Crime, Insured s-129

by Maxwell Grant

  Yet when the man turned on a light to offset the gathering dusk, the glow wrought a transformation. His features, relaxed, showed a kindliness that belied the first impression that they gave. Those who knew this man realized why.

  His name was Slade Farrow. He was a criminologist who reached deep into the tortured souls of outlawed unfortunates. They trusted Farrow because he looked like one of their own ilk. He adopted that hardened pose to gain their confidence. After that, his real self began to appear.

  Under Farrow's guidance, desperate men came from the depths. They believed in Farrow; he made them believe in themselves.

  Farrow did not reach down to help. He plunged in beside the men he aided; pushed them out to security.

  He had spent as many as six months of a single year within the walls of a penitentiary, as a fellow-convict with a man who needed his aid.

  To Farrow, such service brought its rewards. Greatest of them all had been his meeting with that mysterious personage called The Shadow.

  Battling crime was but one side of The Shadow's work. The Shadow recognized that the majority of criminals were past claim, but he frequently discovered those who were exceptions. Sometimes, The Shadow set them straight himself; others, those cases that needed prolonged efforts, he turned over to Farrow.

  Last night, Farrow had done The Shadow an important service. Listening to news reports, tuning in on police calls, he had picked up coded signals that he understood. They were from Burbank, The Shadow's contact agent.

  Learning that Burbank was a prisoner with others, Farrow had not called the contact number, which he knew. He had waited for a direct call from The Shadow.

  That call had come this morning. The Shadow needed Farrow; wanted him to be ready. Farrow had reported Burbank's message. Since then, he had been listening for more calls. None had come. Farrow knew that the link was ended. He wondered what The Shadow would do.

  AS Farrow pondered, he realized that he was not alone. He looked about. In a chair close beside him sat a black-cloaked visitor who had entered like a ghost. For a moment, Farrow was frankly startled; then he smiled as he recognized The Shadow. Farrow spoke:

  "No news."

  Calmly, The Shadow recounted the events of the preceding night. Farrow sat in amazement; his face lighted when he heard of The Shadow's reappearance in the transferred sanctum. Then came The Shadow's statement regarding the plight of his agents:

  "Their present contact cannot be restored. They must be reached. I have arranged a method. In my file cabinet are details of a black-light projector that will enthuse men of crime."

  Farrow nodded. He knew of the device. The Shadow had taken it from a dangerous criminal. The ray that it projected could put electrical equipment - such as burglar alarms - completely out of action.

  "They will learn two facts," continued The Shadow. "First, where the apparatus can be found; second that Burbank understands it. The device will puzzle them. They will take it to Burbank. In the base of the projector will be a simple device. A coil, a tube, dry-cell batteries."

  "To send a short-wave beam!" exclaimed Farrow. "To be picked up by direction finders!"

  "You will have one here," informed The Shadow. "The other will be at Doctor Sayre's."

  Again Farrow nodded. He knew Rupert Sayre, the Park Avenue physician whom The Shadow had once saved from death. With two direction-finders keyed for the expected signal, Farrow saw the prospective results.

  Rising for departure, The Shadow made a final request:

  "Have Tapper ready. He may be needed."

  WHEN he left Farrow's, The Shadow followed an untraceable course. All his amazing skill at silent unseen travel was in use tonight. On many occasions, The Shadow risked moves that might enable persons to gain chance glimpses of him. Tonight - and on nights to come - he could not afford that policy.

  The Shadow was dead; so at least, the underworld believed. The Shadow did not intend to permit any arguments to the contrary; not even the guess that some hophead might have seen The Shadow's ghost.

  Stealth was doubly imperative; for The Shadow was approaching a spot where he believed that crooks might be. He reached the street where the old Melrue mansion stood - dark, forgotten, formidable.

  Within those walls lay some secret important to The Shadow. By finding it, he could bait the supercrook, Marvin Bradthaw.

  As The Shadow crept close to the house, he sensed that it was watched. Someone stirred in a darkened space beside the mansion.

