The Shadow - The White Skulls Part 6

That forced grin of Sark's evidenced itself and with it his face clouded.

Recognizing the intruders, his eyes held an ugly glisten that boded no good for them. Sark's gun made a quick, impatient beckon and Jud nudged Gail into the room, since he could think of no better course.

Most persons would have cla.s.sed this a time when quick thinking was needed, but not Jud Mayhew. Sark held an option on rapidity; the only antidote was to be cool and deliberate. Even to play sluggish would be good, as Jud knew from experience. There had been a time when Jud had dodged loose from a whole squad of krauts, over beyond the Rhine, just by playing dull until the right moment.

He could do the same with Sark.

But there was something else to consider, the safety of the two girls.

Jud wasn't just including Gail, for he counted Margo on his side too. The fact that Sark had given her papers to take to Cranston didn't incriminate Margo, nor Cranston for that matter. It smacked more of some deal that Sark was planning.

Apparently Sark considered those doc.u.ments a security against Tanjor Zune, to date his one great enemy; but it followed that he wouldn't want them to fall into the hands of Gail North.

Right now, Jud's cool calculation told him that he must, at all costs, keep Sark from gaining the false notion that Margo's visit had been just a blind for Jud and Gail to enter. Along with this, Jud hoped that Margo would be smart enough to play the right part.

At the moment, real distress was showing on Margo's countenance and Jud knew that she was concerned for him and Gail. Fortunately, Gail didn't get it; in her turn, she was throwing dagger looks Margo's way. Sark was taking all this in as he turned his head back and forth. Profiting while Sark's glance was swinging the other way, Jud gave a quick head-shake that Margo caught. Then, Jud was staring stolidly again, when Sark looked back at him.

Relaxing, Margo forced a laugh which at least sounded as genuine as those in which Sark specialized.

"I thought you were springing, a little surprise on me," Margo told Sark.

"Bringing these people in at the wrong moment rather gave me a jolt. They've been meddling in too many things lately."

Sark's eyes rested momentarily on Margo; then returned to Jud and Gail.

It was good policy for Jud to look surly, so he did; as for Gail, she needed no prompting for she believed that Margo meant the things she said.

"Some contracts go to the lowest bidder," remarked Margo, significantly.

"That was the way Townsend North did business. But there are other people who sell to the highest bidder. Mr. Cranston works that way, so I know he'll listen when he hears your terms, Mr. Sark. After all, keeping papers in a nice safe place is a very simple matter, isn't it?"

Gail really glared. She would have stormed a few accusing statements if Jud hadn't nudged her to be silent. He faked that, while stepping in front of Gail as if to s.h.i.+eld her, a move which brought a snarl and a gun gesture from Sark.

It was small wonder that Gail fumed. She thought that Margo intended to walk out scot-free, taking along the evidence that Jud and Gail themselves had come here to obtain. Nor did Margo seem at all worried any longer about what might happen to her rivals. Jud's interpretation was different. From the way Margo had taken his cue, Jud was sure that she intended to contact Cranston and arrange a rescue. To do that, she would have to get out of this house; therefore, she was playing the best possible game.

If Jud had known that Cranston in his other life was The Shadow, he would have counted this game in the bag. Even now, it looked sure enough when Sark stated crisply: "Very well, Miss Lane. You may leave. But remind our friend Cranston that he is not to come here. I have other guests" - Sark turned a smile that was really a scowl upon Jud and Gail - "and I prefer them. Doc.u.ments are dangerous to keep, but hostages are excellent. Ludar will have something to tell Tanjor Zune when I inform him that I am holding these prisoners."

With that, Sark turned his back on Margo and used his gun to motion Jud and Gail to the corner near the safe. It was the logical corner for it formed a perfect pocket. At the other deep corner was a door which Jud had been eyeing enviously as a possible outlet in emergency. But Sark wasn't giving his prisoners - or hostages as he preferred to call them - anything that might resemble a break or a chance for it.

In turning, Sark remained fairly close to the main door of the room, which was Margo's exit to the hall. Bundling the rolled papers under her arm, Margo started toward the hallway, feeling that she had begun a death march. What was to prevent Sark, that master of the double cross, from wheeling about and making her a target?

The very thought was terrorizing; it made Margo turn her head and throw a quick look in Sark's direction, only to see that he was still facing Jud and Gail. Beyond Sark, Margo saw Jud, his face very grim, but telling a story by its very grimness. His expression meant just this: that if Sark swung to aim at Margo; he would have Jud to deal with. From the tense pose that Jud showed, Margo knew such dealings would be swift indeed.

