The Shadow - Death's Bright Finger Part 10

The key in Harry's grasp fitted the ignition lock. In an instant, he had the motor softly purring.

He waited until the fleeing automobile of Dawn Recd swerved around the corner into the avenue. It was important that Dawn must not realize she was being trailed. The Shadow wanted to know where the bag was being taken; whom Dawn expected to meet.

Vincent drove around the corner at a slow pace. But he speeded up as he turned into the avenue. Dawn was racing uptown at a fast clip. Vincent followed her doggedly, keeping enough s.p.a.ce between the two cars to mask his pursuit.

Nighthawk taxis were numerous enough to enable Vincent to do some smart trailing.

Dawn Reed was unaware that she was being followed. She thought Vincent had been strangled to death.

She had seen The Shadow in mortal battle with another thug.

She gave a choked sigh of relief as she sped northward through Manhattan. She noticed that her gas gauge registered a full tank. No need to stop. She knew that she would have to travel quite a bit tonight before she reached her goal in another state.

She didn't, however, realize a dreadful fact. Dawn was carrying death along with her! In her own car!

Vincent, driving doggedly a couple of blocks behind, didn't realize this either. He had no way of knowing that a man lay crouched in the rear luggage compartment of Dawn's car. A tall man. A man with cold, pa.s.sionate eyes.

The Light!

The Light had not expected defeat in the attempt of his henchmen to steal that enormously valuable bag of gems. But he had, nevertheless, insured against defeat. The Light was a master criminal with many strings to his bow.

He opened the lid of the trunk carrier gently, as Dawn's car raced northward. Only a tiny crack showed.

It was wide enough for a hand and arm to project. A parked car stood at the avenue curb, pointing north. A sleepy-looking driver sat hunched over the wheel. He wasn't the only driver that the Light had stationed in readiness, but he was the one who saw the urgent signal of the Light.

His car jerked ahead. It didn't move too fast. The driver crowded on speed only after the car of Harry Vincent pa.s.sed him.

It was a double chase now. Vincent after Dawn--the unknown driver after Vincent!

Harry Vincent realized it almost instantly. His nerves were taut. A quick glance in his rear-vision mirror told him what was up.

But a moment later, Harry relaxed. He decided that his suspicion of danger was wrong. The car behind him made a sudden turn. It couldn't have been chasing Harry, because it abandoned the chase. It turned westward and vanished along a side street, leaving Harry completely in the clear.

Or so Harry thought!

His eye and his attention had been diverted by a familiar trick. Watch one hand--miss the other one!

The other hand was another car. It rounded into the avenue from the east while Harry was still gazing at his mirror to watch the car that had vanished toward the west.

Again, Harry was under surveillance. But this time, he missed the trick. He was driving through a congested section now, with considerably more traffic. Dawn's car turned left. She was heading across town toward the West Side. Vincent had to keep every bit of his attention centered on her taillight, to make sure he didn't lose her in the tortuous turns she was making.

He began to suspect where Dawn was heading. The trail led straight up Broadway, now--farther and farther into the region of Washington Heights.

Was Dawn making a swift race tonight to New Jersey? Was the spidery shape of the George Washington Bridge across the Hudson her first goal?

It was: THE car of the night-club singer shot through a cross street and took the ramp to the bridge over the Hudson. Dawn paused only for an instant at the toll gate on the New Jersey side, then she was off again through a maze of connecting highways that fanned out ahead in the darkness.

It was tough going for Harry. Tougher, too, to keep his own presence a secret from the fleeing girl in the car ahead. But Dawn Reed was as ignorant of Vincent's pursuit as Vincent was of the criminal car that was so cleverly trailing him!

There was traffic enough on these black-glazed highways to mix things up nicely. Suburbanites on the way home from late parties in Manhattan kept the darkness winking confusedly with their crimson taillights.

Presently, Dawn's car made an abrupt left turn around a clover-leaf intersection. She was off the main highway now, heading toward what might turn out to be any one of a dozen small and highly respectable New Jersey communities.

Harry hung on like a leech. So did the unknown thug of the Light in the sedan behind Harry's.

IN the darkness of the apartment cellar from which Vincent had raced away so swiftly, the laughter of The Shadow held a note of triumph. But there was a note of annoyance in it, too.

The two captured gunmen of the Light were out of action. Roped and gagged, they lay like billets of wood alongside the dim, whitewashed wall of the cellar.

The Shadow faced a dilemma. He was eager to transfer these captives to his laboratory for questioning.

But The Shadow also wanted to make swift contact with Dawn Reed at whatever place Harry Vincent should succeed in trailing her.

