Crime, Insured s-129

by Maxwell Grant

  There were a few others whom the police thought were finger men. Also the captured thugs who had been under Nogger's command.

  Definite mention was made of Wally Drillick; although the prisoners claimed they did not know the fellow, it was plain that they believed Wally to be the masked bandit.

  Francine Melrue was at the hearing. The girl gave her testimony in a firm voice. With her was a nervous, dissipated-looking young man; her brother, George. The two scarcely spoke to each other. The reason for their coldness was something that The Shadow had easily learned. George was squandering his half million dollars; and Francine disapproved.

  When the hearing ended, Francine started from the courtroom. Commissioner Weston stepped over and nodded to Joe Cardona. The inspector stopped Francine, to ask if he might have the pleasure of introducing the police commissioner. Francine smiled; she shook hands with Weston. In turn, the commissioner introduced Lamont Cranston.

  FRANCINE was immediately impressed by the tall millionaire's appearance. Cranston's face was firm, almost masklike; his features had a hawkish appearance. His thin lips showed only the faint semblance of a smile; it was his eyes that captured Francine's attention. Francine remembered eyes that had burned with dynamic power, from beneath a slouch hat. The eyes of The Shadow! - all that Francine had seen of that shrouded being's face. Cranston's eyes seemed milder; but there was something in their steady gaze that was strangely reminiscent of The Shadow.

  Commissioner Weston was commending the girl on her brave fight against the jewel robbers. Francine scarcely heard what Weston said. When she turned away, she was almost in a daze, still thinking of The Shadow's eyes.

  George Melrue saw a chance to talk to his sister. He plucked Francine's arm and spoke in a whiny, pleading voice:

  "Sis, we've got a chance to sell the old house."

  Francine snapped from her reverie.

  "The old house that Uncle Seth died in?" she asked, mechanically. "But it doesn't belong to us. Uncle Seth left it to an old friend of his named Wilmot."

  "I talked to our lawyer, Mr. Reddingham," explained George. "He's found out that Wilmot died a couple of years ago, so the house reverts to us. And listen, Francine, Uncle Seth always said I had no business sense. But I've pulled a deal that will make the old boy turn cart wheels in his mausoleum!"

  "You've sold the house?"

  "Yes; and what do you think I got for the old brownstone relic? Ninety thousand dollars!"

  Francine gasped her amazement. She forgot entirely that Weston and Cranston were hearing the conversation.

  "Why, George!" she exclaimed. "Mr. Reddingham told us that the house wasn't worth a dollar over forty thousand! And the real estate men said that even that was too high an estimate."

  "I know it," chuckled George. "That's where I was smart! It seems that a chap named Hurden called up Reddingham and asked him about the house. Reddingham put it up to me; so I asked a big price, intending to cut it in half and make Hurden think I was giving him a bargain. Instead, Hurden accepted the price!"

  A KEEN sparkle showed in Cranston's eyes. The Shadow knew the old brownstone mansion by sight; he recognized its value as less than forty thousand dollars. He had also heard the name of Hurden.

  It had been used in some big stock transactions. Hurden was a professional proxy who bought goods for persons who did not want their own names involved. He always made his transactions by telephone and messenger service.

  Somebody wanted the Melrue mansion badly. The heirs did not know it; they were both enthusiastic as they left.

  Walking out with Weston, Cranston allowed a slight smile. Something lay behind that prospective deal; it smacked of smooth crime, the sort that The Shadow had been curbing lately. It might even be a new development of modern criminal technique.

  In fact, the sale of the Melrue mansion might be the very wedge that The Shadow wanted. By studying it closely, The Shadow might reach through and find the crime that lay behind crime. The Shadow had gained something of unexpected value by coming to this hearing.

  Concerned with this new fact, The Shadow did not consider another possibility - that his presence at the hearing might also have caused him damage. Nothing had occurred to indicate such; but it was actually the case.

  At that moment, a stolid-faced court attendant was riding in a taxicab, mulling over a list that he had prepared. It contained the names of everyone who had been at the hearing. The man sealed the list in an envelope just as the cab stopped in front of a small hotel.

