Harry parked and waited. With lights extinguished, he could see the station platform beneath the dim glow of lamps from the overhanging roof. Leaning back in the seat, Harry took account of other surroundings. Down the street was an old building which bore the weather-beaten sign: “Junction House.”
That, in all probability, would be Carter Boswick’s stopping place.
A tenseness came over Harry Vincent as he began to review all that had happened since he had watched Carter Boswick at the information booth in the Grand Central Station in New York.
It was evident that Carter Boswick, although he had come directly to Junction City, had not made the best possible use of his time. Harry was already here ahead of him; and other persons could easily have achieved the same result. Therefore, trouble, if brewing. could begin tonight.
Harry glanced anxiously toward the station. His eyes became suddenly intent as he noted a peculiar phenomenon. One of the overhanging lights twinkled, as though something had passed between it and Harry. Then came a second twinkle from the next light; a third from the one farther on.
The whole effect was ghostly. Apparently, the solid form of a living being had moved along that platform; yet Harry had seen no more than an instantaneous blinking of each light.
It was happening again! This time from the opposite direction. Harry gripped the steering wheel. He knew that this could not be due to a peculiarity of the electric current that supplied the lights. No—some one had certainly passed along that platform!
In moments such as these, Harry Vincent regarded all signs as matters of consequence to himself. At first, his thought was one of hidden enemies. Then, puzzling the matter over, he gained a more hopeful thought.
Perhaps that curious manifestation signified the presence of The Shadow! Harry drew a breath of relief. It was possible that The Shadow, himself, might have come to Junction City. A fast hop by air—the slow progress of trains and attendant connections would be bettered by many hours.
While Harry still watched the lights, wondering if they would blink again, he heard the distant whistle of a locomotive. The sound was repeated with increasing loudness.
At last, the bright headlight of the engine bathed the station with brilliance. Harry still gazed at the platform. He saw no one lurking there.
The train came to a stop. Harry saw a young man alight, and recognized the figure of Carter Boswick. He saw Carter pick up a pair of heavy suitcases and start diagonally across the street. He was obviously going to the Junction House.
But Harry, yielding to a hunch, still waited. He saw another man get off the train, with a valise in hand. Harry stared in sudden recognition. He was sure that he had seen the man before—on the limited between New York and Chicago!
HARRY was correct. This man was Stacks Lodi, still on Carter Boswick’s trail. Harry saw Stacks light a cigarette, then leisurely follow the course that Carter had taken.
As soon as the second man had entered the hotel, Harry started the motor of his coupe, drove a short way up the street, turned, and pulled up at the door of the Junction House.
Harry carried his own suitcase into the hotel. No bell boy came to receive it. Harry guessed the reason. The place would not have more than two attendants; both were at present employed in showing the previous guests to rooms.
Signing the register, Harry noted two names inscribed there. One was Carter Boswick, in Room 208; the other was Antonio Lodi, in Room 215.
The slouching clerk read Harry’s name; then wrote 222 after it. He rang a bell, but nothing occurred for several minutes. Then an unkempt bell boy came shambling down the stairs. The clerk tossed him the key.
After establishing himself in Room 222, Harry donned a pair of soft-soled slippers, and went out into the hallway. He noted a light beneath the door of Room 215, which was near the head of the stairs. He went on to the front of the hall, and spied Room 208. No light showed there. Evidently Carter Boswick had retired.
Starting back, Harry heard a click. He slid to the stairway that led toward the third floor, just as Stacks Lodi came out of Room 215. The man was fully dressed. Harry saw him go downstairs.
Listening at the top, Harry could hear him talking with the clerk. The discussion seemed to concern a good brand of cigar for a discriminating smoker.
The clink of coins indicated that the purchase had been made. Harry heard a remark concerning the coolness of the night. Stacks was praising the fine air of the vicinity. The slam of the front door meant that some one had gone outside.
