CHAPTER VIII

On the Trail

The Metropolis Flyer arrived in New York a little before noon the next day without incident, only slightly behind schedule despite the remarkable events of the night before. Clark Kent and Margo and Lois Lane made their way to Margo's townhouse to plan their next move.

"The first thing we need to know is Cranston's last known whereabouts on the night he disappeared," Kent said.

"According to Burbank, the head of the Shadow's agents, The Shadow had gotten a tip that something big was happening at a warehouse on the corner of Lexington and 29th," Margo answered. "We've given the police an anonymous tip, and they've gone over the place with a fine-toothed comb, but they can't find anything unusual. Just a perfectly ordinary, everyday warehouse. Everything seems legitimate and above board."

"Hmm. No help there, I suppose," Kent mused. "All right, the next thing we need to know is what Dietrich was up to. Then we might be able to figure out why he's interested in Lamont Cranston, and that could lead us to where Cranston might be."

"That should be easy enough," Lois said confidently, "We've got two top-notch reporters on the case."

"But Lois, you're forgetting, this isn't exactly our case or our town. We don't know the players, and we don't have many contacts," Kent pointed out.

"I may be able to help there," Margo offered. "One of The Shadow's agents is a man called Clyde Burke, a reporter for the Classic, one of the smaller papers here in town. I could call him and see what he knows."

Margo was about to reach for the telephone to call Burke, when Lois stopped her. "Wait a minute, Margo," she said. "Do you think that's wise? If we bring your friend Burke in on this, there's a good chance he'll figure out that Lamont Cranston and The Shadow are one and the same. It seems to me that the fewer people there are who know Lamont's secret, the safer he'll be."

"That's a chance we'll have to take," Margo answered grimly, and that was the end of the discussion. Margo telephoned Burke and explained the situation. The reporter answered that he was on his way out of the office to cover another story but would stop by briefly afterwards to share what he knew. It was early evening by the time he arrived. Lois was immediately drawn to the man because of his energy and confidence. The attraction seemed to be mutual.

"I've got a source down at City Hall who owes me a few favors," Burke said when he arrived. "I could have him track down all the paperwork Dietrich filed to get a license for his import-export company. That could tell us something."

"Good idea, Burke," Lois Lane said, "You sound like a reporter or something. Only I want to come along when you have a look at Dietrich's business license."

"Only on two conditions, Miss Lane," he said.

"Which are?"

"Condition one, the Classic gets to break the story first."

"But" . . . Lois sputtered.

"Is it a deal, or isn't it, Miss Lane?" Burke insisted.

"It's a deal, Mr. Burke," Lois said reluctantly. "What else?"

"Condition two--and I hope this makes up for condition one--you'll let me buy you dinner after," he said with a hopeful smile.

Lois considered for a moment, but waited before replying. She was clearly attracted to the man, but something was holding her back. She cast a curious glance at Clark Kent, as if suddenly seeing him for the first time. Kent noticed her expression with equal puzzlement but said nothing. Finally Lois turned back to Burke.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Burke, dinner is off. But I'm still coming with you to City Hall," she insisted.

"Suit yourself, Miss Lane. Since you have a personal interest in this story, and since I'm such a nice guy, I don't suppose I can keep you from coming along. But I am disappointed about dinner."

"Maybe some other time," Lois said with an apologetic smile and another glance back at Kent. "Well, let's get going," she said briskly, as if determined to change the subject. "Don't wait up, Clark," she said to Kent with an impish smile as she slammed the door.

"Don't worry, I won't," he answered, more puzzled and perturbed than he'd care to admit. He stared at the door for a few seconds until he felt a soft tap on his shoulder and heard a soft but deliberate cough behind him. He whirled to face Margo Lane.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Clark, I didn't mean to--" she began.

"It's all right, Margo," he said. "I wonder what that was all about," he murmured, pointing a thumb back over his shoulder at the door through which Lois had just left. "Did you see that? Usually she won't give me the time of day, but she turned down that dinner date with Burke . . . "

"Well, I might have had a little something to do with that," Margo said casually. "You see, after you went to bed last night, Lois and I got to talking. The conversation came around to you and . . ."

"And you told her that I . . . And she . . . Thank you!" he said at last. It was almost a whisper.

"Don't mention it--ever again," she said with a wink.

Now it was Kent's turn to cough. "Yes. Well. Umm . . ."

"Back to business, Clark," Margo said sharply. "Lois and Burke have their assignments. What do we do?"

Clark Kent quickly recovered himself. "Margo," he said calmly, "We are going to see Inspector Joe Cardona."