It was better to go through with this; better for Margo to get clear and come back with aid as soon as she could bring it. Yet somehow Margo felt uncertain, as though the very atmosphere of this old musty house had all the characteristics of a morgue. It was like a death factory in miniature, giving Margo doubts as to whether Jud and Gail would still be alive, once she was beyond the outer door.

Nevertheless, Jud wanted her to chance it, so Margo turned toward the hall.

She was in the doorway when she stopped, halted by a new fright that momentarily seemed silly. It was the death's head again, that after-image produced by a long look at Sark's face and Margo had taken too long a look for comfort.

There it was, a s.h.i.+fting, grinning skull, against the gloomy background of the hall. Margo blinked to shake off the illusion, only to realize that it wasn't the same that she had gained before. This skull wasn't a big one, leering from the far wall in two dimensional form. It was human in size and alive!

Nor was it a single skull. Margo was seeing three of them, all in a cl.u.s.ter, and they weren't bodiless. They were white skulls painted on black hoods that encased human heads. For Margo could see the bodies that belonged to them, bodies garbed in tight fitting black costumes that were painted with the white ribs of skeletons!

New intruders these, and below each leering painted face was a hand that clutched a gun. Behind the sinister trio was Tobias, the old caretaker,standing at an open door that led up from the cellar, gesturing the three invaders toward Sark's study!

Though Margo stood riveted for a mere moment, that moment seemed forever.

The hooded men with the painted skulls seemed to mock the horror that showed so plainly on Margo's chalk white face, against the background of her dark hair and the circle of her halo hat. Compared to such creatures as these, even Sark seemed preferable, unless he had summoned them as a grim jest, to cut off Margo's escape.

But Margo didn't think of that. Her thoughts were a couple of jumps behind.

All she could do was turn and fling herself back into the study, shrieking incoherently of the danger that had menaced her from the hall. Simultaneously, the skeleton men sprang forward, thrusting their guns ahead of them. Even uglier was Sark's face as he wheeled about and Margo's brain reeled with the thought that this was the end of everything.

It would have been the end, if Sark hadn't shown that same rapid ability which he had exhibited before. Spinning, Sark hooked Margo with his gun hand and flung her toward the corner by the safe, bowling Jud from his feet as he lunged forward. With the same move, Sark's other hand flicked the light switch, darkening the room. The driving skeleton men saw him bound toward the other deep corner of the study, but by the time they arrived from the hallway, a slam of the connecting door announced that Sark had reached another room.

They went half way after him; then turned. Darkness had swallowed them, now it disgorged them as they started back into the hall, thinking that they could use it to cut off Sark's escape. Sprawled over near the safe, with Jud on hands and knees beside her and Gail huddled further in the corner, Margo saw what happened next.

It was like another illusion, that ma.s.s of solid blackness that loomed from somewhere to cut off the skeleton trio. At least it seemed an illusion until it voiced a s.h.i.+vering, challenging laugh that no other fighter could begin to imitate.

That fierce mirth stood for rescue. It was the laugh of The Shadow!

CHAPTER XII.

How The Shadow had arrived so suddenly seemed quite explainable to Margo.

He had a habit of appearing at a crucial moment, hence this was his usual form.

What Margo couldn't understand was why The Shadow hadn't arrived sooner. It wasn't his normal way to leave emergency situations in the hands of doubtful characters like Alban Sark.

Even now, The Shadow was handicapped by his own delay. He didn't have time to open fire with an automatic and scatter the men in skeleton costumes. They were upon him all at once, swinging their guns instead of firing them, trying to beat down this adversary who had shown himself too boldly. On his feet, Jud was charging out into the hallway hoping to aid The Shadow. Jud had a gun that he had been unable to draw until now, but here was his chance to use it. Pulling the gun, Jud surged into the black-garbed whirl that was mixed with the kaleidoscopic effect of skeleton ribs and skull-faces, all in white.

Then something struck, like a living tidal wave. It was another crew of hooded men, coming up from the cellar. Reeling away from hard swung blows, Jud saw The Shadow detach himself from one cl.u.s.ter and wheel back toward the study.

Cutting across the path of The Shadow's attackers, Jud was hurled ahead and pitched headlong through the open doorway, Just as The Shadow beat back another drive of half-groggy foemen.

In all that fray, not a single shot had been fired. Always, the members of the death's head corps had been too close, too cl.u.s.tered, to risk shots without hitting each other. In his turn, The Shadow had preferred that close-up fighting as a means of beating down the opposition without wasting bullets. Now, in a lull which was hardly more than an instant, The Shadow gestured his gun hand across the study and gave the quick order: "That way!"