  Entering, the attendant gave the envelope to the desk clerk, with the request:

  "Please send this up to Mr. Strampf. He wants it right away."

  A bell hop took the envelope up to the fifth floor and knocked on a door. There was a harsh voice from within. The door opened to reveal a lean, stoop-shouldered man, whose face was pale and cadaverous.

  Sharp, tiny eyes glittered as they saw the envelope. Strampf plucked it from the bell boy's hand; thrust a quarter dollar in its place. He closed the door and strode back through the room.

  There was something spidery in Strampf's gait; a peculiar hunch of his stooped shoulders as he sat down at a table, piled deep with littered papers.

  Strampf was the man who had twice watched crimes in progress; the observer who had spotted both Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland. It was Strampf who had trailed the bag of pay-off money.

  Strampf ripped open the envelope. His bony forefinger pointed from name to name. The man's dried lips curled in disappointed fashion. He shook his head, rubbed his fingers through his thin hair. Carefully, he tapped the names again.

  This time, Strampf stopped on the name of Lamont Cranston.

  The little eyes narrowed to tiny points. Strampf sprang from the table, began to search through stacks of old magazines in the corner. They made an odd assortment, those magazines. They included a number of pictorial journals that came from foreign countries.

  Strampf found one that was published in Cape Town, South Africa.

  Pawing the pages, Strampf found the picture that he wanted. It showed a party of big-game hunters, ready to begin a trek across the African veldt. Their names were listed beneath the photograph. The third man from the left was Lamont Cranston.

  Strampf stroked his chin with bony fingers as he noted the date of the magazine. It was six weeks old; but that did not matter. The caption with the photograph declared that the party had left for a two-month trip.

  Strampf's lips contorted into a smile.

  He had it! There were two persons who posed as Lamont Cranston. One, the actual Cranston, was scarcely ever in New York. The other - an impostor - found advantage in his double's absence. It enabled him to travel at large, concealing his real identity.

  The false Cranston was The Shadow!

  STRAMPF pounced back to the table. There, he gathered papers that bore various names. To them, he added another; on that sheet he listed his new discovery.

  Strampf had figured that The Shadow would be present at the court hearing; but he would never have guessed The Shadow's guise except for that chance photograph. Once learned, the whole case intrigued Strampf by the perfect way in which it fitted.

  The Shadow, a friend of the police commissioner!

  What could be better, from The Shadow's standpoint? It told Strampf something that he had guessed, but had not been sure about - that The Shadow had some way of keeping track of the law's moves, to time his own operations.

  The dual identity also explained how The Shadow gained such quick inside information regarding everything that the law uncovered in regard to crime.

  His sheets complete, Strampf reached for a telephone. He called a number; a girl's voice replied in the monotone of a switchboard operator:

  "Office of the Solidarity Insurance Company -"

  "Mr. Strampf calling," informed the cadaverous man. "I want to talk to Mr. Bradthaw."

  "Mr. Bradthaw is out to lunch. He will return at two o'clock."

  "Leave word for hi
m to expect me by half past two. With this message: Tell him that I have all the information that he requires."

  "Very well, Mr. Strampf."

  As he hung up the receiver, Strampf leaned back in his chair. His bony fingers strummed the strewn papers that cluttered the table edge. There was something ominous in the soft tattoo that Strampf's fingers pounded.

  It signified trouble for The Shadow. Strampf had uncovered the cloaked sleuth's choicest secret. When that news reached Bradthaw, there would be action. Strampf knew well Bradthaw's methods. They were the sort that brooked no delay.

  Thanks to Strampf, a master-crook would be able to find The Shadow, at whatever time the superplotter might choose.

  CHAPTER IX. CRIME'S PROFITEER

  Two o'clock. Marvin Bradthaw, president of the Solidarity Insurance Company, had returned to his office. He was seated there, peering through the window toward the neighboring skyscrapers of lower Manhattan.

