Death in the Stars s-197 Page 7

  A chug sounded just offshore. The noise of guns had drowned its approach. A light swept the whole cabin front, a far greater glow than any flashlight could provide. It was the searchlight of the motorboat that was bringing Rundon's friends from the Community Center.

  THERE were yells from near the dock, coupled with gunshots. The dock itself was in darkness; so was the peculiar craft beside it. In that boat were two men, reserves of the crew that had come ashore. They saw The Shadow moving in upon their pals.

  With a quick whirl, The Shadow returned the fire. His shots clanged steel-the low deck of the imitation lake monster. There wasn't time for more fire in that direction. The men at the trees had wheeled, too.

  They had to be settled rapidly.

  They heard Rundon's cry to Lois, a frantic one, inserted at the crucial instant:

  "Back to the cabin! Don't let them get hold of you!"

  But Lois wouldn't listen. She tried to drag Rundon with her. With one accord, the crooks converged upon the girl, not merely for her capture. They guessed that if they congregated around Lois and Rundon, The Shadow couldn't risk shots in their direction.

  They made one mistake. In their haste, they did not fire at The Shadow. He took advantage of the momentary break. A streak of living blackness, he flung himself for the same goal. As the crooks reached Lois and Rundon, The Shadow was among them.

  There was a clash of swinging guns. The Shadow started it, and his opponents, somewhat short on bullets, answered in kind. In toward the swirl came Harry Vincent; out of it came Lois Melvin. Spying Harry's dart, The Shadow had twisted the girl free and flung her to his agent.

  Lois settled limply in Harry's arms. She had taken a glancing blow from a gun. Harry swung her from her feet, dropped her past the corner of the cabin, then wheeled about to aid The Shadow. Harry thought that his part was to be a minor one; instead, it was a lifesaver. If ever The Shadow had needed aid, it was then.

  Some crook had gotten in a lucky gun stroke. The Shadow was reeling, blindly. He had struck a tree, but couldn't even grasp it to find shelter behind it. A pair of thugs were rallying, to aim at the cloaked foe who had almost demolished them.

  Harry filled the breach with the most ardent rapid fire that he had ever supplied. He didn't care about anyone, Rundon included, when The Shadow's life was at stake. Harry would have delivered that heartfelt barrage even if Lois had still been a prisoner.

  He was pumping with a fresh gun, stopping each recoil with a trigger tug. His aim was a trifle high, but it counted just the same. With bullets whining inches above their heads, the crooks did not stop to argue.

  The wounded pressed those who were aiming at The Shadow; they all went reeling away from the glare of the searchlight.

  It was a strange flight. Of six men, two were crippled, another pair groggy, from the hammering of The Shadow's guns. They were actually propelled by the final pair, who had tried to finish The Shadow. In the mass was Rundon, stumbling helplessly, tripping over the rifle that his hands lost as he moved.

  If only the men from the boat coming from the Community Center had turned their searchlight on those fugitives, complete victory would have been obtained. Instead, they had beached the boat near the speedster, and the lot of them were piling out, knee-deep in the water. They made a blundering crowd as they came ashore, blocking Harry's chances to fire beyond.

  Sweeping Lois with him, Harry reached The Shadow, to find the cloaked fighter halfway to his feet.

  Despite his daze, The Shadow somehow sized the case. Gripping Harry, he pointed to the speedboat.

  They made for it, taking Lois on board with them. Seeing The Shadow lift a gun with renewed strength, Harry sprang to the wheel.

  It took him too many seconds to get the hang of the boat; when he started the motor, he had to work it in reverse, to get clear of the gravel where Lois had beached it. By the time the craft was out from the shore, men were shouting along the dock: but they were the wrong crowd.

  Aided by the two men who awaited them, Rundon's captors had clambered into the mystery boat. The yelling men were the ones from the Community Center, and they hadn't an idea of what had happened to the others. Smooth as ever, the so-called lake monster had slithered away.

  People had seen it on other nights, but only when searchlights had happened to pick up the craft. Tonight, the only searchlight was turned toward shore. But from The Shadow's speedboat, as it swung out into the lake, a streak of foam was visible.

