The Shadow - The Shadow Laughs Part 6

"Mopped up a dozen of 'em-in the dark. Threw 'em out. Locked that big door on 'em. They tried to bust in."

"Well, did they get him?"

"Yes, they did-not. He shot a tear bomb into 'em-that's what he did. Walked right through the mob,wearing goggles.

"I could tell you more, Reds. Some of the other boys could tell you, too. But none of us like to talk about it.

"Listen, Reds, there ain't no danger of The Shadow bein' mixed up in this racket of yours, is there?"

Reds Mackin spread his hands depreciatively.

"Not a chance, Spotter. It's going to happen out West. Forget this Shadow stuff. Look here."

He pulled another fifty-dollar bill from his pocket, and spread it in front of Spotter's eyes, snapping it between his hands.

"I'm giving you this, too, Spotter," he said. "I want to meet this Birdie Crull. How soon do you think you can find him?"

Spotter stared at the bank note. His eyes seemed hypnotized.

He was apparently studying the currency, as he had done before. In reality, his mind was whirling in confusion. His gaze was fixed upon Reds Mackin's left hand.

That hand was still. Its fingers were spread slightly. Spotter, whose eagle eyes lost nothing, had noticed Reds Mackin's hand several times in the past. He remembered a long, ragged, permanent scar, on the side of the third finger-a scar that showed only when Reds Mackin spread his hand.

The scar was no longer there!

"What's the matter, Spotter?" came Mackin's sarcastic voice. "Still leery about the fifty-spots? Maybe you'd rather have my personal check?"

Spotter grasped the money mechanically, and thrust it, along with the other bills, into his pocket.

"Maybe you're still worrying about The Shadow," added Mackin. "Well, take my word for it, Spotter-there's no such guy. If there is, he isn't in on this."

Spotter emitted a sudden laugh. His craftiness returned; he was again the smooth worker of the underworld.

"Listen, Reds," he said. "You know where old Crippled Carrie lives, don't you?-Well, there's an empty room up there-at the head of the stairs. It used to belong to a guy that got b.u.mped off.

"I've got the key. When I find Birdie Crull, I'll give him the key so he can be waiting for you there."

"When will that be?"

"In a couple of days, I think."

"Well, I can wait a week. Tell you what you do, Spotter. You leave me a note here, with the barkeep.

Put the address in it-I'm not sure just where the place is-and the time.

"I'll be going by here every day. I'll pick it up, after you leave it. Drop it here in the afternoon. Arrange the meeting in the evening."

"Maybe-""It's safe, Spotter. Nothing's been done yet. There's no crime in my meeting Birdie Crull. Don't put his name in it. Just the address, and the time."

"O.K., Reds."

"I'm leaving you now. Work fast on this."

Reds Mackin left. For a long time after the visitor had gone, Spotter remained at the table. His face was wrapped in an intense expression of concentration, as if he were trying to pick something out of the back of his brain.

"Reds Mackin!" he exclaimed to himself. "He Looks like Reds Mackin. He talks like Reds Mackin. He acts like Reds Mackin. But he ain't Reds Mackin!"

The little man scowled grimly.

"The Shadow!" he mumbled. "That's who he is! He couldn't be no one else. Well, he's in for it this time.

Tried to cross Spotter, did he?"

A scheme was working in the crafty brain. Spotter's lips formed a wicked grin. Then, suddenly, Spotter sprang to his feet, shaking with sudden terror.

He had heard a sound-a low, almost inaudible sound-a sound that had reached his brain rather than his ears.

It could not have been an actual noise; it must have been some echo of the past-an echo that was a part of the atmosphere of this room in the Black s.h.i.+p.

Spotter was alone-not a soul was in the stone-walled room. None of the gangsters in the other room indicated that they had heard anything.

Yet the sound was real in Spotter's frenzied brain; and he trembled as he caught the dim echoes of that terrible token of disaster. For he seemed to hear a weird, mirthless laugh-a hissing, jeering laugh-the laugh of The Shadow!

CHAPTER IX. AT BROOKDALE.

HARRY VINCENT brought his speedy coupe to a standstill at the top of a hill. He studied a topographical survey map of the district; then stepped from the car and made an inspection from the top of a stone wall.

Half a mile away, well back from the road, stood a stone mansion, which he identified as the residence of Blair Windsor.

The building was on the side of a hill; the slope rose behind it to a slight degree, the top of the hill being from fifteen to twenty feet higher than the foundation of the house.

"That's the place," said Vincent, softly. "The property doesn't go back very far; I guess that stone wall on top of the hill is the dividing line. I wonder what's on the other side?"

Returning to the car, he drove leisurely along the road toward the mansion. Pa.s.sing the house, he found a side road that turned to the left.

It twisted around the hill, and, curving to a spot directly in back, pa.s.sed a small farmhouse that nestled among some trees. Going on a bit farther, Vincent made a second inspection of the map.Both the large house and the farm building were recorded there; but there were no other houses in the vicinity.

Harry drew an envelope from his pocket. Before opening it, he made a mental resume of the facts that were already in his possession.

"Fellows didn't have much to say, this morning," he mused. "Simply told me to come up here, to look the place over.

"Windsor's brother is in jail for murder, he said. Looks like there may be some trouble for the family. Not very promising for a start."

Somehow, this adventure did not seem to hold much in store. Vincent had obeyed Fellows's instructions as a matter of duty.

Harry owed his life to The Shadow. That strange person had once prevented him from committing suicide. Since then, he had helped The Shadow in various enterprises, all of which had been dangerous and exciting.

When The Shadow chose to act, Vincent recalled, something usually took place. But in the past, Harry had been sent out on more definite missions than this one. Here, he seemed handicapped.