Inspector Joe Cardona of the New York Police Department sighed and ran his hands wearily through his hair, effectively ruining the careful combing he had given it that morning. It was curly, dark, and thick, as it was for many people of his Italian ancestry, and just beginning to go gray at the temples. He'd already loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. It had been a long day and he was more than ready to go home. He rubbed his swarthy chin with a large hand and looked at Margo Lane steadily through his dark black eyes.

"For the tenth time, Miss Lane, we don't have any direct evidence that Karl Dietrich is involved in the disappearance of your friend Mr. Cranston," Cardona said. "Sure, they quarreled, and shortly thereafter Mr. Cranston disappeared, but that's all circumstantial. If you want me to go before a judge and get a warrant, I need something solid. Evidence, Miss Lane. I need evidence. My detectives and I have questioned Dietrich until we're blue in the face, but he's clammed up and he's got the best lawyers in town working for him. We've got nothing to go on. If we try to bring him in, he can sue us for false arrest."

"I understand, Inspector," Margo said quietly.

"Look, Miss Lane, I sympathize, I really do. Mr. Cranston's helped out this department more times than I can count. I've been getting calls from Commissioner Weston himself every day, and I've got my best men working on this, but until I get something solid, I'm afraid there's not much I can do."

"I see. Well, thank you for your time, Inspector." Margo stood up to leave, and Clark Kent stepped forward to help her with her coat.

"Thank you, Inspector. We know you're doing the best you can," Kent said, extending his hand.

"You're welcome, Mr. . . . Kent, was it? If you don't mind my asking, what's your angle? I still don't see what a reporter from Metropolis has to do with all this," Cardona said.

"I told you before. I'm here to cover a story for my paper, and I've been asked to look into this matter unofficially as . . . a friend of the family," Kent answered.

"Uh huh," Cardona murmured, as if he weren't completely convinced. "Just remember that officially this matter is still an active police investigation, and we don't like outsiders, no matter how noble their intentions, meddling in police business."

"I'll keep that in mind, Inspector," Kent said. It wasn't the first time he'd heard such a warning, he added to himself.

Clark and Margo said their final goodbyes and left. Out on the street, they turned to each other.

"Well, that went nowhere," Kent said in frustration. "Now what?"

"You heard the man," Margo replied evenly. "He needs evidence that Karl was mixed up in Lamont's disappearance. What if we got him some?"

"What are you suggesting? That we steal something that proves Dietrich is in on it?"

Margo Lane pretended to be shocked. "Why, Mr. Kent! Not stealing! That would be illegal." She paused a moment. "But how would you feel about a little breaking and entering?" she added with a wicked grin.

Clark Kent rolled his eyes. If his guess about what Margo had in mind was correct, it was going to be a very interesting evening. He wondered how Lois and Burke were getting along.

Clyde Burke let out a low, awe-struck whistle as he regarded the papers in the file folder in front of him. He and Lois Lane stood in a dark, cramped file room in the municipal building in Manhattan poring over the application Karl Dietrich had submitted for his business license.

"Hey, Lois, look at this," Burke said. "Look who's listed as a partner in your pal Dietrich's company."

Lois Lane drew in her breath sharply. "Uncle Renfield!" she whispered.

"Yeah, and that ain't all. Accordin' to this, Dietrich's got big plans for your uncle's money. He's got branch offices in nearly every major city in the country--Chicago, St. Louis, New Orleans, Boston, Los Angeles--the list goes on for pages."

There was a sharp rap on the door and a nervous, balding man with thick glasses poked his head into the room. "Are you guys done in here yet? If anybody finds out about this, I could lose my job," he said anxiously.

"Sure thing, Milt," Clyde Burke replied, "We've got everything we need. Thanks a lot. I owe ya one, buddy."

"That's what you said the last time," Milt muttered.

"We need to get this information to Clark and Margo right away," Lois said grimly. "I wonder how they're doing?"

Margo Lane peered through the darkness at the third story window of the townhouse, the window she thought marked Karl Dietrich's study. Margo and Clark were watching Dietrich's townhouse covertly from across the street looking for a way in, but the wrought iron fence that circled the property looked daunting. The lights were out, however, and no one appeared to be home.

"Are you sure that's it?" Clark Kent asked, standing beside her.

"Pretty sure. I was only here once," Margo replied.

"I hope you're right," Clark said. "Well, if we're going to do this, let's go."

They sprinted across the darkened, deserted street and tried the back gate of the fence. It was securely locked. Margo tugged on the bars in frustration.

"Let me try," Clark whispered. Using his titanic strength, the Man of Steel forced two of the bars just far enough apart to allow himself and Margo to slip through. He had to do it subtly and covertly, however, since he was still in the guise of Clark Kent.

"How . . . How did you do that?" Margo hissed as loud as she dared, her eyes wide with amazement.