Margo understood. They were to take Sark's way out. Grabbing Jud by the arm, Margo dragged him along and Gail, rather than be left behind, hurried after both of them. By the time Margo reached the corner door that Sark had slammed earlier, Gail was gripping Jud, telling him not to trust Margo too far.

It seemed that Gail couldn't quite understand.

Out in the hallway, the lights were blinking off. The men in the skeleton costumes wanted complete darkness. Now they were das.h.i.+ng back down into the cellar, The Shadow after them. For the first time, shots were heard, but they were m.u.f.fled, so deep below the house that their reports could not have carried to the street where The Shadow's agents waited.

Margo heard them, however, as she found her way through a dimly lighted kitchen. Satisfied that The Shadow had put his enemies to rout, Margo decided that the best way was out. In all this turmoil, she hadn't lost her sense of direction and ahead she saw a door which she knew must lead to the back of the house.

Beckoning to Jud, Margo brought him along despite Gail's protests, which only resulted in Jud dragging Gail along too. The precious papers tucked under her arm, Margo went through a swinging door that led into a pantry, then through another into a dining room.

Here, a pair of lighted candles were glowing on a large table as though in preparation for some gruesome feast. By the dim light, Margo saw two doors and she picked the one which she was sure must lead out to the back. Her guess wasn't entirely right; she'd missed the back door, but what she found was a side door at the end of a little hallway. It was bolted, but in the dim light, Margo coolly unbolted it and gave another beckon to draw Jud and Gail along.

Then, Margo was in the fresh air of a narrow alley that led to the front street. She went that direction, only to drop back startled, as figures rose to meet her. Then, Margo was laughing lightly, happily, when she realized that these were The Shadow's agents, waiting on call.

Margo's laugh became half hysterical as she tried to control it. She wasturning, telling Jud and Gail that everything was all right now, except that neither Jud nor Gail was standing there. About her, Margo saw doubtful faces, particularly those of Clyde Burke and Cliff Marsland.

So silent had been the slugging struggle in the thick-walled mansion that none of these watchers had heard a sound. They were wondering if Margo's talk of other people could be a product of her own imagination. Then, Harry Vincent decided to test the question; he went to the door from which Margo had emerged and tried to open it.

That door was now locked from the inside, indicating the impossible; namely, that Margo must have come out through a solid barrier!

There was only one way to disprove that unreality; the way was to pry open the door and go into the house itself. So Harry and the others began that process, finding it difficult considering the strength of the door. Meanwhile Margo stood by in complete disbelief, unable to understand why Jud and Gail hadn't followed her outdoors.

The answer was more astounding than the question. Jud and Gail were still following Margo inside the house, at least so they thought. In the dining room, they'd seen her beckon, not from the rear door but the front. Thinking that Margo knew her way around, they had gone that direction.

Now they were back in the large hall and finding it totally deserted, though its lights had been turned on again. Totally deserted, that was, except for Margo, until Jud and Gail learned that they were wrong on that supposition too. For when the girl in blue turned about, she wasn't Margo Lane.

Blonde hair now showed against the halo hat; cold, steel-gray eyes accompanied the hard smile that belonged to Ilga Vyx. Equally steely was the gun muzzle that covered the former prisoners of Alban Sark, prisoners who had escaped one captor to fall into the hands of another clan.

From corners of the hall arrived two left-overs of the skeleton contingent, men who took immediate charge of Jud and Gail, starting them down by the cellar route, with Ilga bringing up the rear. All during that march, Ilga dealt in hard-toned gibes.

"So Sark thought he would keep you as hostages," declared Ilga. "It's just the other way about. Zune will hold you and make Sark come to terms. Those papers of his mean very little, they don't tell the real story.

"The only thing that matters is if Sark talks. He won't talk now, because he needs your evidence. Besides, he will soon know that we could frame him, now that we have the right people to serve as victims. Ludar will tell Sark that."

They reached the cellar during Ilga's harangue and there Jud saw a sight that he could hardly believe. In the cellar wall was a humpy archway that looked as though some mighty force had compressed the stone up into itself. Nor did the arch stop there. It led in the shape of a long narrow tunnel, in a direction which could only be under the rear street.

"Don't think The Shadow will help you," sneered Ilga, as the skeleton-clad men thrust Jud and Gail through the tunnel. "Our men led him on a wild-goose chase through the connecting cellars of the other houses. They were scheduled to shake off the trail at the end of the block. By the time The Shadow is back, we shall be gone." They were gone as Ilga declared it. Through the tunnel, they had emerged into the cellar of an old house in the rear block, which was one place that neither The Shadow nor his agents would look for them. Jud was just about to ask how Ilga intended to cover up the evidence, when she proved how easily it could be done.