There would be no excuse to enter Blair Windsor's house. That seemed to be the obstacle. He had told Fellows so; and the insurance broker had made him delay the trip on that account.

Perhaps there were some new instructions. Harry tore open the envelope.

It contained a message written in a simple code; one which Harry understood, and could decipher without the slightest hesitation.

IMPORTANT.

Garret Buckman, Boston insurance man, is going to visit Blair Windsor, arriving to-morrow. Buckman is a friend of Fellows. Call to see him. Windsor is very hospitable. If invited to stay, accept. Introduce yourself to Buckman as an old friend of Fellows.

In the meantime, investigate at a distance. Study the vicinity. Notify what happens, whether invited or not.

You are working on possibilities, only. Observe anything unusual that may concern Blair Windsor.

The message was somewhat more encouraging.

About five miles away was a small town. Harry decided that he would stay there overnight. In the meantime, however, it would not be wise to attract too much attention.

IT was late in the afternoon. Harry drove the car up the road, and found an entrance to a field that appeared to be deserted. He ran the car under a tree, and opened a package that contained some sandwiches, and a bottle of ginger ale.

After he had finished his repast, he walked to the road. No one could be seen in the gathering dusk.

Returning, Harry opened the back of the coupe, and revealed a compact wireless sending set. It was a regular equipment which he carried on all his expeditions. He was familiar with its operation.

He arranged an aerial between two trees, but did not make the final connections. His last act was to lock the back of the car. No prowler in the darkness would be able to discover anything unusual.Hurrying along the road, Harry soon reached the farmhouse that he had previously pa.s.sed. It would soon be too dark for observation; he knew that he must work quickly. This was an advantageous time of day -light enough to see one's surroundings, yet dark enough to evade detection.

Harry cut in through the trees near the farmhouse, and walked up the slope. A minute later he was at the top of the little hill.

The stone wall was evidently a dividing line between the estate of Blair Windsor, and the farmhouse ground.

The top of the hill was bare, save for a few scattered, shrubby trees. The sun had set, but it was lighter up here than below; so Harry lay close to the wall as he considered his surroundings.

The stone mansion and the farmhouse were little more than a hundred yards apart, on a direct line. Over the hill the distance was, of course, greater. The farmhouse was unlighted, but several of the rooms in the mansion were illuminated.

Fifteen minutes pa.s.sed, and Harry felt indolent in the sleep-inspiring atmosphere. The scene was gloomy with the afterglow.

There was nothing that inspired action.

Staring toward the quiet building, Harry half-closed his eyes. Then he became suddenly tense, and dropped beside the stone wall. Some one was coming up the hill from the direction of Blair Windsor's house.

Harry distinguished the outlined form of a man as the stranger clambered over the stone wall. Then the silhouetted figure disappeared from the background of the sky, and became almost invisible. The man was going down the slope toward the cottage.

Turning his eyes in that direction, Harry saw the reflection of a light from a side window, which he had not seen before, on the second floor of the low, two-story building.

He watched. The man came into the dim-reflected light; then turned, as though advancing to the front porch of the farmhouse.

After a last look at the Windsor mansion, marked now only by its lighted windows, Harry stole down the hill to the little house below.

THERE was a tree at the side of the frame building. Under its shelter, Harry gazed at the lighted window.

The situation intrigued him. Some person was paying a visit from Blair Windsor's house. Perhaps it was of no significance; it might only be a messenger coming on a simple errand.

Yet, there was but that one light in the little farmhouse. That, in itself, was sufficient reason for investigation.

Harry approached the house. He found a low shed at the back. He climbed it, and managed to stretch far enough to see in the corner of the window, which was open, with a blind half drawn.

A screen netting made vision imperfect; nevertheless, Harry could see two men at a table upon which rested an oil lamp.

One was an elderly man-smooth-shaven, with gray hair. Harry could not clearly distinguish his features.The other was more plainly in view. He was young, dark-complexioned, and of slightly more than average height.

The old man might be a farmer, although that was difficult to judge. The young chap might be one of Blair Windsor's guests.

The combination was unexplainable. What did this meeting mean?

Harry listened.

"When's Jerry coming back?" the young man asked.

"Very soon," was the reply. "We'll have a late dinner."

"We just finished eating over at Windsor's." This statement by the young man confirmed Harry's conjecture that the young man was a guest of Blair Windsor. "Thought I'd drop over, and discuss a few details."

"It's time you did. This is the fourth night you've been back."

"Yes; but you know how things are over at the house. I thought it best to take no chances. Everything is all right. No reason why I had to explain the details until now. I'm glad Windsor doesn't know anything about-"

Harry felt himself slipping from his insecure perch. He managed to scramble back to the shed, and congratulated himself on the small amount of noise he made. Dropping quickly to the ground, he kept close to the shed.

Evidently he had been heard; for some one came to the window, closed it, and lowered the shade.

Probably the men had attributed the noise to a cat; hearing it had simply caused them to adopt a precaution.

But there was no use waiting around here longer. Harry stole toward the front of the house.

An old automobile, noisy in operation, turned in at the other side of the building. Harry just managed to escape the glare of its lights. He moved across the front yard, and reached the dirt road.

A VARIETY of thoughts perplexed him as he started back to the car. He felt that he had missed an interesting conversation; yet there was no way to listen in now. Nevertheless, it was a start toward new developments.

Harry smiled as he thought of the man who had come over the hill. The fellow had never dreamed that he had been seen and followed. Who would suspect curious strangers in this lonely vicinity of Ma.s.sachusetts?

While Harry was musing thus, a figure stepped from the trees in front of the farmhouse, not more than five yards from the very spot from which Harry emerged.

Ironically, the situation was almost the exact duplicate of what had transpired on the hill. Just as Harry had been unseen by the man coming from the mansion, so was the presence of this stranger entirely unknown to Harry Vincent.