The Shadow - The Devil's Partner Part 8

"Beat it," Swade told him jovially. "You've got to be home in time to receive your invitation."

"It won't be long now!" Kilby chuckled.

LAMONT CRANSTON was playing a game of pool in the beautifully paneled billiard room at Jonah Minter's Long Island estate.

Minter himself was Cranston's opponent.

The game was going slowly. Cranston took plenty of time on each shot. That was odd, because Cranston was an excellent player. It didn't usually take him long to polish off a game with a few brilliantly executed runs.

This evening, however, it suited him to drag things.

Kilby and Swade were in the billiard room, apparently enjoying the game. It was merely pretense.

Inwardly, they were both cursing Lamont Cranston. They wanted to get rid of him.

Ever since their arrival that morning, they had sought in vain for a private talk with their host. The Shadow had foiled that hope. He had clung to Minter's presence like a leech. On the golf course, inside the mansion, The Shadow was constantly at Minter's side.

Now in the soft light of the billiard room, with the darkness dense and black in the wooded grounds outside, The Shadow sensed the growing urge on the part of Kilby and Swade to get rid of him.

Events were sharpening toward a climax. Something ugly was in the wind. The Shadow divined that this quiet billiard room destined to play a part in a sly conspiracy secretly prepared against a deluded victim. Crooks hadn't counted on Lamont Cranston's presence in this billiard room tonight. He had led them to expect otherwise, by excusing himself earlier. Then he had hurried back and picked up a cue.

"A slow game," Swade murmured.

"Almost time for bed," Kilby cut in with a yawn.

Cranston shot the last three b.a.l.l.s into the pool table's meshed pockets. Before Minter could rack his cue, The Shadow challenged him to another game.

The Shadow knew more now of the hidden worry of his two fellow guests. He had caught an occasional side flick of their eyes. Both seemed secretly concerned about one of the mesh pockets of the pool table.

Cranston made sure that he was the one who withdrew the b.a.l.l.s to triangle them on the table for the next game. He did so quickly.

Slyly, The Shadow withdrew something else besides a ball from one of the pockets. It was in the pocket at which Kilby and Swade had inadvertently glanced.

It lay at the very bottom of the mesh - a small piece of folded paper.

The Shadow didn't try to read that palmed sc.r.a.p of paper at once. He ran a few b.a.l.l.s, then turned away to allow Minter to play. While Minter was shooting, The Shadow chalked his cue. It gave him an opportunity to read the cleverly palmed message.

What he saw brought a grim coldness to his heart. But his face remained bland. He continued to play the game, with an occasional bit of idle chat to the others.

Presently, he was able to replace the palmed paper. It went back into the same pocket of the pool table without either Kilby or Swade being the wiser.

Lamont Cranston's luck changed at once. His cue sent the colored b.a.l.l.s flicking out of sight one after another. The game was soon over.

This time, it was The Shadow who yawned.

"Well, gentlemen? Shall we call it an evening?"

Jonah Minter looked embarra.s.sed. He was eager to see Cranston go, but he didn't want to go along with him.

The crafty Swade came to hits a.s.sistance.

"I haven't had a chance at the cues all evening. How about one last game with me, Minter? Kilby, would you like to stay and watch?"

"For a short while," Kilby said.

"I'll toddle to the library for a while," Cranston said. "I simply must make some notes from that splendid book on rifle construction that I was delighted to find on your shelves, Minter. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Minter stammered. "Pellman will bring you writing materials. Just ring for him." THE SHADOW departed. He found the library exactly suited to his convenience. At one end, close to a recessed window, was a shallow alcove with a table. Nearby was an ornamental screen.

The Shadow moved the screen closer to the table. He placed it in such a way that it seemed to give him added privacy. What it actually did was to cut off a view of the window from the doorway of the room.

Ringing for Pellman, The Shadow pointed carelessly to the volume he had drawn from a shelf, asked for pen and paper.

"I am going to make some notes."

"Very good, Mr. Cranston," Pellman said.

He departed quickly, returned in a moment. Cranston yawned sleepily.

"Oh, by the way, I wish you'd present my apologies to Mr. Minter. Tell him that I'm quite tired, and that as soon as I finish a half hour or so of note-taking, I shall retire to bed. Tell Mr. Minter and the other guests that I shall join them at breakfast in the morning. You'll find them in the billiard room."

"Very good, sir," Pellman said. He left the room, closing the door softly to insure privacy.

Lamont Cranston waited a moment, then he left the screened alcove for another part of the dimly lit library. He vanished for possibly sixty seconds. When his figure reappeared, he had ceased being Lamont Cranston. He had changed to the black-robed personality of The Shadow.

The window of the library lifted quietly. The Shadow slipped noiselessly over the sill and dropped to the dark turf below. It was a short jump. The library was on the ground floor of the mansion. The Shadow left the window open. The alcove screen hid that fact from within.

Threading a swift, soundless path through the shrubbery that flanked the side of the house, The Shadow reentered Minter's Long Island mansion by another window. He was now in the private study of his host.

He didn't turn on any lights. In the darkness of the room, a tiny beam of brilliance glowed briefly. It came from a flashlight hardly any thicker in diameter than a pencil. It pointed toward a corner of the room, moved quickly across the metal expanse of a safe. Then it blinked out.

In darkness, The Shadow approached the safe.

He was anxious to have a look at the contents of that safe. The note he had found in the pocket of the pool table had told The Shadow an ugly fact. Money that Jonah Minter had collected to pay an unknown blackmailer was due to be paid tonight!

The Shadow was anxious to discover the exact sum in the safe. He also hoped to find other information.

Shielded by darkness, he made no betraying sounds. Sensitive fingertips and acute hearing were the sole tools employed by The Shadow. He worked carefully with these two coordinated senses. He worked swiftly.