  The Shadow's head had cleared; his eyes were as keen as ever. He saw that the trail was hopeless; the other craft had gotten too long a start upon his boat. But he could mark the direction that the departing boat had taken-toward an island farther down the lake.

  Lois Melvin did not hear the whispered laugh that The Shadow uttered. She was limp and senseless.

  Only Harry Vincent heard it and understood.

  Despite the getaway that the crooks had managed, The Shadow could count this night a gain. The abduction of Niles Rundon, like that of Howard Carradon, could be nullified in proper time.

  The Shadow knew.

  CHAPTER XI. THE PROFESSOR AGREES.

  Lois awoke, the next morning, with a very bad headache. She was in her room at the Community Center lodge, the little hotel connected with the Calada Colony, and the fact puzzled her considerably. She had many hazy recollections of the night before, but couldn't remember arriving in the room.

  She was trying to dismiss the whole thing as a dream, when she happened to look at the clothes on the chair beside her bed. Instead of her dark-blue dress, she saw her camping outfit.

  The whole nightmarish sequence came back clearly. She remembered Paula Lodi's; the dock at Scorpio's, where she had left her other clothes. She recalled events at Rundon's; finally, she remembered returning here to the lodge. She had said good night to some friends, who had brought her back in Scorpio's speedboat.

  Lois had been very tired. She had been asking about Niles Rundon, wondering what had become of him.

  That was the only thing she couldn't remember; and her questions hadn't been answered. Her headache was lessening, as her recollections cleared.

  Anxious to learn what had happened to Niles, Lois hurriedly brought clothes from the closet, dressed, and went downstairs.

  People were waiting to see her when she reached the dining room. Lois knew two of them as members of the committee which Niles Rundon had joined. One was Hugo Grendale, the other Henry Denwood.

  With Denwood was a man whom Lois remembered even better: Lamont Cranston. She smiled when she saw him, to show that she was still grateful for his rescue on the diving plane.

  They wanted to hear her story and Lois gave it, in perfect detail, up to the point where she and Rundon had been struggling in the hands of captors. Grendale and Denwood left to make telephone calls; turning to Cranston, Lois queried anxiously:

  "What about Niles? Is he-"

  "He is quite safe," interposed Cranston, calmly. "As safe as Howard Carradon."

  "Do you mean that they abducted Niles, too?"

  "Yes. Instead of you."

  Lois shuddered. Cranston's calm gaze steadied her. Oddly, worries seemed to end with Cranston; perhaps because Lois still recalled the amazing finish of the airplane trip. She wanted to question him further; but, by then, Denwood and Grendale had returned.

  "We've checked on Rufus," declared Grendale. "The fellow skipped. But Paula is giving the horoscope to the sheriff. We'll meet him at Scorpio's."

  The bearded professor received them very cordially in his reception room at the Castle. Adversity seemed to add to Scorpio's suavity. He seemed quite intrigued with the horoscope that the sheriff brought. He tested its secret ink over the heat of an electric toaster.

  "Quite cute of Rufus and his friend," said Scorpio; "to intercept my notes to Paula Lodi and fix them up as secret messages. Didn't you say that Rufus had a pal with him"-the professor turned to Lois-"when he fired at you from my dock?"

  Lois nodded.
>
  "Thank you," bowed Scorpio. "Sheriff, I shall drop all charges against Miss Melvin for stealing my speedboat. Considering her predicament, I am glad that the boat was available."

  It was the sheriff's turn to storm, along with Grendale. Even Denwood looked annoyed; but Cranston seemed to take the situation rather lightly.

  "You have no proof," reminded Scorpio, "that I marked the message on the horoscope. Speaking of horoscopes, I have one for you, Miss Melvin. A more complete one than I gave you before. Your birthday is September 10th. Am I right?"

  "You knew that before."

  "I suppose I did." Scorpio dismissed the fact with a shrug. "But this horoscope"-he passed a folded paper to Lois-"deals particularly with marriage. As you probably know, your sign is Virgo."

  Lois nodded.

  "No one born under Virgo," warned Scorpio, "should ever marry a person in Gemini; and it happens"-he stroked his black beard-"that Gemini is Niles Rundon's sign."

  WITH all his fakery, Scorpio had moments when he seemed thoroughly sincere. This was one of them.