Harry stole to the front of the hall. He opened a window above a small porch that projected over the sidewalk. This portion of the hall was almost totally dark. Harry slipped noiselessly to the porch and lay flat, peering over the edge.
He could see Stacks Lodi just beneath. The man was holding a cigar in his hand. He raised it to his lips as Harry watched, and drew two long puffs. The cigar gleamed twice. The hand dropped with the cigar; then came up for another puff. Down again, it returned, and this time the smoker puffed five times.
The meaning of those short, bright glows suddenly dawned upon Harry. Stacks Lodi was flashing the number of his own room—a signal to hidden eyes in the outer darkness—across the street, where total blackness reigned!
After a brief pause, a second signal was given. Again, the cigar glowed twice. Down; then up; but this time, there was no increase of the light. On the third trip to the signaler’s mouth, the tiny gleam occurred eight times— another slow procession of sustained puffs.
The first signal had been 2-1-5—the number of Stacks Lodi’s room; the second had been 2-0-8—the number of Carter Boswick’s room. Harry saw Stacks turn and walk back into the lobby. Waiting no longer, Harry crept into the hall and crouched there, expecting Stacks to come up the steps.
As minutes drifted by, Harry suddenly realized the man’s plan. Stacks Lodi had given the number of his own room—indicating it as a spot of entrance for men from the dark. He had given Carter Boswick’s room to tell them where to go. But he, himself, intended to remain in the lobby, establishing an alibi, no matter what might happen; and also being in a position to deal with the clerk, should such action be necessary!
HARRY returned to his own room. The light was still on. The moment that Harry entered, he stopped just within the door.
The side of the hotel was on a vacant field. If men were out there, they could easily see any one within these rooms, while the lights were on. Harry recalled that he had been foolish enough to go over by the window when he had first entered. In fact, the window was slightly open now, as he had left it.
That must be corrected at once. Harry reached for the light switch; then his eyes spied an envelope that was lying beside the bed.
Stooping, Harry picked up the object. One corner of the envelope was smashed in. Harry realized that it had been scaled through the open window by some one standing in the outer darkness below. An accurate piece of swift marksmanship had sent this unexpected message here. Harry opened the envelope and drew out a folded note.
Clear blue ink greeted his eyes. The writing was in a code which Harry understood. A message from The Shadow! Harry translated it rapidly:
Bring Carter Boswick into your room. Explain that danger threatens. His place will be taken as soon as he is gone. Wait until after commotion has begun. It will convince him of danger. Drop from window. Your car has been moved to rear of hotel. Escape with Boswick.
As Harry watched, the writing began to disappear, as though an invisible hand were erasing every sentence. Word by word, the entire message faded.
That was the way with letters from The Shadow. If they fell into the wrong hands, the enemy could profit nothing. The ink which The Shadow used asserted its vanishing properties the moment that it came in contact with the air.
Harry turned out the light. He stole to the window; instead of closing it, he opened it wide. He could barely see the ground beneath. He recognized that the drop would be an easy one.
Now to cal
l on Carter Boswick.
A tenseness had come over Harry, and under this influence he failed totally to calculate the time element. He did not realize that this message might have come into his room just after his departure, and that he had been away for many minutes during his observation from the porch outside the hall.
Nor did he know that almost immediately after Stacks Lodi had come back into the lobby, there had been a shadowy motion outside the door of the hotel.
Harry, by his dilatory action, was unwittingly holding back The Shadow’s plan. In fact, as Harry crept along the hall, he was thinking too much of what The Shadow might intend to do—and not enough of his own part.
Carter Boswick out of Room 208—The Shadow there in his place! What a surprise that would be for those who might be coming up through the window of Lodi’s room, to make an unexpected attack upon a sleeping victim!
This thought was uppermost in Harry Vincent’s mind as he tapped at the door of Carter Boswick’s room. The response that came gave Harry new assurance. The man within was still awake. His voice, though sleepy, showed that he would be ready to listen to what Harry had to say.
The time was here for Harry’s first action in accordance with The Shadow’s plan.
CHAPTER XII.
