the inspector was glad to see Weston's affable friend, Cranston, who was one man who often sided with Joe's opinions when they conflicted with the commissioner's.
Soon after, Weston arrived in a hurry, steered both men to a corner and spoke brusquely to Cardona:
'Well, inspector, let me see the message!'
Inferring that Weston wasn't keeping secrets from Cranston, Cardona produced the message, explaining it as he did.
'It's a letter,' said the inspector. 'It came into Sherbrock's office today, in the last mail. Sent last night, according to the postmark, before Sherbrock's mob knew we got a tip-off.'
'A letter?' demanded Weston bluntly. 'Then why did you call it a message?'
'Because it looks like one, commissioner.'
It did look like a message. It was a half sheet of paper, folded twice, and its brief statement was typed in capitals that bore no signature. Weston read it, then showed it to Cranston. The message stated: H. J. COMING INTO NEW YORK TOMORROW. DON'T WORRY. EVERYTHING
IS FIXED. JAKE WILL TAKE CARE OF HIM AT FIFTY-FIVE.
The commissioner grunted, then queried:
'What do you make of it?'
He put the question to Cranston, but it was Cardona who answered. Joe already had a theory.
'I'd say it meant five minutes to the hour,' declared the inspector. 'But which hour - that's the question.
Unless the guy that wrote it was smart and tried some double talk. He might mean five-fifty. That would be ten minutes of six.'
'Ridiculous!' snapped Weston. 'Fifty-five is an address. Probably a number on some street right here in New York.'
'There's more streets than there are hours, reminded Cardona. 'With only twelve hours to pick from -'
'Twenty-four,' corrected Weston. 'Two sets of twelve.'
'That's right,' agreed Cardona. Then: 'But there's two sets of streets, too - east and west. It doubles up on you, too, commissioner.'
The Shadow smiled at the final quip, but his face was turned away. He was going to a phone booth; he called Margo and suggested that she meet him promptly, outside the Cobalt Club in her coupe. Of course, his tone was Cranston's.
He was still Cranston as he stepped from the booth to find Weston and Cardona beckoning to him.
From Weston's manner, The Shadow guessed that the commissioner had won out despite Cardona's neat dig.
'We're going on a tour,' declared Weston. 'We're going to zigzag across Fifth Avenue looking at all places that have the address of No. 55. Would you like to come along, Cranston?'
After brief consideration, The Shadow shook his head.
'It would take too long a time,' he said, as he strolled with the others toward the door. 'Besides, I'm expecting Miss Lane. We're going to have dinner at a night club. I don't know just which one -'
They had reached the street when Cranston's tone took its pause. His companions stared, wondering what had struck him. Slowly, he said:
'I wonder -'
Another pause, during which Margo's car swept into sight around the corner. Then Cranston added:
'I wonder if fifty-five could mean a street, rather than a building number?'
Weston shook his head; then, observing Cranston's fixed expression, the commissioner demanded why his friend had put the query.
'Because fifty-five would then mean Fifty-fifth Street,' was The Shadow's reply. 'As I recall it, there is a night club up there that took its name from the number of the street. It is called Club Fifty-five.'
That was enough for Weston. He exclaimed the name, 'Fifty-five!' and Cardona echoed it. Both were anxious to get started, but since Margo had by then arrived, Cranston decided to go in her car, saying that Club Fifty-five would be a good place to dine in case the lead proved worthless.
BOTH cars reached Club Fifty-five at the same time. By then, Cranston had explained matters to Margo; while Cardona, in his turn, had been expressing ideas to Weston.
Joe was so enthused that he started into the night club ahead of the others, flashed a badge at a startled head waiter and demanded:
'Who's Jake?'
'Why... why everything's jake!' the head waiter began. Then, properly comprehending the query, he added: 'I guess you mean Jake, the barkeeper - over there.'
There was just one barkeep on duty, a beefy man who was serving a drink to a rather drowsy customer perched on a stool, with head tilted against his arm. Cardona was about to start toward the bar, when Cranston's hand restrained him.
'Perhaps it would be better,' suggested The Shadow quietly, 'if one of us stopped there first. Myself, for example - or Miss Lane.'
With Weston nodding, Cardona agreed, realizing that it would give him a chance to cover Jake without the barkeeper knowing it. The Shadow turned toward Margo in Cranston's polite manner. With a smile, the girl said:
'Very well, Lamont.'
Reaching the bar while the others watched, Margo took a stool and ordered a drink. She was trying not to stare at Jake, hence her eyes went to the tipsy-looking customer who was slouched upon the bar.
She saw the drink that Jake had served the fellow, just beyond the reach of the man's outstretched hand.
Before making Margo's drink, Jake tapped the lounging customer on the shoulder.
Rather fascinated, Margo watched the man's hand move automatically toward the waiting glass, as though he saw it without lifting his eyes. The horror of the thing didn't grip her, until that moving hand had slid past the drink without touching it. By then, his shoulders were on the move, slumping downward. His head turned as he started a contorted sprawl from the bar stool.
Margo shrieked even before the toppling body hit the floor, for on the way, she saw the tumbling man's face as it tilted away from his arm.
The face was bloated, its lips spread in a frozen grin. Eyes were glazed and glaring, like objects of stone.
Mere sight of them gave Margo the terrifying truth.
The man was dead!
Cranston, Weston and Cardona were springing toward the bar, when Margo loosed the scream. But they were arriving on the scene too late. A reign of murder had begun!
CHAPTER IX. DEATH FINDS DEATH
'YOU'LL talk, Jake!'
Cardona had been repeating the same words for nearly half an hour, but without result. Jake, the barkeeper, had done all the talking that he could. Jake had tried to bolt when the dead man hit the floor, but he claimed he didn't know that the customer had died.
It was the sight of others coming to grab him that worried Jake. He had something of a criminal past - he admitted it - but he had been going straight for the past few years.
Cardona wasn't convinced, which was why be kept on quizzing Jake; but The Shadow, silent as he posed as Cranston, was quite sure that the barkeeper told the truth.
The dead man had been poisoned, which made it look bad for Jake, though the beefy bartender swore that he hadn't slipped anything lethal into any of the three drinks that the man had taken.
'This is a reliable place,' Jake insisted. 'We wouldn't even hand a tough guy a Mickey Finn. What would I gain sticking around, if I'd croaked the guy?'
