The Shadow Unmasks s-131

by Maxwell Grant

  If he rebuked Clyde, he would be crossing Weston. This was the commissioner's chance to repay a debt to Clyde Burke.

  "I am willing to grant the request," decided Weston, after a short consideration. "Of course, Cardona has charge of the investigation. If he objects -"

  "I don't object," growled Joe, coming to his feet. He had noted that Weston's tone had resumed its usual crispiness. "It's jake with me, Burke, since the commissioner says so. Since you're keeping mum, I'll go the whole hog. I'm on my way right now to get some information I want. You can come along."

  WITH a smile, Clyde bundled up the items that he had shown to Weston. He shook hands with the grateful commissioner and went out the door with Cardona. As they reached the street, Clyde still wore the smile that he could not repress; and with good reason.

  Clyde Burke was an agent of The Shadow. He had handed Weston well-concocted details at The Shadow's own order. The radio photo was actually one of the real Lamont Cranston. So, for that matter, was the picture of the supposed Leroy. The nephew did not exist.

  Clyde had simply dug up an old picture of Lamont, and had it retouched. Taken a dozen years ago, it showed a younger face; and the retouching job had changed a few essential details.

  As for the clipping that named the steamship passengers, Clyde had faked that completely, with the aid of a friend in the composing room at the Classic.

  Pinch-hitting for The Shadow, Clyde had accomplished two aims. The first was to settle Weston's mind regarding the Cranston mystery; the second, to team along with Joe Cardona and learn any details regarding the jewel robberies that had not reached The Shadow.

  So far, Clyde had done well. He was confident, moreover, that by going along with Cardona, he would run into new opportunities. In that, Clyde was right. This very afternoon, he was to meet the master-crook that The Shadow sought. He was to gain that meeting through Joe Cardona.

  Unfortunately, neither Joe Cardona nor Clyde Burke were armed with suspicion. Both were to be deceived by the subtle craft of the master-murderer. Only The Shadow could have seen through the supercrook's guile.

  But The Shadow, his one disguise useless for the time, was busy preparing another before he could get back on the trail again.

  CHAPTER VIII. A FAIR EXCHANGE

  CARDONA and Clyde took a taxi at the nearest corner, and Joe gave the driver a Maiden Lane address. As they rode along, Joe kept his promise to let Clyde have the details. He explained the first lead that the law had gained.

  "When Shark Meglo snatched those sparklers at Silsam's," stated Cardona, "Hood Bleeth was grabbing some papers from the safe. Hood didn't get far with them. Here's one sheet we found on him."

  Cardona produced a folded paper. It was a bill of sale, describing gems that Hugo Silsam had purchased. It bore the heading "Oceanic Gem Co.," and gave the sum of Silsam's purchase as two hundred thousand dollars.

  "The only trouble with this," admitted Cardona. "is that nobody knows anything about the Oceanic Gem Co. There's only one man who might have some information for us. That's Madden Henshew, the international jewel broker. We're on our way to see him."

  Clyde knew that Cardona had gained documents at Silsam's; papers that Harry Vincent had not had a chance to see. Clyde had also heard of Madden Henshew; for the jewel broker had long been in the news. A man of high reputation, Henshew frequently arranged sales of famous gems. Whenever he did so, he furnished the press with statistics that always made a good story.

  Henshew's office proved a busy one; several clerks were working at full speed and the clatter of typewriters reminded Clyde of the newspaper office. All was quiet, however, when the visitors were ushered into Henshew's private office.

  They were greeted by a portly, baldish man whose broad, serious face wore a stubbly brown mustache.

  When they seated themselves, Cardona handed the bill of sale to Henshew. The jewel broker saw the name at the head of the document. His lips pursed as he stroked his chin. Henshew had found a recollection. He called a secretary; told him to bring the annual volumes of the East India Trade Review.

  The books arrived. They were well bound, but compact. Henshew looked through a few; then found what he wanted.

  "Here it is," he announced. "The Oceanic Gem Co., of Calcutta. Last listed in the 1933 annual. The concern sold out during that year. This report, though, makes a fine showing. Prominent Britishers as officers. Large assets listed. If a shrewd faker had shown a book like this to Silsam, it would have brought results. Silsam would have taken the rogue as a bona fide agent of the Oceanic Gem Co."

