A hissing sound came simultaneously from the telephone receiver. It was accompanied by a terrific puff
of smoke. A bullet whistled by Cardona's face, and shattered a large water bottle that stood upon a
stand by the wall.
Joe Cardona tumbled from the desk, telephone and receiver still in his grasp. He caught himself and
staggered backward.
As his head turned so that his eyes could view his mysterious assailant, Cardona caught a fleeting glimpse
of a tall form that had swung to the half-opened door. Burning eyes met the detective's quick, startled
gaze. A cloak swished, and the mysterious figure was gone.
'The Shadow!'
The cry burst from Cardona's startled lips. The detective had recognized the personage who had struck
the receiver down in time to save his life. The telephone clanked upon the desk. Bewildered, Cardona
seized his revolver and his flashlight.
The tones of a strange, whispered laugh came to the detective's ears. Cardona reached the outer office,
and threw the beams of his light toward the outer door, just as it closed. The detective hurried to the hall.
He was too late. The Shadow was gone.
After a long interval, Cardona weakly returned to the inner office. The floor was soaked with water from
the cracked bottle. The detective picked up the telephone from the desk. His eyes ran along the wire that
connected it with the box.
Joe Cardona's backward stagger had brought that wire free. The sleuth made an examination. He
discovered that the cord was a dummy. He picked up the telephone. It, too, was a faked article.
Some one had removed the genuine phone and its wire. This instrument had been installed in its place. It
was not a telephone. It was an ingenious death machine. Quickly, Cardona unscrewed the parts. He
found himself possessing a remarkable device.
The receiver contained a short, stubby pistol barrel. Behind it was the hammer; out dropped a large,
empty cartridge. Filled with a special charge of explosive powder, this deadly weapon had discharged its
bullet with a sharp pung, accompanied by the puff of smoke.
There was a dry battery in the post of the telephone. This, connected with the receiver hook and the wire
between base and receiver, had supplied the current that released the hammer of the pistol. Down and
up — Cardona went through the motion with the hook. Both actions were required; the hammer rose and
fell.
Certain death — silent death! Cardona had escaped it to-night. The fiend who had designed this
instrument had planned well.
CARDONA did not know that the idea had occurred to Professor Folcroft Urlich when the scientist had
seen Alfred Sartain's actions with the telephone within the studio where doom had been slated to strike.
The detective knew only that the vigilance of The Shadow had saved him from certain death. Vaguely,
the detective realized that The Shadow might have been the one for whom this fate had been intended. A
man, jiggling the hook, would surely have the receiver to his ear.
The conjecture was correct. The Shadow, scenting a death trap, had finally centralized upon the
telephone. He had watched Cardona's actions, and had acted when the crucial moment had been
reached.
Other thoughts were buzzing through the detective's mind. This deadly instrument could well be accepted
as a device intended to slay Gardner Joyce, the occupant of this office. That made a third intended crime.
Alfred Sartain had escaped death; so had J. Wesley Barnsworth. Now Gardner Joyce was on the list.
Cardona's perplexity faded. He knew the charm that had acted on all three events. The Shadow!
To Cardona, The Shadow was a living being. On other occasions, the master of the night had intervened
to save the ace detective from doom. Where The Shadow's hand had entered, success had followed the
affairs of Joe Cardona. Yet there was a reason why the detective preserved silence on that count.
Technically, The Shadow was nonexistent. Police Commissioner Ralph Weston had passed that order.
Until the identity of The Shadow was known, the being in black could not be regarded as a subject for
the records.
Joe Cardona shrugged his shoulders. Once again, he had observed The Shadow only as a living
phantom. He could not include to-night's intervention in his report. He must state that he, himself, had
discovered the secret of the false telephone.
Taking the death device with him, the detective strode from the office. He had proof of crime. He had
connected Slips Harbeck with it; and the gangster was a prisoner. Cardona was pleased with his
accomplishment; and he grinned as he thought of the effect his report would have on Commissioner
Weston.
Yet Cardona did not lack gratitude. He would have been pleased to extend his thanks to The Shadow,
had he been given the opportunity to do so. Although ignorant of Professor Folcroft Urlich's part in
crime, Cardona knew well that a battle of brains must now be under way between The Shadow and
some supermind that plotted death.
Silent death! It had failed to kill. Not only had The Shadow avoided it; he had saved Detective Joe
Cardona also.
Another scheme of Professor Folcroft Urlich had been thwarted. Again, The Shadow had prevailed!
CHAPTER XII. THE QUIZ
'COME on, Slips. Open up.'
Cardona's challenging voice brought a feeble grin from Slips Harbeck. The captured gangster was
standing the ordeal of a constant grilling by Cardona and other detectives.
'What do you know?'
Slips shrugged his shoulders.
'Nothing,' he drawled.
Cardona paced the little room where the quiz was taking place. He studied Slips Harbeck's strained face.
The gangster was slouched in a chair, in a state of exhaustion. He had managed to hold out for hours.
'Look here, Slips' — Cardona's milder tones denoted a change of tactics— 'we've got the goods on you.
You were hooked up with Duster Brooks. We know you were with those gorillas at Sartain's
penthouse.'
'Never heard of the place,' protested Slips.
'You were in on the job at Barnsworth's,' continued Cardona. 'That's why we put the clamps on you.
But we didn't do it until we got the goods. My man heard that phone call you got at Red Mike's. That's
how we queered the job at Joyce's office. You can't get out of it, Slips. Understand?'
'You've got nothing on me,' drawled the gangster.
'We don't want anything on you,' announced Cardona quietly. 'We want to give you a break. You were
at Sartain's. All right. You beat it. We've got no proof that you even fired a shot.
'Somebody planted a death trap at Barnsworth's place. We aren't laying that on you. Last of all, you
were to go to Joyce's office, to get a phone call. That's correct, isn't it?'