The Shadow - Trail of Vengeance Part 10

Surprise ended when Harry and Cliff saw the reason for The Shadow's action. Men were charging into the room; from their look, they were headquarters detectives, two of them, with drawn guns.

From behind them came a voice that The Shadow recognized; that of Inspector Cardona. Joe knew that his men had spotted something, and he wanted to know what.

Cardona found out what!

BEFORE the detectives had a good look at Harry or Cliff, before they identified The Shadow as anything more than a figure of living blackness, the room went dark.

At the desk, The Shadow had grabbed the one remaining lamp and was scaling it at the invaders. One detective stopped it with a warding blow, but he reeled back to a corner.

As for the other, The Shadow took him with the floor lamp. Las.h.i.+ng his foot through the dark, The Shadow sent that big lamp rolling, and it hooked the detective's ankles, sprawling him headlong. The lamp was rolling Cardona's way as he lunged into the darkened room, so The Shadow gave Joe an even better surprise.

The Shadow pressed the desk switch. Stumbling over the big lamp, Cardona felt the floor give. He did the natural thing-he grabbed the lamp. As before, it wedged between the trapdoor and the floor before Cardona could slide through. So there was the ace inspector, hanging half into the open pit, bawling for his detectives to help him out.

They were crawling from their corners to aid Cardona; but, meanwhile, The Shadow and his agents were skirting the trick portion of the floor, to reach the hallway.

Others were coming in through the front door. Cliff pointed quickly to the stairs, and The Shadow followed his agent's lead, with Harry close behind them. From the stairs, The Shadow fired a few shots, just to discourage the men who were coming from the street. Then, at the stair top, Cliff yanked open a window that led to an adjoining roof, where he had searched earlier for The Shadow.

Through the window went The Shadow and his agents, on a trip across the roofs, while below, Commissioner Weston and some companions were stopping short at the threshold of March.e.l.l's office, thinking, from Cardona's shouts, that all the trouble was located there.

When light was restored, Commissioner Weston uncovered many things. First, he saw March.e.l.l's body; next, the bonds that strewed the desk. To Trelger, who had come with him, Weston declared soberly: "This was outright murder, not robbery! See for yourself, Trelger."

Then, while Trelger was seeing for himself, Weston studied the trap from which the detectives were extricating Cardona. The inspector hadn't a thing to say about his vanished a.s.sailants. Joe had a hunch that he had unwisely interfered with The Shadow, and he preferred to treat the case from some other angle. Almost immediately, one developed.

"You say this wasn't robbery," wheezed Trelger, from the desk. "No wonder, commissioner! Why, thesesecurities are worthless! That's why the killer didn't take them!"

"Would you cla.s.s his motive as robbery, then?" queried Weston. "With murder the preliminary step?"

"Very probably," declared Trelger. "Perhaps you may find a clue this time, commissioner."

Cardona was toying with the desk switch, making the floor open and shut. Trelger was stepping forward from the desk; Joe pressed him back, to prevent him from slipping into the trap.

Peering curiously down into the pit, Trelger reached for his gla.s.ses, put them on and watched the trap open again. In eager tone, he quizzed: "What do I see down there?"

Cardona looked, and finally saw the thing, a brown felt hat. He sent a detective down to toss it up. The hat contained two initials: "B. G." After examining the hat, Weston turned to Trelger with the question: "Did March.e.l.l have an enemy whose last name began with 'G'?"

"Poor March.e.l.l made friends, rather than enemies," replied Trelger. "But sometimes friends prove false.

Let me see: there was old Lionel Glendon-but he is dead-"

"G for Glendon!" broke in Weston. "Lionel had a nephew. What was his name?"

"Bertram, I believe," returned Trelger. "Though his uncle always referred to him as Bert."

"He's the man we want," decided Weston. "Those initials are his! Who would be his next victim after March.e.l.l?"

THOUGHTFULLY, Trelger rubbed his chin.

"So far, commissioner," he said, "I haven't mentioned Artemus Enwood. First, because I can hardly picture him in danger; second, because I am sure he would not welcome a visit from you.

