The Shadow Unmasks s-131 Read online

  Spluttering his amazement, Weston turned to speak to The Shadow, saying as he did:

  "My word, Cranston! Look at this photo -"

  WESTON cut himself short. He no longer saw his friend Cranston beside him. It never occurred to the commissioner that his companion had noticed the photograph in the other newspaper. Nor did Weston realize that half a minute had passed.

  To Weston, the effect was that Lamont Cranston had vanished into thin air. Then the commissioner's startlement ended. He decided suddenly that something was seriously amiss. He looked for the club doorman, saw the fellow standing with a taxi driver, a short way down the street. With a bound, Weston went in that direction.

  Quick though he was, the commissioner did not hear the quiet words that came from the interior of the cab. Only the doorman caught those instructions from the pretended Cranston. Nor did Weston see Moe's action at the curb.

  The Shadow's taxi driver displayed a cupped hand that held some folded bills. The doorman nodded.

  "Where is Cranston?" bawled Weston. "What's become of him?"

  "Mr. Cranston?" queried the doorman. "Mr. Lamont Cranston? I don't recall seeing him, commissioner."

  "What? Didn't you see me talking to him?"

  "I recall that you were talking to some one, sir -"

  "Bah! Is this a jest?"

  Weston pushed the doorman aside. He wanted to look into the cab, but Moe happened to be blocking the way.

  "Where's the tall man who was here a minute ago?" demanded Weston, as he faced Moe. "He must have gotten into this cab."

  "Nobody in this cab," assured Moe. With a shrug, he shifted aside. "Take a look if you want."

  Weston yanked open the cab door. Looking for Cranston, he did not notice that the handle of the far door was turning shut. Moe was right, the cab was empty. That was because The Shadow, donning cloak and hat, had made a quick departure to the street.

  Staring streetward, Weston saw the limousine across the way. Triumphantly, he shouted:

  "There's Cranston's car! That's where I'll find him!"

  Starting across the street, Weston could not see Moe slip a pair of twenty dollar bills to the doorman, who nodded his full understanding. Weston's eyes were on Cranston's chauffeur, Stanley, who sat at the wheel of the big limousine.

  Weston was coming from the street side. Stanley's head was inclined in the opposite direction. As Weston arrived a black shape glided from the curb side of the car. Thrusting his face through the open window of the front door, Weston shouted at Stanley:

  "Where is Cranston?"

  "Mr. Cranston?" Stanley gaped. "Why, he's in Europe, sir!"

  Weston's anger was intense. He roared at Stanley, demanding to know why the limousine was at the club if Cranston happened to be in Europe. Stanley informed him that Cranston's nephew was living at the New Jersey mansion and had come into town this evening. Stanley had parked opposite the club because he could always find space there.

  Weston did not believe the chauffeur. Enraged, the commissioner yanked open the rear door of the limousine and stared inside. Seeing that the car was empty he slammed the door and strode across the street.

  Moe's cab was gone; Weston glared at the doorman as he went past. Stormily, the commissioner entered the Cobalt Club.

  AROUND the corner, Moe was picking up a cloaked passenger. The taxi driver nodded as he heard new instructions. The Shadow's plans were changed: he could no longer afford to go to Silsam's as Cranston. There was time, however to use an alternate method that could block Shark Meglo's coming crime.

  That was why The Shadow's lips delivered a whispered laugh for the benefit of Commissioner Weston.

  The Shadow's ruse had been a necessary one. He had met an emergency with the utmost speed: and in so doing had kept himself clear to battle crime.

  The fact that there were two Cranstons was something that The Shadow intended never to reveal.

  CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW'S SUBSTITUTE

  FIVE minutes after The Shadow had again become a passenger in Moe's cab, a young man received a telephone call in his room at the Hotel Metrolite. The young man's name was Harry Vincent; most of his acquaintances regarded him as a pleasant, keen-mannered chap who had a comfortable income and therefore preferred to live in New York.

  In fact, Harry was frequently seen at some of the bright spots in Manhattan. That simply served to cover his real activities. Privately, Harry Vincent was an agent of The Shadow.

