The Shadow - The Shadow Laughs Part 13

At six o'clock, with scarcely any thought, Harry tuned in on station WNX. Every one was in the livingroom at the time. Dinner was to be served in half an hour.

Five minutes of the radio program went by, and Harry heard nothing of interest. Perry Quinn arose and strolled out to the porch. Harry decided to join him.

Scarcely had Harry left the room before the voice of the radio announcer began to talk about New York City. Certain of his words carried a definite emphasis.

"Those who come to see New York are amazed at the extent of the high-speed transit system. You can travel for miles along the double-tracked el, and in the four-tracked subway-"

Bert Crull looked up suddenly. Surprise was on his face.

He had been engrossed in a newspaper. Although he had not distinguished the words of the announcer, he had a vague impression that the voice had spelled his name.

"C-R-U-double L-"

The statement stood out in his mind. He listened to the radio. The announcer was discussing Central Park.

"What's that fellow talking about?" asked Crull.

"New York City," replied Blair Windsor.

"That's funny," said Crull. "When I get reading I only hear s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation. I couldn't figure what the man was saying."

He tried to dismiss the subject from his mind, although it puzzled him. He laid the paper aside, and continued to listen to the radio.

HARRY VINCENT and Perry Quinn came in from the porch. Dinner was ready, and the six men went into the dining room.

During the meal, two persons were silent and thoughtful. One was Harry Vincent. He was wondering which man he should watch: Crull or Quinn.

Had he heard the message that was intended for him, he would have chosen the former. Instead, he finally decided that Quinn should be the object of his observation.

The other meditative diner was Bert Crull. He kept pondering over the voice of the announcer that had seemed to spell his name. He finally decided that he had imagined the whole matter.

The evening was uneventful. Buckman and Harper went to the pool room. The other four indulged in a game of bridge. This was to Harry Vincent's liking. It enabled him to watch both Perry Quinn and Bert Crull.

He contrived to tune in on WNX at nine o'clock. No message came. He wondered what had happened to The Shadow. He did not realize that he had missed two messages: one at three, the other at six.

The game ended at eleven o'clock.

Blair Windsor had arisen early in the morning. He was tired. He decided to go to bed. Perry Quinn retired a short time later. Buckman and Harper were still playing pool. Crull decided to sit up and read.An idea occurred to Harry Vincent. He was determined to learn something of the mystery that lay in this house. He yawned and told Crull that he was going to turn in.

Leaving the room, he went to the stairs, but turned into an unlighted pa.s.sage that was out of view.

By a circling route, he reached the head of the cellar stairs. He stole down and found his way to the corner where the man had disappeared the night before. There he waited.

An hour went by. Then Harry's patience was rewarded. Some one came softly down the cellar stairs.

Harry could hear the man approaching through the darkness. Breathlessly he waited. The person was now close to him. He could hear the man fumbling among the shelves, not more than a yard away.

Then came silence. Harry waited for fully five minutes. Then he turned on his flashlight. He was alone!

This second occurrence of the mystery was annoying. Harry knew now that some secret lay in this place.

He examined the shelves carefully, but found nothing.

How had the man disappeared?

Who was it?

Could it be The Shadow?

Harry felt that it was inadvisable to stay in the cellar, now that he had missed his opportunity. He went upstairs. Peering around a corner, he saw Bert Crull still reading in the living room.

Harry now suspected Perry Quinn; and this bore out his suspicions, unless-as he had conjectured before-The Shadow had entered the game.

Harry entered the living room. Crull looked up in surprise.

"Thought you had gone to bed," he remarked.

"Couldn't sleep," said Harry. "Think I'll take a walk outside. Want to come along?"

"Guess not," said Crull. "I want to finish this book."

As Harry Vincent went out the front door, Bert Crull closed the book and sat silently, with a thoughtful expression on his face.

IT was a dark night outside. Harry strolled down to the road, and an uncontrollable desire seized him. He suddenly determined to visit the old farmhouse on the other side of the little hill. He decided to go around by the road.

Reaching the farmhouse, he noted a light in the second-story window. He climbed the shed roof, and cautiously strained forward to a position which enabled him to see within. Two men were there. Harry could see them through the s.p.a.ce at the bottom of the lowered shade.

One was the old man whom he had seen before. The other was Vernon, Blair Windsor's servant!

This was a startling surprise. Harry could not hear what the men were saying, for the window was closed.

Vernon arose, as though to leave. Harry dropped to the ground.

His eyes noted a cellar window. He tried it, and it opened to his touch. He slipped in, and turned on hisflashlight. He saw a stairway leading up into the house. He turned off the light as he reached the bottom step.

There he stopped and dropped beside the steps. A door had opened above.

Some one was coming down in the darkness. Harry heard two whispered voices. One sounded like that of Vernon. The door closed above; but the one person still came downward.

Harry heard the footsteps go across the cellar floor. Silence followed. Harry switched on his light.

This was a small cellar-a single room, yet it was entirely empty. There was an open bin in the corner.

Harry investigated it. It was backed with wood against the wall.

Puzzling over the situation, Harry began to form a theory.

A man had disappeared from the cellar of Blair Windsor's house. A man had disappeared here. The inference was that a pa.s.sage lay between the two buildings.

Vernon was probably the person who had disappeared from Windsor's home. He had come to visit the old man in the farmhouse. Now he had returned.

