The Shadow - The Key Part 1

THE KEY.

Maxwell Grant.

CHAPTER I. HALF A MILLION.

"HALF a million dollars!"

The speaker, a bluff-faced man with angry eyes, brought his fist upon the table with an emphatic stroke.

The action brought solemn looks from the others gathered in the conference room. Silence followed.

"A paltry half million!" With this surprising modification of his first statement, the bluff-faced man arose to tower above his companions at the table. "Upon that sum depends the success of our entire enterprise.

Mind you, gentlemen, investments of more than fifty millions are at stake unless we can acquire that money!"

New silence. Perplexed, troubled looks appeared upon the faces of the executives who were gathered at the table. The bluff-faced man studied his companions. He noted that certain latecomers to the conference were looking for an explanation. He gave it.

"Let me repeat the situation," declared the speaker. "I, Charles Curshing, am president of the Dilgin Refining Corporation. Our company and its subsidiaries are engaged in destructive compet.i.tion with the Crux Oil Company. If this fight keeps on, one concern is bound to fail; and the finish of the conflict willinevitably draw the other into bankruptcy with it.

"There is only one hope of avoiding this catastrophe. That is for us, the directors of the Dilgin Corporation, to acquire a controlling interest in the Crux Company within the next sixty days. Such action will preserve both concerns; but we must not sacrifice any of our present holdings.

"We require a total of ten million dollars to swing the deal. By pressing every available spring, I have arranged to obtain to within a half million dollars of that sum. The limit has been reached. Unless we can manipulate the half million, my efforts will be to no avail. We will be unable to negotiate for Crux control before the deadline has been reached."

"How about Torrence Dilgin?"

The inquiry came from a man near the foot of the conference table. It brought a grim smile from Charles Curshing. Leaning forward on the table, the president spoke in a confidential tone.

"Torrence Dilgin," he stated, "is a wealthy man. He was the founder of our corporation. Retired, he is living in Rio de Janeiro. It would be logical to suppose that Torrence Dilgin would aid us in this crisis. It is also natural that I would have looked to him for such a.s.sistance.

"I communicated with Torrence Dilgin. I did not over-emphasize the present situation, because I did not choose to alarm him. Torrence Dilgin is past eighty, gentlemen. He is enjoying the twilight of his career.

This grand old man responded to my cautious inquiry. His letter told me that his estate is in the keeping of a New York attorney, who is with us here to-night. Let me introduce him: Lester Dorrington."

DIRECTORS shifted in their chairs as a tall, cadaverous man arose at the side of the table. Lester Dorrington was a prominent New York attorney; one noted for his skill in handling criminal cases. It was something of a surprise to learn that Dorrington, who specialized in defending men charged with heavy crimes, was the attorney whom old Torrence Dilgin had chosen as manager of his estate.

There was magnetism in Dorrington's personality. Keen eyes gave light to a face that was almost expressionless. A man of fifty odd years, Dorrington had gained the steady persuasion that characterizes the successful criminal lawyer. Though his manner was quiet, it brought a dominating effect. The conference room was hushed as this pallid, cold-lipped attorney bowed in response to the chairman's introduction.

"Upon his retirement from active business," announced Dorrington, "Torrence Dilgin conferred upon me the honor and trust of handling his affairs. I have followed his instructions to the full. His will is in my keeping.

"This crisis in the affairs of the Dilgin Corporation has brought an inquiry regarding the total amount of Torrence Dilgin's holdings. Despite the fact that your president, Charles Curshing, has summoned me here at Torrence Dilgin's order, there are certain privileges which I must exert as custodian of Torrence Dilgin's private possessions.

"I cannot, for instance, announce the size of Torrence Dilgin's estate. That would be unfair to my client. I can, however, state the nature of his a.s.sets. Gentlemen, Torrence Dilgin's estate consists entirely of stock in Dilgin Corporation and a.s.sociated enterprises, with the exception of certain trust funds that cannot be touched.

