The Shadow - The Mask Of Mephisto Part 6

Right then, a phone call wouldn't have found Ken Langdon at home. Behind his outward manner, Ken was a much more jittery person than even The Shadow supposed. With afternoon waning, Ken had decided on a course that was utterly foolish.

Ken had decided to go to police headquarters and talk to Captain Jim Selbert.

How far Ken had taken matters into his own hands, he didn't fullyrealize.

Certainly The Shadow wouldn't have approved this notion, and Ken himself would have later cause to rue it. Nevertheless, Ken's folly in seeking Selbert was counteracted by the luck he had in not finding him.

Not wanting to be disturbed, Selbert had left word to send up the names of any visitors before admitting them to his office. So a detective came in reading Ken's card and announced: "There's a guy named Kenneth Langdon wanting to see you, Captain -"

That was as far as the detective got. Answering a phone call with his other ear, Selbert wheeled to Trenhue, who was sitting in the office.

"It's about Ferrand!" Selbert stormed. "He's pulled a fast one! He's slipped the officers who went along with him and headed off into the bayou country!"

Trouble clouded Trenhue's rather bland face.

"Do you think he can get out of the state, Captain?"

"Get out!" retorted Selbert. "We'll have more work finding him if he stays in! Why a man could hide for weeks among the marshes. There's one chance, though" - appeal strengthened Selbert's tone - "and that's if you could locate Ferrand for us."

Slowly, Trenhue shook his head.

"You wouldn't be going back on a friend," argued Selbert. "Anyway, Ferrand went back on you, mixing in with that Hades Krewe although he knew you were opposed to such organizations."

"I'm not so sure," debated Trenhue. "Every man has a right to his own opinion, and should guide his actions by it."

"Suppose Ferrand is innocent," suggested Selbert. "It will be all the worse if he is hounded and hunted. He'd need a friend to a.s.sure him that we'll give him a fair trial. You're coming with me, Trenhue."

"All right," decided Trenhue, "but I'll have to call my house, so they'll know where I've gone. Maybe if we stop by there we can pick up some of those bayou maps."

"Bayou maps?"

"Yes, old ones that particularly interested Ferrand. I thought once he was going to buy up property down there; that's why I was really surprised when I learned he had sunk money in the Krewe of Hades -"

"Forget the Krewe of Hades," broke in Selbert. "Do your phoning while I'm arranging for a car."

Trenhue had made his phone call by the time Selbert returned. The car was ready, but Jim took time out to see that the office was in order, something that he always did. He noted that the Mephisto costume was hanging in its proper corner, with the grotesque Mask above it. Then Selbert and Trenhue were on their way, with only one slight delaying incident.

Just outside the office door, Selbert ran into a rather haggard young man who had the look of an artist. Whoever he was, Selbert hadn't time to talk to him. All Jim said was: "We'll be back late. Better come around tomorrow. If it's too important to wait, tell it to somebody else."

Good advice if there had been any one else to hear the story. But Selbert's men were going along with him, so Ken Langdon was stranded in the vacant corridor outside the office door that Selbert hadn't locked. Dusk was filling police headquarters which meant that it was getting late, and Ken had a fairly long trip ahead to the Vieux Carre.

So long that Margo Lane reached Ken's studio ahead of him. The reason shewent there was because the telephone didn't answer. When she called information to check on Ken's number, she found he didn't have any. Of course Margo had been calling the number in the little renting office across the patio from Ken's studio, but she didn't know anything about that arrangement.

Thus Margo found herself looking into a tall but not too sizeable studio that contained an imposing statue, towering almost to the ceiling. It was a strange statue, representing a curious, forceful creature with bedraggled hair and tattered robe, tilting forward and staring straight ahead with determination written all over its plaster face.

Wondering what the subject of the statue was, Margo became more intrigued by the problem of how it could be gotten out of the studio. Looking from door to statue and back again, she tried to compare the dimension. Still dubious, Margo gauged the statue again, and then turned to the door, Immediately, the problem changed.

It wasn't a question whether the statue could be safely removed from the studio. It was a question whether Margo Lane would be able to remove herself!

CHAPTER XII.

BLUE-COLD was the revolver muzzle that covered Margo and the violet eyes behind it had acquired something of the same hard cobalt glint. The gun wasn't very big, but it was just the right size for Joan Marcy, the girl who owned the gun and looked as though she knew how to use it.

In miniature, Joan's expression resembled that of the bulky statue. It spelled determination plus.

The door was swinging shut from a flip of Joan's free hand. As it slammed, the blonde stepped forward, warily keeping enough range to hold Margo entirely helpless. Then, in a calm, decisive contralto, Joan spoke her piece.

"Coincidences just don't happen twice," declared Joan. "That goes for a certain Mr. Cranston and yourself. Or should I call you Mephistopheles and Columbine?"

"You might," returned Margo, "but you'd be wrong."