"Enwood owns the Arcadia Apartments and lives in the penthouse above them. He considers himself too secure even to be approached by enemies. Indeed, he is reluctant to welcome friends, like myself."

"Come, Trelger!" snapped Weston testily. "Couldn't you arrange an interview for me with Enwood?"

"I might try," replied Trelger, "while you are continuing to gather evidence here."

Trelger gestured past the securities-strewn desk to a filing cabinet, which was partly open. Weston decided that there was, indeed, much work to do.

"Very well, Trelger," he decided. "Go over to Enwood's, and unless I hear from you, I shall stop there within the next hour. You should be able to convince Enwood that we are working in his behalf."

Horace Trelger was not the only other person who was starting for the goal that had already called Bert Glendon and Timothy. Not far from March.e.l.l's house, The Shadow had found a telephone, and had told Harry and Cliff to wait while he phoned another of his secret agents, named Burbank.

The reason was that Moe was no longer around in his cab. Since Burbank was The Shadow's contact man, it was logical that Moe should have called him.

Such proved to be the case. Burbank had an important report from Moe. Cruising, the cabby had pickedup two pa.s.sengers: Bert and Timothy.

Naturally, Moe had taken them where they wanted to go, which happened to be the Arcadia Apartments owned by Artemus Enwood. Among the names on Mann's list, The Shadow had seen Enwood's, and marked him as a candidate for Number Five among the swindle tribe.

Briefly, The Shadow gave instructions to Burbank; then ended the phone call with a whispered laugh.

The Shadow, too, had found the final goal, and would be there in person!

CHAPTER XVIII. ENWOOD'S VISITORS.

THE Arcadia Apartments reared, tall and narrow, on a side street in midtown Manhattan. At the very top of the building, Enwood's penthouse made a tiny capstone to the edifice. It looked unreachable, and, in a sense, it was.

The doorman, clerk, and elevator operator, who were in the lobby, all belonged to Enwood, and served as outposts to flash warnings to his high-situated citadel. The lobby was small and square, furnished only in simple fas.h.i.+on. Its walls were painted a creamy white, and it was well lighted, making it practically impossible for anyone to slide past the watchful sentinels.

Only through the lobby and up by the elevator, could anyone reach the penthouse. This was known to Timothy, when he arrived as Trelger, bringing Bert Glendon with him. Nevertheless, Timothy was confident that he could crack the stronghold. He stopped at the clerk's desk and, using Trelger's wheezy tone, stated that he would like to speak to Mr. Enwood.

The clerk glanced at Timothy as though he recognized him, and pointed him over to a house phone. Bert went along, and received a startling surprise. When Timothy spoke, he didn't use Trelger's tone at all.

Instead, his words were a perfect mimic of the latest dead man, Simon March.e.l.l!

"This is March.e.l.l," spoke Timothy nervously. "I must see you, Enwood... Yes, I'm in the lobby... Good!

I'll come right up... By the way, I have a friend with me... Certainly, he's a man you know... I can bring him? Good!"

Too far away to hear Timothy's faked harangue, the clerk caught a signal flash beneath the desk. It came from the penthouse and signified that the visitors could come up. So the clerk gestured toward the elevator, and Timothy and Bert entered the car. As they rode upward, Bert smiled inwardly. Neat of Timothy, this trick! Enwood might not admit Trelger to the penthouse, but he certainly would receive March.e.l.l. Having duped March.e.l.l so easily, Enwood would have nothing to fear from him, now that Bert's uncle was dead. Actually, March.e.l.l was dead, too, but that was something that Enwood hadn't yet learned, which made Timothy's ruse all the better.

Even if that phone call at March.e.l.l's had been from Enwood, it wouldn't hurt the game. On the contrary, it would help it. Not getting an answer from March.e.l.l, Enwood wouldn't be surprised to have him show up. At last, Bert was finding out how Timothy had gained an inspiration when he heard the phone bell ring.

The next problem was the penthouse. Bert had an idea that they would be blocked out as soon as someone learned that the chief caller wasn't March.e.l.l. But Timothy had that figured, too.

As soon as the elevator stopped, Timothy marched out in Trelger's style, blocking any view of Bert, who heard him wheeze: "h.e.l.lo, Olivan. I'm the friend who came with March.e.l.l. Take us to Enwood, at once!" Then, as Olivan must have stepped away, Timothy turned his face across his shoulder and said to Bert: "Come along, March.e.l.l. Enwood will see us."

They were actually in Enwood's living room before Olivan, turning to introduce them, saw how he had been tricked.

Bert gained his first look at Olivan, and the secretary fitted Timothy's description. He was a sallow man, Olivan, with little black eyes that flashed angrily, then cooled.

By that time, Artemus Enwood was dominating the scene.

ENWOOD had been well described by Timothy. He was a tall man, with a long-jawed face, and deepset eyes that were quite as sharp as Olivan's, though they hid their glare more effectively. Bert barely remembered having seen him at the funeral, for Enwood had rendered himself rather inconspicuous.

Only when on his home ground did Enwood become abrupt, and then only when occasion demanded it.

This was such a time. Yet, withal, there was sarcasm in Enwood's voice, when he looked at Bert and gruffed: "You've changed a lot, March.e.l.l."

"Just in case you haven't recognized me," retorted Bert, "I'll tell you who I am. You thought March.e.l.l was coming up, but he wasn't. I happen to be-"

"Bert Glendon," interrupted Enwood, "and I didn't think that March.e.l.l was coming up. He couldn't come here. He is dead and you are wanted for his murder!"

Before Bert could recover from his surprise, Enwood turned scathing eyes at Timothy.

"You aren't Trelger," put in Enwood. "I take it that you are old Lionel's butler, working as his nephew's accomplice in crime. Don't make a move, either of you! It wouldn't be wise!"

At that, servants stepped from curtains surrounding the living room, to cover Bert and Timothy with revolvers. Olivan, too, was quite amazed, until Enwood turned to the secretary and spoke with an abrupt laugh.

"That call ten minutes ago-" remarked Enwood. "It came from the police commissioner. He's at March.e.l.l's. He told me that March.e.l.l had been murdered. He said that Trelger was coming here to see me, and hoped I'd admit him, which I promised to do.

Inasmuch as Trelger had just left March.e.l.l's, I knew that this man"-he gestured to Timothy-"must be an impostor, which was quite logical as the fact that March.e.l.l couldn't come here at all. I didn't tell you, Olivan, because I wanted to see you look surprised, for once."

As soon as Enwood finished, Bert broke loose. He was still determined to state his case, and felt that he could make Enwood listen.

"What happened to others does not matter," stormed Bert. "You robbed my uncle, and I'm here to demand rest.i.tution! Not for myself, but on my uncle's account. That's my sole motive, Enwood. Timothy will bear me out."

Enwood raised his eyelids: "Is that all you have to say?" Bert started to speak again, then caught himself. It wouldn't do, just yet, to hurl a charge of murder at Enwood. He preferred, first, to observe the man's reactions. So Bert tightened his lips and waited.

"Very well," decided Enwood. "Sit down, gentlemen, and wait until Trelger arrives. He may have something additional to tell us."

Down in the lobby, the elevator man had gone outside to help the doorman bring in some packages from a taxicab. The doorman carried his in first, and was on the way out again, when the elevator operator entered with his load; stacked so high that it hid his face. The clerk, staring from the desk, noticed that the operator and his bundles cast a most singular shadow along the floor.

Stretching beyond the burdened man, the moving darkness looked solid, and the edges of the packages gave it a silhouette appearance. The strange streak dwindled, however, when the operator reached the elevator and dumped the packages inside, to take them to the apartment to which they were addressed.

The doorman didn't return, probably because there were no more packages. The clerk settled back in his chair and watched the elevator go up a few floors, and finally return. The operator stayed inside, on his stool, taking a rest after the extra work of delivering packages.