  The call that came tonight was from The Shadow. It was relayed to Harry by Burbank, the contact agent through whom The Shadow usually sent emergency instructions. Burbank's news was brief. Harry hung up and looked at his watch.

  Twenty-five minutes of nine. Harry could get to Silsam's Madison Avenue home in ten minutes by cab.

  Without bothering to change attire, Harry made a prompt departure from the hotel.

  During the ride, Harry smiled at one fact he had learned. In service, Harry was the oldest of all The Shadow's agents, with the possible exception of Burbank. Harry had long connected The Shadow with Lamont Cranston, and had suspected that the two were sometimes one. At last, in this emergency, Harry had been informed of the actual circumstances.

  Harry's smile ended as he reviewed the circumstances that had produced tonight's mission.

  The previous year had marked a large number of jewel robberies in New York. The police had slipped badly in certain cases; it was The Shadow who had finally brought criminals to justice. Meanwhile, wealthy persons had adopted the practice of keeping silent regarding any gems they owned.

  They thought that was why crimes had lessened. From that belief had come new crime. A new group of thieves had teamed murder with robbery. The secretive methods of jewel owners had made it almost impossible for The Shadow to learn where crime was due to strike.

  Three deaths in three months, each coupled with a huge robbery. The police blamed Shark Meglo. So did The Shadow; but Shark was slippery. It had taken The Shadow a long while to trace him. Tonight was The Shadow's opportunity to end the murderer's evil career.

  Police interference would bungle it. Shark knew how to dodge the law. The Shadow's one chance was to stop Shark at the spot where crime was intended: the home of Hugo Silsam. Everything had been ready when The Shadow found it necessary to abandon his role of Cranston.

  That was why Harry was going as The Shadow's substitute, to watch events in Silsam's home. That did not mean that The Shadow would be absent. On the contrary, he would be close at hand to stop the criminal's thrust. Harry's part was to size the situation and give The Shadow word, when and where to enter.

  GUESTS were coming from Silsam's when Harry arrived there; but the dinner party had not entirely ended. It was quarter of nine; and Harry saw immediately that the house had not cleared sufficiently for Shark Meglo to begin operations.

  Harry gave his name to the servant who admitted him. The man was evidently Silsam's butler, for his dryish face showed an air of authority as he craned his long neck forward.

  "I do not think that Mr. Silsam is expecting you, Mr. Vincent -"

  "That's all right," assured Harry. "I called him an hour ago, and told him that I was a friend of Mr.

  Cranston. Mr. Silsam said to be here before nine."

  "You called Mr. Silsam? I thought it was Mr. Cranston who called."

  Harry laughed indulgently. He told the butler that Lamont Cranston was in Europe. As the man's face began to show enlightenment, Harry added:

  "You must have misunderstood me over the telephone."

  The butler decided that it would be best to usher the visitor into Silsam. The fellow led the way, and Harry followed. During his talk with the butler, he had learned facts that he wanted, regarding the layout of the ground floor.

  The hallway was a long one. On the right, a broad doorway showed the living room, its deserted table illuminated by candles that had burned down to small stumps. On the left was a living room, from which Harry could hear voices.

  Through
the living room doorway, Harry saw the rear wall of the room itself. There was a closed door at the back, and Harry was sure that it led into Silsam's study.

  That was where the safe would be; the strategic spot where The Shadow could await the murderous masked crooks.

  A glance to the rear of the hallway gave Harry a view of a short passage that turned left. It certainly led to an outside door at the side of the house; a perfect mode of entry for The Shadow; once he was informed of the interior arrangement. Harry intended to supply that information in prompt order.

  THERE were three men in the living room, all making ready for departure; but none answered the description of Silsam.

  As Harry looked about, puzzled, the door opened from the study, proving the room to be as Harry pictured it. A stoopish, testy-faced man came into the living room. He was Hugo Silsam.

  The butler spoke to Silsam in an undertone. The elderly copper king scowled for a moment as he looked at Harry. Then Silsam gave a dry chuckle. He nodded to the butler and said:

  "Very well, Wintham."

  With an expression that he meant for a smile, Silsam shook hands with Harry. He introduced him to the other guests; two of them departed immediately. While Wintham was showing them out, Silsam restrained the last man.

