Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 061 by Maxwel l Grant

Author:Maxwel,l Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

"I changed the combination again after that episode. I always make it a policy to have no one in the room while I turn the combination. Therefore, gentlemen, you will wait here until I call you."

"Of course," agreed Joe Cardona, impatiently.

Bexler turned on a light as he stepped into the room. He swung toward the vault, which was visible to him alone. A hollow gasp came from his lips. He clasped his hands to his chest and stared, motionless.

Joe Cardona sprang to Bexler's side. The others followed. All saw the reason for the collector's gasp. Before them was the opened door of the vault. In the light that entered from the room, they could see that the vault was empty.

"Gone—gone"—Bexler's voice was an almost incoherent stammer—"my Persian throne. A quarter of a million—gone -"

HALF an hour later, a group of sober guests left Hubert Bexler's home. Detective Joe Cardona had found no reason to hold them. Hubert Bexler himself had insisted that they could not have aided in the theft of his Persian throne.

It was apparent that the burglars had entered by the side door of the house. The door, like that of the vault, was open. Cardona decided that they had opened the formidable vault and had removed the throne while Bexler was engaged with his guests.

As Joe Cardona followed the men who had left, he found Lamont Cranston standing by the door of his limousine. The detective paused to speak to the globe-trotter.

"Serious business, this," remarked Cranston.

"It is," admitted Cardona. "Maybe we're not at the end of it."

"How so?"

"There may be other collectors of these rare curios."

"I hardly think so. None with such valued treasures. I am speaking, of course, of those who own—or owned—but one prize item."

"There's a man named Powers Jordan," remarked Cardona, "and he has a sort of crown that's worth as much as any of these things that have been lifted."

"Have you seen him?"

"I called him up. Dutton gave me his name, after the first robbery. Jordan said he had sold the crown. He used to travel around with these other collectors. But he isn't interested any more."

"Then this means the end of it."

"I hope so, Mr. Cranston. Good night."

As Cardona was about to move forward to his car, which was parked ahead of the limousine, he heard Cranston's quiet voice detaining him. The detective paused.

"Cardona," Lamont Cranston asked quietly, "just what do you estimate as the value of these objects that have been stolen? Do you think that they average two-hundred thousand dollars each?"

"More than that," returned Cardona, in an emphatic tone. "I've checked the values. Call it an average of a quarter million—and that's putting it conservative."

"A great deal of money," observed Cranston. "Good night, Cardona."

"Good night," rejoined the detective.

Cranston entered his limousine. The car followed Cardona's from the drive. As his car reached the broad highway to Manhattan, the solitary passenger in the limousine indulged in a thoughtful soliloquy.

"Five thefts." The tone was the whispered hiss of The Shadow, although it came from the lips of Lamont Cranston.

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