The Man From Shanghai

by Maxwell Grant

  “Quite simply. By introducing another factor into the game. First, major, we must let Malfort know that your Chicago purchaser, Lamport, has lost interest in the jewels. In place of Lamport, you will find a substitute – a wealthy man who will consider buying gems, but who will not commit himself too definitely.”

  “You know of such a man?”

  “Yes. His name is Lamont Cranston.”

  Rowden nodded.

  “I have heard of Cranston,” he declared. “He is a multimillionaire, who travels everywhere. I understood, though, that Cranston was in Australia.”

  “He has returned to New York,” asserted The Shadow, in a matter-of-fact tone. “He flew from the Orient by clipper ship. You can reach him by telephone at the Cobalt Club, here in New York. Call him at eleven o’clock tonight. Tell him your proposition. Ask him if he would like to buy gems that Lamport no longer wants.”

  “But Malfort’s spies will overhear the call!”

  THE SHADOW smiled. Rowden’s eyes widened. The whole plan dawned upon the major. He realized that The Shadow intended two contacts after leaving the penthouse: one, with Lamport, a warning to the Chicago railroad magnate; the other, with Cranston, telling him to consider the major’s offer but to make no immediate decision.

  Success in this strategy depended directly upon the fact that Malfort would get word of Rowden’s call. Malfort would drop Lamport and be ready for Cranston instead. But the master crook would make no move while Cranston remained undecided. Thus would The Shadow hold off the time of Malfort’s final stroke: the attack against Rowden himself.

  What Major Rowden did not guess was that the real Lamont Cranston was still in Australia. It was The Shadow, himself, who would be at the Cobalt Club to receive Rowden’s call. When Cranston was absent from New York, The Shadow frequently passed himself as the globe-trotting millionaire.

  Rowden, nevertheless, had grasped the main idea of The Shadow’s plan. Smiling, Rowden sat puffing at his meerschaum. He laid the pipe aside when he saw The Shadow don his cloak and hat. He watched his visitor draw on a pair of thin black gloves.

  The Shadow moved about the living room. He examined doorways, windows. He came to a far wall that was hung with a huge Oriental tapestry, which was green in background, adorned with silver dragons. Lifting the mammoth cloth, The Shadow examined the wall behind it. He found the wall solid.

  Dropping the tapestry in place, The Shadow stepped out into an anteroom and noted the doors of elevators. Returning he spoke to Rowden; this time, his voice was a whispered tone:

  “Summon Peju. Let him show me the rest of the apartment.”

  Major Rowden clapped his hands. Peju appeared; the major ordered the Siamese to conduct The Shadow through the penthouse. Peju led the way. The Shadow followed and examined every room as carefully as he had the living room. Returning to the curtained center hall, The Shadow pointed toward the living room. Peju bowed obediently, and went in to join Major Rowden.

  “Where is our guest?” queried the major, looking up from his teakwood chair. “Does he wish to see me, Peju?”

  “He is in the hallway, sir.”

  “I shall join him there.”

  Reaching the curtains, Rowden parted them. He stared at vacancy; then looked upward. The trapdoor was settling into place. Rowden could hear the muffled scrape of tightening bolts. The Shadow’s present mission was ended. Departing; he had closed the trapdoor as he found it.

  ROWDEN’S stare was tribute to The Shadow’s agility. The major was amazed when he realized how skillfully The Shadow must have regained the height of the trapdoor. Deep-set panels in the hallway wall offered the explanation. The Shadow had used them as a foothold. Even with that aid; the feat had been remarkable.

  Major Rowden would have had new cause for admiration, had he viewed the roof of the penthouse. There, flat against the surface, The Shadow was moving steadily for the edge, guarding against the observation of any distant lookouts. This time, he had chosen the rear of the penthouse. It offered darkness like the side.

  The Shadow’s purpose was to examine the broad space that formed the roof of the hotel – an area which surrounded the penthouse like a plaza. Dropping from the penthouse, he landed on the hotel roof. Moving like a phantom shape, The Shadow found a flat door that led down into the hotel. Testing it, he discovered that it was bolted from the inner side.