Faced with a double choice, The Shadow chose the latter.

It would have been difficult, anyhow, to remove the two thugs from the apartment house cellar without a car. And Vincent was miles away now, with the car in which The Shadow had arrived.

The Shadow carried his two prisoners farther back into the dimness of the cellar. Then, with a swift step, he glided up stone steps to the sidewalk outside. When he emerged, he was in his familiar role of Lamont Cranston.

He hurried on foot to an all-night garage not too far from the neighborhood of Dawn's apartment house.

Time was important. The Shadow needed both a car and an opportunity to make a swift phone call.

It didn't take him long to achieve both desires. The garage manager was prompt and respectful when Lamont Cranston introduced himself. While a car was being readied for him, The Shadow murmured a polite excuse. He made a phone call in complete privacy.

"Burbank speaking," a voice said crisply.

The Shadow relayed a swift order. The order was for Moe Shrevnitz. It might take a little time for Burbank to locate Moe and his taxicab. But Moe could be depended upon to handle his a.s.signment as soon as he got the orders.

A short time later, a small truck appeared outside the delivery entrance to the bas.e.m.e.nt of Dawn Reed's apartment house. It was a covered truck, with no sign painted on its sleek sides.

The driver sprang down from his seat. He lifted the hood of the engine, began to tinker as if something had gone wrong with the motor. But his beady eyes kept glancing alternately up and down the dark street.

Suddenly, he began whistling a popular tune. From inside the covered truck, another man emerged. He darted swiftly across the deserted sidewalk and down the cellar steps.

The man on the sidewalk dropped his hand casually near his hip. He didn't want any trouble. But if it came, he was ready to shoot to kill.

He and his pal in the cellar were old hands at a job like this. Both were henchmen of the Light!

Presently, the thug who had disappeared hurried out with a man on his back. He tossed his unconscious burden swiftly into the rear of the covered truck. An instant later, he was back in the cellar. The second captive of The Shadow joined his rescued pal in the truck a moment later.

The truck's ailing engine seemed to be all right now! It was driven quietly away.

Not more than ten minutes afterwards, Moe Shrevnitz arrived in his taxi. His face was grim. He raced into the cellar, after first making sure that he was un.o.bserved.

He found his "birds" had flown. The spot where The Shadow had warned Moe to look was empty except for slashed cords and wadded gags that had been tossed into a dark corner.

Moe's race to obey The Shadow's orders had been in vain. Henchmen of the Light had received a quicker warning.

THE SHADOW was unaware of this sinister development. In the role of Lamont Cranston, he was speeding swiftly downtown in the car he had rented. He drove toward an exclusive neighborhood on the East Side.

Skysc.r.a.per apartments fringed a small private park at the edge of the East River. It was a neighborhood of people of wealth. The proof of that wealth was a private anchorage beyond a river float that was connected with the terraced edge of the East River by a long ramp.

Half a dozen beautiful express cruisers were tied up near the float. There were also one or two infinitely swifter craft. Seaplanes!

One of these seaplanes belonged to Lamont Cranston. At the controls of the motionless plane waited a man who had infinite experience in sky travel under all kinds of conditions.

His name was Miles Crofton. He was the confidential pilot of The Shadow. His duty was to take over the controls of the big sea bird whenever events made it inexpedient for The Shadow to pilot the aircraft himself.

The Shadow didn't board his plane immediately. He addressed a few swift words to Crofton. Then he retreated to the terraced edge of the river, where there was a telephone.

The Shadow was waiting for a call from Burbank. Burbank could relay a message from the vanished Harry Vincent as soon as Harry could run Dawn Reed to earth.

Tonight, The Shadow sensed more than ordinary crime. He sensed a new move by his personal and unknown enemy, the Light. He could almost smell death in the air.

He waited tensely for the expected message from Burbank. It would start him on an aerial race against time!

CHAPTER XI. DEATH IN DARKNESS.

HARRY VINCENT was beginning to get tired. It was a nerve-racking task to keep Dawn's car in sight and yet remain out of sight himself.

Dawn seemed to be heading for the Ramapo Mountains of northern New Jersey. She had left the Hudson River far behind, and was now on a State road that wound through a region of pine and spruce.

Vincent had a hunch that the night-club singer was getting fairly close to her goal.

Suddenly, a sharp right-hand turn in the road showed the tree-lined street of a small village. Vincent didn't swing around the turn when he got there. An inner instinct warned him to be careful. He stopped his car and sneaked up to the intersection on foot. Dawn Reed had halted her car close to a tree-shaded curb. She was staring backward, watching the turn of the road.

Vincent thought the chase was ended. But Dawn's actions proved otherwise. After watching for nearly five minutes from beneath the gloom of the huge oaks, Dawn stepped again on the gas.

Vincent followed her as soon as he dared.

She was on a dirt road that curved tortuously. Harry had to keep well behind. All he was using was his parking lights, but even their feeble glow was dangerous. He pa.s.sed dozens of other dirt lanes, radiating off into the leafy darkness on both sides of the road. It would have been impossible to stick to the trail of the invisible car ahead, had it not been for the dirt road itself.

Some time earlier tonight it had rained out here. The rain had dappled the surface. Fresh tire marks were easily distinguished.

Vincent turned presently. As he entered a gloomy lane, he doused his parking lights, and drove in total darkness up a long grade. Soon he faced a dilemma. He had either to shift gears, or halt.

Harry chose the latter. He ran his car off the lane into a thicket of overhanging branches. Ahead of him he could no longer hear the faint throb of Dawn's car. He suspected she had reached her goal.

Advancing cautiously through the underbrush, Harry soon caught a glimpse of a house. It looked fairly substantial, the sort of dwelling owned by people of means.

Harry wondered if Dawn owned it. Other names flicked through his puzzled mind. Peter Bascom, who seemed to have plenty of money.

Carl Trevor. A popular band leader like Trevor certainly had money enough to support such a place.

Nor did Vincent forget George Stoker, the shrewd lawyer, who up until recently had been the mouthpiece for Flash Snark.

A moment later, Vincent could see the girl. Dawn had parked her car in the curved driveway in front of the house. She was unlocking the front door. The jewel ease was still gripped in her hand. She vanished inside.

Harry was on the point of leaving his concealment, when he suddenly stiffened. His gaze had moved from the house toward the empty car that Dawn had left.

The lid of the trunk carrier at the rear was lifting!

Through a narrow crack, the hand of a hidden man projected. The hand seemed to be pointing directly at Harry Vincent. He felt his scalp crawl, until he realized that he couldn't be seen. The finger was pointing beyond him, toward some spot down the black lane.

Suddenly, the finger seemed to glow. A ray of light projected. It looked milky, like a dim moonbeam.

Harry, forewarned by The Shadow, waited grimly for the beam to change to dazzling silver.

But the glow remained feeble. In a moment it vanished. The finger and the hand slid back into the trunk carrier.

The Light!

VINCENT'S heart turned to ice as he realized the magnitude of the task that now confronted him. TheLight intended to get hold of that bag of Dawn's. The Shadow had entrusted Harry with the task. Now Harry was pitted against a master criminal--to say nothing of the Light's unseen henchmen!

That signal down the black lane warned Harry that he, too, had been trailed!

He retreated through the underbrush. Moving cautiously, he circled the house. He emerged again close to the mansion, at a point directly opposite where the Light lay hidden.

Soon Harry found what he was seeking--a cellar window close to the dark turf. He forced it open with only a tiny sound, and dropped cautiously to the blackness of the cellar pavement.

He didn't dare waste too much time. Killers were creeping closer from the lane. Perhaps already the thugs of the Light were listening grimly to a hidden voice whispering death orders.

Vincent crept up cellar steps to the ground floor, of the silent house. He made a cautious, painstaking search. But he found no trace of Dawn. The pretty night-club singer had vanished!

Harry didn't miss a spot from cellar to roof. He even flashed his torch around the enclosed s.p.a.ce of the attic. It was useless.

He descended to the living room. A telephone stood on a carved table near a paneled wall. He picked up the instrument and whispered a secret number. Almost instantly, a voice replied: "Burbank speaking."

To Burbank, Vincent dictated a swift report for the ears of The Shadow.

"Stand by," Burbank said.

It was an unusual reply. It meant that Burbank was in communication now with both Vincent and The Shadow. New orders would be transmitted at once. Harry waited, his face turned to watch for some hint of peril in the silent darkness of the house. Suddenly, the voice of Burbank came over the wire. Harry listened; he repeated his instructions. He knew now why The Shadow had supplied him with a certain dangerous little spherical object. The Shadow wanted Harry on the roof.

Vincent hung up the phone, turned toward the dark staircase. But before he could advance a step, he heard a clicking sound. He whirled. As he did so, a section of the paneled wall in the living room began to move. It pivoted swiftly. Through the opening darted a woman's figure.

It was Dawn Reed!

It was a complete surprise to both of them. Vincent recoiled, Dawn gave, a quick gasp.

She was holding the jewel bag in her left hand. Her other hand lay close to the shapely line of her thigh. It lifted swiftly with a gun. Her finger jerked at the trigger.