  That guest was a tall, heavily built man, blunt-featured and keen-eyed. His name was Michael Chanbury, and Harry had heard of him.

  Chanbury was a wealthy art collector; and Harry knew that he must be close to sixty years of age. In appearance, however, Chanbury looked scarcely more than forty-five. He had an active manner; his hair, though grizzled, showed no trend toward complete grayness.

  "I want you to remain, Chanbury," chuckled Silsam. "We are due to have another visitor."

  "You mean Mr. Cranston?" queried Chanbury. "I understood you to say that he would be here."

  "No, no," Silsam shook his bead. "Cranston will not be here at all. It was Mr. Vincent who called me, a while ago. The mistake was mine. But" - he fumed to Harry - "you will have to help me explain it, Mr.

  Vincent."

  Harry looked perplexed. Silsam explained.

  "I called the Cobalt Club a few minutes ago," said the copper king, "to make sure just when Cranston would arrive. When I asked for Cranston, who do you think came on the telephone? The police commissioner, Ralph Weston!"

  It was Chanbury's turn to show astonishment.

  "Weston talked like a madman," added Silsam. "When he heard that I expected Cranston - as I actually thought I did - he said that he would come here right away. He seems very anxious to locate Cranston, unless -"

  SILSAM paused. His eyes took on a shrewd look. Abruptly, he motioned his companions toward the study. Chanbury went first. Harry stopped to light a cigarette near the bay window of the living room. As he struck a match, he turned his face toward the darkened pane.

  Unnoticed by either Silsam or Chanbury, Harry used one hand to wigwag a rapid signal, telling The Shadow of the study's location. Harry was confident that eyes from the outer darkness had caught that quick-flashed word.

  With his lips, Harry added a soundless statement, as he looked toward the window. The words that he phrased were:

  "Weston coming here."

  There was no time for more. Chanbury had entered the study; Silsam was waiting impatiently at the door.

  Harry finished fake operations with the cigarette and joined the stoop-shouldered copper king. They entered the study.

  A clock showed seven minutes of nine. Harry could picture The Shadow working on the side door, a process that would require no more than five minutes. The Shadow would be inside when crooks gathered at nine. He would be ready for their thrust.

  Weston's arrival might cause a hitch. Gathering underworld members might scatter if they saw the police commissioner. On the contrary, a desperado like Shark Meglo might make a bold raid while Weston was present.

  All that, Harry decided, hinged on the time element. Chances were that masked invaders would enter promptly at nine o'clock, and that Weston would not be here that soon.

  Silsam stepped to a safe in the far corner of the study. He made quick turns of the dial; the safe door opened. Turning about, Silsam spoke in a high-pitched voice.

  "You are an old friend, Chanbury," he said. "Since Vincent is a friend of Cranston's, I can trust him also.

  Here is the reason why Commissioner Weston may have chosen to visit me tonight."

  Silsam brought an ebony box from the safe and plunked it on a table. He opened the lid. Light shimmered upon a resplendent array of gems. The green of emeralds vied with the red of rubies; and the collection included some magnificent sapphires. Diamonds were plentiful, but less conspicuous.

  The gems were mounted in rings and brooches of heavy gold. While Chanbury plucked items of jewelry to examine them more closely, Silsam invited Harry to do the same. As he spoke, Silsam pressed a button on the wall.

  Almost immediately, Wintham appeared at the door from the living room, with the query:

  "You rang for me, sir?"

  "Yes," informed Silsam. "I am expecting Police Commissioner Weston. Usher him in here as soon as he arrives."

  Wintham went through the living room. Silsam turned to the box of gems. In his pleased cackle, he declared:

  "They are very valuable. So exquisite, that I could not refuse to buy them when they were offered to me."

  "By whom?"

  The query came from Chanbury. Silsam smiled and shook his head. After a few seconds, he paused.

  "The sale was confidential," he declared. "I promised not to name the seller. I feel sure, though, that I can rely on both of you to maintain the same confidence. I purchased these gems from a jeweler named -"

  A SNARL interrupted. It came from the living-room door; and the sound caused Harry and Chanbury to turn, along with Silsam. The three were riveted by what they saw.