"Mr. Curshing has stated that it would be unwise to utilize any Dilgin Corporation securities in the acquisition of the needed half million. His point is well chosen: any use of such stocks would injure the standing of your enterprises. Mr. Curshing's own decision automatically makes it impossible for TorrenceDilgin to aid you with half a million dollars."

Pained hush resumed sway when Dorrington ceased speaking. The tall lawyer sat down, his face expressionless as before. The last ray of hope had flickered. It was Curshing, however, who revived it.

"One possibility remains," stated the corporation president. "Mr. Dorrington has given us a clear statement of Torrence Dilgin's holdings. We know that Torrence Dilgin is living upon the interest from his investments in Dilgin Corporation.

"Torrence Dilgin, therefore, has as much to lose as any of us- more in fact-should Dilgin Corporation fail. If he is properly informed of this crisis, he will certainly rally to our aid, if possible."

"But his holdings are frozen," came an objection. "According to Mr. Dorrington-"

"Mr. Dorrington," interposed Curshing, "has spoken only of Torrence Dilgin's known a.s.sets. Why should we presume that the grand old man now in Rio de Janeiro has placed all of his holdings in Mr.

Dorrington's keeping? Torrence Dilgin was a financial genius. It was never his policy to carry eggs in a single basket-"

Curshing paused. A buzz of acknowledgment was coming from the directors. The corporation president had hit home. All could visualize the possibility. Torrence Dilgin-multimillionaire-might well have some large amount of money tucked aside for old-age emergency.

The buzz subsided as Curshing raised his hands for silence. Dorrington, his own statement ended, was sitting like a statue. On the opposite side of the table, however, was a keen-faced, middle-aged man whose dark eyes were staring toward Curshing from beneath close-knot brows. It was to this individual that Curshing turned.

"Gentlemen," suggested the president, "let us hear from our own attorney, Edwin Berlett."

THE heavy-browed man arose. Stocky, of middle height, his face square and dark-skinned, Edwin Berlett was a man of action. As a lawyer, he formed a marked contrast to Lester Dorrington, whom he faced. There was a tinge of irony in his voice.

"Gentlemen," said Berlett, firmly, "I represent the Dilgin Corporation. I owe much to Torrence Dilgin. He and I were close friends. Mr. Curshing is right. Torrence Dilgin did not carry his eggs in one basket.

"For instance: he raised me to the position of attorney for the Dilgin Corporation. But when he came to arrange his private affairs, he chose a man whose selection came as a surprise to me, namely: Lester Dorrington.

"Such was always Torrence Dilgin's way, so far as people were concerned. But Torrence Dilgin has another peculiarity. When he trusts any person, he does so to the full extent. Having chosen Dorrington as his own attorney, he would give him entire capacity to act. Therefore, I feel positive that Dorrington has given us a statement of all the a.s.sets which Torrence Dilgin possesses. In my opinion, it would be useless to approach Torrence Dilgin for aid."

"You're wrong, Berlett!" The challenge came from Curshing. "The very fact that Dorrington was chosen out of a clear sky to handle Torrence Dilgin's estate shows that there may be more to this matter.

"You, Berlett, are going to Rio. You are to see Torrence Dilgin. You are to state our case. As president of the Dilgin Corporation, I impose this duty upon you."

"The trip will be useless." "Not in my opinion."

"It will mean a large fee if I go."

"We shall pay it."

Berlett shrugged his shoulders as he resumed his chair. He seemed to take Curshing's words at discount.

The president, however had won the support of the directors.

"I have cabled Torrence Dilgin," declared Curshing, in a decisive tone. "In my message, I told him that you are on your way to Rio. You will leave today, Berlett, by plane."

"At what time?" questioned the lawyer, indignantly.

"Two o'clock this afternoon," returned Curshing. "I sent the cable two days ago. Remember, Berlett, this corporation holds the privilege of calling upon your entire services at any time. We are exerting that privilege right now."