Harry was on the point of investigating the bin, when it occurred to him that an inspection of Windsor's cellar would be more suitable. There, at least, he might have some excuse for prowling. Here he was a trespa.s.ser.

He turned out his light and climbed from the cellar window. As he arose to his feet something fell upon him from the darkness The quickness of the surprise attack overcame him before he could even gasp.

He received a stunning blow that rendered him almost incapable of motion. His arms were pinned beneath him; a cloth was thrust in his mouth.

Handcuffs clicked on his wrists. His captor was sitting on him so that he could not move his legs. Quick hands strapped Harry's ankles.

Then the gag in Vincent's mouth was securely fastened. He was half-lifted and half-dragged across the yard.

Harry thought for a moment that he was to be taken in the farmhouse. But instead, he was carried to an automobile.

The powerful man who had seized him thrust him into the back seat of the open car. They started along the rough road. Harry was jounced helplessly back and forth.

Who had captured him?

Where was he going?

Harry's dazed mind could not answer either question.

Hopeless thoughts flashed through his mind. He had failed in his work. Harry was a prisoner. He had no way to notify The Shadow of his plight.

CHAPTER XVIII. TIGER BRONSON.

IT was midnight in Manhattan. There were very few customers in the Black s.h.i.+p. Spotter, seated in acorner, knew every one of them. He had been here since nine o'clock, waiting for the moment when there would be no stranger in their midst.

Although he was so widely acquainted in the underworld, the crafty, beady-eyed little man did not know all the patrons of the Black s.h.i.+p. Visiting mobsmen from other cities came there frequently. Strange faces were always present. Spotter knew every face at present, however.

Sure he was free from observation, Spotter went to the bar and spoke quietly to Red Mike, the proprietor.

"Let me out by the back way."

Red Mike considered the request.

"What's the idea, Spotter?" he asked.

"I'm going to see the big fellow," whispered Spotter. "I promised him I'd fix it so no one could see me go out of here."

"All right."

The proprietor entered a room behind the bar, and Spotter followed. There was a locked door at the other side of the room. Red Mike opened it, and Spotter slipped through like a scurrying rat without even extending thanks.

Hastening through a pa.s.sage, he emerged through a side door which locked behind him. He was in a deserted walk that led to an alley.

He chuckled as he reached the alley. Only a very few of the elite of gangland knew of this secret way out of the Black s.h.i.+p.

Spotter now feared no pursuit. He knew that any one who might be watching for him would be at the front entrance of the dive. So he made great speed in leaving the vicinity.

He moved silently, with running gait, along the side of the alley; and continued his deceptive pace when he reached the street.

Spotter used the utmost precaution, and every wile, when he thought he was being followed. But when he was reasonably sure that no one was on his trail, he went forth rapidly, never looking behind. Hence, he did not notice a strange shadow on the sidewalk-a shadow that seemed to keep pace with him, moving without noise, as shadows always do.

Leaving the more disreputable neighborhood behind him, Spotter came to some old, large houses. Here he entered a s.p.a.ce between two buildings, and rang at a side door. It was opened for him. He went upstairs, and entered a room at the side of the house.

Spotter always climbed stairs rapidly. To-night, he should have remained outside the house. Had he been there, he would have seen what appeared to be a solid shadow moving up the side of the wall. It reached the lighted window before Spotter was in the room.

Perhaps that was why Spotter was startled when he entered. For on the floor he saw a shadow. He stared at it; but it did not move.

Sighing with relief, the little crook dropped in a chair, with his back partly toward the window.A BIG, bluff-faced man came in. Spotter grinned and raised one scrawny hand in greeting. The little crook seemed to be doing his utmost to gain favor with the heavy, grim-visaged person whom he had come to see.

"What's up?" demanded the bluff man, lighting a black cigar as he took his place in a chair opposite Spotter. "Give me the dope."

"Doc Birch was raided last night," said Spotter. He did not add that he had been there.

"What for?" came the question. "Booze, or stolen goods?"

"Neither. Phony mazuma."

"Hm-m-m. Trying to pa.s.s counterfeit bills, eh? That's a new one on me."

Spotter licked his lips and looked at the big man. He was awed in the presence of this personage. For the man was none other than "Tiger" Bronson, an overlord of the underworld, whose word was law throughout crookdom.

No one knew where Tiger Bronson had gained his nickname. It might have been a reference to his former activity in Tammany politics; or it might have been applied to indicate the powerful and dangerous character of the man.

At any rate, Bronson gloried in the name. Tiger he was, and Tiger he was called.

Very few crooks ever visited Tiger Bronson's home. Spotter was one of the few. Yet he, like the others, had nothing on Tiger Bronson.

He had come here before simply to report that Reds Mackin had wanted to find Birdie Crull, but that he-Spotter-was sure that the pretended Reds Mackin was none other than The Shadow.

The reason for the report was that Spotter was under orders to bring such information to Tiger Bronson.

The big fellow wanted to know any unusual developments in gangland.

On the night that he had made the report, Spotter had mentioned the rendezvous that he had made with the false Reds Mackin. He had suggested that The Shadow be trapped there.

Tiger Bronson had made no comment; but Spotter had known that the words had made an impression.

Also, he knew that he must not make any statement which might implicate Tiger Bronson.

"What else has happened?" demanded the overlord of gangdom.