There was a peculiar machine in this old cellar, with wires leading from it to the wall. Ilga pressed a lever, the machine began to quiver. Like misshapen cardboard, the jammed wall began to regain its shape, under the powerful vibration. Stonework settled down in place, all through the tunnel, marking the end of the pressure that had arched it. The whole effect was silent, uncanny in its action.

With Ilga covering the astonished prisoners, the skeleton men packed up their equipment and led the way further through the cellar, where others met them to aid in controlling the captives.

Back in Sark's house, The Shadow's agents had just begun to work the door loose when it opened. A whispered tone ordered silence, then told them to enter.

Margo followed the others, still gripping those papers that Sark had given her, until in the hallway The Shadow took the bundle from her and spoke one word: "Report."

Taking it for granted that The Shadow knew the first part of the story, Margo mentioned the matter of the double disappearance staged by Jud and Gail.

The Shadow sent his agents off to search the house; then, deciding that the cellar required further inspection, he went down there.

At the very rear of the cellar, The Shadow studied the stonework. It looked solid enough, but it bore peculiar traces. It looked as if it had been pounded with sledgehammers, pulverizing some of its surface. Near the bottom, some of the masonry was loose, the component stones twisted a trifle askew.

Yet when The Shadow tested those stones, he found that he couldn't budge any of them. Nothing short of an earthquake shock or the force of some terrific explosive could have caused that result. This was something that even a scientific mind would doubt, or perhaps attribute it to some peculiar tremor due to a flaw in the ground stratum. The Shadow had a scientific mind, but he was gifted with imagination too.

Instead of doubting, The Shadow laughed. His tone was grim, mirthless, as it echoed its strange whispers through the low-roofed cellar.

Things from the past were explaining themselves by the present and from them, The Shadow was gauging the future. What that future held for Jud Mayhew and Gail North, was a very doubtful question.

Nevertheless, The Shadow had a way to solve it. That way was to play two strange and singular personalities each against the other: Alban Sark versus Tanjor Zune.

The Shadow knew!

CHAPTER XIII.

PHILO BRENZ strummed his big desk and studied Lamont Cranston very speculatively. His gray eyes were troubled and Brenz was showing the broad, grim expression that went with a worried mood. "I don't like it, Cranston," Brenz insisted. "Young Mayhew wouldn't have forgotten his appointment today. Something has happened to him."

Cranston shrugged as though the matter were unimportant. That brought a sudden outburst from Brenz.

"You were the last person to see him," reminded Brenz in a half-accusing tone. "To some degree the responsibility is yours, Cranston."

"No more than yours," returned Cranston, calmly. "I was still here when Mayhew left."

Thinking a moment, Brenz nodded.

"So you were," he recalled. Then, his mood becoming hopeless, he added: "What could have happened to Jud? Do you think" - a sparkle came suddenly to Brenz's eyes - "could that North girl have had anything to do with Jud's disappearance?"

"Very possibly," declared Cranston. "It might be a good idea to question her."

That brought a snort from Brenz. "Try to find her first!" he a.s.serted.

"Here, Cranston, look at these reports!"

The reports were from various private detective agencies and they covered not only Gail North but Alban Sark. The word "covered" was hardly correct, however, because the facts that the reports gave were too slim to be of much account.

Gail had been tabbed chiefly when she went to visit her father, Townsend North, who was at present in a private sanitarium recuperating from a nervous breakdown. Sark had been checked only on those rare occasions when he showed himself in towns like Stanwich or appeared openly but briefly in New York.

None of the private operatives hired by Brenz had begun to penetrate to the question of Tanjor Zune. As for Sark's residence, scene of last night's fantastic combat and another disappearance of the princ.i.p.als concerned, Brenz's investigators hadn't even learned that such a place existed.

Their reports dealt with the same old matter of contracts, a subject on which Brenz knew more than they did. There wasn't a single fact pointing to anything deeper, unless the general ignorance of the reports could be so interpreted.

"Phone me later this afternoon," suggested Brenz, as Cranston prepared to leave. "Perhaps we may have learned something by then."

"Why say 'we' when Mayhew will report to you?"

"Because Jud is covering every angle of the case," explained Brenz, "and you are one of the angles, Cranston."

"I suppose I am," conceded Cranston with a slight smile. "I just hadn't looked at it that way. Among other things, I was in Stanwich when things fell apart there."

"Exactly. You are a bit of a mystery man in your own right, Cranston. Now that I've put the case in Jud's hands, he may think that by checking on someone like yourself, he may gain a lead to Sark if the fellow should still be alive.