Approval came from the directors. Hearing their audible expression of unanimous agreement with Curshing, Berlett submitted. He smiled sourly as he arose from his chair.

"Very well, gentlemen," he declared. "I must leave you and return to my office. I shall have to hurry to arrange my own affairs and prepare for my trip -"

"You will meet me here at half past twelve," ordered Charles Curshing, as the lawyer started for the door. "It is ten o'clock now, Mr. Berlett."

As Berlett pa.s.sed out through the door, Curshing waved his arms as a signal for adjournment.

Approaching Lester Dorrington, Curshing shook hands with the cadaverous lawyer and thanked him for his statement. He ushered Dorrington out through the offices of the Dilgin Refining Corporation.

AS soon as he had left Curshing, Dorrington permitted himself to smile. The twist that appeared upon his pale lips was a knowing one. It still existed, half an hour later, when Dorrington appeared in his own offices.

Standing in a private room, amid heavy, expensive furnishings of mahogany, Lester Dorrington stared from the window as he surveyed the steplike skyline of Manhattan. He was thinking of the events that had taken place at the directors' meeting.

Moving to a corner of his office, Dorrington brought a telephone from a little cabinet. This was a private line-one that was not connected with the switchboard in Dorrington's suite. The lawyer dialed. He heard a whiny voice across the wire.

"h.e.l.lo, Squeezer," began the cadaverous man, in a cautious tone. "This is Mr. Dorrington... Yes. From my office in the Bylend Building... Yes, a job for you... Go to 918 Hopewell Building. Trail Edwin Berlett, the lawyer... He's going out from Newark airport at two o'clock... Right..."

Dorrington hung up the receiver. He paused thoughtfully, smiled in dry fashion, then decided to call another number. It was plain that Lester Dorrington was deeply interested in the affairs of Edwin Berlett.

THE situation, however, was mutual. While Dorrington was telephoning from his office in the Bylend Building, Edwin Berlett, seated at his desk in room 918, Hopewell Building, was also busy on the wire.

Berlett had arrived at his office fifteen minutes earlier. "h.e.l.lo..." Berlett's tone was keen. "Yes... You'll take care of everything... That's right... Through the proper parties. Be sure that the messages are sent. Very good, Morgan.

"When everything is done, keep an eye on Lester Dorrington, 2416 Bylend Building... That's right...

No... Nothing more. I'm all finished. Ready to leave..."

Berlett's lips wore a hard smile as the receiver clattered on the hook. The stocky attorney was ready to leave for Rio. He had placed his affairs in order. He was starting upon a mission that Charles Curshing believed would involve half a million dollars.

Why did Lester Dorrington mistrust Edwin Berlett? Why, in turn, did the corporation attorney decide that the criminal lawyer would bear watching? What sinister factors were involved in the affairs of Torrence Dilgin?

No one could have gained an inkling of the actual suspicions from either of those poker faces. Dorrington and Berlett were cagey men, of long experience. Each had preserved complete composure during the directors' meeting. Only when alone and apart, outside the conference room, had they shown their individual craftiness.

Half a million dollars seemed the sum at stake. It had loomed as probably the issue of Edwin Berlett's coming trip to Rio. But the actions of the two crafty lawyers indicated that more lay in the balance.

Hidden schemes; vast sums; the lives of unsuspecting men-such were the factors in the coming game.

Charles Curshing, honest president of Dilgin Corporation, had unwittingly touched the spark that was to loose a blast of evil!

CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW ENTERS.

NIGHT in Manhattan. The glare of the metropolis cast a flickering glow upon the walls of ma.s.sive buildings. Light, reflected from the sullen sky, gave artificial dusk to silent offices that would otherwise have been filled with inky blackness.

A blackened figure was moving through the gloom of a long corridor. Like a phantom of darkness, the mysterious shape approached a door and paused, crouching. Dully, words showed upon the gla.s.s panel of the barrier: INTERNATIONAL.

IMPORT COMPANY.

