Death in the Stars s-197

by Maxwell Grant

  There was a knock at the study door. It was Denwood, ready to start for Grendale's. With one of Cranston's affable smiles, The Shadow went along, to a hired boat that was waiting at the dock. His maskish face showed none of the worry that he actually felt.

  Impulse urged The Shadow to make a prompt trip to the lair beneath Indian Rock; there to deal with crooks. But he resisted his wish to speed to Harry's rescue. If still alive, Harry would be safe until later.

  Moreover, if The Shadow's analysis of the crime situation was entirely accurate, there would be a very good reason for Harry, or any other prisoner, to be alive.

  There was a throng at Grendale's wharf. Everyone had begged an invitation tonight, most of them hoping to witness a failure on the part of Professor Scorpio.

  Carrying dark garments over his arm, The Shadow let the others go ahead, Denwood included. Stepping from the path, he lost the guise of Cranston, when he cloaked himself in black.

  AS The Shadow, shrouded creature of gloom, the cloaked investigator made a detour to the side of Grendale's elaborately built lodge, found a cellar window that offered him entrance.

  The sheriff's men were guarding the premises, but they were keeping to the fringes of the woods, forming a semicircle to the water front. They weren't to close in until they received a signal from the building.

  His flashlight dabbing tiny spots through the cellar, The Shadow sought for some hidden opening to the floor above. So far, Scorpio had preserved the main secret of his séances, namely, that he had tricked every house in the Calada colony, so that fake ghosts could enter and leave at their convenience.

  The game had gone bad at Lodi's, but the professor's incendiary job had fixed the trick alcove. Here at Grendale's, however, The Shadow expected a more clever set-up.

  With Rufus at hand, ready to do hammer duty, Scorpio had risked a loose trap the other night. He had no accomplice among Grendale's servants, so far as The Shadow had been able to discover.

  Passing a partition in the cellar, The Shadow noticed that it was set at a trifling angle. Instantly, he tried it, and discovered that it would shift slightly under pressure. Above was a broad slab set in masonry. The Shadow gave a whispered laugh. The shift of the partition left that slab entirely free.

  Pushing the partition back in place, The Shadow moved back to the window. He knew why the partition had been set a bit off; on account of Barcla's occasional spells of dumbness. The fellow had blundered badly over at Lodi's when he hadn't been able to find his way out from the cellar.

  Reaching the ground, The Shadow made a blackened blotch against the side wall of the lodge, as he looked into the big room where the séance was to take place. Professor Scorpio, smirking through his beard, was allowing himself to be searched. So far, his sleeves were proven free of spooks.

  "Thank you, gentlemen," declared Scorpio, with a sarcastic bow. "Here is my turban; you may examine it, too. Meanwhile, you may return my watch, my wallet, and other odds and ends."

  The Shadow saw the objects that were returned to Scorpio. The Professor was standing in front of a huge fireplace, which was not lighted, because the séance was to be in darkness. Analyzing various aspects of the situation, The Shadow made further observations.

  He saw the safe, in an alcove fairly remote from Scorpio. He watched the Hindu servants remove bulbs from light sockets, so that no one could press a switch at the wrong time. They were screwing red bulbs into wall brackets: such lights would not hinder the professor.

  All ordinary bulbs were gone, except for one. Taking a chair, Professor Scorpio gestured around the circle.

  "I have been searched," he told the group. "So, before we begin, I ask the same privilege. My servants will relieve you of all flashlights"

  There was grumbling; some discord regarding the fact that the Hindus were present at all. Scorpio agreed that they could be placed in another room, under the surveillance of a committee. They went, taking the flashlights with them. Scorpio ordered the door locked, the key brought to him.

  Henry Denwood was near the window, which was open. He was watching Scorpio step to the last light.

  The professor removed the bulb and only the red glow from the wall brackets remained. Scorpio, clad in white, was vaguely visible; Denwood heard the light bulb tinkle as the professor dropped it near the fireplace.

  Then, in that eerie setting, Denwood heard Scorpio intone:

  "There will be spirits shortly; nay, immediately! The psychic mood is upon me-"

  THE drone became a babble; simultaneously, a wraithlike thing began to float close beside Scorpio, growing slowly, yet so suddenly in evidence that Denwood gasped along with the rest.

  But Denwood, despite his fascination, was suddenly conscious of a hand that gripped his shoulder. The touch made him shudder. It chilled him, with a sensation of real coldness that left Denwood very nervous, until he sensed that he was holding a flashlight. It had come from the outer darkness, but not that of ethereal space. The flashlight came through the open window.

  So did the voice that whispered close to Denwood's ear; a tone that the gray-haired man alone could hear:

  "Be ready! You will know when."

  The voice of The Shadow! Grimly, Denwood settled in his chair, clutching the precious flashlight, prepared for the part he was to play in the trapping of Professor Scorpio.

  CHAPTER XIV. AMONG THE GHOSTS.

  A CHILDISH spook was wavering near Professor Scorpio, bowing to the astonished sitters. Scorpio had ceased his babble, so that the half-grown spirit could talk. It muttered words in a falsetto, but did not identify itself.

  The Shadow knew the source of that pretended ghost; that it could vanish as rapidly as it had arrived leaving no evidence. The voice was simply Scorpio's own, which gave a ventriloqual effect in the darkness. The professor was testing out his audience. If persons made a grab for the baby spook, they would catch nothing but thin air.

  The spirit was saying that it would have to go, but that soon it would return. Some other spirit wanted the floor. Scorpio's test had worked; he intended to bring back the tiny spook to cover the departure of a full-sized ghost, just as he was using it now as a preliminary precaution.

  Quite satisfied with that situation, The Shadow listened for outside sounds. He heard them-the slight swash of wavelets near the shore, then a creeping sound among the trees. He traced an approach toward a cellar window; one that hesitated. There were other crunches from surrounding directions.

  A last glance through the window. The baby sprite had diminished, then bobbed up again. It was babbling happily in Scorpio's falsetto, coyly deciding to chat a while longer with the "meedie," which was its pet term for the bearded professor.

  As the thing finally faded, Scorpio's own voice returned. In trance-like tone, he asked for someone to name a ghost that they should like to have appear. Paula Lodi spoke ardently from the circle:

  "Francois-"

  There was a buzz. Paula gasped. She sounded as though she had responded with that name by arrangement with Scorpio. Perhaps such was the case; possibly, the professor had known how Paula's mind would run. At any rate, she changed her request as perfectly as if Scorpio had cued her.

  "No, no!" exclaimed Paula. "I want-Howard!"

  The buzz was louder. Scorpio silenced it.

  "Howard Carradon is still among the living," he declared, in an impressive monotone. "But there is another, who may have gone to the world beyond-"

  The Shadow was moving to the cellar; his own window was away from those where he could hear slight creaks. Hence The Shadow did not see the events that followed; but he could picture them.

  A luminous circle twisted beneath the red lights; it swirled near Scorpio and grew rapidly. It was the old trick of a secret arrival lifting a black cloth, but this pretended spirit developed much more rapidly than usual. The man playing the part of spook wanted to get the job done.

  As the face showed itself, onlookers became aghast. The face glowed with sickly green, but it
was distinguishable as one they recognized, though its contour seemed misshapen.

  The face of Niles Rundon!

  "I have a message"-the voice had Rundon's depth, but it was harsher-"a message for Lois Melvin!"

  "It's not Niles!" came Lois reply from the circle. "I am sure it isn't! This is a trick"-her voice firmed-"and a poor one! If you are Niles"-she was on her feet, addressing the ghost-"I have a question for you!"

  The ghost vanished, overquickly. Professor Scorpio inserted sharp remarks. He knew that the spook was still at hand, but others didn't. It was up to him to fill the breach.

  "We must have quiet," he ordained. "Perhaps the spirit will return. Those newly departed to a higher plane are seldom able to develop with ease, or remain among us long. Be patient, Miss Melvin."

  WITH that, Scorpio went into mutters, distinguishable to no one in the circle. They were meant for the ghost, alone. Under his breath he was criticizing Barcla for having done the impersonation sloppily and playing it too strong. Then:

  "If you will put the question to me, Miss Melvin, I shall induce the spirit to return." Scorpio was making his plea ardent. "You must try a simple question, at first. Perhaps we can allow others later."

  Lois asked for the spirit to name the day when she had been to Los Angeles. She was willing to play the game as Scorpio wanted, sure that she could press the situation later. Scorpio requested the spirit to return and answer.

  It didn't appear, at first. The professor appeared rather satisfied. He talked in a coaxing tone. At last, the bashful spook revealed itself with a swirl. Rundon's face showed, its expression a bit distorted: in an attempt at a milder tone, its voice said.

  "Tuesday."

  "Tuesday is right," began Scorpio. "And now, Miss Melvin-"

  "Another question," snapped Lois. "Whose picture is in the back of my wrist watch?"

  The spirit spoke for itself. "My own picture," it began, warily. "When I was in my earthly form. The form of-"

  "Of a white poodle?" queried Lois, sweetly, "who answered to the name of Alphonse?"

  The fake ghost disappeared so suddenly, that most of the sitters could guess that a cloth had dropped over it. Scorpio was shouting above the bedlam, trying to reverse the situation in his favor. He heard cries of "trickery" and took up the challenge.

  "Yes, trickery!" he shouted,

  "Trickery on the part of Miss Melvin, who changed the photograph in that watch! Silence, everyone!"

  There were calls of: "Bring back the spook!"

  "I shall bring back the ghost," promised Scorpio, "the moment that proper conditions are restored"

  Shouts diminished. The Shadow could hear them subside from where he waited below, by the partition in the cellar. The boarding was swung wide; The Shadow had found it that way on his return. Listening, he heard a slight click, the slab above was sliding in the darkness.

  Something landed with a plop close beside The Shadow. It didn't wait to swing the partition back in place; huddled, it started to grope out through the darkness. The Shadow reached a gloved hand to the top of the partition, then grabbed the edge of the opening.

  Two seconds later, he was crouched in the big fireplace, having drawn its sliding base half shut. One glove drawn from its hand, The Shadow was dabbing thumb and forefinger against two tiny sponges that he had in his other gloved palm, while he watched Professor Scorpio's efforts to conclude the séance.

  Scorpio was bringing back a spook, but not the right one. The thing that had again come to sight was the luminous form of the baby spirit.

  Mutters told that it didn't satisfy the sitters; and Scorpio was trying to mollify them by sending the spook out over their heads, apparently beyond any possible control on his part.

  Quickly creeping close to the occupied professor, The Shadow stretched his hand up close to the faker's beard and snapped thumb and finger together. The result was more startling than anything that Scorpio had produced.

  The chemicals-which had been on the sponges-exploded with a blinding flash; they caused a report louder, sharper than a pistol shot. That blast from nowhere literally staggered the professor. He keeled backward with a wild cry. The floating spook bobbed toward the ceiling.

  Denwood, though as startled as the rest, knew that this was his cue. As new bedlam rose, he pressed the flashlight switch, spreading a wide beam in Scorpio's direction. The sudden light caught Scorpio with the goods.

  THE professor was handling a reaching rod-a long hollow, telescopic tube which stretched from his lips.

  At the end of it was the floating baby spook.

  The rod was very thin, and cleverly constructed. It was an extension brought out from the interior of his big gold watch, when he pulled the stem.

  Filled with balloon-like silk, the watch provided the spook when Scorpio blew through the tube. The case of the watch was open, on the end of the reaching rod, and he had inflated the "ghost" with his breath.

  At present, the shape was drooping, for Scorpio had no breath left. He had let the distant watch case tilt and the luminous silk had flopped over the edge, instead of settling back where it belonged.

  A dozen hands were grabbing for Scorpio. The Shadow's were not among them. He had reached the window and was springing across the sill. Men were shouting from all around; they were the deputies, closing in, because they thought they had heard a gun go off.

  Scorpio should have fallen prey to the throng that grabbed him, even though a few snatched for the reaching rod and its fake ghost, instead of the professor. But Scorpio heard a yell that drove him to maddened effort. The man who shouted was Grendale.

  The financier was pointing to his safe; its door was open wide, the contents scattered. Among the disorder, Grendale saw no sign of a certain bundle that he prized.

  "My stocks!" he howled. "The big ghost took them!"

  Losing robe and turban, Scorpio wrenched loose. A skinny figure with his outer garments gone, the maddened professor dived for the base of the fireplace, which he saw half open; went through it as it was, and landed in the cellar.

  Bobbing up, he hoisted himself at the partition and slashed the slab shut. Yanking the partition into place, he blocked off pursuers.

  Outside, The Shadow's gun was talking. He was shooting at half a dozen men who had opened fire on the deputies. It was dark outdoors, and when a deputy grabbed a figure that came his way, dark cloth fell far enough to show the ghostly face of Rundon.

  The deputy dropped back. A very solid ghost, the thing sent the deputy farther, with a hard punch.

  Bundling itself under the cloth, the ghost was out of sight before The Shadow could open fire on it.

  Almost immediately, the luminous face showed up again, this time a dozen yards away, in a cluster of crooks who were slugging at the deputies. Men from the house were yelling: "Grab the ghost!" so the deputies obliged. Shots rang out, as the crooks took to their heels, leaving the luminous fighter struggling alone.

  The ghost sagged. A flashlight streaked its face. It looked like Rundon's, until someone whipped away the thin metal mask. Beneath, the deputies saw the features of a man they had long hunted: the dying face of Edward Barcla.

  Crooks were dying, too, but some had gone crashing toward the shore. They were saved, momentarily, by yells from the house, urging the deputies to go after Scorpio, who had taken to the woods. Some responded, beginning a belated chase, for the frantic professor had gained too long a start.

  Others, however, heard the crashes at the shore and headed there. They heard shots, too, and the ring of a strident laugh-The Shadow's. But when they reached the lake front, accompanied by arrivals from the house, they halted, baffled.

  The crooks were gone; so was The Shadow. The faint swash from the water never could have given them the trail in time. It took something more audible to produce the long-needed result. It came, that needed token.

  The laugh of The Shadow!

  THE weird taunt sounded from the blackened water. Instantly, lights sliced towar
d it. They saw The Shadow, those men on shore, as he rose from the surface of the water, beckoning. He was already a hundred yards away, traveling rapidly, but the glare that he had called for showed the thing that he wanted seen.

  It was the lake monster, for the first time revealed as a low-lying, scooting craft, glistening under a sufficient glow of light. They couldn't lose it, if they pursued it this time. For the thing was carrying an outside passenger, unknown to the depleted crew within it.

  Half crouched, The Shadow was riding the strange ship, still sending back the eerie laugh that would serve as a guide, should lights lose sight of the craft that he had boarded!

  Already, a speedboat was starting from Grendale's wharf, proving that one man had reached there.

  Roused to the occasion, a score of men sped to other boats. The dock itself seemed to roar, as the flotilla got under way.

  An extended procession was off on the greatest water race that Lake Calada had ever known. The Shadow, though out of sight, was still the beckoner; not by gesture, but through his laugh, which trailed its repeated mirth from far ahead!

  CHAPTER XV. THREEFOLD RESCUE.

  THE lake monster had reached its haven. It was picking the tricky channel among the stony blockade that fronted the base of Indian Rock. Back by the entrance of the cove, The Shadow could see pursuing craft.

  Some had lost the trail, for the nearest boat had gone wide of the Indian Cove channel and swung into the cove by the Pioneer Mine, with others following.

  Only about half the pilots made that mistake; the rest, guided correctly by The Shadow's distant laugh, had reached Indian Cove. Echoes were trailing there; the tones of The Shadow's mockery reverberated from the hills. It seemed to draw them toward a final goal, the great rock that formed the inner buttress of Indian Cove.

  The laugh ended abruptly. The steel creature that The Shadow rode was nosing its way beneath the natural arch under Indian Rock. Its occupants, snug in their sealed cockpit, hadn't an idea that The Shadow was on the deck above. In fact, he wasn't, when the ship pushed past the arch.

  Lacking clearance, The Shadow had slipped over the stern and was trailed out behind the rudder that ran between the twin propellers. Away from the churning blades, he kept his head above water as he was hauled into the space beneath the rock.