"It would have taken two cars with seven of them," decided Cardona. "I'll go around to the garage and look things over. I want to see the other end of that tunnel."

Cardona turned toward the door; as he did, he saw Mogridge put down the telephone. The mustached man stroked his fingers through his heavy crop of black hair.

"That line must be dead," observed Mogridge. He turned to Berkland, to add: "Can't you have the inspector send some officers up to the house?"

The Shadow saw a sudden gleam flash from Cardona's dark eyes. The inspector had gained a sudden hunch. Just a short while ago, Cardona had mentioned that Berkland was the heaviest loser. The question about the insurance had supported Joe's opinion. News of a dead telephone line at Berkland's house looked like a possible link in the case.

"We'll all go up to the house," decided Cardona. He included The Shadow in his invitation. "If anything has happened to that secretary of yours, we'll want to know about it, Mr. Berkland. What did you say his name was?"

"Ungler. James Ungler. He has been my secretary for the past three years."

"All right. We'll start right away."

DESPITE his promise, it took Cardona ten minutes before he could get away.

There were details to discuss with Markham, who would remain in charge until Cardona returned. At last, Cardona was ready. The group moved out to the sidewalk. A policeman hurried away to bring taxicabs from the avenue.

While they were waiting, a coupe nosed its way from the corner. A patrolman was on the running board. As the car stopped, he jumped to the curb and beckoned to the driver. Turning to Cardona, the bluecoat reported.

"This fellow bucked through," he stated. "When we stopped him, he argued that he had to get to Pettigrew's auction. So we brought him along."

The driver of the coupe was stepping to the sidewalk. He was a man in his early thirties; his face, though a well-formed one, showed signs of dissipation. The young man was attired in tuxedo; his coat collar was rumpled, his necktie twisted askew. He was hatless, his hair disheveled.

The Shadow knew who the man must be, even before Lenore Berkland blurted her recognition.

"Lawrence Woolford!"

Woolford grinned. He swayed unsteadily, tugged at his tie, then made a maudlin effort to restore a part to his unkempt hair.

"H'lo, Lenore," he greeted. "Shorry I'm late. Musta lost track of the time."

"And also lost count of the drinks you had."

Woolford's grin became sheepish. He blinked, looked at the sign above the door of the auction house.

"This is where I was coming." Woolford muttered to himself. "Pettigrew's auction - tha.s.s right. What've I got to do now? I remember! Show 'em a card so I can get in. Where's that card? What'd I do with it?"

He fished in his pockets with fumbling hands; then stared at Lenore. A pleased expression wreathed his face.

"You kept the card for me!" he exclaimed. "Sure. I remember. I told you I'd lose it. Show 'em the card."

Lenore's lips were tight. Her eyes flashed angrily as they viewedWoolford. The Shadow recognized that this was not the first time that Woolford had angered his fiancee by overindulgence in liquor.

"Shorry, Lenore," mumbled Woolford. "Awful shorry. Show 'em the card; let's go into the auction. I'll keep quiet. Guess I'll be feelin' better, soon.

Show 'em the card -"

Lenore had produced the card. Cardona took it, and added it to the admittance card that Mogridge had presented on arrival. He motioned to a detective. The d.i.c.k pushed Woolford back into the coupe. For a moment, Woolford sat stupidly; he saw the detective climb aboard the other side and take the wheel.

"Where we goin'?" demanded the young man, angrily. "Wha.s.s the idea?"

Lenore caught a nod from Cardona. The girl understood. She stepped to the side of the coupe.

"Father and I are going home," explained Lenore. "We want you to come there, too, Lawrence. But it's better that someone else should drive your car."

THE coupe rolled away, as Woolford subsided quietly beside the detective.

A police car followed it. Taxis had arrived; Cardona boarded one with The Shadow, while Berkland took the other with Lenore and Mogridge. A second police car brought up the rear.

Cardona made only one comment to The Shadow.

"We're heading straight for Berkland's," informed Joe, "but we're making no grand scramble to get there. If there's been trouble there, Mr. Cranston, it's better that we showed up without a lot of noise. Just like we were escorting Mr. Berkland back to his house."

The Shadow made no reply. He agreed with Cardona's decision; more than that, he coincided with an idea that Cardona had in mind but did not mention.