"Uh . . . the bars must've been rusty," Kent whispered back.

"But--"

Kent put a finger to his lips, ending further conversation, and they raced across the lawn to the back of the house. Margo tried the back door and found it as securely locked as she expected, but the lock on this door was going to require something much more robust than the hairpin or skeleton key she often used in such situations. She tugged on the doorknob fruitlessly in frustration.

"Oh, now what!" she hissed. She stared up at a tree that grew nearly as tall as the third story window of the house and then made a move to start climbing it, but Kent stopped her.

"Margo! Down here!" he hissed back.

Margo scrambled down from the tree and hurried over to join Clark Kent. The back door of Dietrich's townhouse, which had been securely locked moments before, now stood wide open. While Margo had been busy climbing the tree, the Last Son of Krypton focused a beam of his X-ray vision on the doorknob, essentially shattering the bolt holding the door in place. Margo shot Clark Kent a quizzical look, but he put a finger to his lips again, and they crept into the house, looking for a back staircase.

Soon enough they found it and began working their way upstairs, their path lit only by the flashlight each carried. When they reached the top of the stairs, Margo hesitated a moment and pointed silently in what she thought was the direction of Dietrich's study. Her guess was right. The door was easily unlocked with Margo's skeleton key, and as they entered the darkened room, Clark and Margo could make out the dim shapes of Dietrich's desk, the sideboard, and bookshelves all along the walls. They moved quickly to the desk but found nothing helpful on its polished surface. Dietrich was tidy as well as thorough, moving all his papers back to his locked filing cabinet at the end of each day. Clark Kent let his flashlight play over the bookshelves, where something caught his eye.

"What is it?" Margo whispered.

"These books," Kent whispered back, "they're all about the occult. Your friend Dietrich has interesting reading habits." Kent let his flashlight play over the bookshelves again and began to pull books off the shelves and leaf through them excitedly. "This one's in Hebrew, that one's in Arabic, here's one in Chinese, and another in Hindi," he said. "They're all about . . . alchemy, necromancy, mental telepathy, mind control, invisibility . . ."

Margo looked at the books uncomprehendingly. Many of them were heavy, old, leather-bound volumes with ponderous titles in Latin, German, French, or other languages Margo couldn't even begin to decipher. Clark Kent, however, seemed to know them all. Jor-El, Krypton's leading scientist, had schooled his son well, teaching the child all of earth's languages, both during his rocket ship's long voyage from Krypton and through the memory crystals in Kal-El's hidden Arctic lair, the Fortress of Solitude. To Margo Lane, however, Clark Kent was only a reporter from Smallville and Metropolis, and she was astonished that he knew such things.

"Who are you?" she whispered fiercely. "How do you know all this? What does it mean?"

"I think I know, but there isn't time to explain," Kent shot back. "We have to get out of here right now. Here, help me with these books." Clark and Margo began replacing the books on the shelves, but as they reached for one old codex, it slid to the floor with a thud. A moment later they heard footsteps moving toward the study.

"Mein Herr?" a voice called. "Mein Herr, is that you?"

Clark and Margo froze for an instant, and then Clark motioned for Margo to go out the window while he locked the door and moved a chair in front of it. The footsteps stopped. A hand tried the doorknob, and an instant later, a fist pounded on the door.

"Open this door at once!" demanded a voice that Margo recognized as Schmidt's. "I am armed. If you do not open this door immediately, I shall come after you and deal with you myself. Open this door! Open this door, I say!"

Clark Kent scrambled across the room and joined Margo Lane on the window ledge.

"What do we do now, Mr. Genius?" Margo snapped.

"As I recall, it was your idea to break in here," Kent shot back. "There's nothing for it but to jump."

"Are you crazy? That's three stories down!"

"Don't worry, I'll catch you. Besides, if you have a better idea, now's the time."

While they had been talking, they heard the rattle of a key in the lock and Schmidt's cursing in English and German as he struggled with the chair blocking the doorway. They jumped just as Margo heard a powerful bang and Schmidt succeeded in forcing the chair out of the way. Margo expected to fall rapidly and painfully to the ground, but instead she felt a firm grip on her shoulder and seemed to float, with almost incredible gentleness, to earth. She had felt that sensation once before--in the company of Superman--but she looked over, and only Clark Kent of Smallville and Metropolis held her.

She had little time to ponder all of this, because as soon as their feet hit the ground, Clark and Margo raced across the lawn to the back fence and squeezed through the gap in the bars Clark had created. They heard the loud reports of pistol shots and felt bullets rush past them. They heard Schmidt loudly cursing in English and German and calling for the police as they dashed across the street and Clark went in search of a taxi to take them back to Margo's apartment.

End of Chapter VIII