Crime, Insured s-129 Read online

  Strampf's tone was emphatic. It carried the tone that Bradthaw liked. The crime profiteer returned the papers. Before Bradthaw could resume the conversation, Caudrey entered.

  "Hurden got rid of the rest of the guests," informed Caudrey. "All the fake servants are posted. When do we begin?"

  "Right away," decided Bradthaw. "You and Strampf can do the work."

  THERE were tools in the study closet, left there at Strampf's order. Strampf and Caudrey began to hack at the wall while Bradthaw watched them. They chipped the plaster beneath the heavy wallpaper.

  Chopping with a short pick, Strampf dug deep into wooden laths. He hewed an opening; Caudrey hacked another hole a few minutes later.

  Soon the lower portion of the wall was cleared away. While Strampf and Caudrey stood back, Bradthaw flicked a flashlight's glow into the space. The light glimmered upon the metal chest. Caudrey and Strampf hauled it from the hiding place. Each pulled a clamp; Bradthaw raised the cover.

  Three crooks stared at emptiness.

  The big disappointment was Caudrey's. He had sunk over ninety thousand dollars; all the money he possessed. In return, he had an unsalable mansion. Bitterly, he remembered the Speculation Rider attached to his policy. He recalled Bradthaw's statement:

  "If there is nothing you receive nothing and pay nothing."

  Bradthaw also remembered it. He was sorry that Caudrey had lost out on three million dollars, because three hundred thousand would have come to Bradthaw, at premium payment. Three hundred thousand though was small change, compared to the total that the crime-insurance racket would eventually produce.

  Smugly Bradthaw expressed regrets to Caudrey. The actuary stood numbed. His droopy eyelids were closed, his hollow cheeks sucked deeper than ever. His lips were muttering wordless sounds.

  Bradthaw's lips were hardened in contempt when the situation took a sudden change.

  Strampf had crawled into the hole. His lean shoulder poked out again; his cadaverous face looked up. In his harsh fashion, Strampf voiced:

  "Somebody rifled that box! They came up through the floor!"

  Strampf halted as he caught a glare from Bradthaw. Instantly Caudrey came to life. His eyes popped open; his voice was high-pitched as he wheeled to Bradthaw.

  "Then the policy stands!" Caudrey was almost hysterical. "I can collect my claim! Three million dollars!"

  THE burden had transferred to Bradthaw. The crime profiteer was faced by the very problem that had stunned Caudrey. But Bradthaw did not slump. He even repressed the oaths that he wanted to hurl at Strampf. After all, Strampf was paid to get to the bottom of matters. That talent had proved itself a boomerang; but Strampf could not be blamed.

  "You shall collect your claim," Bradthaw told Caudrey. "Under the circumstances, however, we must insist upon all provisions in the policy. There is one calling for thirty days' grace in settlement."

  "But with others," protested Caudrey, "you paid off without delay!"

  "Because the lost spoils could not be regained. That does not apply in this case. Someone still holds the funds that belonged in this coffer. Incidentally, Caudrey, we must find that person - and the funds - to learn the actual amount."

  Bradthaw's impressive tone calmed Caudrey. The actuary was willing to accept the thirty-day decision.

  Moreover he was anxious to retain Bradthaw's good favor since future payment hinged on it. Fearing that Bradthaw might think that he had been double-crossed, Caudrey hurriedly assured him that all had been fair.

  Caudrey swore that he had spoken to no one regarding the hidden wealth. He had kept the fact from Reddingham; that, in turn, had prevented George Melrue from learning it. In fact, added Caudrey, he had not seen George for days. Only Hurden had seen George; but Hurden knew nothing.

  George had been in this house yesterday; but he had not even been in Reddingham's office today.

  Hurden had mentioned George's absence; Francine's statement that her brother was ill.

  Bradthaw's steely eyes showed a glint.

  "The answer is plain," declared the crime executive. "Young Melrue was familiar with this house. He guessed its secret. He carved his way up through the floor and took the millions."

  "But he sold the house," reminded Caudrey.

  "He tried to avoid selling it," analyzed Bradthaw. "He set an exorbitant price to discourage purchasers.

  When Hurden showed willingness to buy at ninety thousand, George could not reject the offer. His urge for money also influenced him to sell."

  "But if he already had the three million, ninety thousand would have been small -"

  "He did not have the millions," interrupted Bradthaw in a final tone. "George filched the wealth last night.

  The cellar was not properly guarded. That is how he managed it. A crude job with traces of its hurried method. Today, George's nerve was gone. He knows that others wanted that wealth."

  Strampf was listening intently to all that Bradthaw said. The insurance man's deductions brought a steady nod from the cadaverous investigator. Even before Bradthaw had finished, Strampf was picking up the telephone to send orders to finger men and thuggish crews. Instructions given, the group in the study waited.

  Word came back. George Melrue was not at his hotel. He had checked out that morning. There was no trace of Francine at her apartment. She had packed and left during the afternoon.

  Strampf ordered his informants to search for traces of the missing Melrues. Hanging up the telephone receiver Strampf said to Bradthaw:

  "They will be found!"

  Bradthaw's nod was one of confidence. He could depend upon Strampf to locate that pair of amateur treasure-seekers. It seemed obvious that George had delegated his sister to arrange the house sale; then join him afterward. Wherever they had gone, Strampf would dig them out.

  Neither Bradthaw nor Strampf looked beyond the obvious. Clever though they were, they could accept no more than the surface facts. With The Shadow supposedly dead, they had no reason to look for a deep-laid purpose behind the disappearance of the Melrue heirs.

  The crime-master and his star mercenary had taken the same bait from The Shadow's hook.

  CHAPTER XVII. CRIME'S ULTIMATUM

  TWO days had passed. It was night again; the time when The Shadow could ordinarily move on secret missions. Circumstances, however, were no longer usual with The Shadow. His own chosen policy kept him from action. The Shadow was continuing the pretence that he was dead.

  Two nights ago, crooks had entered the storage house where The Shadow had placed the black-ray machine. Newspapers had told of a trifling burglary there. The Shadow knew that the equipment was gone; that it would eventually reach Burbank. So far, however, there had been no pickup by the direction-finders.

  The answer was that Strampf was too busy searching for the Melrue heirs to bother with the special machine. The delivery of the device had been delayed somewhere along the line, awaiting further orders from Strampf.

  There were times when The Shadow regretted his present policy. He had adopted his waiting tactics, confident that such a course would insure the safety of his agents. Thinking The Shadow dead, crooks would fear nothing from the agents; and should therefore keep them prisoners for future use.

  But the absence of contact was ominous, even to The Shadow. It could mean that something had happened to the agents.

  His choice once made, The Shadow could not alter it. He kept to a hideout, in the basement of a small apartment house. The Melrues occupied an upstairs apartment; while in his present location, The Shadow could protect them in an emergency.

  As yet, Strampf's searchers had not even come close.

  This evening, a scene occurred that would have pleased The Shadow, had he been there to view it. It happened in Bradthaw's office. For reasons of his own, the insurance magnate had employees working overtime; and was on the job himself.

  As before, Bradthaw had two visitors. Strampf was there, with Caudrey.

  "I have sent feelers everywhere," decla
red Strampf, in his harsh, mechanized tone. "Not one of my searchers has picked up a trace of the Melrues. I cannot understand how they managed such a complete disappearance!"

  Bradthaw stroked his chin. His eyes took on a distant glint. The master-crook could provide answers to questions that puzzled Strampf, whose work was purely that of fitting established facts.

  "The Melrues must have made their plans in advance," decided Bradthaw. "Their present hiding place was ready for them. Continue with the search, Strampf."

  In a sense, Bradthaw had the right answer. The Melrues were certainly well tucked away, in a place that had awaited them. It did not occur to Bradthaw that The Shadow had picked the hiding spot. Each passing day convinced Bradthaw more and more that The Shadow was dead.

  "I can only wait," declared Strampf. "Until some of my searchers bring in clues, my own work is halted."

  "That will give you time to complete other matters," observed Bradthaw. "For instance, that black-ray machine. Take it to Burbank tonight, Strampf."

  WITH that order, Marvin Bradthaw provided the very break that The Shadow wanted.

  Shortly before midnight, the black-ray machine was delivered at the house where The Shadow's agents were still prisoners; and Strampf arrived with the apparatus.

  During the past few days, The Shadow's agents had gained no inkling of their whereabouts. They knew only that they were quartered in the basement of an old house, somewhere in Manhattan. Those who had been conscious after capture remembered that the trip had not been a long one, although they had been unable to gauge direction.

  The quarters were comfortable, but formidable. The agents spent daytime hours in a little living room, at nights they were bunked in small, barred bedrooms, two to each room.

  Any chance for a break was impossible. The prisoners were under the personal supervision of a crook called "Ace" Gandley, who had a crew of competent trigger men on constant duty.

  At night, a squad occupied the living room, while the prisoners slept. Watchful eyes were always on the half-open doors of the bedrooms.

  The prisoners had not seen Strampf since he had first interviewed them, hence they scented something important when the cadaverous man made his new visit. Some of the guards lugged in a half-opened crate and Strampf ordered it unpacked.

  Burbank and others of the agents recognized the device that Strampf began to assemble. It was The Shadow's portable black-ray machine. Sight of that apparatus made the prisoners morose. For the first time, they began to believe that their chief was actually dead.

  The machine was wheeled into Burbank's room. In harsh tone, Strampf ordered the contact man to make it operate. Burbank went into the bedroom.

  Strampf began to pass the time by quizzing the other agents. He wanted facts regarding The Shadow's past; and Strampf showed that he was very well informed on a great many of The Shadow's methods.

  Fortunately, the agents were able to parry his questions. They, themselves, knew but little regarding The Shadow, other than the facts that Strampf mentioned. Since Strampf had those details, the prisoners admitted that they were correct. Beyond that, they furnished nothing of importance.

  WORKING alone on the black-ray machine, Burbank had his back to the living room. He could hear Strampf's rasped questions; and Burbank sensed that they had taken an insidious tone. If the prisoners continued to show themselves of no value it would not be long before Strampf recommended that they be slaughtered.

  Burbank wanted to stall with the intricate machine; but he began to think of another plan. Perhaps if he got it working, the prisoners would have a better chance. Burbank hated to see the apparatus get into criminal hands; but he felt sure that he could fix it so it would keep going out of order.

  So he calmly hooked up wires and adjusted portions of mechanism, until he struck two features that puzzled him.

  Certain essential parts were missing, yet they had all been there when the machine was stowed away, for Burbank himself had dismantled it. The Shadow would have had no cause to remove them; for he had put the packed device in an obscure storehouse, where no one would have occasion to meddle.

  Standing back to study the machine, Burbank made his second discovery. The thick base of the machine was equipped with two knobs, ready for electric wires. Those posts did not belong there. Only The Shadow could have placed them.

  Burbank instantly saw the reason. The base was hollow. It could contain compact equipment for sending a radio beam.

  Burbank connected the posts. With that move, he put the beam in action. After a few minutes, he did more.

  Burbank fingered the wire; every time he loosened it he interrupted the beam. Burbank made those spaces into dots and dashes of a special code. He was sending a message to the persons who handled the direction-finders.

  Burbank detailed the interior arrangements at this prison. He added snatches of conversation that he heard from the other room. Most important, was an ultimatum that Strampf delivered. The lean man spoke it to the other prisoners.

  "You don't know much," sneered Strampf. "Maybe there is a way to jog your memories. I'll give you until tomorrow night at nine. If you won't talk by that time, you will be dead! Like The Shadow!"

  Ace Gandley, listening, showed a leer of anticipation. The job would be one for his machine-gunners. He could picture the prisoners lined up against the wall, withering under the rattling fire. After that, a blast would wreck this house. Fresh corpses would be buried like The Shadow's.

  Toying with the wire, Burbank transcribed the news. He set nine o'clock as the absolute dead line.

  Twenty-one hours for The Shadow's aids to live. That was all.

  Burbank was completing the message when Strampf came into the little room. Coolly Burbank kept up his tactics with the wire under the glaring investigator's very eyes.

  BURBANK had chosen the best policy. Any quick move would have aroused Strampf's suspicion. The very carefulness of Burbank's methodical process deceived Strampf.

  Burbank finished the message, gave the wire a few careful adjustments to announce that he was signing off. Then loosening the wire entirely, he arose and spoke to Strampf.

  "Some parts are missing," declared Burbank. "The machine won't work without them."

  "You're stalling like the others," returned Strampf. "I see the game! You hid some of the parts!"

  Burbank denied it. Angrily Strampf called in Ace and another guard. He told the pair to frisk Burbank and search the room. They did. They pummeled through the mattresses of the two-decker bed that belonged to Burbank and Mann. They found nothing.

  Strampf glared at Burbank who shrugged his shoulders. Pointing a bony finger at the ray machine, Strampf ordered:

  "Fix it!"

  "I can't!" Burbank's tone was frank. "I need those parts. Since you haven't found them, I can prove what I say. Look!"

  Burbank took paper and pencil. He drew a complicated diagram for Strampf's benefit. Burbank marked two portions of the penciled book-up.

  "If I had those," he insisted, "the machine would work. Here! I'll give you the exact details and dimensions. Get them made up at a good machine shop. I'll do the rest."

  Strampf took the paper, with the snapped promise:

  "You'll have those parts tomorrow!"

  Burbank knew that Strampf's statement was a wide one. It would be a few days before the special parts could be shaped. That would mean a respite for Burbank; but not for the other agents.

  Still, Burbank was confident that it would not matter. He was sure that the prisoners could expect The Shadow before nine tomorrow night.

  SOON afterward, a telephone jangled in an empty apartment close to The Shadow's temporary headquarters. In his cramped abode, The Shadow heard the tingle. That unanswered call was the signal that he awaited.

  Like a human wraith, The Shadow glided from his hiding place.

  He paused outside the building to look up to the windows of the apartment that the Melrues occupied.

  All was well there.
Skirting the apartment house, The Shadow made sure that no prowlers were about.

  Choosing a circuitous course that avoided well-lighted streets, The Shadow arrived at Farrow's.

  He found Farrow with a map spread on the table. It showed Manhattan Island in large scale. Farrow had marked two spots: his own apartment and the office where Doctor Sayre was located. From each he had drawn a straight line. The two met near the East River.

  Farrow ran his finger along his own line; then pointed to the other.

  "Sayre called," reported Farrow. "He gave me his line from the direction-finder. The common point must be midway in the East Side block. There was something else - a message in Burbank's usual code. I picked up most of it; Sayre supplied the rest in dots and dashes, though he did not know their translation."

  With that Farrow passed The Shadow a decoded copy of Burbank's message. The Shadow read the details. In whispered tone, he told Farrow to call Sayre and arrange shifts so that one would always be on duty. Burbank might find later opportunity to send more information.

  The Shadow was gone when Farrow had finished his telephone call to Sayre. Amid the blanket of the outside night, The Shadow was retracing his route to his headquarters.

  Strampf's feelers were about. Those ever-present finger men were continuing their fruitless search for the Melrues. One glimpse of The Shadow would have given any of those spies important news for Strampf.

  None gained that glimpse. The course that The Shadow took was one of utter invisibility.

  The Shadow had learned crime's ultimatum. Tomorrow would end his waiting game. Before nine tomorrow night, the cloaked foe of crime would make his reappearance from the dead. Then would begin the swift, hard thrusts with which The Shadow hoped to vanquish evil.

  Those future moves would be bold and dangerous. Deep plans were needed to make them effective.

  One false step could bring death to the captured agents, disaster to the Melrues, doom to The Shadow himself.

  Tomorrow was a balance scale, gripped in the hand of Fate. Which way the weight would swing was a matter that no one could predict with certainty.