The Shadow Unmasks s-131

by Maxwell Grant

  A moment later, the eyes were gone. A whispered laugh, delivered by hidden lips, marked the departure of Kent Allard.

  An amazing thing had happened; an event so incredible that even Clyde Burke could not have believed it, had he been here to witness the whole occurrence. Kent Allard, returned to New York for the first time in twelve years, had transformed himself into the one personage that it seemed impossible for him to be.

  Kent Allard had become The Shadow!

  CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW'S STORY

  IN New York, there lived a remarkable man named Slade Farrow, who was at home on this particular evening. Farrow dwelt in a modest little apartment; he was a kindly faced man, of gentle manner. There were times, though, when Farrow's features became stern and his eye showed snap.

  Farrow was a criminologist, who had devoted his life to two fine purposes: the reforming of crooks who were within redemption, and the righting of wrongs done innocent persons, who had been imprisoned for crimes that actually were committed by others.

  Farrow literally took his coat off when he settled down to such work. Frequently he had entered a penitentiary, posing as a convict, to gain the confidence of certain prisoners. There was one thing about Farrow; no one could know him long without realizing that he was a man of absolute trust.

  In his easy chair, beside a glowing table lamp, Farrow had set aside a book to reflect upon the past. He remembered the time when his generous career had been threatened by disaster. Rescue had come through a mysterious cloaked being called This Shadow. (See "The Green Box," Vol. IX, No. 2.) Since then, The Shadow had aided Farrow in many cases that required justice.

  Who was The Shadow?

  That was one question that Farrow could not answer. Sometimes The Shadow visited here in garb of black. Farrow also recalled a visitor who called himself Lamont Cranston, but was not actually the millionaire who bore that name. He remembered another, Henry Arnaud, but Farrow knew that the identity was simply a disguise.

  All those visitors had been The Shadow. Farrow had seen The Shadow in other guises, also; but had never learned who the mysterious person really was.

  Farrow however, had cherished one confident belief. If The Shadow ever revealed himself to any one, naming his identity when unmasked, Farrow would be the person to whom The Shadow would so appear.

  Despite that surety, Farrow had no inkling that The Shadow's unmasking would take place here tonight.

  As Farrow reached for his book, he heard a whispered voice beside him. Looking up, Farrow saw the cloaked figure of The Shadow. He met the burn of eyes that were focused from beneath the slouch hat brim. As in the past, The Shadow had entered Farrow's apartment unheard.

  Cloak fell away. Gloved hands lifted the slouch hat, then peeled away the gloves themselves. The visitor chose a chair and came into the light. Farrow saw a face that he had never viewed before, but it seemed familiar.

  Catching a connected thought, he looked toward a newspaper that lay on the table. He saw a photograph that tallied with the visitor. Farrow exclaimed the name: "Kent Allard!"

  "Yes." Allard's reply was an even-toned one. "I am Kent Allard."

  For a moment, Farrow thought that he was seeing The Shadow in some new disguise, then the sheer impossibility of the situation awoke a different idea. Long ago, Farrow had decided that The Shadow's real identity must be a remarkable one, as incredible as The Shadow himself.

  Kent Allard had been twelve years in the Guatemala jungle. All that while The Shadow had been battling crime in New York and elsewhere. On the face of it, Allard and The Shadow could not be the same person. That was why Farrow decided that they were. He was used to the impossible, where The Shadow was concerned.

  "It is amazing," confessed Farrow, "but I am confident that you are actually Kent Allard."

  "I am," stated Allard. "Because I have actually returned to my own identity, I have decided that you should know it."

  The tone indicated that Farrow could ask questions. Reaching for the newspaper, Farrow refreshed himself on certain details that he had read that afternoon.

  "It states here," declared Farrow, "that you were an aviator in the World War; an ace who was shot down within the enemy's lines. You were believed dead until a short while before the Armistice. Then you returned, after escaping from a prison camp where you had been confined for months.

  "After the war, you retained your interest in aviation and made several outstanding flights. The last was the long hop to South America, which ended somewhere in Central America. You were believed dead until a few weeks ago when it was learned that you were in Guatemala."

