The Shadow Unmasks s-131

by Maxwell Grant

  "The fellow who committed suicide?" spoke up Tyrune. "After he found out that half his art collection was phony?"

  "Yes," replied Chanbury. "Poor Stanley! How often I advised him not to buy paintings that he thought were genuine. I can tell a fake picture by the smell of its oil. I warned others too, who would not listen.

  But let us forget art. We are here to discuss jewels."

  In his subtlest fashion Henshew dropped the question: "You collect jewels also, Mr. Chanbury?"

  "Yes," returned Chanbury. "I think that is why Silsam insisted upon showing me his gems that night when the robbery occurred. It is too bad that Silsam died, after Vincent had driven off the crooks."

  Harry smilingly accepted credit. Chanbury had been groggy at the time The Shadow struck the hardest blows. To Henshew, Harry's smile meant much. It supported the crime leader's theory that Harry was working with The Shadow.

  With the subject definitely centered on Silsam's jewels, Joe Cardona asked Henshew to repeat his statements of the afternoon. Henshew did so in his most convincing fashion, looking from man to man as he spoke. Cardona was as impressed as before; and Tyrune agreed with everything that Henshew said.

  Seeing that he had the police inspector and the private detective clinched, Henshew watched for the effect upon the other listeners.

  Michael Chanbury appeared to be taking everything at the face value that Henshew gave it, although the art collector showed very little expression. Harry Vincent, however, was visibly sold on Henshew's opinions. It was not long before the crooked jewel broker knew absolutely that he could number The Shadow's agent with those who completely believed him.

  "You've paved the way for us, Mr. Henshew," declared Cardona, in a complimentary tone. "We're going to turn New York inside out, until we've found the crook we're after. We'll quiz every fake jeweler in the city!"

  THAT decided, Cardona asked for Tyrune's list of Silsam's gems. It tallied quite closely with the bill of sale that bore the name of the Oceanic Gem Co. Henshew compared the lists himself and expressed the opinion that it would be impossible for the swindler to dispose of the gems again.

  "Make these public," he advised. "In that way, you will prevent further murder."

  Again, Cardona thanked Henshew for giving an excellent suggestion. Inwardly, Henshew felt new elation.

  His gems, when he was through with them, would be far different from the jewels that were under suspicion.

  Chanbury raised the only point that worried Henshew. The art collector asked Tyrune the full value of the stolen jewels. The private dick replied that Silsam had insured them for two hundred thousand dollars.

  An appraiser from the insurance company had allowed that value, after inspecting the stones.

  Henshew knew at once that the appraiser must have recognized the true worth of the jewels as at least a quarter million. If the point had been pressed, it would have brought a discussion concerning the feature that enabled Henshew to make his quick sales; namely, his method of offering the jewels for much less than they were worth.

  Chanbury, however, was satisfied with Tyrune's statement. The matter was promptly dropped.

  The conference ended. Chanbury ordered drinks; and every one indulged in other talk. During the conversation, Henshew kept listening for one fact he wanted. At last he heard it while Chanbury was chatting with Harry Vincent. The fact popped out that Harry was living at the Hotel Metrolite and intended to go there as soon as he reached Manhattan.

  It was not long before Henshew glanced at his watch and decided that he must be returning home.

  Chanbury summoned Eleanor and told her to call a cab. As he shook hands with Henshew, Chanbury remarked, with a smile:

  "Silsam's experience may deter some persons from buying gems. To me it simply repeats the old lesson: be sure with whom you deal. Which means, Mr. Henshew, that when I am in the market, I shall call upon you. I always buy from persons of highest repute in their particular field."

  Henshew was profuse with thanks. He even forgot to greet Eleanor with an ogling smile, when she came to announce that the cab had arrived.

  ONCE in the taxi, Henshew rode to Manhattan - to Times Square. There, he chose another cab and gave the driver an East Side address. Henshew's new destination was close to Shark's present hide-out.

  Leaving the cab, Henshew waited near a dully lighted corner until he saw an approaching newsboy. He accosted the newsie with the question:

  "Have you change for a half dollar, boy?"

  The newsie didn't. He wanted to make the sale though. Henshew looked to the second story above a darkened pool room and pointed out a window shade that showed a trickle of light.

  "I guess that's where the owner lives," he said. "He's still up. Take this half dollar and ask him for change."

  The newsboy went up a darkened stairway. Henshew shifted away, ready for a run. The place was Shark's hide-out; and Shark was apt to use a gun if he felt jittery. That explained why Henshew had chosen not to rap on Shark's door in person.

  There was a three-minute wait. The newsboy returned with the change including some pennies. Henshew bought the newspaper and walked westward to find another cab. His next move was to return to his apartment as promptly as possible and call in some friends who lived in the same building.

  Henshew always had an alibi for himself on those nights when Shark set forth murder-bound. Tonight, robbery was lacking; but a victim had been named for doom.

  The half dollar that Henshew had dispatched to Shark was a death warrant, made out for Harry Vincent!

  CHAPTER X. WITHOUT THE SHADOW

  WHEN Harry Vincent reached the Hotel Metrolite, he had no inkling that he was in for trouble. In fact Harry was completely lulled by circumstances. Like Clyde Burke he had been bluffed by the story that Madden Henshew furnished.

  Harry agreed with the jewel broker that the mastermind who controlled Shark Meglo must be a person of doubtful repute. As far as Harry could see, there was no direct lead to that extraordinary criminal. Joe Cardona would be a long while tracing the rogue.

  True, Shark Meglo could provide facts; for Shark probably knew who the big-shot was. But finding Shark was a problem in itself. Shark possessed one ability that had rendered him invaluable to the supercrook who used him. That was Shark's skill at keeping out of sight. Even The Shadow had found it difficult to trace Shark Meglo.

  One fact was obvious. The dial of death had began another circuit. The Silsam robbery had been one of a chain, always with those three week intervals. The next case would come within another few weeks, unless the law could block it.

  Somewhere in Manhattan was another millionaire slated to become a murdered dupe like Silsam and the three before him.

  Joe Cardona was planning to make public a description of Silsam's gems. That might crimp the murderer's game. There was a chance, though, that the master-crook could outsmart the law's measures.

  If he did, there was only one person who could balk the next death.

  That person was The Shadow.

  Harry's chief would be back in New York before the deadline. That pleased Harry. He was confident that The Shadow must have divined hidden facts in this chain of death. Perhaps there was a peculiar reason why the robberies had been staggered three weeks apart. If so, The Shadow had certainly unearthed it.

  HARRY'S speculation was correct. The Shadow had actually analyzed Henshew's methods of altering the gems for each new sale. That was why The Shadow had been willing to take a few weeks of absence from New York.

  It happened, though, that The Shadow had not yet gained a trail to the jewel swindler. That was something that he had made plain to his agents.

  The thought rankled Harry Vincent, while he was unlocking the door of his hotel room. Harry felt that he had failed The Shadow. There was a lead to the head criminal; one which the law did not suspect. That lead was Moy Ming, the missing Chinese laundryman; and it had been Harry's job to trace Moy Ming.

  Harry had been too late.


  Could The Shadow have found Moy Ming?

  Harry's answer was yes. That troubled him all the more. His face was glum when he turned on the light of his hotel room. Seating himself in a chair, Harry began to speculate on methods whereby he could track the needed Chinaman.

  The telephone bell rang. Harry answered. In response to his hello, he heard a guttural voice inquire:

  "Dis Meester Vincent?"

  "Yes," replied Harry. "Who is calling?"

  "De shoemaker. Next door to de Chinese laundry. I close de shop for de night; but I find out something -

  mebbe you like to know it."

  Harry remembered the shoemaker. He had chatted with the fellow and had promised to send over a pair of shoes to be repaired. He did not recall mentioning that he lived at the Hotel Metrolite, but decided that he must have done so without realizing it.

  Harry had told the shoemaker that he had left some laundry with Moy Ming and that it had not been delivered. That had been sufficient explanation for Harry's desire to find the Chinaman.

  "Very well," said Harry. "What is it that you want to tell me?"

  "About Moy Ming." The voice was thick, but eager. "I find heem for you! He come by when I close de shop! He got a new laundry; working there tonight."

  "Do you have the address?"

  The voice gave it; Harry made a notation of it. He thanked the caller and finished the conversation. He decided that the shoemaker must have called from a public pay station. The repair shop had no telephone.

  His hand upon the doorknob, Harry remembered something. Rules called for a report to Burbank. It seemed unnecessary tonight, since The Shadow was distant from New York. Nevertheless, the routine was a permanent habit with The Shadow's agents.

  Harry picked up the telephone and called Burbank's number. A methodical voice responded. Harry told the contact man where he expected to find Moy Ming, and promised a later report.

  WHEN he left the Metrolite by taxi, Harry looked through the rear window. He saw another cab starting just as his taxi turned the corner. For a while, Harry thought the second cab might be trailing him. At last, it was lost in the traffic of the avenue.

  Harry's cab veered to a side street. It reached Sixth Avenue and rolled between "el" pillars. A block farther on, Harry looked back to see a couple of cabs in sight. It wasn't far to Moy Ming's new address, so Harry ordered a halt when he reached the street he wanted.

  As the cab stopped, Harry was ready with the change. Dropping off, he took quickly to the side street.

  He saw the cab roll ahead and no others stop at the corner. Harry decided that he had not been trailed.

  Moy Ming's new place of business occupied a tiny basement. It was dimly lighted and Harry saw a Chinaman stacking laundry bundles on a shelf. Going down the stone steps, Harry entered.

  The Chinaman swung about and eyed him narrowly. Though Harry had no way of identifying Moy Ming, the fellow looked ugly enough to be the one that Harry wanted.

  Perhaps the suspicious glance was given because Harry had no laundry bundle, nor was he recognized as an old customer. It was easy to settle that point. Harry informed that he lived near the new laundry and intended to bring wash there if the proprietor could make the price right and guarantee good work.

  Immediately, the Chinaman became voluble. He leaned across the counter and bragged in singsong English.

  "My namee Moy Ming," he proclaimed. "Me do washee better than other Chinee boy. Better than any Melican laundlee. You lookee. I show you."

  Moy Ming seemed genuinely anxious to make a new customer. He lifted a curtain that hung in a small doorway and nudged his thumb toward washing machines in a lighted rear room. He wanted to show Harry his equipment; and Harry decided to take a look. It was a good way to get acquainted with Moy Ming.

  Harry stepped through the doorway and Moy Ming followed. The Chinaman paused to slip the curtain back in place. His action was natural; Harry did not suspicion it. But he heard something that puzzled him. It was a scraping noise, from that same doorway.

  Harry turned. He saw Moy Ming's fingers on a button. A heavy door was sliding shut to block the exit. It was on the inside of the curtain which kept it hidden from the front room. Moy Ming was transforming this rear room into a prison.

  MOY MING'S one mistake was remaining inside the room with Harry. The Chinaman expected trouble on that score; for he whipped out a knife as Harry turned toward him. Moy Ming was quick; but Harry outspeeded him.

  Before Moy Ming could threaten with the knife, Harry had pulled an automatic. Moy Ming recoiled as Harry covered him. That was just what Harry wanted. He jabbed his free hand for the Chinaman's wrist and caught it with an expert wrench. The knife bobbled to the floor.

  Moy Ming tried to squirm away. Harry tugged the Chinaman's arm in back of him and bent the laundryman to the floor. Eye to eye with the ugly fellow, Harry demanded:

  "Who sent you to Shark Meglo?"

  Moy Ming grimaced. He tried to show ignorance. Harry's grip tightened on the Chinaman's arm. Moy Ming writhed his lips and uttered inarticulate sounds as if too tortured to phrase the name that Harry wanted.

  Harry sensed fakery in the Chinaman's method; but he thought that Moy Ming was merely trying to stave off the necessary answer.

  Moy Ming was smarter than Harry guessed.

  That gurgle was a cover-up for more than Moy Ming's thoughts. Uttered in Harry's ear, the sound drowned other noises. Big washing machines were being slowly shoved from their corners. Moy Ming could see them; but they were behind Harry's back.

  Moy Ming gulped frantically. This time it was a signal.

  Two huge Mongols bobbed from their hiding places behind the washing machine. They were no longer cautious, for they were close enough to make a sure attack.

  Harry heard them as they sprang. He pitched Moy Ming to the floor and swung to meet his new adversaries. The Mongols were weaponless; they were depending upon their big hands to smother Harry to the floor.

  In that instant Harry made a good copy of The Shadow's fading tactics. With a twist, he was away from the clawing hands. Backed to the corner beside the closed door, Harry dropped to one knee and aimed his gun at the attacking pair. He would have had time to drop them in their tracks, had it not been for Moy Ming.

  Sprawled almost at Harry's elbow, the Chinaman propped himself quickly with his hands and reared his head like a striking serpent. His wide-opened mouth descended upon Harry's gun hand. Teeth sank into Harry's fist. Moy Ming shook his head to one side and carried Harry's aiming hand along.

  Before Harry could offset Moy Ming's tactics, the Mongols landed. Harry sprawled upon the floor; his gun slipped from his hold. Moy Ming's bite eased up. There would be no more trouble from Harry Vincent. Disarmed, The Shadow's agent was helpless in the grip of two formidable foemen.

  ARMS pinned behind him, Harry was shoved to his feet. Staring toward the rear of the room, he saw a door open. Into the light stepped Shark Meglo, followed by a pair of thugs - new followers whom he had recently recruited.

  Seeing that Harry was helpless, Shark motioned the two outside. When they had gone, he bolted the heavy door.

  Harry realized that Shark must have spotted him outside of Moy Ming's old place; that it was Shark who had faked the shoemaker's call. What Harry could not figure was how Shark had learned that he lived at the Hotel Metrolite.

  Shark had gained that news by a telephone call to Henshew's apartment, soon after he had received the inscribed half dollar from his chief. The message had said for Shark to handle Harry. All Shark needed was word where to find the victim.

  To Harry Vincent, such facts were unimportant at the moment. He could see the murderous glint of Shark's eyes; he knew that killer again intended to deliver death. This time, Harry was to be the victim; and doom seemed a certainty.

  In the past, Harry had been pulled from snares like this; but always, rescue had come from The Shadow.

  This capture had come during The Shadow's absence.
Any chance that Harry might have for life, would have to arrive without The Shadow's action.

  CHAPTER XI. CROSSED THRUSTS

  SHARK MEGLO did not intend prompt death for Harry. That was apparent through the orders that he gave to Moy Ming and the Mongols. Moy Ming became active, while the big captors still gripped their prisoner.

  As Harry stared, he saw Moy Ming pull two broad ironing-boards from the wall and set them end to end.

  Next came big clothes-wringers. Grinning like an ape, the Chinaman clamped the wringers to the far ends of the boards. Shark dug in a corner and found some odd lengths of rope. He brought them to Harry's captors. Aided by Shark, the Mongols began to tie the prisoner.

  Harry started a valiant battle. Moy Ming had to pitch in, clawing furiously, before The Shadow's agent could be subdued. At last, Harry lay prone on the floor, under the bulk of the Mongols, while Shark and Moy Ming tied his wrists and ankles.

  That done, the Mongols hoisted the prisoner and laid him face upward on the ironing-boards. They held him stretched on the improvised table while Shark affixed the wrist ropes to one wringer, and Moy Ming attached the ankle cords to the other. Both wound the wringers until the ropes were taut.

  Harry could feel the strain. His ankles were drawn one direction, his arms pulled full length above his head, were stretched the opposite way. Moy Ming, Shark's crafty tool, had transformed ordinary laundry equipment into one of the most terrible of torture devices.

  Ironing-boards and wringers made a rack, of the sort used in the Middle Ages.

  Shark turned the wringers over to the big Mongols. With Moy Ming beside him, Shark went to the center of the room and viewed Harry's strained face. The snarl that Shark gave was not pleasant. He raised two fingers; wagged them, so the Mongols could see. The huskies slowly tightened the wringers, each in an opposite direction.

  Harry's arms tugged at their sockets. His ankles felt ready to crack. Shark stopped his wigwag. The men at the wringers locked them in place and awaited further orders.

  "Don't feel so good, does it?" sneered Shark, as he faced Harry. "A little tighter, it'll feel worse. That's what you'll be getting, bozo, if you don't talk!"