THE ALLIANCE.
MR. BOSWICK?”
A prompt reply came to Harry’s question.
“Yes,” said a voice through the door. “What do you want?”
“I have an important message for you.”
A key turned. The door opened. Carter Boswick faced Harry Vincent in the dim light of the hall. Carter was fully dressed, except for coat and vest. He had evidently been taking a short nap. Harry was pleased at this sign of vigilance.
“My name is Vincent,” Harry explained. “I must talk with you. My room is down the hall—222—and it would be wise to go there.”
Suspicion showed in Carter Boswick’s eyes. Suspicion faded. Harry’s countenance was one that showed complete frankness. Carter realized that this unexpected visit must mean that trouble threatened. Harry looked like a friend.
Nodding his willingness to accompany the man who had come for him, Carter Boswick picked up his coat and vest from a chair beside the bed. Harry Vincent pointed to the other articles that could be seen from the hall—hat, overcoat, and two unpacked suitcases. He picked up the luggage while Carter took the hat and coat.
“Hurry along,” whispered Harry tensely. For the first time, The Shadow’s agent was beginning to realize the amount of time that had been consumed.
Harry preceded Carter along the hall. He noted the door of Room 215 as he passed. He turned to see if his companion was following him. Carter was some fifteen feet behind, just nearing the door of Stacks Lodi’s room.
Instantly, Harry discovered an impending menace. During the moment that Harry had passed, the door had opened, unobserved by Carter, who was not watching it. The door had swung inward, and Harry could see the figure of a man crouching just within the darkness.
“Look out!” Harry blurted the warning as the crouching man leaped forward.
Swift action followed. Carter Boswick turned just in time to encounter the attacker. The man’s uplifted arm was descending. The striking hand held a blackjack. With an instinctive defense, Carter struck the blow aside, and planted his fist against the side of the fellow’s head.
Harry, dropping the suitcases, had simultaneously sprung to the rescue. He arrived just as the attacker tumbled to the floor. He grabbed Carter Boswick’s arm, in a quick effort to draw his companion from the danger zone.
It was then that Carter blundered!
Forgetting that Harry had given the warning, he thought that he had been led into a trap. He took Harry’s present act as an indication of treachery. With an angry cry, he hurled himself upon the man who had befriended him.
AS the two young men struggled, the fellow with the blackjack came to his feet. It was Scully, Stacks Lodi’s assistant.
There was no need for silence now. With snarling lips, Scully sounded the cry for a general attack.
Three men, armed with gleaming revolvers, pounced forth from Room 215. Scully, backed against the wall, clutched his blackjack and gave the order for murder.
“Get both of them!” was his snarl. “One is the guy we want. Bump the other one, too!”
These words came just as Harry Vincent managed to wrest himself free from Carter Boswick’s grasp. In so doing, Harry had sent Carter spinning across the hall; Harry, in turn, was trying to catch himself against the wall. Both young men found themselves staring into the muzzles of revolvers.
Carter, in his staggering course, had stopped but two feet from where Scully stood. The gangster’s hand came up with the blackjack. The beginning of its downward swing was the final signal for cold murder.
Fingers waited on triggers, ready to fire as that blow fell. Scully’s action had brought a momentary lull, each villain ready to give their leader the opportunity for the first stroke.
As Scully’s wrist poised viciously above his head, a shot sounded from the window at the end of the hall. A bullet skimmed Scully’s unkempt hair, and struck the gangster’s wrist.
A fiendish cry of rage came from Scully’s bloated lips. The blackjack, as though plucked away by a hand from nowhere, snapped out of Scully’s fingers, and made a long parabola toward the ceiling. The gangster collapsed, clutching his right wrist with his left hand.
Harry Vincent knew the source of that timely shot. The Shadow must have scaled the pillars at the front of the hotel. Lying on the porch, he had watched Harry’s effort to lead Carter Boswick to safety.
Three armed gangsters! What did they matter now? The Shadow was there to pick them off. The cue was to drop out of danger, to give the hidden avenger a clear sweep.
