As the door closed, Margo worked away. She was trembling during the return trip to the cab, fearing every moment that hands might fling from a doorway and grip her. Straight opposite the cab, she was afraid that some clatter from her high heels might betray her, so she took off her shoes and carried them as she stole across the sidewalk.
In the cab, her nerve returned. She was putting on her shoes again, as she leaned to the front seat and said:
"We'd better start, Shrevvy -"
It was then that a real horror overwhelmed Margo. The cab no longer had a driver!
Sinking back, the girl opened her purse and tried to draw out a small automatic that she had there; but her fingers were gone numb.
Not that Margo was short on nerve; she could take care of herself in a pinch; otherwise, she wouldn't be working for The Shadow. But the belief that she might first have to rescue Shrevvy from the clinches of a mob was enough to mentally stun her.
Someone bounded into the cab from the street side and took the wheel. Margo caught a grip on the gun and shoved it forward, saying boldly:
"Don't move!"
A voice answered. It was Moe's. He thought that Margo meant the cab, not himself.
"O.K.," he said. "What are they doing? Prowling around?"
"They may be." Margo slid the gun back into the bag. She was glad Moe hadn't spied the weapon. "Only they're in a car - the ones we've got to avoid."
Moe gave a grunt, as though he expected what Margo told him. Then:
"Find out anything?" he asked.
"Dwig is in the hide-away," replied Margo. "He'll be there for the next half-hour."
"Good enough!"
With that, Moe started the cab. It dawned on Margo that he must have called Burbank, saying that he thought they had located Dwig and that the wanted crook would be around awhile.
Guesswork on Moe's part, but the sort The Shadow liked, because it could be promptly countermanded if it turned out wrong. Otherwise, it would stand, and was a great timesaver, for, if right, such guesses would enable The Shadow to make prompt plans.
There was one point, however, that Margo couldn't fathom. As they turned into an avenue, she questioned:
"Where are you taking me, Shrevvy?"
"To keep your date," was the reply. "The one you made with Mr. Cranston. He said to meet him at the Hotel Metrolite, didn't he?"
Lamont hadn't said anything of the sort, but Margo did not dispute the matter. She was sure that Moe had been told to remind her of the imaginary date. Since it was certainly time for dinner, Margo relaxed, while the cab zigzagged from street to avenue.
As they swung a corner sharply, she landed half around in the rear seat and had a look through the back window.
WHAT she saw, worried Margo. A coupe was jabbing past the same corner, acting very much as if on the cab's trail. Thoughts of the cruising car rang home to Margo. She exclaimed to Moe:
"They're following us! Like we followed them!"
Taking a look in the mirror, Moe certified Margo's statement and sped the cab ahead. He was neatly in advance when he reached the side door of the Metrolite, but he didn't stop.
Instead, Moe whizzed past, went along the darkened street and swung around the block. He went by so fast, that Margo did not get a look at the hotel's side door.
A man was lounging there: Lamont Cranston. He not only saw the cab, he observed that a suspicious car was trailing it.
Things happened while those cars were rounding the block. Cranston became a figure in black: The Shadow. He signaled some blinks with a tiny flashlight; they were seen across the street. The Shadow had merged with darkness, away from the hotel door, when Moe's cab came past again.
This time, Moe slackened, and Margo thought that he intended to stop; but, instead, he kept on. Of course, the trailing coupe slowed when the cab did, but it didn't resume its speed.
A door yanked open on the driver's side of the coupe. Something hit the thug and sent him clear across the car into his companion's lap. Before the other hoodlum could get rid of the burdening driver, his head took a hard jolt, too.
By then, there were three in the car, and the driver was The Shadow. He pulled to the far curb and stepped out. Harry Vincent promptly joined him; The Shadow blinked the flashlight on the faces of the stunned men. Seeing that they would stay put awhile, he turned the car over to Harry, who drove away.
Finishing another tour around the block, Moe stopped at the Metrolite and let Margo out. Very anxiously, she looked back toward the corner, then decided that Moe must have managed to slip the trailing car. Margo went into the hotel, while Moe was looking at a green blink from a flashlight, farther down the street.