  FARROW laid the newspaper aside. With a slight smile, he questioned, frankly:

  "How much of this is true?"

  "A great deal of it," declared Allard. "I was actually a War ace. Winning air battles seemed to come to me naturally, and I gained a preference for night flights. The enemy called me the Dark Eagle. They were glad when they shot down my plane."

  Allard paused. His smile was as reflective as Farrow's. In reminiscent tone, he added:

  "But I was not shot down. I landed by design; and drilled the gas tank of my own ship. Wearing a black garb, I traveled by night, on foot, within the enemy's lines. I entered prison camps, yes; but never as a prisoner. I visited them only to release men who were held there, to guide them in their escape.

  "By day, I adopted disguises; and working entirely on my own, I contacted our secret agents. That was when I learned my faculty for penetrating the deepest schemes. I met persons who were amazed to learn that I had discovered the actual parts they played.

  "I became a roving secret agent, and finally located a secret air base maintained by the enemy. It seemed suicidal to visit that place and map it. They actually trapped me after I had finished. But my experience as aviator served me. I escaped from the base itself, in one of the enemy's own planes."

  Farrow understood the rest of that adventure. Kent Allard, returned to his own friends, had naturally stated that he had escaped from a prison camp. By thus accounting for his absence, he had kept the future open for further service as a secret agent.

  "The war ended," continued Allard. "I found that aviation offered part of the life I needed; but it provided neither the action of battle, nor the keen work of the secret agent. I rejected the idea of becoming a soldier of fortune. I considered warfare an uncivilized institution except when absolute necessity required it.

  "I saw such necessity in a field that others had neglected. Crime was becoming rampant in America and elsewhere. Underworlds were organized, with their own hidden battle lines. Only a lone foe could pierce that cordon; once inside, he would have to move by stealth, and strike with power and suddenness. I chose that mission."

  FARROW could see the expression of Allard's face. In the light, the clear eyes concealed their burning power. At moments, however, Farrow noted the hawklike semblance of Allard's countenance. He remembered the same trace in other faces that he had seen The Shadow wear.

  "I resolved to bury my identity," declared Allard. "I flew South and landed purposely in Guatemala. I spent a few months among the Xincas and gained their friendship. I came home, disguised so none could recognize me. I became The Shadow.

  "During my new career, I found it necessary to appear in many places. Sometimes the actors in the scenes of the underworld were mere puppets, manipulated by master-plotters who posed as men of high esteem. There was need, too, to learn what the law intended.

  "I had once known Lamont Cranston, millionaire globe-trotter, whose hobbies were exploration and aviation. Cranston was often absent from the country; so I adopted his appearance. It gave me all the advantages that I needed. As Cranston, I found occasional opportunities to stop in Central America and visit my isolated friends of the Xinca tribe."

  Farrow had listened breathless. A sudden thought struck him. He started the question:

  "Did Cranston ever learn -"

  "That I look his place?" smiled Allard. "Yes. I had
to settle that matter, once. I visited Cranston, as The Shadow. I let him see me as himself. That visit gained Cranston's full cooperation. Ever since, he has obligingly stayed away, whenever I have requested his absence. There have been occasional complications; but all were easily managed, until the present case."

  Farrow understood. That Croydon air crash had left Cranston unable to cooperate further, for the present. The millionaire's name had come into headlines. Soon, Cranston would be back in America; but he might be unable to travel for the next few months. The Shadow had needed another role; so he had become himself.

  "As The Shadow, I have become widely known," remarked Allard, in a methodical tone. "Though I have remained untraced, there are many who can testify to my whereabouts at certain times during the past twelve years. There is one place where I could never have been, during all that while.

  "That place is Guatemala. By returning home as Kent Allard, I have chosen the best of all possible identifies. No one will ever link me with The Shadow. As Allard, I shall be welcome everywhere. I have already established myself with Commissioner Weston. I can enter the same circles where I appeared as Cranston.