Soon afterward, the clerk saw the back of the doorman's uniform, as he turned the revolving door. Then the clerk really stared.

Through that door came a man who had gone up to the penthouse, yet hadn't returned: Trelger!

APPROACHING the desk, Trelger wheezily announced that he wanted to talk to Artemus Enwood.

Gazing as if at a ghost, the clerk managed to gesture toward the telephones. If somebody else wanted to speak with a ghost, they were quite welcome.

Somebody else did want to talk to Trelger.

Over the wire, Trelger heard Enwood's abrupt tone and noticed, somewhat to his surprise, that it carried a chuckle.

"Of course, Trelger," said Enwood. "Come right up! By the way, do you have a friend with you?"

"Why... why"-Trelger halted his wheezy stammer-"why do you ask?"

"I thought you might be bringing one," laughed Enwood. "If so, I'd be glad to have him come up with you!"

Trelger didn't appreciate Enwood's idea of a jest. Half aloud, he was muttering to himself about "friends"

when he entered the elevator. The stolid elevator operator's back was turned toward Trelger, and he didn't even ask where the pa.s.senger was going, but took the car straight up to the penthouse.

It wasn't until the door was sliding open that Trelger realized that another pa.s.senger was in the elevator.

The fact came home in a most surprising way. Something pressed Trelger in the center of the back, and to his horror, he identified it as a gun muzzle.

Then the pressure was removed and a whispered laugh sounded in Trelger's ear. Friendly mirth, that rea.s.sured Trelger, particularly when he heard the words that followed.

"Be firm, Trelger," toned the low voice of The Shadow. "I wanted you to know how suddenly I can act, and how unexpected my presence can be. Show firmness when you deal with Enwood. Remember: I shall be at hand!" Trelger was nodding, his pursed lips drawn in a tight, dry smile, as he stepped off at the penthouse level.

Olivan was awaiting him, but the secretary gave only a quick glance toward the elevator and failed utterly to see the cloaked figure that was lurking there.

Trelger's confidence increased. He'd come for a showdown with Enwood, and he intended to see it through. Whatever Trelger's qualms, they were gone. For he was positive that he had actually brought someone who would serve him as a friend: The Shadow!

CHAPTER XIX. FACTS ARE TOLD.

WHEN Trelger stepped into Enwood's living room, he was jarred by surprise. It wasn't sight of Bert that amazed him; it was Timothy. For the first time, Trelger saw himself impersonated by the butler, though he didn't realize who his double was.

Timothy was seated away from the light, slightly huddled but with face lifted, a pose much adopted by Trelger. His features were holding a pursed expression which, with the oversized tortoise-sh.e.l.l gla.s.ses, covered the essential details of impersonation.

It dawned on Trelger that a man who could so well imitate his looks might equally well fake his voice, which would account for the mysterious orders that had resulted in swift robbery at Trelger's downtown office.

But Timothy wasn't talking, nor was Bert. Enwood had ordered both to remain silent. Since these were Enwood's preserves, Trelger mistook Timothy for a tool of Enwood's, not as Bert's partner. The point pleased Enwood, who inquired abruptly: "Well, Trelger?"

Plainly, Enwood had gained an initial advantage in this showdown that Trelger had planned under the guise of a warning visit. Had he come alone, Trelger would probably have delivered news of March.e.l.l's death and then let Enwood have his say.

But Trelger, recovered from his first surprise, recalled that he had The Shadow with him. So he faced Enwood squarely, raised his tone to an accusing rattle and went the limit.

"I should have seen your hand all along!" Trelger told Enwood. "I knew that someone had worked an imposition to obtain my wealth, and foolishly I took it to be Rayne, because I knew him to be most available. Then Rayne was robbed, too, and my suspicions jumped to Wight when I learned that he was back in town.

"From Wight, it went to March.e.l.l. Whether one was preying on all of us, or each picking up where another left off, I was not sure. But when I learned tonight that March.e.l.l had been swindled sometime ago, by you, I saw the headman of the game-yourself!"