Wheeling over, Moe picked up The Shadow and made a brief report. The Shadow ordered a prompt return to Dwig's hide-out.
"Sorry about Miss Lane," informed Moe. "She's expecting to meet Mr. Cranston at the Metrolite."
"Rather odd," returned The Shadow. "He didn't tell her that he would be there."
"No," Moe admitted. "But I did."
"Then Cranston can blame it on you?"
The Shadow's tone ended with a whispered laugh that carried nothing more significant than the fact that Margo Lane might have a very long wait before she dined with her friend Lamont Cranston.
CHAPTER XII. THE FIFTH VICTIM
IN his squalid basement hide-away, Dwig Brencott was talking on the telephone, while other men stood by.
Sleek, suave of tone, Dwig was a contrast to his companions. They were husky, but dumb-faced, recruits that Dwig had signed to take the place of the lamented gunzels who had suffered, permanently, from meeting with The Shadow and the police.
Except for the telephone, the hide-away had no furnishings other than a table and some broken-down chairs. It was quite apparent that Dwig, when he gestured for his tribe to follow him, intended to abandon the place. The Shadow could tell that from the looks of the place.
For The Shadow was present, though unseen.
The cloaked investigator had entered the hide-away from the back.
Peering through a partly opened door, he heard Dwig say: "Let's go!" Then, followed by his small but tough crew, Dwig went out through the front.
Even though he glanced back, Dwig did not see The Shadow. Motionless in the other doorway, the cloaked observer had benefit of darkness; but that was not all. It was unlikely that Dwig could have seen The Shadow.
Using the system of remaining absolutely immobile, with even his thoughts fixed, The Shadow was practicing the ways of the Tibetan mystics.
It was their belief that such concentration could produce the equivalent of invisibility. Through experience, The Shadow had demonstrated that complete immobility did reduce an observer's chances to almost nil.
It produced the semblance of a power through which he could cloud men's minds; and many of The Shadow's enemies had sworn that he had suddenly appeared in the midst of a lighted room before their startled eyes.
Only a few could claim that they had seen The Shadow vanish, for the simple reason that it was much more difficult the other way about. Though The Shadow could fade rapidly into darkness, he required ideal conditions if he sought to remain on the very ground, unnoticed. Once crooks saw The Shadow, their minds became too excited to be readily quieted.
If Dwig had any suspicions that The Shadow might be about, they were so vague that they did not bother him. His mind was at ease and tending toward other matters.
Had The Shadow spoken at that moment, in ventriloquial style, he could have startled Dwig into absolute bewilderment. In fact, Dwig would have imagined The Shadow almost anywhere except at the spot where he actually was.
But The Shadow did not speak; nor did he choose to reveal himself. He simply waited, motionless, until Dwig had followed the others outside. Then came the slightest stir amid the darkness, the merest swish of a black cloak, as The Shadow made his own departure from the rear of the hide-out.
Moe's cab was waiting in the next street; from t
hen on, it became the medium whereby The Shadow kept close to Dwig and his crew without being discovered.
The fact that his cruising bruisers had not returned was proof sufficient to Dwig that the way was clear.
He'd told them to go their way, and it didn't occur to him that The Shadow might have put them out of the picture by virtue of a surprise attack. Hence, Dwig was going his own way also and providing The Shadow with a very easy trail.
Where that trail would lead was no mystery to The Shadow.
Analyzing the matter of the stolen message more deeply than Margo had, The Shadow reduced it to but one solution. Mobsters had been forced to remove the link to a fifth murder because, somehow, that particular crime had fallen through. If the police had found the name on the memo pad beneath Raft's elbow, they might have been able to forestall a coming crime.
That, in itself, was an important point.
The very oddity of the four deaths - all by poison, and striking almost at an appointed hour - indicated definitely that they were prearranged. Therefore, Dwig had probably supposed that the fifth man was dead, too, until some last-minute information had indicated otherwise. Naturally, since a murder scheme had slipped, Dwig, at present, was out to amend it.