"Just how wrong?" quizzed Joan. "Half?"

Margo didn't answer that one.

"Half then," Joan summed. "But which half?"

The answer seemed to hang in Margo's mind. It wasn't the difference between truth and falsehood, because such didn't matter when somebody demanded one or the other and used a gun to back the request. The important thing was to nullify the gun threat.

Still, that wasn't the full answer.

Presuming that whatever Margo said would be used against her, the thing to say was whatever would hurt less. On that basis, truth was preferable.

Cranston hadn't played the part of King Satan; therefore it would complicate matters to say that he had. Whereas if Margo admitted she had been Columbine, she would only be revealing something that might be found out anyway. So Margo admitted: "I was Columbine."

To Joan's credit she accepted it very nicely which briefly changed Margo's opinion regarding blondes. Being frustrated on the Cranston theory, Joan popped a new one.

"Now I understand," declared Joan, sagely. "You were working with KennethLangdon, the man who has this studio. He was masquerading as Mephisto."

In fitting a half truth, Joan had struck upon a whole one, so far as the masquerade was concerned, but she was very far from accurate on a question of murder. However the proposition had now reached a state where Margo could no longer dispute it without getting in deeper.

A buzzer sounded, postponing an answer. Someone had pressed a b.u.t.ton on the board down in the archway, where Ken's name was listed.

Gesturing her gun at Margo, Joan said: "Answer it."

Now there was no door down in the archway and therefore no reason why anyone should ring for admittance. Probably the proper response was simply to step out to the railed balcony and call down to the courtyard. Not knowing the New Orleans custom, Margo was quite at loss, but there was still Joan's gun to be considered.

Margo compromised by stepping to the studio door and turning the k.n.o.b very gingerly, just so Joan would see she didn't intend to make a sudden dash. It couldn't be Ken Langdon, ringing to inform someone that he was coming back to his own studio, more logically it would be Lamont Cranston, letting Margo know that he had arrived.

There was also a chance that it might be The Shadow, for darkness had settled by this time and it would be like Lamont to switch to his black garb.

Margo hoped so, at least, because she wanted to surprise Joan. So it wasn't until she felt the k.n.o.b turning from the other side that Margo let the door come open.

It was indeed a surprise for Joan and Margo shared it. In through the doorway stepped a crimson-clad Mephisto, mask and all!

Out of the hideous hush that followed, the silent night itself seemed to deliver the horrendous cry: "Murder!"

It could mean nothing else, this new manifestation of the masked Mephistopheles. Mardi Gras was over and to stalk the New Orleans street in costume was the most conspicuous act possible. Of course this intruder could have put on his costume in the secluded archway, but why should he risk such a course at all?

Of all possible maskers who might still be celebrating Carnival, anyone who wore the Mask of Mephisto would be an utter fool.

If Margo had known that Fred Ferrand had slipped the guards who had taken him on the bayou trip, she might have understood this foolery, since Ferrand was wanted anyway. Her only other conclusion was that Ken Langdon had deceived The Shadow as well as others, and was really the King Satan who dealt in murder.

Whichever the case, Margo wasn't on the spot, at least not yet. The crazy tilt of the Mephisto Mask was an index to the gaze of the eyes behind it. The man in red was here to find Joan Marcy and to prove it, he whipped out a gun and sidled it past Margo in order to aim at the startled blonde who was back by the big statue.

Whether Margo took the right course or the wrong one was a question, but it proved to her advantage. By right, she should have tried to dodge past the man in the Mephisto Mask and let him blaze away at Joan, but that wouldn't have been sporting. Besides, it didn't seem good sense to take chances with a gun behind you, so Margo wanted to discourage Joan's fire.

The best way was to take sides with Joan against Mephisto, so Margo did, hoping to win the blonde's confidence.

Grabbing at Mephisto's gun, Margo was rewarded with a swing that flung her half across the studio, but the man in red didn't fire. All he did was snarl, orits equivalent, the hollow head making the tone sound like a bellow. That gave Joan a chance to fire a few shots, but they were wide despite the cramped surroundings. The reason was that Joan was trying to dodge behind the statue while she used her gun, and the two plans didn't mix.

Angered by the shots, the masked man spurted a few in return but the only toll they took was plaster from the statue. By then, Margo was on her feet, grabbing for the man's gun, shouting for Joan to rally to the cause. Maybe that was where Margo was really wrong, for she was inviting Joan out into the open, but it no longer mattered.

As suddenly as he had entered, the man in red wheeled and sprang out through the doorway to the balcony. People were peering from other doorways and they saw him dash down the stairs to the archway. Just to discourage Joan's fire, Mephisto wheeled from the stairs to send a few shots back, and by then Margo was in again.

Right in where she shouldn't be, in a line with the murder's aim! And the venom that this killer had shown toward Joan was something that he was now quite willing to transfer to a meddler named Margo.

