The Shadow was interested in the death of Richard Harkness. He was interested in all mysterious murders. Clyde Burke, now on the staff of the New York Classic, was an ideal man to serve The Shadow’s purposes.
BACK in the room where the body of Richard Harkness lay, Acting Inspector Zull was talking with the two detectives. Devlin was a more experienced man than Crowell. He was inspecting carefully, and Zull was watching him approvingly.
Devlin had just come from headquarters. He was telling Zull of other investigations that were under way in connection with this case.
The housekeeper was being quizzed. Lester — young associate of the murdered man — was at headquarters.
“It looks like the solution has got to lay right here,” was Devlin’s comment. “Crowell and I have got about all the data we can get. You haven’t any suggestions that might help, have you, Inspector?”
“You’re doing a thorough job, Devlin,” replied Zull. “You’re in charge now. I’m going down to headquarters.”
He descended the stairs and stood at the street door. His keen, shrewd eyes roamed in both directions. Suddenly, they became centered upon a spot across the street.
Zull glanced at his watch. Immediately afterward, he again concentrated on that spot.
“Pretty near an hour since the reporters went,” he said half aloud. “They got wind of it quick. I wonder—”
He strolled out into the street. He crossed casually and went by the place that he had been observing. It was dark here, and Zull threw a sidelong glance at the blackness of a building wall.