  "I have long foreseen this prospect. All that I awaited was the necessity of becoming myself. The longer I waited, the better. Twelve years were long enough."

  RISING from his chair, Allard raised his cloak and placed it over his shoulders. He donned the slouch hat. As he drew on his gloves, Farrow saw the glow of a fire opal that shone from the third finger of The Shadow's left hand. That stone, shimmering with every hue of the rainbow, had long served as The Shadow's token.

  The opal was a girasol, a gem of sparkling beauty, found only near Zimapan, in southern Mexico. There was a history to the unmatched specimen that The Shadow wore. For the present, he did not take time to relate the details to Slade Farrow.

  The Shadow's girasol was the great "eye-stone" of the Xinca tribe. Pressed southward, centuries ago, they had carried that gem to Guatemala as the symbol of promise, to be delivered to the great bird god who would arrive from the sky.

  That Xinca legend involving the girasol probably had its origin in the Aztec myth of a white god who would some day visit them. The Aztecs had welcomed Cortez and the Spaniards, because of such a legend, and had suffered disaster thereby. The Xincas, persisting in a similar belief, had greeted Kent Allard.

  He had been worthy of the legend. His coming had ended strife among the Xincas. Often had their white god left them; always had he returned. Ever from his finger shone the great "eye-stone," the Xinca gift that had awaited him.

  A glove covered the girasol. Cloaked completely in black, Kent Allard was again The Shadow. In the guise that suited his return, The Shadow resumed the chair beside Slade Farrow.

  The Shadow's past was told. He was ready to discuss the future. The Shadow was resuming the trail that he had left to others during his forced absence from New York.

  CHAPTER XIV. CRIME'S NEXT STEP

  FARROW had all the data that The Shadow wanted. Burbank had forwarded all reports to the criminologist, so that they could be in order when The Shadow returned. Producing his files, Farrow placed typewritten sheets upon the table, together with newspaper clippings.

  Clyde Burke had culled a great deal of information. Going the rounds with Joe Cardona, the reporter had listed the names of many possible suspects - all jewel brokers or salesmen of doubtful repute. Cardona had quizzed a dozen or more; and news of the police search had traveled. The rest of the questionable group were becoming hard to find.

  When he had finished his study of the scattered evidence, The Shadow questioned Farrow regarding an opinion. Farrow had one.

  "I would say that Cardona has taken the wrong course," he declared. "It seems obvious that there is a crime leader behind Shark's raids. But there is no real evidence to show that such a person belongs to the particular class that Cardona supposes."

  "Cardona is following Henshew's advice," reminded The Shadow. "No one knows the jewel trade better than Henshew."

  There was a significance to The Shadow's tone that Farrow did not catch. Farrow was too concentrated upon his own ideas.

  "Henshew knows the jewel market," admitted Farrow, "but that could indicate that he cannot see beyond it. He would naturally be prejudiced against unethical jewel brokers. That is why he suspects them."

  Farrow picked up a report of Clyde's visit to Henshew. Carefully, Farrow read over every statement that the prominent jewel broker had made.

  "Logical enough," commented Farrow, "but too restricted. In effect, Henshew believes that some small-time jewel merchant has developed into a master-crook. My opinion would be just the opposite. I suspect that some big-time crook has learned the gem business sufficiently well to dupe such victims as Hugo Silsam."

  Farrow reached for lists of his own. He checked over names of known criminals. Some were swindlers; others racketeers. Any of them might have the capability that Farrow credited to them.

  But Farrow admitted that the list did not satisfy him. He had been looking into the affairs of those criminals during The Shadow's absence. There seemed to be some flaw in every case.

  "Perhaps I have missed on one of them," said Farrow. "What is more, I may be entirely mistaken.

  Henshew's theory could be correct. Nevertheless, it is froth, whether right or wrong. It was Henshew's positive manner that convinced Cardona; not the man's accuracy in analyzing the case."