  The Shadow waited until the prowling watcher had gone past. Other times he would have chosen the simpler course of overpowering the fellow in the darkness. That was out, tonight. The Shadow intended to leave no evidence that would indicate he was still alive.

  The Shadow entered the house with absolute silence after working on a cellar window. He reached the ground floor. He heard men moving about. Hurden had filched a back-door key and had sent it along to Caudrey.

  The Shadow waited until he heard no more sounds. He moved to the main stairway; ascended to the second floor.

  There, he saw a glimmer from a door that was ajar. He peered into the old study. He saw three toughs, playing pinochle at a table with a well-muffled light. Window shades were drawn to cut off the glow. The Shadow moved away; he edged past a wall to follow a darkened hallway.

  In the gloom, The Shadow sensed something that made him return for another brief peer into the study.

  He checked instantly on the fact that he had learned. The wall between the study and the hall was of more than normal thickness.

  Following the rear hall, The Shadow reached the back stairs. He descended. He heard sounds in the kitchen; waited until a patrolling thug had gone to the front of the house.

  The kitchen connected with a pantry and a hallway. Using a guarded flashlight that cast a tiny beam, The Shadow discovered a thickened wall between the pantry and the hall. It was directly beneath the wall that separated the study from the second-floor hall.

  Stealthily, The Shadow descended to the cellar, which was unwatched. In the cellar he found the exact spot that he wanted. It was just next to a thin stone wall.

  Extinguishing his flashlight, The Shadow began to pry at the ceiling boards. The jimmy that he used was muffled with a strip of cloth. Old boards yielded; their crackles were subdued.

  REACHING through the space, The Shadow found a hollow within the wall between pantry and hall. He knew what it had been: the lower level of a dumb-waiter shaft between the pantry and the study just above it. Widening the space, The Shadow pulled himself up through.

  Remaining boards gave him a foothold. The space was cramped; that made it all the better. Cross-beams in the forgotten shaft served The Shadow as a double ladder.

  Crouched high in the shaft, The Shadow found the second-floor level stripped with boards. He probed them; met resistance except near the back wall. Patiently, he chiseled through, muffling his efforts to perfection. One board gone, The Shadow stretched his arm up into the space.

  He found a metal coffer.

  The object was only two feet across. Over the top, The Shadow discovered clamps and released them.

  The sound was not sufficient to penetrate the wall and reach the pinochle-playing crooks. Raising the lid of the chest, The Shadow felt crisp paper that crinkled with his touch.

  His arm through to its shoulder, The Shadow removed the contents by degrees. The last stacked bundles would have been difficult; but they were banded together. Confident that he had completely emptied the chest The Shadow started the lid on a downswing and caught it with one hand. He reached over and pressed the clamps.

  It was a long slow task, getting those spoils down to the cellar. There, The Shadow was forced to remove his cloak to bundle stacks of bank notes and bonds that bore big figures.

  Under the tiny flashlight, he calculated that this negotiable wealth totaled more than three million dollars.

  The garb beneath the cloak was black. It served The Shadow well when he left the cellar
window.

  Timing his departure for the fading paces of a watcher, The Shadow moved away, carrying his tight-bagged cloak over his shoulder.

  He found a taxi a block away and entered it; then spoke to the driver in a gruff voice that suited a chance passenger who had come along the street.

  Riding to Farrow's, The Shadow dumped the bundled cloak when he opened the cab door. He used a bare hand to pay the driver. The cab pulled away; stepping from behind it, The Shadow scooped up the bundled cloak and made a quick entry into the apartment house.

  Farrow's amazement was great, when be found himself the temporary holder of three million dollars. He heard the details from The Shadow, while the visitor was shrouding himself with the cloak. After The Shadow had gone, Farrow still sat pondering over the amazing methods that The Shadow used.

  Farrow believed that no one could have been so astonished as he had been tonight. He was wrong. The Shadow was already on his way to deliver a more remarkable surprise.