  Marvin Bradthaw had the appearance of a man who typified huge commercial success. His face was rugged, with the square jaw that marked a firm executive temperament. His steel-gray eyes were almost the color of his smooth-parted hair. His lips had a slightly compressed appearance, indicating that they never spoke except when Bradthaw had chosen his exact words.

  Bradthaw's elbow was on the desk. His smooth-shaven chin was resting in hand. Not only was he the picture of success, facts marked him as a giant in the insurance world. The Solidarity had a high reputation with all underwriters. It controlled companies that handled casualty, automobile and fire insurance.

  Credit for the rise of the Solidarity Insurance Company belonged entirely to Marvin Bradthaw. His company owned this forty-story building, the Solidarity Tower. The offices of the company occupied the ten top stories; and Bradthaw's own office was on the fortieth. It was the highest spot in the building, except the observation room just above; and that was closed to visitors.

  Bradthaw was a man with a huge income. He had every right to look pleased as he gazed from his high-situated office window. Instead, the famed insurance magnate had a disgruntled air.

  He was not at all satisfied with business conditions. Casualty, automobile and fire were showing their proper profits; but another branch of the business had gone bad.

  That particular type of insurance was unknown to the world at large. Yet Bradthaw regarded it as more important - and more profitable - than all other forms of insurance combined. He had planned it with the definite prospect of netting a yearly profit of ten million dollars.

  Those figures were never to be made public. Bradthaw's secret enterprise was unheard of, startling to the last degree. It was covered with the utmost care.

  Bradthaw's biggest business was crime insurance!

  A BUZZER sounded on Bradthaw's desk. The executive picked up a telephone from its cradle; learned that Mr. Louis Caudrey had called to see him. Bradthaw announced that he would see Caudrey at once.

  After he gave that order, he compressed his lips with a tight smile.

  Caudrey was the actuary who had figured the premium payments necessary in insuring crime. Bradthaw had not expected Caudrey, but he was glad that the man was here. He needed Caudrey's services.

  Louis Caudrey entered. He was a droopy sort of man who looked older than his age. Hollowed checks spoiled the rounded contour of his face; his eyes looked dull and tired, because of their heavy lids.

  It was seldom that Caudrey discarded that manner; but he felt free to do so in Bradthaw's presence.

  Caudrey became eager, the moment that he sat down.

  "I'll tell you why I'm here, Bradthaw," said Caudrey, in a high choppy tone. "I've uncovered a big deal; and I'm going to handle it -"

  "Crime?" queried Bradthaw, in a modulated basso. "A bit out of your line, Caudrey."

  "You've guessed it." Caudrey pursed his lips into a smile. "Yes, I've gone in for crime, if you want to call it that. I just happened on the proposition, through sheer luck!"

  Bradthaw said nothing. Caudrey decided that the insurance magnate would be interested in the details.

  Caudrey gave them.

  "I do a great deal of specialized work for attorneys," he stated. "My specialty is straightening out the financial figures of estates, when deceased persons leave them badly mixed. Recently, I worked for a lawyer named Reddingham. He gave me a boxful of unexamined papers that had belonged to Seth Melrue."

  So far Bradthaw looked unimpressed. Caudrey's eyes twinkled at thought of the surprise that he was about to produce.

  "A million dollars was divided between George Melrue and his sister Francine. Seth Melrue was their uncle. The old man left his house to a friend named Wilmot. It happens that Wilmot was already dead, so the house went to the heirs.

  "I began to find things when I went through the papers. Facts that even the lawyer, Reddingham, didn't know. They were explained when I found a sealed envelope addressed to Wilmot. I opened it and found a message that explained the rest."

  Enthusiastically, Caudrey leaned across Bradthaw's big-topped desk, to wag a finger as he declared:

  "There's three million dollars sealed up in a wall of that mansion! Money that old Melrue wanted his friend Wilmot to have! The old man was afraid to state it in his will, fearing that the nephew and niece would protest."

  INSTEAD of sharing Caudrey's enthusiasm, Bradthaw merely reached for a box of cigars. He proffered one to his visitor and lighted another for himself. In his careful tone, Bradthaw announced:

  "Those facts do not interest me, Caudrey."

