Joe Cardona had found an airplane timetable, scheduling the flights of skyliners between California and New York.

LATER that afternoon, Inspector Cardona arrived at the police commissioner's office and laid the new clue on the commissioner's desk, together with the old ones.

"Kelden left a trail a mile wide!" a.s.serted Cardona. "He overlooked the date slip that Rendrew wrote and, later, tore from the calendar. I've checked on the eyegla.s.s wiper and found out that Kelden bought his reading gla.s.ses from Weeker & Sons, when he was in New York a year ago.

"This timetable is something else he dropped from his pocket, or decided to get rid of, while he was in the cab. Kelden knew we'd be after him, and he wasn't going to carry anything that might show he'd just come from California."

Commissioner Weston showed a pleased smile. Cardona took it for commendation, which it was; but the smile meant more. Weston had a surprise of his own, for Cardona.

"Very good, inspector," declared the commissioner. "You have built up an excellent case against Dwight Kelden! He is the man we want, as your evidence proves. What you now need, is to learn his motive."

"Maybe John Osman can help us with that -"

"Osman has helped us," interrupted Weston, widening his smile. "I summoned him here at noon. He arrived with his attorney, and I insisted upon knowing facts about Dwight Kelden."

"Osman gave them?"

"Yes." Weston brought some papers from the desk drawer. "He and the lawyer had been going through Rendrew's papers this morning. They brought to light certain matters which even Osman had not fully understood."

Spreading the papers, Weston referred to them, tapping first one, thenanother. When he had roused Cardona's curiosity to a high pitch, he proceeded.

"Some years ago," declared the commissioner, "Adam Rendrew had dealings with Kelden's father. Money was involved, and it wound up in Rendrew's hands, to the extent of one hundred thousand dollars."

"You mean Rendrew pulled a swindle?"

"Exactly! Fortunately for him, Kelden's father died before he had a chance to begin a lawsuit. He could also have brought criminal charges against Rendrew."

Weston pushed the papers across the desk.

"There's most of it," he declared. "Doc.u.ments which old Rendrew kept, even though they incriminated himself."

"Why was he fool enough to keep them?"

"Rendrew was a rogue, not a fool. He was afraid that Dwight Kelden would learn enough to bring action against him. Rendrew probably wanted to show these doc.u.ments to his lawyer, so the latter would know exactly what he was up against."

Weston's a.n.a.lysis was a sound one. Among the papers were certain letters that Rendrew had written to the elder Kelden. How they had come into Rendrew's possession was a mystery, but they explained why Dwight could certainly not have known all the details of the swindle.

"I have learned," declared the commissioner, "that Dwight Kelden is quite wealthy. Still, he could have wanted more money, or revenge; perhaps both. He could easily have guessed that his case would be strengthened by evidence that only Rendrew held."

"So he came East to get it!"

"Exactly!" nodded Weston. "And the only method was to threaten Rendrew into pa.s.sing over the papers. That, in turn, meant the use of force, or a gun.

Kelden chose the latter as the more effective measure. Meeting with resistance, he killed Rendrew."

"Which means he took his revenge," added Cardona. "He saw his chance, so he didn't wait. That explains everything, commissioner. All I've got to do" - Joe's tone was grim - "is find Dwight Kelden."

WESTON gestured his hand toward the door. It was more than a token that the interview was ended. Weston was ordering Cardona to resume the hunt.

Cardona turned toward the door, but before he reached there, Weston stopped him with the question: "You heard about Cranston?"

Cardona shook his head.

"He cracked up that tiny plane of his," informed the commissioner, "while he was trying a take-off from his front lawn, this morning. He was banged up a bit, but not seriously. He's dining with me this evening, but his physician has insisted that he start home at ten o'clock."

Without knowing it, Commissioner Weston had announced a fact that was of prime importance. His statement told that The Shadow was ready to resume his investigation of the Rendrew murder, after learning, while dining with the police commissioner, just how much the law had covered during the interim.

Moreover, Weston had declared the exact time at which The Shadow's new campaign would start. That time would coincide with Cranston's departure from the Cobalt Club.

The Shadow's moves would begin at ten o'clock tonight.

CHAPTER IX

THE SHADOW'S CLUES.

