now the gang leader had not realized the stupendous power of dealing death that Folcroft Urlich
possessed.
Doom to The Shadow! It would be a certainty should the black-garbed visitant attempt to penetrate the
heart of Professor Urlich's domain. Yet Larry Ricordo still digested the scientist's final words.
A new trap for The Shadow. Another subtle scheme in the making. Again, it would be Ricordo's part to
lay the snare that Professor Urlich had designed.
The gang leader grinned. He was confident now. He had a hunch that The Shadow would never even
learn of this strange place where Professor Urlich lived.
Some subtle device would soon accomplish an effective result against the one being who blocked the
scheme of widespread murder.
CHAPTER X. CARDONA INTERPOSES
EVENING had arrived. Detective Joe Cardona was seated at his desk. He was studying reports on the
explosion which had occurred at the apartment of J. Wesley Barnsworth. He also had a pile of data
referring to the episode at Alfred Sartain's penthouse.
Completing his survey, Cardona arose with a satisfied smile. He went from the office and entered another
room where he accosted a bluff-faced man who was sitting at a desk. This was Inspector Timothy Klein.
'Hello, inspector,' greeted the detective. 'Thought I'd better let you know that I'm going out on this
explosion case. I may get somewhere with it, to-night.'
'You'd better, Joe,' responded Klein. 'You know how boiled up the police commissioner is about it.
He'll have you on the carpet first thing you know.'
'I've got a hunch it's linked with the trouble that took place up at Sartain's.'
'A hunch?' Klein snorted. 'That's no hunch, Joe. The commissioner has the same idea. That's why he's
steamed. He knows both of those men personally.'
'I know all about that,' answered Cardona. 'I also know that the commissioner is keeping quiet only
because neither of his friends were killed. He's got a hunch — like I have — that there's going to be a third
mess soon.'
'If there is,' warned Klein, 'you'll be up against it, Joe. If the same people have tried to kill a big
millionaire and an important man in Wall Street, it's bad enough. It leaves it up to you to block them
before they murder somebody.'
Joe Cardona smiled. He understood Klein's apprehensions. He knew that the inspector had talked with
Commissioner Ralph Weston. Joe also knew that he, himself, rated highly with the commissioner except
when failure was involved. That was the secret of Cardona's smile. The detective intended to get results
to-night.
'You say that the commissioner has my hunch,' remarked Cardona. 'Maybe he has but the commissioner
don't know what I know. I'm going after a bird that may sing a song when I get him. I've been looking for
him, and I've spotted him.'
'You mean you know who is responsible?'
'I don't say that. I merely believe I can find a man that's mixed in it.'
'Why haven't you grabbed him? Who is he?'
'LISTEN to me, inspector,' argued Cardona quietly. 'When we landed at Sartain's penthouse, we found
a dead man whom we identified. Duster Brooks — a smart crook. He had been working as Sartain's
butler. He tried to kill Hunnefield, the millionaire's secretary.
'What was the logical answer? I'll tell you. It looked like Duster's job. He didn't get away with it. Two of
his men were dead. Hunnefield said there were others. Naturally, we wanted to get them; but it wasn't a
murder charge.
'I looked over the records. I found out that Duster Brooks was tied up with another gunman named Slips
Harbeck. There was a chance of a connection. So I put a stool pigeon out to look for Slips Harbeck. He
found him yesterday. Slips is hanging around a joint called Red Mike's.'
'You let him stay there?'
'Sure. We had nothing on him. I was looking for other evidence before I grabbed him. Just wanted to
know where he was — that was all. I figured the trouble was all over. I couldn't implicate Slips Harbeck.
'Then — bang! Along comes this explosion at Barnsworth's. That told me that Duster Brooks wasn't the
fellow in back of all the trouble. He was just working for some one else. Who pulled the job at
Barnsworth's? How was it done? I don't know. But I figure that maybe Slips Harbeck does.'
'Very good, Joe,' commended the inspector. 'It's too bad you don't have some evidence. You could
grab this fellow Harbeck and make him talk.'
'I'll get evidence,' stated Cardona grimly. 'The stool is watching Slips Harbeck like a hawk. More than
that, I'm going to be around Red Mike's tonight. I figure that there may be another job in the offing.
That's why I'm having Slips watched. If he starts out to make trouble, I'll be in on the ground floor.'
'You're using your head, Joe,' was Klein's comment. 'That's the ticket. Get something on Harbeck. Then
he'll have to talk.'
'I'll do more than that,' returned Cardona. 'I don't figure Harbeck as the big shot in this game. I think
he's the same as Duster Brooks— a little guy. I'm going to land the topnotcher!'
With that final promise, Joe Cardona stalked from the office, leaving Inspector Timothy Klein tapping the
desk in thoughtful satisfaction.
JOE CARDONA had gained the right information when he had learned that Slips Harbeck was hanging
around Red Mike's. An hour after the detective had talked with the inspector Slips was at his
accustomed table in the speakeasy. He was cautiously watching a man near the end of the room. Cliff
Marsland, too, was there again, tonight.
Little did Slips realize that there was a third player in the game. A furtive, rat-faced prowler of the
underworld was also in evidence. This was 'Gawky' Tyson, a dopy character who was no more than a
lesser pawn in the affairs of gangdom.
No one ever bothered the pitiful creature who now sat within the door of Red Mike's speakeasy. But
Gawky Tyson's life would have been in jeopardy had gunmen realized the role which he played. Gawky
Tyson was Joe Cardona's stool.
To-night, Gawky was watching Slips Harbeck closely, and with confidence. For the stool pigeon had
received assurance from his boss, Joe Cardona, that detectives would be in the offing. He was to learn
what Slips Harbeck intended to do, and to give the tip-off in case trouble was brewing.
Red Mike came sauntering through the speakeasy to talk to Slips Harbeck. His message was the usual
one. Slips was wanted on the telephone.
With a grin, Slips went to the inner room. He heard the voice across the wire. He performed his former
ruse — that of letting the door rest ajar.
Once again, Slips Harbeck was getting instructions which he was not to conceal. But to-night, there were
two listeners on the other side of the door— men who paid no attention to each other. One was Cliff
Marsland; the second was Gawky Tyson.
'Sure thing.' Slips was talking in a tone that carried, despite its feigned caution. 'Yeah… Yeah… I won't