  Caudrey flattened back in his chair, too astounded to speak. At last, he exploded.

  "Don't you understand?" he demanded. "I'm going to get the three million! I'm buying the house through a proxy named Hurden. I'll have workers - the right type - open the wall for me. But there are many details that might cause complications. That's why I want to insure the enterprise."

  Bradthaw shook his head. Caudrey couldn't understand.

  "It comes under the head of crime insurance," he insisted. "I can supply you with all proof necessary for you to insure the case. It will come under Preferred Class, Triple A. A ten per cent premium, amounting to three hundred thousand dollars.

  "In Preferred policies, particularly Triple A, you allow the policyholder to pay after the crime is completed. If it misses - as such cases rarely do - you pay the face of the policy and deduct the premium.

  I shall request that in this instance. Quite a usual procedure, Bradthaw."

  Bradthaw's head finished its shake.

  "We are issuing no more Preferred policies," declared the insurance magnate. "The best that I can do, Caudrey, is give you a policy in the Risk Group. The premium will be fifty per cent. Half of the three million that you hope to acquire."

  "I - I can't understand that," sputtered Caudrey. "You can't mean it, Bradthaw! Why, I - I know the insurance figures, because - well, didn't I prepare them?"

  "You did," affirmed Bradthaw. "But you overlooked the most important factor! I am not blaming you, Caudrey. It was something that we ourselves should have foreseen. You did not figure The Shadow hazard."

  Caudrey stared, perplexed. His lips phrased the term that was new to him:

  "The Shadow hazard?"

  "Precisely," informed Bradthaw. "Every form of insurance is faced by definite hazards that must be recognized. In casualty, carelessness is a hazard. With automobile insurance, reckless or drunken drivers constitute a serious problem. Improper building construction produces a fire hazard.

  "Crime insurance is no exception to the usual run. We looked for trouble from the law, and calculated it accurately. Crime insurance operated successfully for several months; then our losses began to swallow our profits. We found the reason: The Shadow!"

  THE name was unfamiliar to Caudrey. He recognized by Bradthaw's tone that the insurance magnate was speaking of a person. Caudrey asked the logical question:

  "Who is The Shadow?"

  "That is what we want to know," retu
rned Bradthaw, grimly. "We have learned only that The Shadow is a black-clad meddler who makes it his unwarranted business to interfere with crime. Who he is - where he is - those are questions that constitute a total mystery."

  "If you could find him, you might buy him off."

  "Not The Shadow. The nastiest trait that he possesses is integrity. We have learned that much through inquiry. Bah! The fellow must be insane! Otherwise, he would sell out. Every sane man has a price."

  Caudrey agreed with Bradthaw on that point. But it did not help the problem. Seeing that Caudrey was interested, Bradthaw provided a brief review.

  "Through the brokers that we chose," he explained, "we reached the cleverest crooks in the underworld.

  The chaps who call themselves big-shots. They jumped at the offer of crime insurance. They provided us with detailed plans of their schemes. We issued them policies and they paid the premiums.

  "We took in half a million dollars the first month; and paid only one claim, a paltry twenty thousand dollars. The second month showed a million dollars in premiums; with claims of one hundred and thirty thousand dollars.

  "The third month our premiums brought us another million, but we were forced to pay out twice that sum for crimes that failed. The Shadow hazard was the cause. The Shadow ruined our business - not only by anticipating crimes; he also drove some of our best policyholders to cover!"

  Bradthaw plucked a newspaper from his desk; he pointed to a picture of Duke Unrig, that was accompanied by an account of how the police had found the big-shot's body in a squalid hide-out.

  "Read this, Caudrey!" declared Bradthaw. "You mentioned the name of Melrue. I know the name. We paid Unrig one hundred thousand dollars after he failed to acquire the Melrue girl's gems. You have read about the frustrated holdup at the Gotham Trust Company. We paid Unrig a quarter million on that claim.

  "Both of those crimes were spoiled by The Shadow. Every case that comes to us must be regarded as an absolute risk until the hazard is eliminated. That is why I cannot give you a preferred policy, Caudrey, much though I would like to do so."