  Henshew closed the book as he spoke. It was Clyde Burke who observed that the cover bore no date.

  Clyde voiced the opinion that Silsam would not have suspected such a volume to be an old one.

  Henshew concurred on that point.

  "Jewel brokers handle sales confidentially," explained Henshew. "That could have deceived Silsam. The swindler, however, could not be an important broker. Take this office, for instance. Every item goes through a dozen hands. Our books are always open for inspection. When we hold gems, they are carefully listed when they go into our vault. Other large houses do the same. Therefore, the swindler might be a man who knows the jewel business; but he is not a reputable broker."

  HAVING thus narrowed the field, Henshew advised Cardona to obtain lists of brokers who had recently failed in business. He also suggested that Joe investigate small brokers who ran one-man businesses.

  "Our profession has a high record for integrity," affirmed Henshew, "but I must admit that undesirable persons sometimes creep into it. Occasionally we uncover impostors who pose as jewel brokers to cover the fact that they are fencing stolen gems.

  "The brokerage association, of which I am vice president, does all in its power to bring such frauds to light. You can count on our full cooperation, Inspector Cardona. If you come upon any doubtful persons, be sure to let us know."

  As Cardona was about to leave, a telephone call came for him. Joe showed enthusiasm during his chat over the wire. When he had finished, he turned to Henshew.

  "It was Michael Chanbury," explained Cardona. "The art collector who was at Silsam's during the robbery. He just had a call from a private detective named Tyrune. I know the fellow; Jim Tyrune. He represents a big insurance company that insured Silsam's gems."

  Henshew showed surprise as he commented, "Odd that you did not learn this before."

  "It is," agreed Cardona. "Tyrune is calling on Chanbury, tonight, to get his statement as witness of the robbery. Chanbury has called Vincent, the other witness, asking him to be there also. How about it, Mr.

  Henshew? Could you be up there, too?"

  Henshew consulted an appointment book, and decided that he could come to Chanbury's at nine o'clock. He shook hands warmly with Cardona and Clyde and saw them out through the large office.

  When they parted at a subway station, Joe told Clyde:

  "You're in on everything, Burke. That means you can show up at Chanbury's tonight."

  "No need for it Joe," returned Clyde, with a friendly clap upon the inspector's shoulder. "You can tell me all about it afterward. See you tomorrow."

  Clyde left Cardona dumfounded. For the first time in Joe's career, the ace had heard a reporter turn down an invitation to be in on a conference that might mean news. It flattered Cardona to believe that Clyde was willing to take Joe's word for whatever passed at Chanbury's. Therewith, Cardona lost all mistrust that he had felt toward the reporter.

  That was exactly what Clyde wanted. It happened, too that Clyde did not have to count on Cardona to know what would occur tonight. Harry Vincent was going to be at Chanbury's. He would get the needed details. Clyde was pleased with the way he had handled matters for The Shadow. The reporter was smiling when he boarded a rush hour subway express.

  IT never occurred to Clyde that he had missed the biggest bet that had ever come his way. In thinking of Madden Henshew, Clyde decided that the jewel broker was a "great guy" - an expres
sion that Cardona had used after he and Clyde left Henshew's office.

  Events at this present hour were proving Henshew a gentleman of different ilk. Henshew had ridden from his office in a taxi, and was alighting at a pretentious uptown apartment house. There was an eagerness about his actions that explained itself when Henshew reached his elaborately furnished apartment.

  There, Henshew went to a large oak bookcase that was built into a corner alcove. He drew out some large volumes that were bound in fine morocco. Behind the books was a panel, much neater than the one that The Shadow had uncovered at the old house that he had raided, but of similar workmanship.

  Henshew opened the panel; light awoke the shimmer of resplendent gems.

  These jewels were the loot from Silsam's; but this hole in the wall was a one-way affair that could be reached by Henshew alone.

  From his cache, Henshew extracted a heavy finger ring, set with emeralds and diamonds. He took it to a writing desk close by. He turned on a strong light; adjusted a lens to his eye. With pincer-like tools, he began to remove the emeralds from their setting.

  While Henshew was at work, a buzzer sounded a signal, in short quick jabs. Henshew listened; the signal was repeated. Chewing the thick lips beneath his mustache, Henshew put away his work and went to the door. He quickly admitted a man who was crouched there; then glowered at his visitor when they reached the light.

  The man was Shark Meglo.

  "You shouldn't have come here," gritted Henshew. "I told you to stay in the new hide-out and await a message!"

  "I had to come," returned Shark. "We can't use the chink again. There's a guy looking for him."

  "Looking for Moy Ming?"

  Henshew's expression was incredulous. Shark voiced a hoarse reply:

  "You'll believe me, chief, when you hear how I've figured it. There's only one way The Shadow could have got wise to that Silsam job. Hood spent the half dollar for me at the drug store. The Shadow must have picked it up."

  "But how could he trace it back to Moy Ming?"

  "By the laundry I left in the hide-out. Only Moy Ming was smart enough to close out his old laundry shop. That's where I saw the guy snooping, last night."

  "You shouldn't have gone near the place."

  "It's lucky, though, that I did."

  Henshew was forced to agree with Shark. He asked for a description of the snooper. Shark gave one that fitted Harry Vincent. The resemblance had not escaped him.

  "I only took a quick gander at him," informed Shark, "but he sure looked like the mug that tried to hand me a haymaker, up at Silsam's. My guess is that he's working for The Shadow!"

  "Forget Moy Ming," decided Henshew. "I shall find another way to send messages to you."

  THE jewel broker went back to the writing desk. Shark followed and stood by while Henshew continued his work with the emeralds.

  In expert fashion, Henshew began to cut the corner of a green stone, talking all the while in a low tone.

  He told Shark of Cardona's visit. Shark gave a grunt.

  "I guess that washes us up," he said. "The racket's getting too hot. Hood should have snatched that bill of sale that you faked when you worked on Silsam. Too bad it described the sparklers."

  "The description was not very exact," remarked Henshew. "Anyway, the insurance company will have a similar description. One that I intend to read tonight."

  "Which queers things sure!"

  "Not necessarily."

  Picking a narrow platinum brooch from a pigeonhole in the writing desk, Henshew placed the recut emerald between two odd-shaped rubies that were already set. He held the piece of jewelry into the light. He questioned Shark:

  "Would you recognize it?"

  "Say!" Shark's tone was tinged with admiration. "You're fixing those sparklers so nobody would know them!"

  "Like I have on every occasion," stated Henshew. "Silsam was not the first of our customers who showed his purchases to friends. He happened to be the only one who had time to insure his gems."

  "That's made it jake, every time! That's a smart one, chief. You won't be taking a chance if you peddle the rocks again."

  Henshew supplied a correction.

  "You mean when I sell the gems again," he told Shark. "That time will come very shortly. Meanwhile, Shark, stay away from here unless I summon you."

  Henshew saw his visitor to the hallway. The route was open to a fire tower where Shark could leave unnoticed. In a whisper, the master-crook added a final statement.

  "Today," said Henshew, "I gave Inspector Cardona some advice. In return, he told me about the insurance matter. It was a fair exchange; and there is an old saying that a fair exchange is no robbery."

  Henshew closed the door as he stepped back into his luxurious apartment; and Shark caught the supercrook's croaked chortle. Departing Shark understood the chuckle.

  The fair exchange that Henshew mentioned was one that would result in robbery. Like Silsam and the dupes before him, another victim would soon be slated for pillage and death.

  CHAPTER IX. THE FINGER POINTS

  AT eight o'clock Madden Henshew ended his tedious process of cutting and resetting gems. He put away the jewelry that he had altered and studied the large number of items that remained. Henshew estimated that he had two more weeks of work ahead.

  Henshew had been running crime on a three-weeks schedule. First the sale of the gems, to some unusually wealthy person who could afford a price of close to two hundred thousand dollars. Never any trouble about that; for any one who knew jewels could see that these stones were worth more than a quarter million at lowest.