THE mansion clock was striking ten. Seated at the typewriter desk in Osman's office, Helene Graymond shuddered. Those chimes, the strokes that followed them, reminded her too much of death as delivered to Adam Rendrew.

Helene was sorry that she had agreed to remain in the mansion; but it was too late to change her decision. The more readily she accepted suggestions, the less would people question her. So far, Helene had given honest replies to every quiz; but there were certain questions that she would certainly dread, if ever they were put.

Thus Helene, by her pretended willingness to be helpful, was alone in the house, except for Froy. She was typing long lists of a.s.sets belonging to the Rendrew estate, a task which Osman had said was highly important and should be done as early as possible.

Osman had taken a huge batch of papers over to his attorney's apartment.

Archie and Louise, not at all disturbed by their uncle's recent death, had gone their separate ways, seeking good times among friends.

Detectives still guarded the house, watching from outside. There was nothing to fear, so long as they were around. But that did not lessen Helene's misery. She was nourishing worries that were fast becoming unbearable. From her desk, she could count the ticks of the big clock, until she realized that she could no longer stand the strain.

Hurrying upstairs to her room, Helene fought back the sobs that fairly pressed her tight-set lips. She locked the door and drew the window shades, letting her breath come in sharp, quick sighs.

She wanted to get into bed before she broke down and wept; but her eyes were already blurred with tears and her fingers were trembling increasingly, as she undressed. Silken garments were like lead, as they slipped from the girl's unsteady hands.

As she finished her struggling task, Helene's emotion gave away completely. She sank on the bed, buried her face in the pillows to drown the unrestrained sobs that quivered her slender body. Her weeping seemed beyond control, and she no longer cared. Perhaps that was why the convulsive sobs gradually lessened.

At last, Helene lifted her head from the tear-drenched pillows, dried her eyes with her fingertips, and gave a profound sigh.

The cry had helped her, bringing more relief than she had expected.

Though she was undressed, Helene no longer wanted to go to bed; still, she wasn't equal to putting on all her clothes again and going back to work in the office.

Finally striking upon a compromise, Helene attired herself in a nightie, a silk kimono, and a pair of comfortable slippers. Unlocking the door, she looked about for Froy; seeing no sign of the drab-faced servant, Helene went down to the office.

She was gathering papers, intending to take them up to her room, where she could work in comfort and seclusion, when she noticed curious darkness slid across the desk. Against the woodwork, Helene saw the outline of a hawkish silhouette. Turning, with a gasp, she looked into the eyes of a weird visitor.

All that Helene saw were eyes - and blackness. The stranger was cloaked:a slouch hat hid his face, but the down-turned brim could not conceal the burn of those all-searching eyes. Recollections flashed to Helene's mind; despite her bewilderment, she exclaimed.

"You are The Shadow!"

A whispered laugh acknowledged the ident.i.ty. Drawing a chair beside the desk, The Shadow sat down. Silently, he waited for Helene to calm down.

THE kimono-clad girl was very beautiful, yet quite unconscious of the fact. While preparing for bed, she had let down her hair, and it formed a billow of brown loveliness as it streamed across her shoulders. Raising a hand that no longer trembled, Helene brushed stray locks from in front of her eyes and smiled her wonderment.

The Shadow had demonstrated the ability that Markham had described.

Somehow, the cloaked visitor had pa.s.sed the outside detectives and had entered by the side door, which was locked to-night, with its key in the possession of Louise Dreller. Helene was further awed when The Shadow spoke: "Tell me all you know regarding Dwight Kelden."

It was a command, not a question. Helene's lips tightened.

"I must ask a question first," the girl a.s.serted, firmly. "Tell me: do you believe that Dwight murdered Adam Rendrew?"

"No more than you believe it!"

The Shadow's prompt response won Helene's confidence completely. It seemed, amazingly enough, to summarize her fears along with her doubts.

Though she had tried to convince herself that Dwight was innocent of crime, Helene had been overwhelmed at times by the magnitude of the evidence against the man she loved. Torn by conflicting thoughts, Helene had longed to meet someone in whom she could safely confide; someone who would thoroughly understand.

By his cryptic words, The Shadow had shown absolute recognition of Helene's deepest qualms. He had expressed her own thoughts for her. Earnestly, the girl began to pour out her story.

Ever since Dwight's visit East, a year ago, she had corresponded with him.