  SEATED, The Shadow brushed Farrow's documents aside. He drew off his right glove brought out a fountain pen and took a sheet of blank paper. He drew a circle near the top of the page in ink of vivid blue. In the circle, he neatly inscribed a name, using two lines: Hugo

  Silsam

  "Let us say," suggested The Shadow, "that the circle represents secrecy. That is why the victim was so completely enmeshed. Someone sold Silsam on the necessity of keeping his gem purchase as private as possible."

  Farrow nodded. He recognized that Silsam's name typified the others who had been robbed and murdered before him. The circle applied for all. Silsam stood as the latest example.

  The Shadow drew a second circle, below and to the right of Silsam's. Within it, he placed the name: Shark

  Meglo

  No comment was necessary. The circle represented Shark's hide-out, the measure of protection that kept the killer safe from capture. Moving the pen to the left, The Shadow drew a third circle. "This surrounds the master-criminal," expressed The Shadow, in a sibilant tone. "Possibly you can suggest the sort of protection that he would choose."

  Farrow hadn't thought of it in that fashion. It struck him instantly that he had missed a vital point. Yes, the supercrook would need protection of his own. Something different than the measure he had used to hold victims quiet and keep Shark hidden.

  "He would need a strong position," said Farrow, slowly. "One that would enable him to divert the law's attention from -"

  Farrow stopped. The Shadow had started to fill the circle. Before Farrow's eyes appeared the finished name, within the third ring:

  Madden

  Henshew

  The chart told its story. Henshew, holder of the jewels, placed them with dupes like Silsam. His own persuasive advice - the very sort that had impressed Cardona - caused victims to keep their purchases confidential. That plus Henshew's high reputation. Next, the gems were seized by Shark; finally they came back to Henshew. The chain of circles was complete.

  As if to prove The Shadow's analysis, the top circle faded. Its ink had dried; in that state it disappeared, for the fluid was the sort that The Shadow used in sending special messages.

  For a final touch The Shadow made a new circle where Silsam's had been, but left it blank.

  Shark's circle vanished. Henshew's followed. Only the ominous blank circle remained at the top of the page. It represented the mesh that would soon involve a new victim. The Shadow crumpled the paper before the circle faded. Farrow was awed.

  "Do you think" - his question was a traine
d one - "that Henshew will dare to attempt the game again?"

  "If he does," returned The Shadow, "his move will be a daring one. His boldness is his greatest strength."

  The Shadow stepped away. He was gone, in the blackness beyond the lamp's range of light. Farrow heard the soft close of the apartment door. He knew that The Shadow had set forth upon a new mission.

  A WHILE afterward, The Shadow arrived in a room that was almost totally darkened. Only the bare outline of windows was visible. A tiny flashlight flicked. It showed articles of furniture and finally reached an alcove; where it centered on a closed writing desk. Beyond was a bookcase built in a niche.

  The Shadow was in the living room of Henshew's apartment.

  The bookcase was far different from the flimsy one that The Shadow had seen at Shark's transfer place.

  Its structure, however, had points in common.

  Carefully, The Shadow removed volumes from their shelves. He found a panel, of solid feel; but The Shadow's probing fingers discovered the spring. The panel clicked open.

  The Shadow's flashlight shone into the space that had so recently held Henshew's hoard of tainted gems.

  As before, The Shadow was greeted with a barren discovery.

  The hiding place was empty.

  The rear wall of the space was solid. There was no need for transfer here. The fact that gems were missing was a link with Henshew's own absence. The scheming supercrook had begun new operations earlier than The Shadow had expected.

  Tonight, Henshew had gone somewhere to make another sale.

  That bore significance. It indicated exactly what The Shadow had predicted: a bold move by Henshew. It meant, too, although Henshew was keeping contact with the law, he had found a chance for new operations.

  Where, under such circumstances, had he found a dupe who might be handled yet kept under full control? A wealthy man whose trust he had obtained? Some person whose very position would be a protection for Henshew?

  The Shadow knew that Henshew would have to play his cards cunningly. He would have to be ready with a perfect explanation if the police learned that he was handling a large jewel sale. Those very angles gave The Shadow a likely answer.