  The Shadow turned, to head back for the side on which his own room was located. He was ready for the descent to his room on the fourteenth floor. To cover his course, he circled toward the water tower, to merge with its long shadow that stretched across the roof and past the penthouse. For one brief stretch, The Shadow was visible in the city’s glow. It was that fact that made him pause as he reached the covering darkness below the water tower.

  Instinctively, The Shadow looked toward the one place that offered nearest danger; namely, the roof of the warehouse across the narrow street. The Shadow was just below the level of the concrete rail that adorned the top of the warehouse.

  The Shadow’s instinctive precaution was all that saved his life. A grotesque figure had risen above the concrete rail. As The Shadow saw it, he noted a spidery arm driving downward to hurl some object with terrific speed.

  Instantly, The Shadow whirled about, to gain protection as well as cover. He was beside a post of the water tower. His twist brought him just beyond that thickset pillar.

  A whirling blade drove point foremost into the wooden post. The air whistled in echo; the knife quivered, buried almost to the hilt. The spider-armed creature on the warehouse roof plopped below the solid concrete rail before The Shadow could draw an automatic.

  The would-be assassin was Ku-Nuan. The Shadow had foiled the Mongol killer’s thrust. At forty feet, Ku-Nuan could find a target with a knife as accurately as a sharpshooter with a gun. All that the blade lacked was a bullet’s speed. In a split-second, The Shadow had been able to choose the post as refuge before the straight-aimed blade arrived.

  Ku-Nuan had made his thrust; he had taken to flight, unready to face The Shadow’s guns. The Mongol would spread the alarm; there was time, however, for The Shadow to make his departure. He wanted no forced battle with thugs tonight. Combat would not fit with his coming plans.

  REACHING the side edge of the roof, The Shadow swung over the cornice. Swaying back and forth, he brought his feet in to the wall and gained a toehold above a window. The cornice offered inner projections beneath it. Gripping them, The Shadow worked his way down to the twentieth story ledge. Sidling along, he found an unlocked window.

  Out through a corridor, down a stairway, The Shadow gained the fourteenth floor with speed. Whisking off his cloak and hat, he spread the garments over his arm. He did not return to his room; the empty suitcase that he had left there was of no use. His cloak and hat masked to look like ordinary garments, The Shadow rang for an elevator.

  Riding down to the lobby, The Shadow strolled from the hotel. There was no sign of commotion; no excitement on the street. The Shadow had departed, almost unnoticed, before Ku-Nuan had gained opportunity to get word to Malfort. Stepping aboard a taxicab, The Shadow rode from the district that was infested by the master crook’s thugs.

  The Shadow stopped at a telegraph office. There, he sent a wire to Calhoun Lamport in Chicago, signing the name of Major Rowden. That done, The Shadow boarded another taxi that had a sleepy driver slouched behind the wheel. In quiet tones, he ordered the man to take him to the Cobalt Club.

  As the cab wheeled along, The Shadow dug finger tips deep into his disguised face. Puttylike make-up came away. The Shadow’s visage took on a more hawkish aspect. Special touches were needed. The Shadow applied them in the darkness; for his fingers were accustomed to the task.

  When the cab reached the Cobalt Club, The Shadow stepped forth and nodded to the doorman. The fellow bowed and said:

  “Good evening, Mr. Cranston.”

  A slight smile fixed itself upon The Shadow’s newly disguised lips. His next move
was to wait until he received Major Rowden’s call.

  CHAPTER IX – THE COUNTERPLOT

  THOUGH Ku-Nuan’s speeding knife had missed The Shadow, that thrust from the dark foreboded other trouble. It proved that Ku-Nuan had learned a fact which The Shadow had sought to conceal; namely; that The Shadow had attempted contact with Major Rowden.

  Ku-Nuan had not been sure of The Shadow’s identity at the Royal Arms; but it was certain that, this time, the Mongol would carry positive word to Malfort. Ku-Nuan had recognized that the cloaked prowler on the roof of the Maribar Hotel must be The Shadow. That fact would reach Kenneth Malfort.

  Nevertheless, The Shadow had proceeded with his plans. He had sent the wire to Calhoun Lamport. Shortly after eleven o’clock, The Shadow – as Lamont Cranston – received a telephone call at the Cobalt Club. Across the wire, he conversed with Major Rowden, using a quiet, even-toned voice that the Englishman did not recognize. As Cranston, The Shadow heard Rowden’s offer of Chinese gems. He promised to consider a purchase. That done, The Shadow promptly left the Cobalt Club.

