CHAPTER V. THE TRAP IS SET
"You are wanted on the telephone, Mr. Carleton."
Douglas Carleton arose from a comfortable chair and bowed to the young lady who was seated close by.
"You will pardon me, Virginia," he said. "I shall return in a few moments."
Virginia Devaux watched Carleton as he strode across the spacious living room of her father's home.
Tall, handsome, and immaculately attired in perfectly fitting evening clothes, he presented an excellent appearance. Virginia sighed as he disappeared from the room.
The daughter of a multimillionaire, a member of the highest social circles, Virginia Devaux had gained the envy of all her feminine friends when she had become the fiancee of Douglas Carleton.
He was one of the most popular young clubmen in New York. He was wealthy in his own right. His engagement to Virginia Devaux had been a heart-crusher to a score of eligible young ladies who had longed for the honor which Virginia had gained.
Yet the girl's sigh was not an expression of love for Douglas Carleton. Somehow, it seemed to reflect a note of discontent, coupled with unhappiness. For Virginia had come to regret her promise of marriage to Carleton.
Worst of all, she could not have explained her feeling. Perhaps she had never really loved Douglas; perhaps his almost constant presence at her father's home had become boring. At any rate, Virginia had postponed all thoughts of marriage in spite of Carleton's protests.
Now, she could postpone them no longer; and instead of meeting the situation with resignation, she was troubled. For during this interim she had unconsciously become enamored of another man.
Her true love was in this house at the present time. He had been talking with Virginia half an hour before.
Since then, he had been cloistered with her father, discussing the topic which was now the sole hobby of wealthy Stanford Devaux—the collecting of uncut diamonds.
Virginia Devaux was a beautiful girl; but the misery that stirred her heart now found its expression in her lovely features. Her face was marked with a pallor; her frank, winning eyes seemed dim. Even her hair, with its slight tint of bronze, had lost its attractiveness.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. Virginia's heart beat rapidly. She arose quickly from her chair and walked forward to the center of the room to meet her father and the man who accompanied him. They had finished their conference, and were returning to the living room.
SHELTON MILBROOK!
The name unconsciously formed itself upon Virginia's lips as the man himself entered the room.
Standing in a new range of light, Virginia Devaux had undergone an immediate transformation. Her cheeks had reddened. Her eyes were sparkling. Her hair reflected an aura that was glorious to view.
In a few brief seconds, this listless girl had become a radiant beauty.
Both Stanford Devaux and Shelton Milbrook stopped in admiration. Devaux— a thin, elderly man, with hooked nose and projecting chin— developed a senile smile that seemed to indicate fatherly pride.
Milbrook, a heavy-set man with square, rugged features, retained a solemnity that denoted true admiration.
"Good evening, again, Miss Devaux," said Milbrook. "I have enjoyed my visit with your father. He is a true connoisseur, to say the least."
Much older than Douglas Carleton, Shelton Milbrook possessed the air of the self-confident man. He spoke with a slight English accent; for although he was an American, he had spent much of his life abroad. Also, in further contrast to Carleton, Milbrook was carelessly attired. He was a man of business rather than of society.
"It has been a pleasure to have you visit us," declared Virginia, with a winning smile. "I enjoy meeting my father's friends, and I hope you will honor us by coming here again."
"Milbrook will be here right along," interposed Stanford Devaux. "He's a man who knows diamonds; that's why I like him. He'll be selling me some beauties before he's through coming here."
At this juncture, Douglas Carleton entered the room. A frown appeared upon his handsome face as he observed Virginia's eyes centered upon Shelton Milbrook.
Carleton's arrival had not been noticed by the girl and the unfeigned admiration which she showed toward Shelton Milbrook could not escape Carleton's attention.
It was Milbrook who turned to speak to Virginia's fiance. He held out his hand, and Carleton accepted it, still frowning.
"I must say good-by, Mr. Carleton," stated Milbrook. "I am going downtown, now that my business of the evening has been terminated."