  IT came when Francine Melrue entered her apartment. The girl came in as lightly as she had that night when Harry Vincent had waited there masked. Francine's jewels had gone to a safe-deposit vault. She expected no more uninvited visitors.

  She saw none tonight, until she stepped toward the bedroom. Francine was reaching for the shoulder strap of the new evening gown she wore, when she halted. Her eyes were fixed in amazement.

  The camera man who had snapped Francine's picture for the society picture should have been present at that moment. There was beauty in Francine's startlement. Those sparkling eyes were brilliant; her even face and slightly tousled blond hair made a frame for them.

  The light gave them a sapphire blue that matched the gems that had tumbled from Cardona's pocket; for Francine's eyes had opened wide. Before her stood the shrouded figure that Francine knew from the past. Again, she was face to face with The Shadow.

  Her stare met his burning gaze. Then came that determined set of Francine's chin. It might have marred her beauty from the photographer's viewpoint. Not from The Shadow's.

  That thrust out chin showed that Francine had the courage The Shadow expected.

  Quietly, The Shadow spoke. His tone was a whisper; sinister, perhaps, to others; but not to Francine.

  She knew The Shadow's prowess. She accepted him as a friend. That voice could mean disaster to those who plotted crime. For Francine, it carried confidence that filled her with strength of her own.

  In Francine, The Shadow had found one of those rare persons who understood best when they knew all.

  An absolute judge of character and courage, The Shadow chose the strongest course. He told the girl of the wealth that was rightfully hers and her brother's. He added that it was sought by dangerous criminals; that to keep it, she must earn it. Not only for herself, but for her weakling brother.

  Francine's reply was one of readiness. Whatever The Shadow proposed, she would carry through. From beneath his cloak, The Shadow brought a folded paper. He explained its purpose.

  "A supposed threat," he stated, "from the crooks who failed to gain your jewels. They promise harm to George unless you give them the gems. You refuse to do so; but you are willing to stay out of sight and keep your brother with you. He will have to agree."

  Francine gave a determined smile. She would handle George. All that she needed was the hiding place.

  In whispered tone, The Shadow gave an address. He extended a key; Francine took it, with the note.

  She saw The Shadow turn; he was gone into the blackness of the bedroom.

  Francine gave a slight gasp as she relaxed. The thought struck her that all had been imagined; yet in her hand she held the note and the key. Warily, Francine stepped into the bedroom and turned on the light.

  The room was empty.

  Startled, Francine went to the window; it was closed. She opened it.

  From somewhere in the darkness of the roof below came the faint whisper of a weird, parting laugh. That uncanny mirth produced an odd effect. It gave Francine a sense of reality. In the framed light of the window, the girl nodded. That was her firm answer.

  Francine Melrue was ready to follow every instruction that The Shadow had given. When new need came, there would be one person upon whom The Shadow could fully depend.

  Francine would be ready, always.

  CHAPTER XVI. CRIME TAKES A LOSS

  WHEN Hurden arrived in Reddingham's office the next day, he found Francine Melrue with the lawyer.

  George was absent; Reddingham explained that the young man was ill. That was why Francine had come to sign the necessary papers, in her brother's stead.

  "Sorry about young Melrue," said Hurden. The dapper man pretended concern. "I wanted to invite him to the house tonight. I'm giving a party there, I'd hoped you could come, too, Miss Melrue."

  "It would have been impossible," returned Francine, icily. "I had other plans for tonight. As it happens, I have canceled all engagements on account of George."

  Reddingham beamed when he heard that statement. The lawyer was pleased because Francine and George were reconciled, He had expected it; for George's interest in selling the house was indication that the young man was listening to Francine's advice. Perhaps George was settling down to a more sensible existence.

  "Maybe you could come up to the house, Mr. Reddingham," persisted Hurden. "There'll be some real people there. I've got a lot of influential friends, you know."

  Reddingham hemmed an excuse. The dyspeptic old attorney did not like late hours. Hurden turned to another person present: Louis Caudrey. He asked:

  "Can't you drop in this evening?"