  The aftermath to these episodes occurred at Malfort’s not long after midnight. Ensconced in his sumptuous living room, the master plotter held conference with a trio of others: Ku-Nuan, Spark Ganza, and the moon-faced secretary, Wardlock.

  “Take notes of these reports, Wardlock,” purred Malfort. “Ku-Nuan observed The Shadow near Rowden’s penthouse. Barthow reports from the Maribar that a guest named Henry Arnaud has left. Barthow also reports a telephone conversation between Rowden and a man named Cranston.”

  A pause, while Wardlock made the notes in shorthand; then Malfort added:

  “Lamport is no longer interested in the gems. Rowden wants Cranston to become a purchaser.”

  While Malfort paused again, Spark Ganza inserted a growled remark. “Take it from me, chief,” volunteered the lieutenant, “this mug Arnaud is the same guy who called himself Furbish up at the Royal Arms. Barthow lamped him pretty close when he registered. But it didn’t mean anything to Barthow right then; he wasn’t checking on anybody except Rowden.”

  “I have Barthow’s report,” returned Malfort, testily. “I have already formed my conclusion, Spark. It is the same as the one that you have offered.”

  “I figure something more, chief. This Arnaud bird was The Shadow!”

  “Perhaps,” remarked Malfort. “We must not be too sure upon that point, however. The Shadow has agents, Spark; and they are competent ones. He may have had another man pose as Furbish; then as Arnaud. Remember The Shadow has many purposes; moreover, he chooses often to keep his own activities hidden.”

  MALFORT reached for Wardlock’s pad. He studied the secretary’s notations; then gazed toward the firelight. Evil eyes shone; a satanic smile besmeared itself upon Malfort’s countenance. Spark copied his chief’s leer, while Ku-Nuan delivered a hissed snarl.

  “The Shadow did not contact Major Rowden,” purred Malfort, studying the firelight as though to find the answer from the flames. “Ku-Nuan was posted long before. He saw The Shadow only once. We may assume, therefore, that The Shadow was seeking entry to the penthouse when Ku-Nuan spied him.”

  Despite his confidence, Malfort had begun with a mistaken statement. The error was to have its effect upon his coming campaign.

  “Our position is the same as before,” continued Malfort. “We must watch for George Furbish. Keep men posted near the Royal Arms, in case he comes there. Meanwhile, Spark, make your own headquarters near the Maribar Hotel, as you did tonight. Whether Furbish arrives at the Royal Arms or not, he will eventually visit the Maribar. We shall allow him to call on Major Rowden.”

  Spark delivered a surprise grunt. Malfort turned and fixed his cold eyes upon his lieutenant.

  “We shall permit Furbish to buy his gems and depart with them.”

  Spark stared incredulously. Malfort’s smile showed a depth of shrewdness. “Does it matter whether Furbish carries cash or jewels?” queried the supercrook. “Particularly when the money that he brings will be left with Rowden, instead of the jewels that Furbish takes away?”

  “I get it!” exclaimed Spark. “Great stuff, chief! If Furbish shows up at the Maribar, Barthow slips me the word. We get set while Furbish is up in the penthouse with Rowden. When Furbish comes out -”

  “Quite sufficient, Spark. You have grasped the idea to the fullest detail.” Again turning toward the fire, Malfort spent a few minutes in silent speculation. When he spoke, he delivered new plans.

  “We need not concern ourselves with this new purchaser,” decided Malfort. “I refer to Cranston; he can wait until he has decided whether or not he wants to buy the jewels that were reserved for Lamport. Rowden apparently suspects very little; otherwise, he would not have telephoned Cranston.

  “So long as their contact is entirely by telephone, we shall wait. On no account, however, is Cranston to be permitted to visit the penthouse. Barthow – or others at the hotel – can handle that by telling him that the major is not at home. Such has been the usual procedure when any one calls to see Rowden.”

  Spark nodded. He knew the system that had been used with the few visitors who had called at the Maribar to ask for Major Rowden.