Halting too late at the top of the steps, Margo tripped forward straight toward the looming gun muzzle, only to see blackness rise en ma.s.se and lift a clump of crimson regalia into a somersault, mask and all.

Maybe other witnesses thought that Mephisto merely tripped, but not Margo.

n.o.body could trip with a bound that carried them six feet upward. Looking down the steps, Margo saw exactly what happened, and knew why. That blackness was The Shadow, coming up just in time to meet Mephisto on the way down.

As the crimson menace landed by the arch, The Shadow was busy halting Margo's sprawl. By rights, Mephisto should have been there when The Shadow turned to aim at him, but the Devil's own luck was still with the impersonator.

He had landed like a cat and he was away like one, out through the arch.

Clutching the curved rail by the steps, Margo thought her eyes were fooling her. She saw blackness streak along Mephisto's trail, but peculiarly gun-shots sounded from beneath the darkened arch before its blackness swallowed The Shadow's form. Either there were two Shadows, or the only one was gone before Margo saw him leave, and neither of those theories seemed credible.

True, The Shadow often dealt in the incredible, but this was too much of it.

Then, jogged along by Joan who was coming down the stairs, Margo reached the archway and saw two figures there, one helping the other to his feet.

There was enough light from the street to recognize them: Lamont Cranston and Ken Langdon.

Since one was The Shadow, the other would have to be Mephisto, but the latter didn't hold.

Grabbing Cranston's arm, Ken gestured to the street and urged this friend to come along.

"I nearly stopped him!" Ken voiced hoa.r.s.ely. "Anyway, he didn't clip me with those shots of his! Come on, we've still got time to overtake him!"

There wasn't time. King Satan had made good his escape. What with alleys, overhanging balconies, deserted houses and other peculiarities of this narrow street in the Vieux Carre, there wasn't a sign of Mephisto, hide nor hook, when they looked for him out front.

Again a murderer had vanished, but this time death was absent from his trail.

CHAPTER XIII

ONE mind at least was still fraught with suspicion and that mind belonged to Joan Marcy. Joan's ways were firm when it came to making up that mind of hers, but to her credit she could also change it.

First, in regard to Lamont Cranston.

Being a friend of Margo, who had already taken Joan's part, Cranston no longer rated as a possible Mephisto.

Next, Ken Langdon.

Never having met him, at least not to her knowledge, Joan could only regard him as another victim of circ.u.mstance like herself.

Furthermore, since neither of these men had a sign of a Mephisto costume between them, both were cleared. Certainly one would not have been so tolerant of the other, if either had been doubtful.

There was a costume that Joan didn't notice, a black cloak and hat that were bundled on a narrow ornamental ledge inside the arch. Cranston had perched them there when he a.s.sumed his present personality. Too late to overtake the fugitive Mephisto, Cranston had dropped The Shadow role in order to help Ken, who had arrived back just in time to tackle Mephisto and miss.

Cranston's real help was a sort that Ken didn't quite yet recognize. He was really giving Ken an alibi; that point came out after Ken had chatted a bit with his neighbors and heard their version of the gunfire and Mephisto's flight.

That done, Ken went with Cranston and the girls to one of Frenchtown's quiet restaurants and there began this serious summary: "It was lucky I came along when I did." Ken felt quite proud about it.

"If I hadn't, n.o.body would have believed anything you people told them. Since they took you for friends of mine, everything was squared. But if I'd only gone after that fellow in red!"

"You would have," put in Cranston, calmly, "if I hadn't held you back."

Ken stared narrowly at this complacent friend of his. There was something of anger in that look, emphasized by the thrust of Ken's square chin.

"You did just that," recalled Ken. Then, deciding that Cranston must have had a reason, Ken let his feeling subside. "All right, I like riddles. Answer that one."

"Somebody was trying to frame you again," explained Cranston. "You were lucky during Mardi Gras, getting rid of that Mephisto Mask before the police found you in it. They might have caught up with you at the Borneau Mansion, you know."

There was a slight gasp from Joan as she leaned forward to study Ken's face, which was rather laughable since all she'd seen of him was the Mephisto Mask. Looking into Joan's eyes, Ken saw appeal in their violet tint; they seemed to be asking for the truth and hoping it wouldn't be too bad.

"Yes, I was a fall guy," admitted Ken. Then to Joan, he said: "I met you at the reception when I was rigged out as the Devil, but I hope you'll believe me when I say I'm not the man the police are after. I'd never heard of the Krewe of Hades and as for the Louisiana Lottery, I was working for a lot less than it paid off."

Tossing the torn half of a hundred dollar bill on the table, Ken added the typewritten schedule and leaned back with a shrug.

"There's what I got," he said, "and there's what I did. I'm still wondering who has the other half of that bank note."

While Joan and Margo were studying the trophies, Ken turned to Cranston.

"Getting back to what you just said. How was I being framed tonight?"