Death in the Stars s-197 Page 2

  As The Shadow, the being who hunted down unusual crime, Lamont Cranston had heard that Professor Scorpio had surrounded himself with many dupes. This scene was proof of it. Yet there were scoffers in the group; one was Niles Rundon. The Shadow could tell it from the smile that Rundon gave to Lois Melvin.

  But the girl did not return the smile. Perhaps she would have scoffed at Professor Scorpio a few days ago; but recent events had made her wonder.

  Looking out from the community house, The Shadow saw Professor Scorpio step into a motorboat that two servants had loaded with boxes of supplies. Harry Vincent side-toned that the commissary department was located near the community house; that everyone came there for supplies.

  "Denwood's boat is waiting," added Harry. "He is expecting us, right away. He has much to tell you, Mr.

  Cranston."

  They walked from the community house, past Drury's plane, where the physician was still waiting for the coroner. Denwood's boat was waiting at the dock, as were others.

  The Shadow saw Rundon and Lois leave with a small party of friends. But there was no sign of Edward Barcla among any of the groups that were entering the boats. The Shadow inquired where the plane passenger had gone.

  "Off by the road," explained Harry, as they stepped into Denwood's boat. "Barcla doesn't have a lake-front property. He lives in one of the back cabins."

  They were in the boat; Harry was at the wheel. With no other persons present, Harry was no longer disguising the fact that he was well acquainted with Lamont Cranston. Remembering The Shadow's query, Harry began to wonder if Barcla had actually gone along the road. As the boat pulled away from the dock, Harry thought of a possible link between Barcla and the dead pilot Drury.

  As a secret agent of The Shadow, Harry Vincent seldom put questions to his chief. This time, he could not restrain himself. Too much seemed at stake.

  "What about that heart attack?" queried Harry. "Did Drury really have one? Or do you think that-"

  The Shadow interrupted. His tone was no longer Cranston's. His voice was whispered; it carried a sinister sibilance.

  "Drury was murdered!"

  It was not a completion of Harry's unfinished question. The Shadow's words were a statement of fact. It meant that his presence at Lake Calada was known; that measures had already been taken to end his career before he began an investigation of mysterious crimes that had lately troubled the mountain colony.

  Harry was staring straight ahead, guiding the speedboat through the darkening water. In the murk ahead, be could visualize a picture from the past-that of a diving airplane which only The Shadow could have pulled from destruction.

  It was lucky that Drury's murderer had not guessed that Lamont Cranston, otherwise The Shadow, was a skilled aviator in his own right. Otherwise, different measures might have been taken to prevent The Shadow's arrival at Lake Calada.

  ACROSS a narrow stretch of lake, another boat was pulling into its dock. It was the boat that carried Professor Scorpio and the servants who had loaded the boxes. The Shadow reached for a pair of field glasses that lay on the seat beside Harry.

  Last streaks of sunlight showed Scorpio's dock more plainly than the professor supposed. Lifting the glasses, The Shadow held them trained upon the dock. He saw Professor Scorpio step from the boat and take a path to his bungalow in the woods. The servants followed, leaving the boxes as they were.

  Still watching, as his own boat sped along, The Shadow saw the boxes stir. A figure crept from them, rolled to the dock and crouched there. A few moments later, bunking lights from the bungalow announced that the stowaway could follow. As the crouched man rose, his face was plain in the glass.

  The Shadow recognized Edward Barcla. Then the crouching man had crept along the path. Barcla had not gone to his cabin. He was keeping a rendezvous with Professor Scorpio.

  Like the lake, the sky had darkened, when The Shadow stood on Denwood's dock, waiting for Harry to moor the speedboat. Off beyond the line of mountain summits, The Shadow saw the sparkle of early evening stars. The sight reminded him of Professor Scorpio, the bearded prophet who claimed to consult the stars in making his predictions.

  According to Scorpio, the stars could foretell. Perhaps the bearded professor was right. For The Shadow, as he gazed, could gain an inkling of the future himself.

  The Shadow foresaw that crime was due at Lake Calada; that the death of Drury was scarcely more than the beginning of a heinous campaign. Crime that could be as deeply hidden as the vast depths of the blackened lake.