  “The Shadow is a different case!” snapped Malfort suddenly, his lips writhing in a sudden leer. “He must be trapped at all cost! Otherwise, he may interfere with every plan that I devise. Hence I shall move against The Shadow tomorrow.”

  Ku-Nuan gave a gleeful snarl; but Spark’s face showed doubt. So did Wardlock’s; the moon-faced secretary invariably displayed a troubled expression when The Shadow was mentioned.

  “You have objections?” demanded Malfort suddenly, turning to look at Spark. “What are they?”

  “The Shadow’s a tough egg,” returned Spark. “I’m ready to take a stab at him, chief, but I can’t count on my gorillas. Mention The Shadow to those mugs, they get weak knees.”

  “Would they show weakness if they knew that they stood fifteen to one against The Shadow?”

  “Odds don’t count with The Shadow, chief. He can stage a fadeaway right in the middle of a mob. There’s guys that have seen him work it.”

  MALFORT reached for Wardlock’s pencil. Upon the pad, he drew a square; in each side he made an opening. He drew an arrow pointing through one of the four spaces. Spark studied the diagram in perplexed fashion; but Wardlock, drawing closer, showed a gleam upon his moonish face.

  “This square,” explained Malfort, “represents a small courtyard formed by the walls of four buildings. The openings are passages; the most inviting entrance is the one that I have indicated with the arrow.

  “Two of the buildings are warehouses; the third is a garage. They have sheer walls that offer no escape. The fourth building was once a pawnshop. Its rear windows, opening into the court, are permanently blocked. I refer to the windows of the ground floor; there is one window on the second story and it can be opened. It serves as a lookout post.”

  Malfort used his pencil to indicate the four openings that represented passage.

  “No one would hesitate to enter a courtyard with so many exits,” stated the supercrook. “These openings, however, are like doorways; for the walls above them are joined. Each connecting wall conceals a heavy iron grating that can be released to block the passage below it.”

  Spark grinned. He could see the courtyard as a trap that would hold The Shadow. Suddenly, his grin soured.

  “Who’s going to drop the gratings?” he queried. “That’s something to think about, chief.”

  “The barriers will fall automatically,” replied Malfort. “Each passage is equipped with a photo-electric beam, closer to the courtyard than the grating which the beam controls. Once the beam is broken, the barrier will fall.”

  “Those beams would show,” objected Spark. “They’d be a give-away.”

  “Not the ones that Wardlock installed,” returned Malfort. “Did you ever hear of black light, Spark?”

  The lieutenant shook his head. �
�Black light is a scientific development,” explained Malfort, in his confident pur, “that is admirably suited to the purpose under discussion. It produces a beam that is invisible in darkness.”

  “Like The Shadow is?”

  “Yes. Therefore, he will not discover the trap. Once he has passed the first barrier, it will drop behind him. Each passage that he approaches will be instantly blocked by another grating. The Shadow will be trapped. Confined to the courtyard, he will be exposed to gunfire from four directions.”

  “I get it. I split my crew four ways. We barge in with Tommy guns. We give him the works.”

  “If necessary, yes.” Malfort delivered an insidious smile. “Perhaps, Spark, you will find him already incapacitated. In that case, you can open one of the barriers from the outside and venture in to find The Shadow.”

  “Who’s going to get him ahead of us?”

  Malfort’s smile showed a devilish anticipation.

  “Ku-Nuan will be at the lookout window,” he stated. “There will be no wooden post to block his knife when he decides to hurl it.”

  Ku-Nuan expressed his appreciation with a snarly hiss. His lips were widened in a vicious grin. Spark, however, was stroking his underslung chin. The lieutenant was trying to find a flaw in the plans. Malfort’s malicious face showed approval of the fact that Spark was calculating all chances.

  “Good enough,” decided Spark, “if The Shadow falls for it. But suppose he don’t? Why should he, anyway? What’s going to bring him into the square box?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon,” stated Malfort, in a tone of prophecy, “Ku-Nuan will pay a visit to Chinatown.”

  Spark gaped; then asserted: “Say, chief, that will queer everything! The chinks are out to spot Ku-Nuan. They’ll trail him and pass the word to The Shadow. You said yourself that he’s got some hook-up down in Chinatown.”

  “That is the very reason why Ku-Nuan will go there.”

  Spark’s eyes showed that understanding had dawned.