The Shadow approved Cardona's hunch that the extinction of telephone service at Berkland's had a direct connection with the robbery at Pettigrew's auction gallery.

Just what that connection might be, was something that The Shadow could not fully decide until they reached Berkland's, and learned what had happened to the secretary, James Ungler.

CHAPTER IV.

THE SHADOW CONCURS.

TOBIAS BERKLAND's residence was an antique mansion in the upper Seventies, a house that stood conspicuous in its row. Though the building conformed somewhat to the others, it was plain that it had been constructed earlier; that the later houses had not only copied its style but had encroached upon its preserves.

Once, the old house must have had grounds of its own; at present, it was wedged tightly between other brownstone buildings. The only special features that it still possessed were narrow alleyways on each side. These were necessary, because the house had side windows and would have been rendered useless for occupancy if the walls of other buildings had ab.u.t.ted it.

The house was not entirely dark. A dim light glimmered through a transom above the front door. Cardona saw the glow when he arrived; he waited until Berkland's cab pulled up, then questioned: "What about servants, Mr. Berkland? Don't you have any except your secretary?"

"I have a butler," replied Berkland. "His name is Perkins. His wife, Agnes, is the cook. They live elsewhere and always go home soon after the dinner hour."

"Were they here when you left this evening?"

"No. Lenore and I went out to dinner, so the servants were not needed at all this afternoon. Mr. Mogridge was downtown and did not intend to return for dinner."

"What about Ungler? Doesn't he eat?"

"Not a great amount. When the family is out for dinner, Ungler cooks a light meal for himself."

Cardona eyed the door with the light above it. He asked for the key.

Berkland and Mogridge each produced one. Cardona took Berkland's; then questioned: "What about the back door? Do you have a key to it?"

"No," replied Berkland. "There are two keys to the back door. The servants use one; Ungler has the other. There is a side door, though, on the left of the house. Lenore has the key to it."

"Good," decided Cardona. "I'll send a man to watch the back door. Another can enter by the side door. Let me have the key, Miss Berkland."

Lenore looked in her bag. She could not find the key. Suddenly, she remembered what had become of it.

"Lawrence has the key!" exclaimed the girl. "I remember that I asked him to carry it for me, a week ago. I forgot to ask him to return it."

CARDONA looked along the street. The coupe had been the first car to arrive; it was parked just beyond the house. The detective was coming from the car, accompanied by Woolford, who had steadied, but seemed insistent upon walking slowly.

Cardona approached the pair and demanded the key. Woolford looked blank, then produced a half a dozen keys from his pocket.

"Guess it's one of these," he said. "I don't know which one, though.

Maybe Lenore can pick it out."

The girl recognized a key. Cardona turned it over to a policeman and told the officer to enter by the side door. That arranged, Cardona ascended the front steps, cautiously unlocked the door and entered. Soon, he reappeared and beckoned the others to follow. Cardona had met the policeman in the downstairs hallway.

"Everything seems quiet," announced Cardona, when the rest had joined him.

"All I'm worrying about is if anything has happened to Ungler. Where would we find him, Mr. Berkland?"

"In my study," replied the eagle-faced magnate. "He was supposed to be working there this evening. Come."

Berkland led the way to the second floor. He entered a front room. Coming in at the left, The Shadow saw that the room was a library and a large one.

Huge bookcases lined the walls; there were reading nooks, and one front corner of the room was cut off to form what looked like a mammoth closet.

Berkland had turned on the lights. He paused to look at the closet door.

Producing a key, the oil magnate approached and unlocked the door. He turned on a light. The closet proved to be a stack room, windowless and with its own bookshelves. No one was in the room.

"I keep my rare volumes here," explained Berkland. "Rarities and certain first editions. I wanted to be sure that no one had entered here." He locked the door of the windowless room. Meanwhile, The Shadow had observed more features of the library. It had two large windows in the front wall. They formed breaks between the bookcases.

There were two doorways. The group had entered the door at the left corner, in the back of the room. There was a similar door in the right rear corner of the room. Berkland led the others to it, with the explanation: "This leads into the study."

Opening the door, Berkland showed a short pa.s.sage. He turned on a light, approached a door at the far end. Hand on the k.n.o.b, Berkland hesitated, then motioned to Cardona.

"You had better enter, inspector," suggested Berkland. "I - well, in view of circ.u.mstances, I hardly know what we might expect to find."

Gripping the doork.n.o.b with his left hand, Cardona drew a revolver with his right. He turned the k.n.o.b, shoved the door inward and bounded into the room.

Those behind him saw emptiness; they saw Cardona turn about, then suddenly stop rigid.

ONLY The Shadow guessed the reason. He had pressed forward with Cardona; he saw that Joe was staring to a spot behind the half-opened door. With a shove of his left shoulder, The Shadow sent the door fully open. He thrust his left arm after it, with a jabbing move.

The swing of the door instantly revealed a sallow, twitchy-faced man. The fellow was frail of build, attired in a drab suit of dark gray. In his nervous hand he clutched a .22 automatic; he was aiming the weapon straight for Cardona. One instant more, the frail man's straining finger would have begun to pump lead into Cardona's body. The Shadow's hand stopped the action.

Viselike, The Shadow's fingers clutched the fellow's wrist. The upward twist that followed brought a spontaneous cry from sallow lips. The man's knees sagged; his body plunked back against the wall. His hand lost its grip on the .22; the puny weapon clattered to the floor.

Others sprang into the room, as The Shadow subdued the sallow man.

Cardona was already claiming the small automatic; as he picked up the weapon, Joe grunted his thanks to The Shadow.

"Good work, Mr. Cranston," approved Cardona. "This bird was all set to drill me before I could get a bead on him." Then, to Berkland: "Did you ever see this man before?"

"Certainly." Berkland was already smiling in relief when he heard Cardona's query. "He is the man we came to find. My secretary, James Ungler."

The Shadow released Ungler in leisurely fashion. The secretary looked bewildered; then became apologetic as he saw Berkland's eyes glaring through the high-rimmed spectacles.

"I meant no harm, Mr. Berkland," whined Ungler. "I thought - I didn't know that this man" - he indicated Cardona - "I didn't know that he had come with you. I heard whispers outside the door -"

"So you got ready with a gun, eh?" snapped Cardona. "Set yourself to plug any stranger who came in?"

"Ungler has a gun permit," remarked Berkland. "I arranged for one a year ago, so that Ungler could protect the house in case of danger."

Cardona stared; then sourly handed the .22 back to Ungler. The sallow man pocketed it with mumbled thanks. The Shadow indulged in a slight smile.

Cardona had taken the most graceful way out of a situation that his overzeal hadbrought upon him.

Berkland, however, was not through with Ungler. The magnate was not only anxious to close the recent incident and thus cover Cardona's embarra.s.sment; he also wanted to come to the point concerning his own affairs.

"Where were you, Ungler?" snapped Berkland, angrily. "Why didn't you answer the telephone, when I called?"

"I was right here, sir," insisted Ungler. "That is, except between half past six and seven, when I had dinner."

"A preposterous statement, Ungler. I called you just before the auction; and again, right after the robbery."

"The robbery?"

"Yes. Pettigrew and another man were murdered. My rubies were stolen."

UNGLER gaped. Looking beyond the secretary, The Shadow saw Lawrence Woolford stare. The young man turned to the detective who had driven his car.

The Shadow heard Woolford mumble thickly to the d.i.c.k: "No wonder you wouldn't answer my questions while we were driving up here.

I didn't know there'd been a robbery. I was wondering what the fuss was about."

Both Ungler and Woolford had registered astonishment in their individual manners; but Ungler's was more impressive, by its absence of comment. Berkland eyed the gaping secretary, then snapped another question.

"What about the insurance? Did you tell the International a.s.sociation of Jewelers to put their policy in force? They were supposed to call at seven o'clock."

"There - there were no telephone calls, sir," stammered Ungler. "I supposed that you must have taken care of the matter. Your own insurance terminated when you made the sale."

Joe Cardona had stepped to a desk in the corner. He was pulling the telephone cord that ran down beyond the desk. The lower end of the wire came into view. Cardona exhibited it.

The wire had been clipped. Its ends were connected by a short length of stout string, to keep the wire taut so that the cut would not be discovered.

"Is there another telephone in the house?" demanded Cardona. "A down stairs extension, perhaps?"