Finishing the handshake, Milbrook turned and bowed to Virginia, with a courteous good-by. He shook hands with Devaux, who accompanied him through the hallway toward the front door.
AS soon as the pair were out of ear shot, Carleton turned angrily toward Virginia. His face betrayed the temper which he felt; yet the girl did not observe it. Her eyes were still turned toward the doorway of the room.
"So you like him, eh?" sneered Carleton. "Quite a change in you all of a sudden. You were falling asleep when I was talking to you. Now you seem mighty wide awake."
Virginia turned to meet the challenge. Her eyes flashed defiantly, and her face wore an impatient expression.
"I admire any real man, Carleton," she declared. "It is very small of you to show these insane fits of jealousy. I would think a great deal more of you if you changed your manner in the future."
"So that's the story," jeered Carleton. "I'm jealous, eh? Well, I'd rather be jealous than moonstruck. I've seen too much of your indifference, Virginia. It's time there was an end to it. There will be, when we're married. That will be soon, too!"
The girl walked across the room and sat down in a chair. She turned her face away from Carleton. All her radiance had vanished. She was the picture of dejection. Her fiance became more angry than before.
He strode over to the chair and spoke in a threatening tone.
"You'll forget this fellow Milbrook!" he snarled. "Forget him, you understand! You're mine, and nothing can change it! That's something you will do well to remember!"
"What's the matter?"
A new voice broke into the discussion. Stanford Devaux had returned. Silently, the elderly man had come in to witness the climax of the quarrel.
"The matter?" Carleton turned quickly to face Devaux. "Plenty is the matter! Virginia thinks too much of this fellow Milbrook. That's the whole situation!"
"Douglas is jealous, father," protested Virginia. "He has no right to find fault with me every time I try to be pleasant to other people."
"Virginia," declared Devaux, in a stern voice, "you must remember that you are engaged to Douglas Carleton. You promised to marry him of your own free choice. Such matters should not be treated lightly. I feel that he is justified in his grievance. You owe him an apology for your inexcusable actions."
The girl swallowed her pride with an effort. Her head still bowed, she accepted her father's decision. She spoke without facing her fiance.
"I'm sorry, Douglas," she said. "Very sorry that I gave you cause to be displeased. It is late, and I am tired. Good night."
Without glancing at either her father or her fiance, Virginia Devaux arose and went from the room.
Douglas Carleton followed her with his eyes. A sarcastic smile appeared upon his thin lips. When the girl was out of sight, the young man turned to Devaux.
"Thanks," he said. "She's got a crush on Milbrook, and the sooner she gets over it, the better."
"Agreed," remarked Devaux dryly.
Douglas Carleton glanced at his watch. His expression changed as he noted the time.
"It is just as well Virginia has retired," he said. "I made an important appointment over the telephone. I intended to leave within a few minutes, anyway, but I didn't have time to break the news before the argument began."
FIVE minutes later, Douglas Carleton was riding downtown in a taxicab. He dismissed the vehicle on a side street, then strolled along in the direction of the nearest corner.
A car
was waiting by the curb. With a quick glance to make sure that no one was watching him, Carleton entered the automobile. The man at the wheel slid the car into gear.
"Been waiting long?" questioned Carleton.
"Couple of minutes," growled the voice of Gats Hackett. "Figured I'd have to wait longer than that."
"Not to-night," laughed Carleton. "Had a fight with the gal just after you called up. Her old man sided with me, and that put an end to it. She went to bed in a huff.
"Great guy, old Devaux. He'll be the right sort of father-in-law. That's why I picked the jane—on his account."
"Pretty wise," commented Gats.
"Wise enough," rejoined Carleton. "But that's washed up for to-night. There's something more important to think about. Give me the lay."
"It looks great," said Gats. "Squint figures the message got to The Shadow, although he hasn't been able to spot the guy. That part doesn't surprise me. Lots of people have tried to spot The Shadow. Anyway, we've got two of his stools on the list. Harry Vincent and Rutledge Mann."
"Do they figure in to-night?"