A muffled shot sounded from the lobby below—a sign that Stacks Lodi had taken action there. But Harry Vincent scarcely heard it. He was dropping to the floor, away from the threatening guns, as he cried out to Carter Boswick to follow his example.
Harry’s warning was too late. Carter had already sprung to action. He was leaping forward to mill with the armed gangsters.
Harry groaned as he reached in his pocket for his own gun. How could The Shadow save Carter Boswick now?
Carter was wrestling with one of the gunmen, and had the fellow’s wrist in an iron clutch. The other gangsters swung to shoot. The grappling men were between them and the window, a protection against The Shadow’s fire.
The wrestling pair swerved. Carter Boswick’s stooping back caught the eye of the nearer gangster. The man stabbed the muzzle of his gun toward Carter’s back, and snarled in elation. But the very situation that gave the would-be killer his opportunity to slay was also the break for which The Shadow had been watching.
A spurt of flame accompanied the roar that came from the window. The gangster sprawled forward, beside the struggling men, the triumphant leer fading from his writhing lips. The other free gunman shouted in rage. Raising his revolver, he blazed uselessly at the open window. There was no response. The Shadow, lying low, had stayed his fire.
With gun in hand, Harry Vincent leaped to his feet and attacked the firing man from behind. He struck a hard blow at the villain’s head, but the man turned just in time to ward it off. He hurled Harry to the floor, and jabbed his revolver straight at Harry’s forehead.
Harry saw the approaching muzzle. He could see the evil, merciless face behind it. Yellowed teeth were displayed in a loathsome grin.
Then a shot boomed, seemingly from far away. The revolver flopped from the gangster’s fingers. The man’s eyes bulged; his lips closed; his body rolled sidewise to the floor.
As Harry’s gaze turned, he saw the termination of the fight between Carter Boswick and the one remaining gunman. All through the struggle, Carter had held the advantage until now. But a turn in the fray had enabled the gangster to wrest away. At this instant, his gun hand was free, aiming to kill.
Harry’s own rev
olver was in his hand. He swung it upward to prevent the kill. It was a belated gesture. Harry could never have beaten the gangster to the shot. But The Shadow’s unfailing hand still remained in readiness.
The final bullet sped from the window. The gangster received it in the heart. When Harry fired, his shots reached the falling body of a dead man. The Shadow, hidden marksman of the night, had accounted for all the opposition.
HARRY and Carter reached their feet. There was no hesitation now. Carter followed Harry’s lead. They hurried down the hall, carrying the suitcases with them. Scully, huddled and moaning on the floor, made no effort to stop them. His shattered wrist had ended his participation in the battle.
No explanations were necessary as Harry guided Carter through Room 222 and threw a suitcase out the window. Within twenty seconds, Carter’s two bags and Harry’s single one were gone; Carter dropped out when he heard the order, and Harry followed.
Three minutes later, the two young men were rolling out of Junction City in Harry’s coupe. Carter Boswick, tense and half bewildered, was staring at his companion. He realized now the importance of Harry’s warning, and knew that he had found a man on whom he could rely.
“Say, old fellow”—Carter’s voice was filled with gratitude—“you pulled me out of it tonight. I don’t know where we’re going, but—”
“We’re going to stick “together,” was Harry’s response.
“Right!” agreed Carter, with emphasis. “Say, old man, something tells me that this may just be the beginning. I’ve got a lot on my mind. I’ve kept it from every one, because I didn’t know whom I could trust. But you’re one hundred per cent. You’re game enough to chance it with me.”
Harry’s right hand moved from the steering wheel. Carter caught it in a firm grasp. The two men held a prolonged clasp that betokened mutual confidence. No further words were necessary.
Harry Vincent, in the service of The Shadow, had formed an alliance with Carter Boswick, the man who sought the wealth that was his heritage. From now on, the quest would be theirs together!
The Shadow's Justice s-28 Page 8