CHAPTER IX. k.n.o.bS MALETTO.

IN the billiard room which Cranston had quitted a few minutes earlier, Jonah Minter and his two guests stared at one another with relief. "I thought we'd never get rid of him," Minter said in a low voice. "Do you think he suspects anything?"

Kilby shook his head.

"Not Cranston. It just pleased his vanity to show what an excellent pocket billiards player he is. It was just normal psychological behavior - a harmless bit of exhibitionism."

Simon Swade was annoyed by this scientific chitchat. "Let's get down to the important business that brought us together. Have you a.s.sembled the cash?"

Minter nodded. "I have fifty thousand dollars in my study safe."

He was pale at the thought of risking so much money, even though he was convinced that by risking it, he was almost certain to capture the unknown blackmailer.

"Wouldn't it be just as good to use sheets of blank paper? Suppose the criminal has figured some smart scheme; and escapes with the money in spite of us?"

"Nonsense!" Swade said.

He flashed Kilby a quick look. The psychoa.n.a.lyst came to his rescue.

"It's much more rational to use the actual cash," Kilby declared. "We can a.s.sume that the blackmailer will expect trickery. Wherever he may instruct you later to leave the money, he will most certainly examine it to make sure no trick has been played on him. No. Actual cash should be used as the bait, in my opinion.

The criminal will then a.s.sume that you are frightened and anxious to avoid trouble. It will make it easier for us to formulate a counter scheme. He will be more easily nabbed."

"That's excellent advice," Swade chimed in. "The main thing is to wait until we hear from the blackmailer."

He smiled at Minter.

"How about one last game of pool? No sense in our getting jittery over something that may not happen at all tonight."

He selected a cue and approached the table. But he didn't clean out the pockets of the b.a.l.l.s that Cranston had left. He allowed Jonah Minter to attend to that. He pretended to be startled by Minter's sudden gasp.

"What's wrong?"

"This!" Minter cried.

He was holding a folded piece of paper. He opened it with a convulsive gesture as Swade and Kilby sprang to his side. One glance at the note, and Minter's face became as white as the paper.

"It's from the blackmailer! It's a demand for the money!"

"Good heavens!" Kilby cried. "Where did you find it?"

"In one of the side pockets."

"How in the world could it have gotten there?" Simon Swade wondered. "Could it have been put there by... Lamont Cranston?" Minter said uneasily. "It seems a crazy thing to say, but Cranston was the last one to remove the b.a.l.l.s."

KILBY chuckled. Noting his slight sideward gesture, Simon Swade walked quickly toward the window of the billiard room.

With the note found, it didn't suit either of these partners to have Minter suspect dirty work inside the mansion. An unknown blackmailer ought to suggest peril from the outside. The scheme of Kilby and Swede depended upon building up that illusion.

Swade's quick exclamation at the window drew attention in that direction.

"Look here!" Swade cried. "The catch of this window is not locked!"

"Obviously the criminal entered before we came to the billiard room," Kilby said. "He's probably hidden somewhere in the grounds at this very moment. Perhaps he may be waiting in the dark lane outside the wall of your estate."

They didn't give their dazed victim a chance to think things over clearly.

"What does the note say?" Swade asked.

It was a grimly definite communication: You were smart to collect the fifty grand as per earlier orders.

Put money in satchel. Leave satchel in hollow tree. You will find tree just inside wall of estate, close to driveway gate. Tree is marked with X in chalk. Drop satchel inside tree at eleven o'clock sharp.

Unlock driveway gate and leave it ajar. Then go back to house. No tricks - or the evidence branding you as bank thief will be mailed promptly to police.

The note was unsigned. It was written with a soft lead pencil.

Minter was badly frightened. The stern countenances of Kilby and Swade rea.s.sured him somewhat.

"If we remain clever and resolute," Kilby said, "it should not be too hard to trap this scoundrel before he gets away with the money. Naturally, Swade and I will be on hand to help nab the criminal."

"Naturally," Swade nodded.

Minter glanced tremulously at his watch.

"It's ten thirty now," he whispered. "We have only half an hour to get ready."

He was eager to plant the money and trap the blackmailer, but a worried thought remained in his mind.

He voiced it: "What about Cranston, gentlemen? He knows nothing of all this. At present, he is in the library taking notes. Suppose he should glance out the window, should notice us sneaking through the grounds? Hemight become curious and join us. He might ruin our chance to capture the criminal."

It was a thought that had already occurred to both Swade and Kilby. But before they could put their quick wits to work to take care of this annoying complication, there was a discreet knock at the billiard-room door.

Pellman entered.

He presented Lamont Cranston's apologies, announced that Cranston planned to retire to his bedroom immediately upon completing his work in the library.

"Thank you," Minter said. "You may go."

As soon as Pellman had departed, Swade spoke quickly.

"Minter is right. We can't afford to take any chances on Cranston b.u.t.ting in on us. I suggest that the best way to make sure that he doesn't interfere, is to intercept him before he goes to bed and slip him a little drug that will insure slumber."

"Excellent!" Kilby whispered.

Jonah Minter approved too. But his puzzled frown remained.

"How can it be done? I don't have any drugs in the house. I never have occasion to keep narcotics on the premises."

"Simple enough," Kilby smiled. "As it happens, I always carry sleeping tablets with me whenever I go on a visit. I suffer from insomnia, you know. I have great difficulty sleeping in strange beds. One of my tablets will take care of Cranston nicely. They're really quite harmless, I a.s.sure you."

"Let's get going," Swade cut in. "Kilby, you hurry to your room. Get one of the tablets. Minter and I will go to the library. We'll intercept Cranston before he has a chance to retire."