He had proposed marriage to Helene, and she had accepted. In his last letter, which she had received only a few days ago, Dwight had promised to come East very soon.

Those letters, of course, had been mailed to Helene's apartment. Dwight's letter to Louise had arrived here at the house, but it hadn't troubled Helene because she knew that Dwight occasionally corresponded with his cousin.

"Dwight didn't want Louise to know that he was coming East," concluded Helene. "That's why he wrote her that he was going to Mexico. She might have learned, somehow, that he was no longer in San Diego."

"You have the letters that Dwight wrote to you."

"Yes," nodded Helene, rising. "I can get them -"

The Shadow had also risen; he was moving toward the door.

"I shall be in the study," he announced. "Bring the letters there. Do not worry about Froy. He is asleep."

On the way upstairs, Helene realized that The Shadow must be familiar with the entire house, for Froy's room was on the third floor. She didn't realize that The Shadow had read all of Inspector Cardona's reports and had seen a floor plan of the mansion.

The girl brought the letters to the study, Dwight's photo with them.

After viewing the picture, The Shadow asked for Dwight's latest letter, and Helene found it for him. Taking the other letters back to her bedroom, Helene returned to find The Shadow viewing the exact spot where the dead body of Adam Rendrew had been found.

He turned toward the bookcase, noted that it was set against a thick wall, between the windows. As he turned again, his finger traced an imaginary line, and finally pointed toward the floor lamp near the door to the hall. He told Helene to turn the switch. She obeyed, and gasped when the light came on.

"That bulb was burned out last night!"

"So I have been told," returned The Shadow. "I am glad that you also noted the fact."

"I can't imagine who replaced it with a new one -"

HELENE halted her earnest statement, very abruptly. Again in the center of the room, The Shadow was moving his hand upward, as if measuring a man's height.

He pointed to bookshelf, where volumes formed a tight-packed row. He pushed his finger forcibly between two books in the center, then pulled his hand away, letting the books press together.

Helene heard hidden lips utter a whispered laugh, a strange, uncanny tone that somehow added to her confidence, though it brought a slight chill that tingled her from head to foot.

She saw The Shadow remove some books from the shelf, watched him probe the s.p.a.ce with a tiny flashlight, its beam no larger than a dime. Then the books were back in place again and The Shadow was running his finger along the t.i.tles.

He spoke in half sentences, that he let Helene complete.

"These books are arranged alphabetically," said The Shadow, "therefore, I take it that they have been listed -"

"Several times," supplied Helene. "I have a copy of the latest list in my desk."

"Adam Rendrew was proud of this collection -"

"Very! Especially the bindings."

"He occasionally bought better copies to replace poor ones -"

"Yes."

"And the duplicates that he discarded -"

"Are in the attic, except for some that he sold."

They went down to Osman's office, where Helene produced the book list.

Duplicate volumes were noted on a separate sheet, and the girl supposed that The Shadow, whatever his interest in the books, would propose a trip to the attic.

Instead, he shifted to another subject. He asked about the desk calendar that Cardona had found in Rendrew's Study.

"Mr. Rendrew always kept one," explained Helene. "He used those calendars somewhat like a diary."

"And the old ones -"

Helene found them. They were buried deep in a corner closet beyond the office safe. The Shadow stood beside her, while she knelt and dug for the calendars.

When she found the one of the previous year, The Shadow took it from her grasp. Helene saw him flutter the pages with his thumb. Pausing after the second riff, he declared: "Your first meeting with Dwight Kelden was on the twentieth of March, last year."

"Why, yes!" exclaimed Helene. "How did you know?" The answer struck her suddenly. The Shadow must have found some evidence of Dwight's brief visit to his uncle Adam the year before. That time, of course, had been the occasion of Helene's first meeting with the nephew from California.

Returning the calendar, The Shadow told Helene to replace it with the others. That done, he announced that he intended to visit the cellar, not the attic. As it was getting late, he suggested that the girl listen from the kitchen and inform him if anyone arrived home.

Helene heard sc.r.a.ping sounds from the cellar while The Shadow was down there. They were quite m.u.f.fled and came from somewhere near the front, well beyond the cardroom. When he had come back, by way of Archie's so-called den, The Shadow seemed quite satisfied with his inspection of the cellar.

Then came his most surprising statement.