  Next, a quick-timed robbery, engineered by Shark Meglo, soon after the gems were placed. Henshew always paved the way for that grab, even when it meant the corruption of some trusted servant in the victim's employ. Wintham, Silsam's butler, was one such traitor.

  After the robbery, the gems came back to Henshew. They always found repose in the cache behind the bookcase. An expert at cutting and resetting gems, Henshew always revamped them himself. Thus he avoided the very danger that he had mentioned to Joe Cardona: the exposure that would surely come to any jewel dealer who kept a hoard of stolen gems in a vault to which employees had access.

  There lay the smartness of Henshew's game. His legitimate business was in the best of order. It showed him more than a hundred thousand dollars, in clear profit, annually. But Henshew considered that small change compared to the crooked system that he had devised.

  These gems that he kept at his apartment, were prizes that he had stored away year by year, until their value totaled more than a quarter million dollars. They were the bait that brought him a monthly return of two hundred thousand. Six months of it - Henshew would be past the million mark, and have his jewels to boot.

  Henshew had long anticipated a visit from the law. It had come today; and he had handled it to perfection. He had hoodwinked Joe Cardona, New York's ace sleuth, and Cardona had thanked him for it.

  Clever stuff, steering Cardona after a mythical criminal whom Henshew had described as his own opposite. Cardona would hunt for some faker who had been a failure as a broker; not for a successful man like Henshew. There would be enough prospects to keep Joe busy for months.

  Cardona had swallowed Henshew's glib suggestion. So had that wise-faced reporter Burke. Clyde was just another sap, in Henshew's opinion.

  The sour note was Harry Vincent. Who was this fellow Vincent? He had been smart enough to look for Moy Ming, Henshew's messenger who contacted Shark. Whoever Vincent was, he knew too much.

  Henshew would settle that.

  Henshew made a quick change into a tuxedo, then came back to his writing desk. Fitting a magnifying lens to his right eye, he used a tiny-pointed engraving tool and scratched a microscopic message on a half dollar. Pocketing the coin, Henshew left the apartment.

  During the ride to Chanbury's, Henshew thought of The Shadow and ended his speculations with a laugh of dismissal. The Shadow was nothing more than a masquerader
who shot it out with crooks. He had bagged Hood Bleeth and made more trouble later, but he would never get Shark Meglo.

  Shark was too smart for The Shadow. Since Henshew considered himself smarter than Shark, it followed that he, too, was beyond The Shadow's reach. Unless spies like Vincent made trouble.

  Henshew smiled at the thought. He had a sure cure for Vincent.

  CHANBURY'S mansion was on Long Island. It was big, pretentious, well isolated. Henshew entered to find that house sprinkled with bowing servants. He was ushered down a long flight of marble stairs through a picture gallery to an anteroom beyond.

  A smiling girl introduced herself as Miss Merwood, and said that she was Chanbury's secretary. She was a pronounced brunette with dark eyes that had a dash of languor. Henshew gave her a chummy smile as she led him into a room that served as Chanbury's den.

  The room was square with oak-paneled walls. It was adorned with large portraits of cavaliers and rufflenecked courtiers who stared from the walls like silent observers of the living persons present. The furniture was heavy and expensive, but comfortable. Like all of Chanbury's belongings, it spoke of wealth.

  That pleased Henshew. He began to consider Chanbury as a future prospect in the jewel market.

  Joe Cardona was present. He introduced Henshew to Chanbury, then to Harry Vincent. Henshew eyed The Shadow's agent steadily; then turned to meet a tall stoop-shouldered man. This fellow was Jim Tyrune, the private detective who had furnished the news regarding Silsam's insurance.

  Henshew promptly classed him a glorified snooper who fancied himself a first-rate criminal investigator.

  The secretary was waiting at the doorway. Chanbury gave a nod of dismissal. When the girl had gone he remarked to Henshew:

  "I see you like my secretary."

  Henshew smiled; but decided that he would control his facial expressions in Chanbury's presence. The art collector had a keen look. As the door closed Chanbury added:

  "She is very competent and loyal. Her name is Eleanor Merwood. Her uncle was an old friend of mine.

  Probably you remember him; Stanley Merwood, another art collector like myself."