The Black Master s-8 Read online

  The man in the center of the room shifted his position uneasily. His face was pale in the shimmering light.

  "Ten years in the penitentiary awaits you," the voice went on. "Ten years - if the word is spoken. Your safety depends upon your faithfulness!

  "And remember, also, that if you fail, or if you speak a single betraying word, you will never serve those ten years. Instead you will die! You will die at the word of The Black Master!"

  Jennings nodded.

  "Guard every action," said the voice. "The Black Master will excuse no failure! He does not wait for explanations. He strikes down those who disobey his will. Tomorrow night you will witness his vengeance."

  The lights in the room flickered three times. It was a signal which Jennings understood. He reached in his pocket and drew forth a small object which he held upon his outstretched hand. It was the black disk that symbolized the power of The Black Master.

  The lights flickered once again. Jennings turned and opened the door. He stepped into the outer hall. The door closed behind him. The shrouded room was plunged in darkness.

  Jennings groped his way from the house. He stole cautiously along the alley. He walked briskly down the street, turned a corner, walked another block and came to an avenue. There he hailed a passing cab.

  As the valet stepped into the waiting vehicle, a dark shadow seemed to form about him. The man did not notice it.

  He gave the driver a destination not far from the home of Hubert Banks. As the cab moved away from the curb, Jennings did not look back. Thus he failed to see the tall figure clad in black that stood by the wall of the nearest house.

  But he did crouch in sudden alarm at the sound which reached his ears. From some unknown place came the low, weird tone of a chilling, mocking laugh that aroused terrifying thoughts. It made Jennings remember the weird room where he had received his final instructions.

  More than that, it brought back chilling remembrances of stories that he had heard in the underworld, before he had come beneath the sway of The Black Master. Jennings had heard the laugh of The Shadow!

  CHAPTER XV. HARRY OBEYS ORDERS

  ON the morning of June 1st, Harry Vincent found two letters lying on the table when he came down to breakfast.

  Hubert Banks had not yet risen. Harry was alone in the breakfast room. He looked curiously at the postmarks on the envelopes, then summoned the butler.

  "When did these letters come in?" he demanded.

  "Graham gave them to me this morning," replied the butler.

  "Get Graham, then."

  When the valet arrived, Harry lost no time in questioning him.

  "One of them came this morning, Mr. Vincent," explained the valet. "I answered the door when the postman arrived. I put the mail on the tray, after sorting it, and while I was doing so, I saw something lying on the floor beside the table.

  "It was the other letter, Mr. Vincent. It must have dropped there yesterday. So I put it on the tray, sir, and gave the tray to Hubert."

  The man's explanation was reasonable. Harry glanced at the letter in question. The envelope was a trifle dusty.

  "It must have been there since day before yesterday," he said. Then he looked at the more recent letter.

  "Well, this one bears yesterday's postmark. It's all right Graham."

  The valet bowed and left the room.

  Harry opened the first letter. It was brief and written in the familiar code: No instructions. Await important letter. Expect it within three days. Acknowledge it without details. This applies to June the first.

  He watched the writing disappear. Then he opened the second envelope: Leave house secretly after dinner tomorrow. Wear valet's coat and hat. Take taxicab waiting at corner opposite Uptown Garage. Further instructions in envelope on back seat of cab.

  Harry read the message rapidly; then he began to scan the inked lines a second time.

  He thought that he had detected a slight error in one of the coded words - something that had never occurred in any message from The Shadow. But before he had found the word in question, the message began to disappear. Harry then recalled that the ink of these two letters had been slightly different in color from the ink used in the first letters. Evidently there had been some change in the chemical formula.

  He looked at the two blank pieces of paper. They bore the telltale edge marks of number six and number seven. That gave the letters the authentic proof that was required. It put Harry's mind at ease.

  After breakfast, he wrote a brief note, stating that the instructions in number seven would be followed exactly. He went to the drug store to purchase some cigars. The solemn-faced clerk was already on duty. The envelope passed from Harry to the clerk.

  Hubert Banks appeared in a troubled mood at breakfast. Although Harry had finished eating, he sat and talked with the millionaire while the latter ate his morning meal.

  Harry knew instinctively that it would be wise to watch Hubert Banks on this eventful day. The millionaire had made no reference to the date. Harry hoped that he had forgotten it.

  The morning went by rapidly. Then, during the afternoon, Banks did the unexpected. He ordered the car and decided to take a ride to Long Island, where work was being done to repair his summer home, which had been damaged by a mysterious fire.

  Harry accompanied him, but Banks was silent during most of the journey. Whatever was troubling him, he was at least keeping it to himself, and Harry regarded this as somewhat encouraging. They arrived back in New York at half-past six, in time to dress for dinner.

  Hubert Banks possessed a large stock of pre-prohibition liquor, and he had ordered it served plentifully at dinner that evening. While Harry abstained from drinking, he noted that Banks drank much more than was his usual custom.

  When they retired to the living room, after dinner, the millionaire ordered Herbert to bring more drinks.

  While the butler was gone, Harry arose.

  "I must leave you for a short while," he said to Banks. "I expect to be back very soon."

  "Don't make it too long," said Banks. "Want to talk with you tonight, old top! Don't be gone long!"

  Harry took advantage of the butler's absence to go to the closet where the servants kept their coats.

  There found Graham's hat and coat and donned them as he went out the front door.

  It was raining heavily. The downpour had begun with a drizzle in the afternoon. There was no light on the porch and Harry was virtually invisible in the darkness as he slipped down the side steps and cut through a back driveway that led to a rear street.

  He splashed along through the rain until he reached the corner opposite the Uptown Garage. There he found a cab, with the driver in the front seat. The man held up his hand as Harry started to open the door.

  "I'm waiting for a passenger, boss," said the cabman. "This here cab's reserved!"

  "I'm the man you're waiting for - Mr. Vincent."

  "Yes, sir! Get right in, sir! Been waiting here a half hour for you!"

  In the cab Harry found an envelope wedged behind the cushion of the back seat.

  "This cab is all paid for, sir," he heard the driver say. "Where do you want me to take you?"

  "Wait a minute," Harry replied. He read the message. It instructed him to leave the cab at a certain corner, go three houses west and to turn through an alley to the first door on the right, where he was to tap and await admittance.

  Harry directed the cabdriver and saw the writing of the coded message disappear. He turned off the light and settled back against the cushions.

  As the taxi wallowed through the rain-soaked streets, Harry began to wonder about this unexpected mission. Often, when in the service of The Shadow, he had gained some inkling of what lay ahead. Now he could not even imagine what his duty might be.

  It had seemed obvious that something was due to happen at the home of Hubert Banks. Yet here was Harry, bound for an unknown destination.

  He lighted a cigar. The cab became stuffy and he lowered a wind
ow to get some air. Then he remembered that he had not destroyed and thrown away the message that he had found in the cab.

  Such action was actually unnecessary; but Harry always adopted it as a precaution. He had always known that if someone found a letter to be blank after he had been seen reading it, that in itself would be suspicious. He turned on the light. The sheet of paper was on the floor. Harry picked it up and began to tear it in half.

  He felt the texture of the paper to be different from that used in the previous notes.

  According to the system, this should be number eight of the series. Since the paper was different, it must be the beginning of a new group of messages. If so, he had missed letter number eight. Perhaps he had missed more - unless this should be number one of the new group. He ran his fingers around the edges of the paper, seeking telltale indentations. He found none!

  Harry paused, with the untorn sheet in his hands.

  There was only one explanation. This message, found in the cab as specified, was not actually one of the regular series. That might explain its lack of identifying marks. Nevertheless, it was not consistent with The Shadow's usual procedure. The matter was difficult to understand. Harry thought of the delayed letter which he had received. There was a possibility that something might be wrong. Still, this had never been anticipated.

  A missing letter would be explainable; but fraudulent letters in The Shadow's own code, with the mysterious ink that disappeared, were something that Harry did not believe to be within the realm of probability.

  Harry knew that time had become important. It would be a great mistake for him to question The Shadow's instructions at a time like this.

  The cab stopped at a corner. The rain beat a tattoo on the top of the closed vehicle.

  "Here we are, sir," said the driver.

  "Wait a minute," replied Harry.

  He took his pen from his pocket and, using the sheet of paper that was in his hand, he inscribed a short note under the dim glow of the dome light. It was a simple repetition of the instructions that he had received, telling his destination exactly as it had been given to him.

  Harry folded the note quickly. He thrust it back in the envelope which lay beside him. The flap had been loose when Harry had found it. He sealed the envelope.

  He looked at the identification card that bore a photograph of the taxi driver. He studied the man's face through the opening that led to the front seat. The photograph and the features corresponded.

  "Where are you from?" Harry asked.

  "Green Taxi Company, sir."

  "You say this cab is paid for? By whom?"

  "It's paid for, all right. I don't know who paid for it. Some guy gave me five dollars. Told me to wait for Mr. Vincent. Do whatever he told me up to five dollars' worth. That's all I know about it."

  "All right," Harry said. "Deliver this note for me." He gave the address of the drug store near the home of Hubert Banks. "Give it to the clerk at the prescription counter.

  "He's a quiet-looking fellow about thirty-five years old. Tell him it's a prescription to be filled for Mr.

  Vincent. Do it right away. You understand?"

  "O.K., sir," said the driver.

  Harry handed the man a dollar. He left the cab and pulled his coat closely about him as he stepped into the deluge of rain. The cab drew away.

  Harry counted the houses as he went along the street. Just past the third house he discovered an alley.

  He followed it and found the door on the right. It was the side entrance of a house. He tapped lightly.

  The door opened. Harry entered.

  He found himself at the foot of a dimly lighted flight of steps. Ascending, Harry was confronted by a closed door. It opened and Harry found himself on the threshold of a dimly lighted room draped with black curtains.

  He hesitated for a moment; then stepped forward. The room was deserted - there was nothing there but the sable draperies and a dark, blackish carpet that covered the entire floor.

  Harry turned at a slight sound. The door had closed behind him!

  It was then that he became impressed by the lighting of the room. The illumination had changed, almost imperceptibly. It had become a shimmering blue and, as Harry gazed at his hand, he noted that it bore a bluish tint.

  Suspecting a trap, he reached beneath the coat that he was wearing and let his hand rest upon the butt of a revolver. Staring straight ahead, he detected a movement in the curtain at the end of the room.

  Materializing from nowhere, a black form came into view, with a face above it. The features were only a blur in the strange light.

  "Who are you?" demanded Harry.

  A chuckle came from the dim black form.

  Acting upon quick impulse, Harry drew the revolver from his pocket. Instantly the lights flickered.

  Simultaneously, a sudden shock passed through Harry's body. He staggered and the revolver fell from his numbed fingers. He lost his balance and dropped to the floor.

  The stinging sensation of the electric shock ceased, but Harry felt totally helpless. He had only sufficient strength to raise himself to a sitting position. His revolver lay a few feet away. He did not dare to reach for it.

  "Harry Vincent," came a voice that spoke in a weird monotone, "you have come into the presence of The Black Master. You are here for a purpose. You are to answer every question that I ask you. Do you understand?"

  Harry nodded. He was still too stunned to speak.

  "Who is this man you call The Shadow?" came the voice.

  Harry did not answer.

  "Are you prepared to obey my wishes?"

  "No," replied Harry hoarsely.

  There was a motion in the darkness. A form emerged, as though a portion of the curtain had become a living being. A black cloth dropped to the floor.

  Harry found himself staring into a huge ball of glass, within which flashed sparks of live electricity. The globe was fascinating. It held his gaze. It came closer and closer until it was dazzling, right before his eyes. He could not see the man behind it.

  "Do you wish to die?" asked the low voice. "Or do you wish to live?"

  "I wish to live," Harry replied. His voice seemed mechanical. The words came to his lips without his realizing the action.

  "If you wish to live," said the voice of the man who held the globe, "you must swear loyalty to The Black Master!"

  "I prefer to die," declared Harry.

  "A man who chooses both to live and to die," came the solemn voice. "A man who wishes life but who will accept death. Such a man shall receive neither life nor death! That is the verdict of The Black Master!"

  Brilliant flashes burst in the crystal globe. Harry's brain throbbed in unison. His eyes were blinded. Then came a violent shock that shook his entire frame - another - and a third.

  The room was whirling; his head was bursting. Blackness - brilliant light - blackness - light - blackness -

  bursts of blinding flame. All followed in quick succession. A tremendous roaring burst in Harry's ears. He was whirling with the room, faster, faster, faster! Then came the most terrific shock of all, and Harry felt himself falling, down, down, into a hopeless nothingness.

  He screamed, but the roaring in his ears drowned the pitiful sound. Then came one mad burst of cataclysmic light and Harry Vincent knew nothing more!

  CHAPTER XVI. THE BLACK MASTER STRIKES

  HUBERT BANKS pushed his empty glass from the table. It fell to the floor but did not break upon the thick rug.

  The gloom of the tapestried living room seemed more pronounced tonight. With the rain had come a killing atmosphere that filled the entire house. The butler entered and picked up the glass from the floor.

  "Where is Mr. Vincent?" questioned Banks.

  "He has not returned, sir."

  "Tonight, of all nights!" grumbled Hubert Banks. "I want to talk with him! I must see him! Bring me another drink, Herbert!"

  The butler started from the room. He stopped at the top of the steps to answe
r a ring at the front door.

  He came back a few moments later.

  "Mr. Barton to see you, sir," he informed Hubert Banks.

  "Stewart Barton? My attorney?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "What can he want? Tell him to come in."

  Stewart Barton entered the room. He was an elderly man with solemn, saddened features. He appeared more like a mortician than a legal adviser. He bowed curtly, and when Banks did not rise to greet him, he took a chair opposite the millionaire.

  "Well, Barton," said Banks, "what brings you mere tonight?"

  "I received a call to come here," replied the attorney. "It was from your secretary, Mr. Vincent, this afternoon."

  "I didn't tell him to call you."

  "No? I have never met Mr. Vincent, but I took his word that you wished to see me."

  "What did he call you about?"

  "He wanted me to remind you that today was the first of June and that the -"

  A startling change came over Hubert Banks. His face became the face of a madman. He raised his hands and his half-clenched fingers clawed in empty air.

  "The first of June!" he screamed. "The first of June! Remind me of it!"

  The paroxysm passed and the millionaire sank helpless in his chair while Stewart Barton looked at him in startled bewilderment.

  There was no question in the attorney's mind. He had not seen Hubert Banks for many months. He had heard statements doubting the millionaire's sanity. He was now prepared to agree with them.

  Nevertheless, Barton had business to discuss, and to a man of his methodical type, such interests came first.

  "Mr. Banks," he said, clearing his throat, "I must tell you that your legal affairs have reached a very serious condition. This is through no fault of ours -"

  "Vincent was taking care of them for me," objected Banks. "Didn't he tell you that?"

  "Mr. Vincent has been in correspondence with us during the past week. As your secretary, he advised us that you would not be ready to discuss your affairs until after the first of June.

  "So when I received an urgent call, this afternoon, purporting to be from Mr. Vincent, I came here."