A soft laugh shuddered in the corridor. The phantom shade came close to the door. Soft clicks sounded as a blackened hand worked upon the lock. The barrier gave. Entering the office of the International Import Company, the gliding figure straightened as it neared the window. Momentarily, it was revealed as a form clad in flowing cloak, with head topped by a dark slouch hat.

The Shadow!

Weird prowler of the night, strange adventurer whose paths were those of danger, this sinister visitor had come with some known purpose to the office of the International Import Company. He had picked the lock of the door; his next design would soon be evident.

For The Shadow was a master who battled crime. A lone wolf amid the towers of Manhattan, a traveling, living phantom who could fade into unseen hiding places, a fierce, ready warrior who could spring into view with the same startling rapidity, The Shadow had chosen a career that meant death tocrooks.

His presence in this office could mean but one thing. The Shadow had come to forestall crime. A master investigator, aided by capable agents who did his bidding, The Shadow had a remarkable ability for ferreting out the truth in evil schemes. Crookery was afoot tonight. The Shadow was ahead of it.

Gliding from the window, The Shadow reached a corner where the heavy door of a vault showed dimly in the gloom. While distant electric signs brought dull flickers to the office, The Shadow's flashlight directed a steady beam upon the combination. His right hand held the torch; his left, ungloved, was working with a k.n.o.b. A sparkling gem-The Shadow's girasol-glittered changing hues amid the light.

THE SHADOW'S touch was uncanny. A soft laugh came from above the flashlight. The left hand slipped into its thin black glove. The same hand drew open the door of the vault. In the s.p.a.ce of half a dozen minutes, The Shadow had solved the combination.

A locked gate showed within. The Shadow made short work of it. He found the combination of this second barrier. He stepped into the vault. The flashlight glimmered upon metal drawers set in the wall.

Suddenly, the light clicked out.

Swishing toward the front of the vault, The Shadow drew the outer door shut. This done, he softly closed the metal gate. Dropping to the rear of the vault, he crouched in Stygian darkness. His keen ears had told him of approaching footsteps in the outer corridor.

The Shadow had acted with swift precision. Less than five seconds after the big door of the vault had closed, a key clicked in the office door. Two men entered. One crossed the room and drew the shades.

The other then turned on the office light.

"Open the vault, Hurnor," ordered the man who had gone to the windows.

"All right, Frenchy," replied the other, in a cautious tone. He strode across the room, turned the combination and drew back the heavy door. He paused, with hand upon the inner gate.

"Ready?" he asked.

"No," returned "Frenchy." "Just wanted to make sure your vault was locked. We'll wait for Lapone."

The interior of the vault was blackened, hence The Shadow was invisible to the men in the office. They, however, were plainly in view to The Shadow. Keen eyes that stared from beneath the hat brim were studying the waiting men.

One, a bald-headed man of portly build; was Cyrus Hurnor, who owned the International Import Company. The other was Frenchy Duprez, a crook known in Europe as well as America; a man who had cunningly evaded the law by scampering from one continent to the other when places became too hot for him.

"Worried, Hurnor?" Frenchy laughed in grating tone. "You don't need to be. Lapone and I have been behaving. We're supposed to be has-beens so far as crooked work is concerned."

"But both of you were in wrong-"

"A year ago. They thought we had a lot of stolen rocks on us. That's when we unloaded the swag to you for safe keeping. Don't worry about Lapone and me. We're ace high right now. I've got a clean bill of health in Europe; he has the same in South America. We're going back where we belong. You'll get your cut when we fence the stuff. It's cold now-those jewels have been forgotten in a year." Hurnor nodded. His doubts were fading. His face, however, showed one last qualm.

"But you come here at night," he protested. "That means that you think some one may know-"

"I'm taking no chances," interposed Frenchy, "and neither is Lapone. I don't think any one is on my trail; neither does Lapone. I called him at noon to-day."

"Was that necessary? I thought you arranged this meeting last night."