"Not so far as I can see. We're playing one shot—that The Shadow has got that note. If he has, he'll fall sure—and we'll be on hand to see him get the works."
"Let's hope so."
"Well, we may have to help things along a bit. If we do, you'll see some real fireworks. They don't call me Gats because I'm a good ping-pong player. When they hand out a moniker like mine, it means plenty.
Just the same, lay low is my motto, when you can follow it."
"Let the others mix it up."
"Right. Zipper Marsh can have the grief to-night."
"You think he's prepared for it?"
"You bet. He's a tough gazebo. With Dobie Wentz cashing in— picture in the papers and all that—you can bet your last nickel that Zipper will be set."
"Maybe he'll get cold feet."
Gats Hackett guffawed in response to Carleton's expression of doubt.
"You don't know Zipper!" declared the gang leader. "He's smart, and he's careful. He never backs out of a job. Besides that, he don't know anything about the phony note we sent The Shadow. Savvy?
"Here's the whole lay. Zipper planned this job out on Long Island. He's got the watchmen fixed at Grayson's place. He's got his mob along with him— not a big crowd, but a tough outfit just the same.
Dobie Wentz was scheduled to be with them.
"Dobie had an argument with Zipper, and got talking too much to Squint Freston. All on the q.t., you know, so Zipper never got wise. After Dobie spilled the beans, we grabbed him, wrote out the message to The Shadow, and left it on Dobie. Vincent got it; it went to Mann; now, if we've got any luck at all, The Shadow has it."
"Which means," interrupted Carleton, "that he will butt into Zipper's affair on Long Island."
"Right," responded Gats. "Now, Zipper likes to crack safes all on his own; but when he does, the other boys are laying near. Zipper's sure to know that Dobie has gotten his. What does that mean? I'll tell you.
Maybe somebody has found out something—that's the way Zipper will size it up.
"So to-night, the other boys will be watching for trouble. When The Shadow goes in there, he'll fall into the neatest trap a guy could find.
"But that isn't all. We framed the note to bring him there at two thirty. Zipper works on schedule, like a railroad train. His time isn't two thirty to-night. It's two o'clock. The job will be under way when The Shadow gets there. Just the time when they'll all be on the lookout."
"Great stuff, Gats," exclaimed Carleton, "Say—this is the kind of a job I like. If it goes through like you've planned it, the big times will be just around the corner."
The car had crossed a huge bridge to Long Island. Now it swerved into a narrow side street, and came to a stop. Three men came out of the darkness and climbed into the car.
These were Gats Hackett's mobsmen. Carleton viewed their arrival with pleasure. It showed that Gats was sparing no effort to see that plans worked out to-night.
"No talk of The Shadow now," whispered Gats to Carleton. Then, in a louder tone, he said: "There may not be much doing to-night, boys. We're going to lay low, that's all. There may be a gun fight with some soft swag laying loose after it's over. If it looks right, we'll crash in; if it doesn't we'll scram. So have the old smoke wagons ready when I give the word to go."
The car rolled on through silence. The mobsmen at the wheel knew his destination. The automobile neared Jamaica; then took a narrow road and pulled into the driveway of an empty house. A hundred yards away, the trees of a broad lawn denoted the presence of another building.
Douglas Carleton glanced at the dial of his watch. It was after one o'clock. He smiled in the darkness.
Here, with Gats Hackett, he was waiting the outcome of this vigil. He, Douglas Carleton, clubman turned gangster, was the man behind the plot to end the career of The Shadow! The plot that was at this moment about to unfold in the Grayson mansion!
CHAPTER VI. OUT OF THE DARK
IN the corner of a paneled room, a gaunt man with twisted shoulders was working on the combination of a safe set in the wall. His face— cunning and evil in expression—held the semblance of a smile as he turned the dials before him.
A table lamp provided the illumination for the room. It was resting upon a taboret that the safe-cracker had chosen for the purpose. Its small, thick shade had been carefully arranged so that the light would shine directly upon the safe.