  In the doorway stood a long-jawed man whose eyes were covered by a handkerchief mask. He was covering the room with a revolver; flanking him were two other masked invaders, each with a pointed gun.

  To Harry Vincent, that leader's mask was a mere sham. Harry knew the identity of the long-jawed man who wore it.

  Shark Meglo and his murderous crew had arrived to claim new swag. Striking before their own deadline, they had staged the thrust ahead of The Shadow's entry.

  CHAPTER IV. DEATH'S SILENCE

  GRIM was the scene in Silsam's study. Voices had silenced with Shark's snarl; the only sound was the ticking of the wall clock. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw the dial. It showed three minutes of nine.

  For a moment, Harry held hope that The Shadow had already entered by the side door; then that hope was banished. Shark and his two followers shouldered into the study; when they were clear of the door, a fourth man joined them. The fellow had the air of a lieutenant, and Harry correctly guessed that he was Hood Bleeth.

  "I got a couple of torpedoes on each door," growled Hood, to Shark. "That oughta hold anybody who tries to muscle in."

  Shark showed an ugly grin of approval. To Harry, the news foretold disaster. If The Shadow did enter by the side door, he would encounter waiting crooks. The Shadow could handle them, but not without gunfire. Shots would start instant slaughter, here in the study. In fact, Shark chose to mention that very point.

  "Hear that?" he demanded, facing the trapped trio at the table. "Any smart stuff and we'll rub out the three of you! That goes if any of my outfit runs into trouble. One shot from anywhere, and it will be curtains for you bozos!"

  Shark's eyes showed their glitter through the slits of his mask. The killer's gaze centered on Hugo Silsam.

  "I don't like your looks, crabface," snarled Shark. He juggled his revolver slightly as he spoke. "You remind me of the last guy I croaked. Maybe you'll be next!"

  Harry caught the significance. Shark intended to murder Silsam because the copper king could blab the name of the jeweler who had sold him the gems. Harry and Chanbury were in luck because Shark ha
d interrupted Silsam before he spoke the name.

  Since Shark apparently intended to let them live, he wanted to build up another reason for his planned murder of Silsam.

  Death might be due at any moment; and Harry was unable to prevent it. The Shadow's entry by the side door would only hasten matters, and Harry could no longer serve as The Shadow's substitute. Harry had a gun in his pocket, but no chance to reach for it. Nor would a break be possible.

  There were windows in the study; but Harry knew that they must be closed, although they were hidden by drawn shades. The night was chilly; but the study was warm, sufficient proof that the windows were tight shut.

  What perplexed Harry most was how Shark and his band had entered despite The Shadow. Harry was to learn the answer. Shark turned to Hood and snapped the order:

  "Bring in that flunky!"

  Hood went out to the living room. He returned, marching Wintham ahead of him. With hands raised, the dryish faced butler looked pleadingly toward Silsam.

  "They knocked at the front door, sir," spoke Wintham. "They had me overpowered before I could give the alarm."

  "It's all right, Wintham," returned Silsam unsteadily. "I don't blame you. They surprised us the same way."

  HARRY noted Wintham's expression and knew instantly that the butler had lied. Wintham was faking it, when he said that crooks had entered by the front door. There were too many of them. If they had come in by any route, within the past few minutes, The Shadow would have spotted them.

  Wintham was a traitor. He was working with Shark. The butler had let the crooks into the house long ago, and had probably kept them in the darkened kitchen, with lookouts in the empty dining room. Nine o'clock was the time set for attack; but the actual arrival of the crooks had occurred earlier.

  Silsam's remark that Commissioner Weston was expected had caused Wintham to pass quick word.

  Shark had not waited longer. He wanted this job to be finished when Weston arrived. The pretended capture of Wintham was merely an alibi for the crooked butler. Wisely, Shark gave no inkling that he knew of Weston's coming visit. He told Hood to shove Wintham against the wall, near the door.

  Stepping to the table, Shark eyed the box of gems. He tossed in pieces of jewelry that Harry and Chanbury had dropped. Nudging toward the safe, he said: