The Shadow Unmasks s-131

by Maxwell Grant

  The net result was badly against The Shadow. His pass at Henshew, his shots at Shark, seemed proof that he must be a raiding criminal. Lashing back and forth through Henshew's gloomy dining room, The Shadow was hard pressed by fighters who tried to down him with clubs and guns. Only the press of numbers helped The Shadow; for the amateur brawlers were getting in the way of police guns.

  Piling one man upon another, The Shadow suddenly cleared a path; but it led only to the window.

  He went through the frame, glass and all, with a crash that seemed to head him for the street below. The Shadow was counting upon an outside cornice that he had used before. He clutched it; swung down and gained a window of the floor below.

  Even then, The Shadow's path was not clear. Police had arrived in the rear street; they were piling up into the apartment house.

  Shouts were given by pursuers who raced to the floor beneath Henshew's. They saw The Shadow on the stairway, as he came through. Cut off one floor above the street level, The Shadow took to another apartment. He reached a window and crawled along a wider ledge, to reach the corner of the building.

  THOUGH The Shadow had chosen the most obscure direction and had slipped completely from sight, he had reached a limit. He could gain nothing by traveling farther, and retreat was hopeless.

  Searchers were all along the street. Lights were appearing at windows. Congregating police were scouring all parked cars. They stopped a taxi; its driver backed it into a little passage by the corner of the apartment house.

  "Anybody try to get into this cab, bud?"

  "Nobody." The voice was Moe's. "Any harm in my staying here?"

  "Not if you don't mind us looking in and out of your hack. If you want to go chasing fares, you'd better get started."

  Moe had stalled the motor. He jockeyed with the starter, hoping that he might catch some flash from The Shadow, wherever his chief was.

  As cops shifted into the passage, Moe heard a low, sibilant whisper, that seemed to come from somewhere above. An officer hurried back with the question:

  "Did you hear that?"

  "Hear what?"

  The policeman looked around, saw no one. Moe started the motor and reached above his head. Moe's cab was of the latest type, with the sliding top that opened above the rear seat, in sunny weather. He slid the roof space wide. As the cab moved slowly forward, a figure swished from the ledge just above it.

  Though the landing was a light one, Moe felt the slight jar. He swung the cab out into the street and drove away. Officers who had looked into the taxi allowed it to pass.

  Meanwhile, another hand was sliding the roof shut. The last-minute passenger was obscured in the interior darkness. Moe heard the low whisper of The Shadow, ordering him where to drive.

  The cab went past the last searchers, just as lights shone from the apartment house window, at the very corner where The Shadow had been.

  Henshew's apartment was deserted except for two men. One was Henshew; Shark was with him. Shark had started to join the searchers in their hunt for The Shadow. It was Henshew who held him back. As they stood by a window, Henshew gave advice that Shark heard in the darkness.

  "You can't get by with it, Shark. You've got to get out of here! Pick a new hideaway."

  "But The Shadow's making a getaway, chief -"

  "He's made it!" Henshew's tone was rueful. "Those dubs will never bag him. What's more, he's grabbed the jewels!"

  Shark greeted that news with an ugly oath. Henshew was cooler. The master-crook was thinking ahead.

  "The game's through, Shark," he said. "We could call it quits if we still had the gems."

  "You'll never get those sparklers from The Shadow."

  "Perhaps not." Henshew's tone was speculative. "He might drop them somewhere. If he does, I can reclaim them. If not -"

  Henshew paused. Shark knew that an idea was due. He heard Henshew's low, gritted laugh.

  "We can get something better," declared Henshew. "Leave it to me, Shark. I've got a plan for a final clean-up that will make up for the gems and give us cash besides. One that The Shadow will never guess is coming, after this."

  HENSHEW nudged Shark out to the stairway. On the way, Shark told him where the new hide-out would be. He said, though, that he was not going straight there. It would be better to shake off any bulls who might encounter him on the way. Henshew approved.

  "You'd better show yourself, Shark," he said, "so there'll be no doubt that you were here. That will give me the alibi I need. Remember, though, The Shadow knows a lot. If you run into him -"

  "I'll croak him!" Shark showed new boldness. "And if I find any other guy that looks wise, I'll do the same for him. Count on me, chief. If you've got another job all figured, I'm for it."

  Shark went down the stairs. He saw a clear path through the lobby, with taxis on the front street. The chase had not caused commotion there. That was what Shark wanted. He made a dash through to the front, leaped into a cab and shoved a gun against the driver's neck. The cab started in a hurry.

  Arriving police saw Shark and recognized him in the light; but he was away before they could halt him.

  Shark abandoned the cab a few blocks away and jumped aboard a parked coupe of his own. He had a long start on the patrol cars that followed.

  Moe's cab, meanwhile, had reached the hotel where Kent Allard was a guest. Commissioner Weston's big official car had just pulled up in front when the cab rounded the corner. The Shadow dropped off at the place he wanted. He had counted on Weston being a trifle late.

  When Weston and Clyde Burke were admitted to the suite by one of the Xinca servants, Kent Allard appeared sleepily from a bedroom. He was attired in a dressing gown; but he became alert as he shook hands with his visitors. He invited them to stay an hour or so.

  The visit, however, proved a very brief one.

  The tingling of the telephone bell was answered by Allard. He heard a query for Weston and turned the phone over to the commissioner. Weston showed excitement at the news he received.

  "An attempted robbery at Henshew's apartment!" exclaimed Weston. "Inspector Cardona had just arrived there. I must go at once! Sorry to leave you, Allard. Perhaps Burke will stay -"

  "Burke is a newspaper man," smiled Allard. "He would probably prefer to accompany you, commissioner."

  Clyde gave a nod of thanks for Allard's suggestion. He departed with Weston. Kent Allard remained alone in his chair by the window, staring out over the city. His eyes could note the reflection of the darkened pane. He saw the Xincas retire to their quarters, knowing that their master preferred to remain alone.

  The whispered tone that came from Allard's lips was one that the Indians had never heard him utter in the jungle. It was like an echo of a strident mirth those same lips had delivered tonight.

  The subdued sound was the laugh of The Shadow.

  CHAPTER XIX. FACTS FOR THE LAW

  THROUGH his penetrative knowledge of Madden Henshew's methods, The Shadow had put a bad crimp in the crime-leader's game. Moreover, The Shadow had gained insight into the plans of Michael Chanbury, the only other person who had been keen enough to suspect Henshew as the man behind robberies and murders.

  Tonight, Henshew had received a sheer jolt, through the loss of the gems that had been his chief stock in trade. By lurking at Henshew's until the crook returned, The Shadow had impressed his identity on both Henshew and Shark Meglo.

  There could be no doubt in their minds regarding the removal of the jewels. They would figure that those gems, in the possession of The Shadow, were beyond reclaim.

  All that Henshew had gained was a temporary breathing spell. By posing as an intended victim who had luckily escaped death, Henshew would be firmly established with the law. Later, under pretext of an extended business trip, Henshew could decamp entirely from New York. In such event, Shark would join him elsewhere.

  There remained one opportunity, however, that Henshew would never let pass. The Shadow had left Henshew the chance to launch Shark Me
glo into one more crime; a stroke that would lift the total of their secret wealth to a level higher than ever before.

  Henshew would go after Chanbury's uncut diamonds.

  The move could not come tonight. Henshew was tied up with the law, giving details of the havoc at his apartment. Shark was dodging the police, shaking off trailers while he sought a new hide-out. Crime seemed settled for tonight.

  Tomorrow, with full reports at his disposal, The Shadow could prepare against Henshew's last campaign.

  Until then, he preferred to play the quiet part of Kent Allard.

  Freakish chance sometimes disturbed a waiting game. On this occasion The Shadow could foresee no likely combination of circumstances that would cause trouble before tomorrow. Every one who might figure in later events was present in their proper place. Whatever their purposes, all should stay fixed.

  It happened, however, that criss-crossed events were due to produce new tragedy; one wherein The Shadow would not intervene.

  AT eleven o'clock, Michael Chanbury was aroused from bed by a servant's raps upon his door. There was a visitor very anxious to see him. The caller was Jim Tyrune.

  Chanbury told the servant to take the detective to the portrait room. Donning a dressing gown and slippers, Chanbury joined Tyrune there.

  "Why have you come so late?" queried Chanbury. "If you wanted to see me, you should have called earlier. I have been home all evening, with not a thing to do. After I have gone to bed, you arrive."

  "I've got big news, Mr. Chanbury," explained Tyrune, breathlessly. "It couldn't wait! There was a robbery at Henshew's apartment - at least, an attempted one!"

  "What!" Chanbury came to his feet, behind the desk. "When did that happen, Tyrune?"

  "At nine o'clock - just after Henshew got back from Philadelphia. And who do you think pulled the job?

  Shark Meglo!"

  Chanbury looked incredulous. Tyrune shook his head.

  "That ruins our theory," said the dick. "Henshew is on the level. I was down there, after I heard about it.

  The place was a wreck! Shark and his outfit just about ruined it. Joe Cardona was there getting the details -"

  "Tell me something," inserted Chanbury. "Does Henshew know you came here?"

  "I don't think so. I was going to call you on the telephone, but I changed my mind. Too many people there. I thought I'd better run out and see you."

  Chanbury seated himself at his desk. He pressed a buzzer to summon a servant. He asked if Miss Merwood had retired; the servant replied that she was reading in the library. Chanbury requested her presence in the portrait room.

  While they were waiting, Chanbury told Tyrune that he intended to dictate a statement, and that he wanted careful check on every detail. Tyrune nodded wisely, although he wondered just what new theory Chanbury might have to offer.

  Eleanor arrived. She seemed surprised to find Chanbury and Tyrune in conference:

  "I didn't know that you would need me this evening, Mr. Chanbury," said the girl. "You weren't here when I came back from town. I only stayed in for dinner. I could have worked tonight."

  Chanbury explained that he had not intended to do any work, and had, therefore, retired early. Tyrune's late visit had called for this special session. Noting a calendar on the desk, he began a statement that Eleanor transcribed in shorthand.

  "ON the evening of the sixth," declared Chanbury, "James Tyrune entered the apartment of Madden Henshew, in search of evidence regarding the Silsam robbery. He effected entry with a special pass-key, copied from one that he previously examined in the janitor's office. The special key is in our possession, as Exhibit A."

  Chanbury raised his hand for a pause. He turned to Tyrune, with the question:

  "Is that satisfactory?"

  "The facts are," replied Tyrune, "only I don't just know whether I had the right to go there."

  "Add this, Eleanor," ordered Chanbury. "Tyrune's action was done at the order of Michael Chanbury."

  Eleanor transcribed the statement; Tyrune looked relieved. Chanbury opened a desk drawer, to bring out the labeled pass-key. While he fished for it, he continued:

  "Tyrune uncovered settings in the drawer of Henshew's writing desk. He did not, however, find the secret hiding place where Henshew kept his gems."

  "Wait a minute, Mr. Chanbury," broke in Tyrune. "The gems weren't at Henshew's at all!"

  Chanbury sat astonished: "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that Shark didn't make a grab tonight," explained Tyrune. "He raided Henshew's apartment, and shot it all to pieces! Somebody - maybe it was The Shadow - was on his trail, to give him a battle. Half of Shark's crew was left there; but there's nothing gone."

  "Who told you that?"

  "Henshew. He said he couldn't understand why Shark came there, unless it was a grudge. Henshew swears that he keeps all his gems at his office!"

  Chanbury was pounding the desk.

  "The fox!" he exclaimed. "I see his big game. Of course, he couldn't let the police see that secret strong box behind the bookcase. It was too much like the place that the law found before."

  Tyrune started to say something. Chanbury stopped him with a wave. To Eleanor, he dictated:

  "On the same night, the sixth, Henshew visited Michael Chanbury, to show him a collection of gems. We have a list of those jewels, personally compiled by Chanbury. Exhibit B."

  Forgetting the pass-key, Chanbury produced the list of the gems that he had copied from memory. He handed it to Eleanor, with instructions to type it later. To Tyrune, Chanbury said:

  "Henshew will come here again, to inform me privately that the gems were actually stolen from his apartment. He will request me to keep the matter confidential. I shall have to agree, because Henshew could deny that he ever had such items. His word would be as acceptable as mine."

  TYRUNE seemed puzzled. He was stroking his pointed chin. Eleanor had taken down Chanbury's statement to the detective; she was about to cross it out, when Chanbury told her to keep it in the record.

  He requested that she type it immediately.

  "It is very simple," said Chanbury to Tyrune. "Henshew believes that I found out how grossly he undervalued my uncut diamonds. Fearing future trouble, he ordered Shark to fake the apartment robbery for two purposes. First, to make the law regard Henshew as another threatened victim; second, to give me a reason for calling off the jewel sale."

  Understanding showed on Tyrune's face. The dick grinned and nodded.

  "I get it," he said. "Henshew sure is a fox! But how are you going to tag him, Mr. Chanbury?"

  Chanbury sat, meditative. The prospect apparently baffled him; and Tyrune offered no suggestions. Both were pondering when Eleanor returned, bringing the typed statement and the copied list.

  Chanbury signed the statement; Tyrune added his signature. Eleanor applied her name as witness, at Chanbury's suggestion.

  "Let me think this over, Tyrune," decided Chanbury. "Of course, we must turn these facts over to the law. It would be better, though, if we had a plan before we called in Cardona."

  "You're right," agreed Tyrune. "Otherwise, he'll want to know why we mooched in on the case without putting him wise. Maybe I'd better call Joe and break the news to him."

  "A good idea!"

  Chanbury folded the signed statement and the list. He placed them in an envelope, stating that he would add the pass-key later. Walking to the door with Tyrune, Chanbury suggested:

  "Call me when you get home. I shall wait up to hear from you. By thinking it over, I may have some idea for a plan, if you have not struck upon one. We must put the whole story frankly when we give it to Cardona."

  They were at the front door. To Eleanor, Chanbury said: "That will be all. And remember: this is confidential. You must not mention it to any one; particularly, not to that reporter, Burke. When the time comes for him to know these facts, he will receive them from Inspector Cardona."

  RIDING home in a bouncy taxi, Jim Tyrune kept muttering to himself, as he tr
ied to solve the problem that Chanbury had presented. There were lots of angles to that robbery at Henshew's. The sooner Cardona knew them the better.

  What Tyrune was looking for was some idea of his own, to add to whatever new suggestions Chanbury might offer. Tyrune solved the riddle to his own satisfaction, while the cab was rolling smoothly across an East River bridge.

  The twinkling bridge lights showed the wise, pleased grin that registered upon the private detective's face.

  Yes, he had it just as he wanted it. Once home he would call Chanbury; then Cardona. Only it would be up to Joe to give Tyrune full credit when the crooks were bagged.

  Jim Tyrune was headed for the greatest event that had ever occurred in his drab career; one that would splash his name in heavy headlines. Not often in a lifetime did a fellow have a chance to crash the front pages. Once he hit the headlines, Jim figured, it would be easy to repeat.

  That part of Tyrune's guess was wrong. His name was destined to crash the news much sooner than he thought; but after that, never again.

  CHAPTER XX. MIDNIGHT MURDER

  IT was past midnight when Joe Cardona received a telephone call at headquarters. Joe thought it was a routine call reporting more unsuccessful efforts at tracking Shark Meglo.

  Why detectives called up to say that they hadn't found Shark, was a mystery to Cardona. He was willing to bet that if they did find Shark, Joe wouldn't know it until he read the next day's newspapers.

  A dignified voice responded to Joe's gruff hello. The ace recognized the tone of Michael Chanbury. He heard the art collector inquire:

  "Has Tyrune called you?"

  "Jim Tyrune?" returned Cardona. "No. I saw him tonight about ten o'clock at Henshew's apartment.

  There was an attempted robbery there -"

  "So Tyrune told me. He was here at eleven, and left at half past. He was to call me by midnight. Do you know where I can reach him? The only number that I have is his office."

  Cardona didn't know where Tyrune lived. Jim had a habit of living at hotels when he had money; at rooming houses when his finances were low. Cardona offered to have some one dig up the information regarding Tyrune's present residence. That relieved Chanbury somewhat, but he had another request: