The Shadow - The Mask Of Mephisto Part 7

"Your neighbors heard the shooting in your studio," replied Cranston."They saw somebody dash out in that Mephisto costume. The next step would have been to hunt you up, wouldn't it?"

"Of course."

"And what would you have said?"

"Why, that I hadn't been around. In fact, I might have shown up while people were still looking for me. Maybe a few of them would have been foolish enough to think I was the man in costume -"

With that, Ken caught himself. His eyes opened in a reflective stare.

"Say!" Ken exclaimed. "They'd have asked me about last night, wouldn't they?"

Cranston nodded.

"I couldn't have told them I'd played Mephisto," mused Ken, "because they wouldn't take my version of it, the way you did. If I didn't account for last night, I'd be without an alibi."

"This evening," reminded Cranston, "you have an alibi. You came in too soon after Mephisto went out. You wouldn't have had time to shed the red regalia."

"But if I'd chased Mephisto," acknowledged Ken, "none of my neighbors would have known that I was back. No wonder that character was in a hurry. He was really out to pin it on me!"

By this time, Joan's interest was more than roused. She was remembering a score of her own.

"Maybe I know too much," affirmed Joan, "or maybe I've talked too much.

Anyway, Mephisto was trying to add another murder to his list, and I was the intended victim. There's only one man vindictive enough to feel that way about me and that's Frederick Ferrand!"

There was a defiant sparkle in Joan's eyes; it softened, only to regain its fire, and the girl's next words explained the changing of her moods.

"I once thought Fred cared for me," Joan said, "until I learned that my money was my main attraction where he was concerned. Fred let it slip; then he tried to reconcile the two: love and money. He said we'd have to have money to be happy together, so why did it matter whose money it was?"

Looking around, Joan waited a few moments and then answered her own question.

"It didn't matter," she declared. "It was just the way Fred put it.

Finally he said he'd find a way to make his own fortune and that I could go to the devil for all he cared." Joan's eyes suddenly became startled. "Odd, wasn't it, that Fred should say that? But those were his exact words."

"How long ago was that?" queried Cranston.

"A month or more," replied Joan. "After he'd been down among the bayous."

"Where he is now," put in Ken, "and a hard time they'll have finding him."

"I don't suppose Ferrand will lose himself," remarked Cranston. "Not with a pair of deputies handcuffed to him."

At that, Ken snapped his fingers.

"Of course!" he exclaimed. "You couldn't have heard! Ferrand slipped those deps somewhere along the way to Bayou Yscloskey. Selbert and Trenhue were starting out to hunt for him when I was over at headquarters."

Startled exclamations resulted from Joan and Margo who began exchanging glances that had a mutual thought behind them; namely, that Ferrand might have been the Masked Mephisto who had invaded Ken's studio. But Cranston was more interested in something concerning Ken.

"You went to headquarters, Langdon?"

"Why, yes." Ken became apologetic. "You see, I was getting jittery there in the studio. I couldn't take an interest in Wingless Victory -"

"You came directly back?" interrupted Cranston. "No stops anywhere?"

"Straight back."

Calculating where he had been during Ken's journey of perhaps a quarterhour, Cranston tallied a few facts.

"I stopped in to see Hubert Aldion," stated Cranston. "At his office, just off Ca.n.a.l Street. That must have been just about the time you were leaving headquarters, Langdon. It's only five minutes' walk from Aldion's to your studio, but I went around past the Talleyrand Club, to see if Tourville Talbot was there. He was, but I didn't want to disturb his chess game."

On a pad, Cranston drew a long line, representing Ken's trip back from police headquarters to the Vieux Carre. Near the end that represented Ken's studio, Cranston tagged another pair of x's to represent Aldion's office and Tourville's club.

"Did you talk to Selbert, Langdon?"

A head-shake from Ken.

"Very good," decided Cranston. "But was there anyone in his office after he left?"

"I wasn't in Selbert's office."

"Then you wouldn't have seen what was hanging there, even if n.o.body had borrowed it."

"What was that?"

"A very fancy red costume," announced Cranston, "complete to the Mask of Mephisto."

Leaving Ken gaping, Cranston went to the telephone and called headquarters. Returning, Cranston stated: "They are all three back in Selbert's office."

"Selbert and Trenhue are two," tallied Ken, "so I take it they caught Ferrand, since he must be the third."

"Not Ferrand," declared Cranston cryptically. "By the third, I mean the Mask of Mephisto!"

CHAPTER XIV.

NEW ORLEANS was noted for its men of mystery and now the long and time-mellowed list was boasting a new member. His name was Frederick Ferrand and whether he was in town or not, he belonged to New Orleans.

In fact, most men of Ferrand's present cla.s.sification had been famous because they were away from the city when anybody wanted them. For Ferrand now rated with the celebrated pirate Jean Lafitte and others of the ilk, who also favored the bayou region as the place to spend their spare time.

The hunt had been on for nearly a week and was still getting nowhere. Jim Selbert had about reached the state of waiting for the murderer to return to the scene of his crime, for Jim was seen quite often in the vicinity of the Hoodoo House. On this particular night, Selbert was just coming from the alley when he ran into a visitor who was still in New Orleans.

Jim Selbert was rather glad to see Lamont Cranston. The police captain suggested a stroll in the direction of Jackson Square.

On the way, Cranston inquired: "What luck?"

"None," was Selbert's verdict. "I've been through that Hoodoo House from top to bottom, so often that I probably know it better than Dominique You ever did, if he lived there long enough to count."

They were pa.s.sing a large and antiquated house to which Selbert gestured by way of contrast.

"That place, for instance," Jim stated. "It was actually owned by Rene Beluche, captain of a smuggling ship called The Spy. And around the corner here are a couple of other places, the Cafe des Refugees and the Hotel de la Marine.

They were really pirate hangouts."

Selbert pointed out the buildings as they pa.s.sed; then returned to the theme of the Hoodoo House. "No trap doors," he muttered, "no panels, not even any secret fireplaces.

I've done everything except roll up the old cement floor in that room the Hades Krewe called the Devil's Den."

Cranston's slight smile was unnoticed in the dark.

"You don't like to miss a detail, do you, Jim?"

"Not me," coincided Selbert. "It's easy enough to figure how Ferrand got in there in the first place, without benefit of hidden pa.s.sages. Being the bigwig of the Hades Krewe he might have been there waiting. He said he was floating around on a bayou, but we don't believe that."

No comment coming from Cranston, Selbert continued.

"That upstairs hall is the stickler," Jim confided. "Ferrand bolted both doors and that gave him a little time. Aldion busted through one and hauled open the other -"

"Which one?" interposed Cranston. "And which other?"

"It doesn't specially matter," returned Selbert. "Aldion was quick to go after Ferrand, which made me a bit suspicious of old Tourville Talbot. He's the guy who likes his first name better than his last, like Dominique You did in the old days."

Smiling slightly at this historical digression, Cranston decided not to interrupt.

"Only Tourville is an old guy," granted Selbert, "so he couldn't get upstairs as fast as Aldion. Anyway, Tourville wasn't able to either stop or help Ferrand in that murder of Chardelle, so that's that. Particularly because n.o.body else was around when Ferrand killed off Moubillard, unless -"

The pause was when Selbert glanced at Cranston. Jim had been about to mention The Shadow, in complimentary terms, but decided not to confuse the issue. If at Moubillaid's, The Shadow had certainly done his utmost to block the murder; of that Selbert was sure.

What Selbert wasn't sure about was why he didn't want to talk to Cranston about The Shadow. Maybe it was because the two were much alike in that they were so completely different. Cranston was a man of advice, The Shadow a person of action. You could always find Cranston when you needed him; The Shadow always found you, when needed.

Those were just a few of the points that made the two personalities as opposite as the poles. What Selbert didn't consider was that since Cranston and The Shadow were so far removed, n.o.body ever expected to meet them both at once.

"What gets me," resumed Selbert, back on his major theme, "was the nerve Ferrand showed in doubling back to headquarters after I left there with Trenhue. Taking the costume was plenty; bringing it back, even more."

Cranston wanted to check that point.

"You're sure it wasn't gone before you left, Jim?"

"Positive. I came back to the office just after Trenhue finished calling his house. I saw the costume hanging there and Trenhue went out ahead of me.

By the way, we ought to be seeing Trenhue around here."

They had reached the old French Market, with its long array of sheds and stalls. At one end, trucks were unloading shrimp and people were watching from the tables beside one of the famous coffee stands. Trenhue was there and with him Aldion; seeing Cranston and Selbert, Trenhue invited them to sit down.

"Wasteful, isn't it?" Trenhue referred to the way the truckers were tramping over loose shrimp, as they shoveled big ma.s.ses into baskets.

"Shoveling shrimp like coal makes men become careless. Let's see -" Trenhue tilted his head to calculate - "at the restaurant figure of five cents ashrimp, those chaps have mangled at least twenty dollars worth. That would be one hundred dollars on a five day week -"

Trenhue paused to laugh lightly, with a nudge at Aldion, whose face was very sunk. Then, sobering his own expression, Trenhue declared: "I'm glad you came along, Selbert. Have you finished with the Hoodoo House?"

Jim nodded and let the process lift his eyebrows.

"Aldion here put up half the money for it," explained Trenhue, "and Ferrand posted the rest. Only Fred didn't have the money, so he borrowed it from me and Aldion went his note."

"How soon is the note due?" queried Selbert.

"Past due," replied Trenhue, "and for the first time I'm learning why Fred borrowed the money."

"It was a rum trick for Ferrand to play," conceded Aldion, "but I a.s.sure you, Trenhue, I didn't know you were so opposed to secret organizations like the Krewe of Hades. Fred never even mentioned it."

"Fred wouldn't," said Trenhue, bluntly, "but we didn't know his true colors - or lack of them - until now."

"Imagine it!" Aldion was protesting glumly to Cranston. "Ferrand using Trenhue to finance the Devil's Den! And now - well, I'm stuck for all of it. I deserve it; the question is, can I pay it."

"That won't be necessary," decided Trenhue, generously. "Since the Krewe of Hades is no more, I am willing to take half ownership of Hoodoo House. But you know, if Ferrand had told me he intended to buy the place, I wouldn't have been surprised."

It was Aldion who was surprised.

"Why not, Trenhue?"

"Because he was interested in anything that concerned the one-time pirate Dominique. That's why Fred visited the bayous so often. They were Dominique's stamping ground."

From his pocket he brought a sheaf of old papers and handed them to Selbert.

"Some more Dominique data, Captain," stated Trenhue. "Stuff that Ferrand collected. If you piece enough of it together, you may be able to track him among the bayous."

Finishing his coffee, Trenhue shook hands all around and waved away the effusive thanks that Aldion repeated over Trenhue's kindness in taking the half share in the Hoodoo House. The two walked a short way together and as they parted at a corner, Cranston, watching from the coffee stand, commented: "Nice of Trenhue to see Aldion through on that bad deal of Ferrand's."

"Nice if he can afford it," returned Selbert. "Only Trenhue is no better fixed than Aldion."

"You mean the property will prove a loss?"

"What do you think? Hoodoo will mean hoodoo around the Hoodoo House after that murder that took place there. Still, they may get out what they've sunk in it."

Selbert's final sentence brought a reflective gaze from Cranston, something that Jim didn't notice over his coffee cup.

"This was really nice of Trenhue." Selbert tapped the bundle of papers.

"I've about given up on Ferrand coming back to town; soon it's going to be a question of going after him, and the more data that shows how his mind works, the better our chance of finding him."

Lamont Cranston looked as though he hadn't heard a word that Jim Selbert said in reference to Trenhue's doc.u.ments. To Cranston, the most potent of all Selbert's phrases was one that the police captain had voiced in an off-hand way: "They may get out what they've sunk in it."