  Caudrey hesitated; then decided to accept the invitation. When Hurden had departed with the title deed to the purchased mansion, Francine expressed her thanks to Caudrey.

  "You ended that fellow's persistence," said the girl. "He was determined that someone accept his invitation. I'm sorry, though, that you had to sacrifice yourself on our account."

  "Caudrey won't have to go there," declared Reddingham. "He simply chose a tactful way of avoiding an unpleasant argument. I should have used the same procedure myself."

  Caudrey smiled as he reached for a sheet of figures. He was here to make a final balance of the estate's books.

  "Don't worry about me," he said. "I shall call at the house, because I promised to do so. It will not be difficult to find an excuse for leaving early."

  Francine left Reddingham's office; Caudrey departed soon afterward. On the way out, the plotting actuary indulged in pleased thoughts. His acceptance of Hurden's invitation was part of a neat game.

  It gave Caudrey sufficient excuse for a visit to the old mansion. Caudrey felt that he had put one over on Reddingham and Francine.

  Francine had been the real test; for she was smart. Much smarter than her brother George, in Caudrey's opinion. That judgment was more accurate than Caudrey realized. Francine had given proof of cleverness that the crooked actuary had not even suspected.

  She had shown the faked threat note to George. That weak-kneed chap had caved when he saw it. He had wanted to hide somewhere, and Francine had told him of a place - the little, secluded apartment that The Shadow had chosen.

  So anxious was George to get under cover that he had gladly accepted Francine's offer to visit Reddingham's office and handle the sale of the mansion.

  That was the sort of cooperation that The Shadow had expected from Francine. The sooner George was out of sight, the better. The less he knew, the more it would help The Shadow.

  THERE were servants in the old Melrue mansion, all that day. They were picked men, provided to make sure that nothing went amiss. Like Hurden, they had no inkling of the mansion's secret. When evening arrived, guests appeared and sat down to an elaborate dinner.

  Hurden was a good stooge. He had many acquaintances who knew nothing of his underhand ways; and he had managed to produce a prosperous banker and a well-known Wall Street man among his guests.

  When Marvin Bradthaw appeared,
he did not seem out of place. His presence simply hoisted the estimate that the guests held regarding Hurden.

  At nine o'clock, Bradthaw decided to leave. That started the others on their way; but an incident delayed Bradthaw. Strampf arrived and asked to see Mr. Bradthaw. Strampf was carrying a portfolio under his arm.

  "More business," smiled Bradthaw, with a shake of his head. "It pursues me everywhere. Sometimes I escape it by not telling the office where I am. Very well, Strampf, what is it?"

  "Those casualty reports, sir. You wanted them as soon as they were ready for you -"

  "I remember." Bradthaw turned to shake hands with the other guests. Then: "Very well, Strampf. I can look at the reports when we are in the car."

  Hurden suggested that Bradthaw use the upstairs study for his chat with Strampf. Bradthaw accepted.

  Once in the study, he remarked to Strampf:

  "We can wait for Caudrey."

  "Good," expressed Strampf. His tone was eager. "That gives us time to discuss something that I learned from The Shadow's files. Look at this data, Mr. Bradthaw. All about a black-ray machine that puts electrical apparatus out of commission."

  Bradthaw's eyebrows lifted as he read the typed pages. They included the history of the device, telling how the machine produced a total blot-out, wherever it was projected.

  "Crooks used it before," observed Bradthaw. "They can use it again. Just the thing for us to turn over to the proper man. Have you found any details of the device?"

  Strampf reached over to turn the pages that Bradthaw had. He pointed to carefully written notations on the last sheet.

  "The machine exists," stated the cadaverous man. "Those notes mention where it is stored. Also that Burbank knows the details of its operation."

  "Acquire it," ordered Bradthaw. "See that it reaches Burbank."

  "I have arranged for that."

  "Be careful that the carriers leave no trail."

  "It will pass through half a dozen hands."

  "And watch Burbank. He may try to trick you."

  "Burbank will be handled!"