The remainder of the room was obscure. The black safe-front afforded no reflection, although the rays of light glistened upon its surface. Pieces of furniture showed dimly in the background; beyond them were the blocklike surface of drawn window shades.
Zipper Marsh was at work in the home of Adolph Grayson. Free from molestation, with all prepared for his task, the cunning crook was performing his job with calculated deliberation.
That was Zipper's method. He never operated haphazardly. His associates constituted a gang of well-chosen underlings. They took care of the details.
Egotistically, Zipper liked to imagine himself the principal character in a dramatic presentation. After the prologue came Zipper Marsh; after him, the epilogue.
So it had been to-night. Bribed watchmen, gangsters on guard, a trusted henchman at the wheel of a waiting car—these formed the misc en scene of Zipper Marsh's star performance.
The twisted crook paused in his work. It would not take him long now. A little rest would make the rest of the task easier.
With consummate caution, Zipper listened to make sure that there were no sounds from outside. He arose from the floor and crept to the door of the room. He softly opened it a few inches and listened for sounds in the adjoining room. There were none. Zipper returned to his job.
The star safe-cracker knew that all were in his favor. He had come here to-night, prepared for a job that required a specialized type of skill. Zipper had never encountered a safe which he could not, by sheer manipulative effort, open within a reasonable length of time.
Not the safes, but the surroundings were the conditions that commanded Zipper's chief attention. He liked secluded, easy spots; to-night he had one. When Zipper had entered to-night, he had found the path clear.
He had not come alone, however. He had been followed by a picked band of stalwarts who had bestowed themselves at strategic spots both without and within the house.
Thus Zipper had double protection. He was free from surprise attack. Should he be forced to beat a hasty retreat, he would be covered by a valiant rear guard.
These factors accounted for Zipper's ease of mind. Without them, he might have been hurried and nervous; with them, he was calm and painstaking. Therefore, as Zipper reasoned it, he could do a more efficient job.
THE contents of the safe were, of course, of great moment to Zipper Marsh. It was not his policy to pry open an empty crib. He had no idea of the exact value of what might be inside this strong box, but he knew that the spoils would be
worth having.
Adolph Grayson, who had closed his house before leaving New York, was a man of great wealth. His wife owned many valuable jewels, which she frequently wore in public.
She might have taken some of these with her; or she might have placed some in a safe-deposit vault. But Zipper had a decided hunch that many of the gems rested within this safe.
His hunch was logical. The safe was the accustomed resting place of the gems. It was a modern type of container. Two watchmen were stationed on the premises.
In addition, Zipper fancied that Adolph Grayson himself might have left items of value within this steel-fronted contrivance. Fine safes meant fine contents. Rarely, in Zipper's experience, had the rule failed to work.
Only one disturbing thought spoiled the tranquillity of the safe-cracker's mind. That was the death of Dobie Wentz, who, until a few days ago, had been Zipper's pal.
It was not that Zipper grieved Dobie's passing; on the contrary, Zipper preferred that Dobie should be no more. It was not that Zipper felt worried because the police suspected him of being Dobie's killer; that meant nothing to so toughened a thug as Zipper Marsh.
The real source of his annoyance lay in the fact that he did not know the cause of Dobie's demise.
The snuffing out of a mobsman who knew as much as Dobie knew was sufficient to make all associates of such a dead man wonder.
Who had killed Dobie Wentz? Zipper wanted to know.
Why had the killer slain him? That was another question that Zipper felt should be answered.
Did the killing have anything to do with to-night's work? That was the most important item of all.
Every successful specialist in crime has qualms regarding those who may some day muscle in upon his chosen field. Zipper possessed an enviable reputation as a crib-cracker. Time and again he had refused offers of partnership, believing that he was better off working by himself.
Were some of those rejected offers to become demands? Or were they the beginnings of plans of vengeance on the part of hidden enemies?
These thoughts crowded Zipper's mind as he continued at the safe. They did not retard his operations, however. Only one thought did that - a thought that came at the very moment when Zipper's job was on the border of completion.
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