Dwig and his mob were actually leading The Shadow to the fifth victim before death was delivered.
Somewhere along this trail, The Shadow would have to pass the killers and be the first to reach the helpless man they sought!
THE trail narrowed suddenly, as the car ahead stopped near an elevated railway station. Moe parked on the other side of the avenue and The Shadow glided from the cab, prepared to follow an elusive course beneath the el pillars, in case Dwig tried a sudden move.
Crooks were watching the steps that came down from the elevated station; it might be that they intended to waylay their quarry when he descended from the platform.
A man appeared from that direction. He was well-dressed, fairly tall, and with an intelligent square-jawed face. His lined features marked him past middle age, but his gait was agile. His expression was a troubled one - that of a man who was bound upon an unpleasant duty; but The Shadow noticed no trace of fear.
Reaching shelter beside the el steps, The Shadow pointed an automatic for the window of the sedan in which Dwig and the other thugs were seated.
The mere glint of a revolver barrel would have meant a bullet for the man who showed the gun; but no one in the car tempted The Shadow's aim. Dwig and his watchers let the square-jawed man go past them, but when he had walked a half block, their car moved slowly in the same direction.
It appeared that they preferred to trail their prospective victim to some place where they could kill him with less notice.
Back in Moe's cab, The Shadow had his driver proceed along the same trail. Lights extinguished, the cab sneaked neatly up behind the sedan. The other car stopped; Moe did the same.
The walking man had stopped at a dingy brick house. Abruptly, he went up the steps and into the place.
Dwig's car started away, but The Shadow told Moe to wait. He foresaw what the crooks intended. They were going around to the back, to find another way into the house.
Inadvertently, they were giving The Shadow the very chance he wanted. By using the front door, The Shadow could overtake the victim first.
Swiftly, The Shadow left the cab; fleetingly, Moe saw him on the house steps. Then, entering a gloomy hall, The Shadow heard creaks from the floor above and went directly for a flight of stairs.
By the time he had reached the second floor, the man ahead was on the third. As The Shadow neared the top of the next flight, he saw his man stop at a door.
After a few sharp knocks, the man spoke a name:
"Glevin!"
There was no answer. The man rapped again, spoke louder. His tone had an accusing note.
"Glevin!" he repeated. "This is Mr. Talney. Louis Talney. I want to speak to you!"
There was no response. For the first time, Talney exhibited actual hostility. Clamping his left hand firmly on the doorknob, he prepared to drive his shoulder forward, while his right hand drew a small, stubby revolver.
"I'm coming in, Glevin!"
Turning the knob, Talney jabbed his shoulder hard. Whether he expected to crack the rather flimsy door, or merely alarm Glevin, was difficult to tell. In fact, The Shadow did not have time - or need - to decide the question. The door was unlocked, something that Talney had not suspected. Swinging inward, the door carried the tall man on a long lunge.
Talney must have caught himself as he gasped. But it wasn't his near sprawl that brought the odd sound from his lips. The word that Talney gasped was proof of some different sort of shock. The word was a name:
"Glevin!"
FROM the doorway, The Shadow viewed the sight that had so horrified Talney. Small wonder that the tall man was aghast, for it was his first view of the sort of death that The Shadow, as Cranston, had seen on display four times upon this very evening.
Upon a cot that stood beyond a strip of frayed green carpet lay a dead man who stared straight toward the ceiling - a corpse with staring, glassy eyes and bloated features that bore only a grotesque resemblance to anything human. Yet Talney had managed to recognize the face as Glevin's, which proved he must have known the man well.
Standing beside the cot, Talney reached gingerly and lifted Glevin's left hand. From it, he removed a finger ring, which he held toward the gaslight. The ring had a roundish stone, as colorless as a chunk of glass. Stunned by the tragedy of Glevin's death, Talney spoke half aloud:
"I trusted you, Glevin, as a faithful servant. Yet you stole... a worthless ring."
Had The Shadow been acquainted with plans of Armand Lenfell, he would have known that Louis Talney was the fifth member of the secret six; also, that Glevin was the servant who had come in Talney's stead to receive a sapphire ring from Lenfell.