  His words impressed Lois. She had wondered sometimes about Niles-whether or not she was actually in love with him. Despite herself, the girl had doubts.

  But the others weren't thinking of Rundon in emotional terms. Scorpio's mention of the missing man roused Hugo Grendale to new anger.

  "I see your intimation," began Grendale. "Something has happened to Rundon since his abduction: He is dead-"

  "No, no," interrupted Scorpio. "Both he and Carradon are alive and well. Chandra"-he leaned forward to call the servant-"bring me those notes that we found here."

  Chandra brought the notes. They were genuine, signed by the missing men, though they had evidently been written under pressure. Both were alike, stating that their captors were willing to consider negotiations for their release.

  "It's the boldest thing I ever heard of!" exclaimed Grendale, in total amazement. "Imagine it! A kidnaper handing over his own ransom notes in person! That's what you're doing, Scorpio."

  "Not at all," argued Scorpio. "As I stated. I found the notes here. I thought that very probably"-his tone was shrewd-"some of you had received word that they were sent to me. Rather than put myself in a false position. I am turning them over to the sheriff. I also felt that, in any event, you would be relieved to know that the missing men were safe."

  "Safe?" demanded Grendale. "Where?"

  "I do not know." Scorpio gave a regretful shrug. "By the way, have you found any trace of Barcla? When you do, I would like to bring charges against him because of his forcible entry here. I am quite sure that Miss Melvin will testify against him, since she was the person who saw him flee from this house."

  For sheer cheek, Professor Scorpio stood paramount. His suave twisting of circumstances to suit his own convenience was remarkable, even to The Shadow. As Cranston, The Shadow had chatted with many men who tried to cover up crookery, but none had come up to Scorpio. The bearded professor had a way of mixing fact with fable, that none could imitate.

  His points driven home, he was rising from his chair to conclude the interview. Suavely, he was reminding everyone that he had been delivering a lecture all during the excitement the evening before; that his Hindu servants had been with him and could also be excluded from any blame for the things that had occurred.

  The gaping sheriff tried to call a halt by producing a search warrant, but Grendale growled for him to put it away. There was no use searching Scorpio's Castle today, Grendale argued; not with Barcla gone.

  As Scorpio smiled them to the door, Grendale was giving him a parting glower, nothing more. It was Denwood who caught a glance from The Shadow, and spoke for the committee.

  "By the way, professor," declared Denwood. "We are looking forward to your next séance."

  A troubled look flashed over Scorpio. Grendale took sudden interest.

  "Where will it be?" he demanded. "And when?"

  "At your house, Grendale," smiled Denwood. "Tomorrow evening. Mrs. Grendale arranged it, quite a while ago."

  "Under the circumstances," began Scorpio, hastily, "I am quite willing to forego-"

  "Not at all," interrupted Grendale with a dry chortle, catching his cue from Denwood. "I shall be most delighted to have you with us, professor."

  "And the spirits also," added Denwood. "They never fail you, do they, Professor Scorpio?"

  His eyes darting, Scorpio finally centered his glare on The Shadow. He was trying to get some inkling of the thoughts behind the impassive face of Cranston. Always a good guesser, Scorpio was quite sure that his impassive visitor was behind the plan suggested. But Scorpio was smart enough to show outward composure.

  "The spirits will appear," he assured. "Like the stars, they have never failed me."

  BY the time departers reached the dock, Sheriff Kirk wanted to go back to the Castle. He declared that he could settle matters by arresting Professor Scorpio. Grendale and Denwood argued the opposite, but it took The Shadow to convince the sheriff that a waiting policy was best.

  "The greatest favor you could do for Scorpio," spoke The Shadow in Cranston's calm, convincing style,

  "would be to arrest him. The professor may like his Castle, but be would prefer your jail, sheriff, for the next few days. He would then be unable to give the séance at Grendale's."

  "But he said he'd give it-"

  "He tried to get out of it," interposed The Shadow. "Tell me, sheriff, do you believe in ghosts?"

  "Of course not!"

  "But you saw one at Paula Lodi's."

  "A fake!" The sheriff gave a wise nod. "The ghost was Barcla, made up like Francois, Miss Lodi's first husband. He's a clever actor, that Barcla. We know he was working with Scorpio, even though his nibs won't admit it."

  "You may be able to prove it tomorrow night."

  The idea drilled home upon the sheriff. Even the others were just catching the full import of the plan inspired by The Shadow.

  Scorpio's séance would be a failure, unless a ghost appeared. Such failure would do more than imply that he was a fraud; it would practically prove it. If a ghost did arrive, a grab by a concerted group would mean a capture. Barcla would be found without a further search for him.

  All were enthusiastic, as they rode away in their boat. The sheriff was seeking suggestions for tomorrow night.

  Grendale favored rapid action, once the ghost should appear. Denwood, again taking his cue from The Shadow, argued that more restraint would be preferable. The sheriff agreed that it would be better to trap Barcla after he had finished his spook impersonation. He looked to Cranston for approval.

  Naturally, The Shadow agreed, since it was really his own idea. He said it would be wise to give Scorpio leeway, or the professor would warn Barcla off, considering a blank séance a lesser danger. It was possible, too, that Scorpio would find some way to outwit his opponents, if they acted too early.

  Finally mollified, Grendale grumbled an agreement with the rest. Then, as an afterthought, decided:

  "Yes, it's better to give Scorpio bait to bite at. I've got some, too, in that safe of mine. About fifty thousand dollars worth of utility stocks that Scorpio may have heard about. But I won't worry; none of my servants know the combination."

  "I never trust my servants too far"-he looked at Denwood-"like you did with that fellow Horace. As for my guests, they are always the right sort. Tomorrow will be the first time that Scorpio will set foot in my house. I'd never have invited the rogue"-Grendale was scowling-"if my wife hadn't insisted on it. She was so set on this séance stuff, that I had to humor her."

  Grendale's mention of the safe and its contents was a new point that The Shadow relished. The eyes of Lamont Cranston had a distant stare, as though gazing into the future. Lips formed the faintest of smiles, in lieu of a whispered laugh.

  Matters were shaping better than The Shadow had anticipated. To-morrow night offered a double opportunity. There would be more than Scorpio's reputation as a spook-maker at stake. Crime, too
, would be a prospect.

  The mystery of previous robberies, the riddle of the lake monster, even the recovery of vanished wealth-all would be possible. More was at stake than the mere exposure of a faker. The Shadow could foresee the trapping of a master crook!

  There was a knowing glint in the steely eyes of The Shadow as they gazed back toward Scorpio's distant Castle, a mere blotch of gray amid the trees.

  CHAPTER XII. LURKERS BY NIGHT.

  THAT afternoon, Lamont Cranston and Harry Vincent took a trip around the lake in a trim speedboat that Harry had obtained at the Community Center. As they rode along, Harry repeated some details that he had heard at the community house.

  The sheriff had heard from Los Angeles. The police there had gained no clue to the poisoned cigarettes given Drury. They were sure that it must have been planted in the aviator's pocket before he left Lake Calada.

  There were details, too, regarding previous robberies, and all indicated that crimes had occurred at Lake Calada, not elsewhere.

  Gillespie's secretary, a man named Tudor, was to be released, exonerated of any blame in the bond theft.

  The Jamison paintings had been shipped to the lake intact; therefore, could not have been stolen beforehand. A thorough check-up proved that the Albion statuettes could not have been removed in transit after they left Lake Calada.

  Such reports had not caused surprise. The robbery of the Lodi jewels, done in the presence of half the Calada colony, had convinced everyone that previous crimes were local.

  Reviewing the meager facts, The Shadow decided that Harry was to go to Los Angeles, to contact Tudor and bring him back to Lake Calada, in case the exonerated secretary might prove valuable tomorrow. He told Harry to take the evening taxi plane for Los Angeles.

  It was nearly dusk when The Shadow swung the boat through a channel by an island, leading into Indian Cove. Rounding a bend, they saw Indian Rock, an imposing shaft of granite, a miniature edition of the monumental rocks that could be viewed in Yosemite Park.

  Rising a sheer two hundred feet, Indian Rock was precipitous on both sides; but it was marked with noticeable flaws. Among those regular fissures, Harry saw one crack that spread like a crude arch at the water's edge, but it was too low for the boat to pass.