  But that was not the limit of The Shadow's forecast. However deep crime might lie, it could be solved.

  Already, The Shadow had gained certain inklings that would prove useful, later.

  Harry Vincent, rowing in from the mooring buoy, heard the soft whisper of The Shadow's laugh issuing from darkness.

  CHAPTER III. NIGHT OF CRIME.

  DINNER was ended and Henry Denwood sat alone with his friend, Lamont Cranston. Through the cigar smoke, Denwood watched his guest's face, and its impassive expression pleased him. For Denwood was quite confident that this man who called himself Lamont Cranston was actually The Shadow.

  In his turn, The Shadow was quite pleased with Denwood. He knew Denwood as a man of absolute integrity. More than that, Denwood owed a great debt to The Shadow.

  Only a few years before, Henry Denwood had been on the verge of disgrace and ruin. Crooks had not only tried to steal his fortune; they had planned to blame Denwood for their crimes-when The Shadow intervened. (City of Shadows, Vol. XXX, No. 2.)

  Since then, Denwood had sworn to aid The Shadow in any way he could. Here, at Lake Calada, where he was living in comfortable retirement, Denwood had observed the oncreep of subtle crime that threatened to rise to huge proportions. Therewith, he had notified The Shadow, through a message to Cranston.

  Unable to arrive immediately, The Shadow had sent Harry Vincent in advance. His agent had seen evidence of the very things that Denwood reported. At present, Harry was on watch outside of the room where Denwood and Cranston were talking matters over.

  A kindly man, white-haired and dignified, Denwood was the sort who often trusted persons too far.

  Experience had taught him to be more careful; but he had not profited enough. At dinner tonight, one of Denwood's servants had been missing, along with cash that belonged in Denwood's desk.

  That was why The Shadow had posted Harry outside the study. He was quite sure that the missing thief had served as an eavesdropper on previous evenings when Denwood talked with Harry.

  So far, The Shadow had not mentioned Drury's death in terms of murder. He wanted to hear Denwood's story first, and the white-haired man was giving it. A large map of Lake Calada was spread on the desk: Denwood was pointing out the homes of certain residents.

  "One month ago," stated Denwood, "the Gillespie house was robbed. The bonds that were taken were valued at fifty thousand dollars. They are holding Gillespie's secretary in Los Angeles, but I don't think that they can prove the crime against him."

  Cranston's eyes seemed to question why. Denwood explained the reason.

  "The secretary had taken half the bonds to Los Angeles," he said, "and delivered them there, before the theft of the rest was discovered. No crook would have turned over one batch of fifty thousand dollars, while stealing another."

  Denwood's logic was solid. The Shadow suggested that he proceed with his account.

  "The next case," declared Denwood, "concerns the Jamison paintings. They were shipped here by air.

  When the crates were opened, the paintings were missing. But they were not opened until the day after they arrived. No one knows what happened to them.

  "Those paintings were valued at approximately one hundred thousand dollars. So were the Albion statuettes, which were stolen next. Oddly, their case was just the reverse of the Jamison paintings. Mr.

  Albion had the statuettes here, and decided to send them away. They were packed in a safe and the whole thing shipped ov
er the mountains, by truck, under proper guard.

  "When the safe was opened at the Albion home in Los Angeles, it was found to contain blocks of lead, instead of platinum statuettes. Where, and how, the robbery occurred is a mystery. So far, news of it has been suppressed, except among influential members of this colony."

  CRANSTON'S face was as impassive as ever, but Denwood could sense The Shadow's keen interest.

  Leaning forward, Denwood drove home the most important point.

  "There were three important nights," he emphasized. "One, when Gillespie's secretary left for Los Angeles. The next, when the Jamison paintings arrived. The last was the night before the Albion statuettes were shipped. On each of those nights-"

  "Professor Scorpio gave a séance," interposed The Shadow, "at the residences of the persons in question."

  Henry Denwood smiled.

  "I suppose that Vincent has already told you," he said. "So there is the whole story, Mr. Cranston. But Scorpio is clever, damnably so! There isn't a scrap of tangible evidence against him."

  "He could have accomplices-"

  "His spirits, maybe. He produces them whenever he gives a séance. People suspect that they are fakes, but it can't be proven. Besides, the spooks were always in sight, like the professor."

  There was a pause. The Shadow's eyes steadied on Denwood; then came the question:

  "What about your servant Mr. Denwood? I mean Horace, the chap who skipped this afternoon?"

  "A petty thing," returned Denwood. "I had less than a hundred dollars in my desk drawer. Horace knew that I intended to discharge him. He couldn't have figured in anything more important, even with his eavesdropping-"

  Denwood paused. He was considering Horace, wondering if the man had been important. Something in Cranston's manner impressed Denwood. He began to realize that The Shadow might have some deep answer to the Horace matter. He was about to inquire, when a knock at the door interrupted.

  When Denwood gave the summons to enter, Harry ushered a bulky man into the room. Denwood was surprised to see Claude Kirk, the county sheriff, who displayed a badge on one lapel and a gun butt on the opposite hip. When Denwood introduced Cranston to the sheriff, Kirk promptly shook hands and came to business.

  "You're the man I want to talk to," declared the sheriff. "It's about Drury. He was murdered!"

  The Shadow saw the wave of real surprise that swept over Denwood's face. Maybe Denwood would begin to understand about Horace.

  "Somebody gave Drury a package of poisoned cigarettes," explained the sheriff. "We found one of them on the plane; the rest in Drury's pocket."

  Denwood saw Cranston give a slow nod.

  "I noticed the cigarette," declared The Shadow, in his calm tone. "Drury opened the pack and put an unlighted cigarette in his mouth just before he collapsed. It must have contained a most virulent poison."

  "It did," maintained the sheriff. "Thanks for the testimony. It confirms what Miss Melvin told us. But we haven't found out where Drury got the package of cigarettes. Did you see him buy any in Los Angeles?"

  There was a shake of Cranston's head.

  "Drury could have gotten it here," mused the sheriff. "If that was his second pack, he wouldn't have opened it until he was coming back."

  "Perhaps," was Cranston's calm suggestion, "Barcla can tell you where Drury obtained the cigarettes."

  "I'd like to find Barcla!" stormed the sheriff. "He isn't at that shack of his. I'd like to know why he made that trip to L. A., in the first place. He rode out of here with Drury this morning came back again this afternoon.

  "If we don't find him soon, I'm going to scour the woods for him. I've posted deputies on the roads, so he can't get through that way. Well, thanks again, Mr. Cranston. Maybe I'll be seeing you over at Miss Lodi's this evening."

  The sheriff shot a grim look at Denwood, in departing. It had to do with the reference to Miss Lodi. But Denwood happened to be thinking about Horace.

  As soon as the sheriff was gone, Denwood came to his feet.

  "It's through my head at last!" he exclaimed to Cranston. "Horace heard me talking with Vincent. "We mentioned your name and the fact that you were coming. Horace realized how important you might be, and passed the word along."

  "You have struck it, Denwood," remarked The Shadow, with a smile, "and we can also surmise why Barcla went to Los Angeles."

  "To watch you?"

  "Exactly! Barcla is working with Professor Scorpio. It is his business to check on new arrivals at Lake Calada, when Scorpio considers them important."

  "And Drury's death! That was arranged, too, so that the plane would crash while you were a passenger!"

  "Precisely." agreed The Shadow. "There are things happening in this territory that cannot stand the strain of outside investigation. Sheriff Kirk has not solved them, but someone else might."

  Denwood sat down. Sight of the opened desk drawer reminded him of Horace. He realized that the servant had staged the petty robbery to cover up his more important mission: that of learning facts regarding both Vincent and The Shadow.

  Then came the quiet tone of Cranston: "The sheriff mentioned a certain Miss Lodi-"

  "The movie actress," added Denwood. "Paula Lodi, who lives in the lodge that looks like a movie set.

  She and her husband, Howard Carradon, are giving a party this evening. I suppose that everyone will be there."

  "And everyone," suggested The Shadow, "should include Professor Scorpio."

  Denwood came to his feet again.

  "It will, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "Paula Lodi is crazy about the psychic stuff! She came here originally because it was Scorpio's favorite spot. Yes, the professor will be there, and what is more, he will give one of his séances."

  Lamont Cranston was lighting a fresh cigar. He blew a long puff of smoke and gazed reflectively into the cloud, as Professor Scorpio might have studied a crystal ball.

  "Sometimes," observed The Shadow, "press agents tell the truth. If certain news reports are true, I can foresee Miss Paula Lodi bedecked in diamonds and other gems valued at a few hundred thousand dollars."

  "She will be," expressed Denwood. "Paula Lodi always wears them. She hasn't any sense, but her husband, Carradon, has. You can depend upon it: he's the one who asked Sheriff Kirk to be on hand, along with the rest of the Calada colony."

  "Including ourselves?"

  For answer, Denwood stepped to the door. He requested Harry to bring the speedboat from its mooring buoy and have it ready at the dock. It could wait there, while Harry was changing to evening clothes.

  "We've been invited to a party," said Denwood, with a smile. "and I've just found out that Mr. Cranston would like to go. We'll just have time to make it."

  Fifteen minutes later the speedboat was purring from its dock, with three passengers, its searchlight cutting a swath along the three-mile stretch to the Lodi hacienda. Other lights were on the water, marking more boats bound for the same destination.

  Everyone, it seemed, was anxious to visit Lodi's, where the spirits of the dead were scheduled to be the life of the party. The séances of Professor Scorpio were well liked by the residents of the Calada colony.

  Only a few of the more privileged persons, like Henry Denwood, knew the full truth of the coincidental robberies that had occurred along with Scorpio's recent public appearances.

  What Denwood knew, The Shadow had learned. Perhaps Denwood, along with others, doubted that another robbery would occur upon this occasion. Suspicion was closing in upon Professor Scorpio, even though facts remained unproven. With three robberies topped by murder, even the nerviest of supercrooks might deem it wise to call a short halt for a breathing spell.

  The Shadow deemed otherwise. He had analyzed the case of Professor Scorpio and saw possibilities that others had not guessed. Confident that his conjectures were correct, The Shadow considered his arrival at Lake Calada most timely.

  In fact, he could not have picked a better time. This was to be another night of crime!
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  CHAPTER IV. HANDS IN THE DARK.

  THE living room of the Lodi hacienda was crowded. All eyes were upon Professor Scorpio, as the bearded mystic stood in front of a little alcove making his introductory speech.

  Scorpio was wearing a long, white robe studded with mystic symbols; he had on a turban. Beside him, set in high metal standards, were two great torches, as yet unlighted.

  Smooth-toned, careful in his choice of words, the professor was stating his case in very certain terms, meant for the benefit of those who might mistrust him.

  Scorpio described himself as one of the early residents of Lake Calada. He asserted that he had chosen this spot because of its altitude; that it rivaled the mountain fastness of the Himalayas, in India, where the greatest of mystics abounded.

  He reminded his listeners that they had come here of their own accord, building their lodges and bungalows on what were rightfully his preserves. For several years, they had appreciated Scorpio's séances, and the contributions which they gave him had been quite voluntary on their part and quite satisfactory on his.

  Scorpio's speech, summed up in a few words, meant that he had built up a nice racket and did not care to lose it. That was a point that brought the faintest semblance of a smile to the lips of one listener: namely, Lamont Cranston.

  "Strange things have occurred among these heights," concluded Scorpio, deepening his voice to its sepulchral tone. "Odd happenings over I which have no control. The answer"-he pointed a bony finger upward-"can be given only by the stars!

  "Who am I to account for the disappearance of objects, or even of people? Who am I to pronounce myself master over life and death? I can declare the future only through the stars; to learn the past, I am dependent upon the spirits."

  His statements were an excellent alibi. By the mention of disappearing objects, Scorpio referred indirectly to stolen goods; by people, he meant persons such as Denwood's servant, Horace. His talk of life and death covered the murder of Drury.

  Then, as he was lighting a waxen taper, Professor Scorpio had an afterthought. Cunningly, he turned to his listeners and declared: