheet of paper, Harry wrote a series of cryptic words, using a fountain pen that he took from his pocket. The words were in simple code, which Harry knew by heart. He folded the message and sealed it within a blank envelope. This would go to The Shadow with the gangster's letter.
In all communication with The Shadow, Harry used both that code and the special ink which the fountain pen contained. Orders that he received were similarly inscribed.
The code was easily read by a man who might know its secret; but should the messages fall into the hands of other parties, no time would be afforded toward attempting to decipher the code. The ink which The Shadow used, and supplied to his agents, had a habit of disappearing very rapidly after a letter had been exposed to the air.
Harry remained in his room for a short while; then went down to the lobby. He saw no sign of Joe Cardona. He decided that the body of Dobie Wentz must have been removed from Room 1408, and that now the detective was gone.
Harry gave no sign that he was looking for any one. He retained his usual calm demeanor. Long service with The Shadow had taught him many wise and effective lessons.
At last, Harry walked to the street in a leisurely, unaffected fashion. He turned his steps toward Broadway. He was in no apparent haste. To all intents, he was out for a lazy stroll along Manhattan's winding thoroughfare.
Slowing his steps, Harry Vincent gradually stopped before the entrance of a towering office building.
Here he entered, in an unconcerned manner. As though engaged in no business of importance, he went into an elevator and give his stop as the twenty-first floor. Alighting, he walked along a corridor and stopped at Suite 2121. Upon the door appeared this title:
RUTLEDGE MANN
INVESTMENTS
A few minutes later, Harry Vincent was talking with a quiet, full-faced individual who sat lazily at a large, flat-topped mahogany desk. He was reporting to Rutledge Mann, in the inner office of Suite 2121.
In his hand, Harry held his own coded report, and with it the manila envelope that was addressed to The Shadow.
CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW'S TRAIL
EARLY the same evening a thick, square-set man entered the lobby of the Metrolite Hotel. Although quiet and deliberate in action, there was something about the man's appearance that gave him a distinctive air.
His firm face wore a set expression. His right hand swung a long, thick cane. His left held a smoking cigarette.