Jorton, Bayle, Halden, Raft - they were the four hooded men who had received rings. Talney was the fifth. Yet none of those rings bore the blue hue of a sapphire, whether real or imitation; nor did any show the peculiar star formation that should have been their characteristic!
Talney's bewilderment proved The Shadow's present theory: that all five of the worthless rings had once been valued as precious. So stupefied was Talney, that The Shadow ended his immobile vigil and moved into the room, approaching the dumfounded man beside the cot.
Once in motion, The Shadow ran the risk of detection; but it seemed slight, considering that Talney was still staring at the ring.
It was the flickering gaslight that betrayed The Shadow. Fanned by a breeze that came through the open window, the flame stretched and wavered, lengthening the streak of approaching blackness that preceded The Shadow.
Staring past the ring, Talney saw the weird, hawkish silhouette that was cast upon the cot where Glevin lay.
Roused from his stupor, Louis Talney uttered a savage cry. Wheeling, he aimed his stubby revolver point-blank for the cloaked figure that was swooping in from the door, and fired!
CHAPTER XIII. DINNER AT NINE
The Shadow's swoop had become a dive when Talney opened fire. The first shot, therefore, whizzed a full foot above The Shadows slouch hat; but Talney wasn't deceived.
Knowing that he had missed, he shoved his gun downward, intending to score at least one hit upon the unknown invader, who, in Talney's opinion, must be a foe. Talney's second aim was good, but he didn't pull the gun trigger.
The Shadow's dive was toward the stretch of carpet on which Talney stood. Grabbing the green weave, The Shadow gave a hard yank. Talney somersaulted as the carpet went beneath him, his gun flying to the ceiling. The Shadow was on his feet, picking up the revolver, by the time Talney struck the floor.
It wasn't luck on The Shadow's part. He wouldn't have moved in on Talney if he hadn't seen that the carpet was rightly placed for emergency. In fact, the breaks were all against The Shadow. He had counted upon plucking away the carpet before Talney managed to fire at
all. The shot, even though it missed, was disastrous to The Shadow's plans.
Heard below, Talney's gun blast was bringing men up the stairs as fast as they could come. Dwig and his crew, in through the back way, knew that something had happened and they didn't intend to let Talney, their wanted victim, get clear.
Coming to his feet, Talney launched for the door, not knowing that death was hurrying up to meet him.
The Shadow reached the door first, slamming it across Talney's path. Twisting about, he blocked off the tall man and whirled him toward the window.
Something thumped the door and exploded with a smash that reduced the barrier to kindling. It was a bomb, chucked by one of Dwig's henchmen. That bunch was out to get rid of Talney without finesse or ceremony.
The door took the shock of the explosion, but before Talney could congratulate himself on escaping one death, he was confronted by another. Headfirst, he was going through the open window, propelled by The Shadow.
Talney thought it would be a thirty-foot plunge to a cement court below. He overestimated by twenty-nine feet, and he was wrong about the cement. Instead of taking off on a long plunge, Talney simply flattened on a fire escape outside Glevin's window.
The Shadow had noticed the ironwork of the fire escape, even though Talney hadn't. Rolling through the window, The Shadow flattened beside the tall man just as another "pineapple" scaled through the shattered door, zimmed across the smoke-filled room and landed beneath the cot that held Glevin's body.
The second bomb took powerful effect. Glevin's cot was hurled to the ceiling; his body, already bloated beyond normal recognition, was mangled by the blast. Walls cracked great chunks of the ceiling showered down with Glevin's form. The windows ripped outward, showering Talney and The Shadow with a deluge of glass which cascaded from the fire escape, for the iron framework tilted outward at a crazy angle when the bricks that held it weakened.
In time to catch Talney before he rolled from the canted platform, The Shadow, instead of restraining him, steered him to the steps. Badly shaken, Talney no longer offered opposition. He wanted to get away from the exploding room, and was willing to trust anyone who aided him.
The Star of Delhi s-225 Page 7
