The Shadow - The Shadow Laughs Part 10

CHAPTER XIII. A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.

HARRY VINCENT was worried. It was now the third evening that he had been in Blair Windsor's home. The first night had been marked by the message which had come over the radio. He had expected a similar message the second night, but it had not come.

He had been expectant to-night; he had tuned in on WGG at three o'clock, and WNX at six o'clock, but to no avail.

What had happened to The Shadow? In all his experiences with that mysterious person, Harry Vincent had found that a trail once opened was followed. Yet now, after his first instructions to watch for a certain type of man Harry had received no further word.

During the day, Harry had contrived to keep a watchful eye on both Perry Quinn and Bert Crull. One ofthese, he felt sure, was his man -Quinn because he had acted suspiciously; Crull because he looked like the man whom Harry had seen in the farmhouse.

Yet with two days of observation to his credit, Harry had discovered nothing. Now it was nearly nine o'clock. Perhaps some word would arrive, subtly hidden in the broadcast from station WNX.

Harry Vincent entered the large living room. All the men were there. Buckman and Blair Windsor were engaged in a game of chess; Harper was looking on. Crull was reading the evening paper. But Quinn seemed restless; he was walking up and down the room.

Harry tuned in on station WNX. When he looked around, Quinn had gone.

"Where's Perry?" questioned Harry. "Thought I saw him here a minute ago."

Harper looked up and shrugged his shoulders.

"He went out on the porch," said Crull. "Guess he wanted some fresh air."

The men all appeared quite indifferent to Quinn's action. Harry was tempted to join Quinn on the porch; but he was anxious to hear the expected radio message. So he waited; but the result was disappointing.

The program that came over the air carried no key words.

Harry went out on the porch. He found Quinn there, and talked with him for a while. The man seemed rather morose and indifferent. He acted as though something was troubling him.

Harry sought, by artful questioning, to lead the conversation to the source of his annoyance; but this was without success.

Returning to the living room, Harry found the men still occupied as before. He picked up a book and began to read. But his mind was not upon the printed pages. Instead, he was seeking some solution to the riddle that he believed existed here.

HE knew that his own position was none too well established. He was a guest through the request of Garret Buckman.

He must, therefore, act in a way that would not excite the suspicion of the normal members of the group-Windsor, Buckman, and Harper.

Yet he must centralize on Quinn and Crull. There were also servants in the house-three of them-all men.

Louie was the cook; he was a jolly fellow, who seldom left his kitchen. Parker was the handy man. He attended to everything about the place.

Vernon, the old butler, was virtually on the retired list. He was a dignified, gray-haired man. He was active, yet he turned most of his duties over to Parker, who was always busy.

Vernon came in the room while Vincent was thinking of him. He arranged some of the furniture in the room; then went upstairs. Harry began to ponder over Blair Windsor's situation.

Here was Windsor, a most likable chap, with three servants-two dull fellows, and one old man. His guests were business men who had come for a few restful weeks of vacation. Unsuspecting, they harbored a dangerous person who must have some scheme under way.

It was Harry's duty to watch the enemy; yet he must do it artfully, or he would appear to be behavingstrangely for a guest.

Philip Harper decided to turn in. It was now ten o'clock. They had all played cards late on the previous night. Every one seemed tired.

Windsor and Buckman finished their game of chess. They decided to spend a few minutes on the large veranda. Harry went with them. Crull remained in the living room, still reading the paper. He said that he would probably be upstairs when they returned.

They saw no sign of Perry Quinn when they reached the porch. Blair Windsor remarked on the fact.

Garret Buckman presumed that Quinn had gone for a short walk.

The thought troubled Harry Vincent. He found an excuse for returning to the living room, and left the others.

He entered the house through a side door that was seldom used. He stepped into a darkened hall, and closed the door behind him. Then he stopped short.

Some one was crossing the hall ahead of him-some one who was moving stealthily.

A door opened, and the man went out of sight. Harry followed. The door led to the cellar stairs. Harry could hear the man's footsteps, although they were very light.

Evidently the person who was moving into the darkness below felt sure that he was not being followed, yet he was going cautiously.

Harry proceeded with absolute stealth. He reached the stone-floored cellar, and followed noiselessly, trailing the man by the slight sounds that came from ahead.

Who was it?

Harry could not tell. The only persons whom he could positively eliminate were Blair Windsor and Garret Buckman, who were on the veranda.

It might be Perry Quinn, come in from outside when he saw the others go to the porch. It might be Bert Crull, who had been in the living room.

Harry Vincent was determined to learn the ident.i.ty of this individual.

THEY were across the cellar now. Harry had never been in the place before. He was in constant danger of running into a post, or of stumbling over something which might betray his presence. Yet the man ahead seemed to know the path perfectly.

Harry came to a halt. He stood stock-still, for he could hear the other man breathing. They must be very close, and near the far wall of the cellar; for the man in the dark was no longer in motion.

Harry feared that he had been heard. He stood and listened. He heard slight noises, but could not tell what they were. Then came silence. Harry waited.

Even the noise of the man's breathing had ceased; It was grimly tense, here in utter darkness. The man was almost within Harry's grasp; yet he must wait until the unknown person made some action. He felt that the man was listening also.

Any moment, the stranger might leap upon him. Harry's only hope depended upon two factors: first, that the stranger had not detected his presence; second, that the man in the dark did not care to reveal hisident.i.ty.

A sudden thought occurred to Harry Vincent.

Sooner or later, he must encounter the man who menaced the house of Blair Windsor. Why not force the issue now? An encounter here in the darkness of the cellar would be unknown to all save Harry and his opponent.

The young man reached in his pocket, and brought out a flashlight. He pointed it directly toward the spot where the hidden person stood, and pressed the b.u.t.ton.

The bright ray revealed a corner of the cellar, which was arranged with shelves. But that was all it showed.

The man whom Harry Vincent had followed had completely disappeared!

It was impossible for him to have doubled on his tracks. The position in which Harry stood was a commanding one. In the darkness he had unknowingly forced the other man into a corner. Yet the person had escaped!

Sweeping the broad beam of the light before him, Harry made a tour of the large cellar. He learned the full arrangement of the place, but he found no one there.

He went upstairs softly. Bert Crull was no longer in the living room. Some one entered. It was Vernon, who had just come downstairs. The old servant looked at Vincent quizzically.

"Where is Mr. Windsor?" questioned Harry.

"He and Mr. Buckman came in, sir," replied Vernon. "He told me to lock up."

"Oh!" Harry's exclamation showed surprise. "Is every one in the house?"

"Yes, sir. They have all come upstairs. I thought that you had come up, also. Mr. Windsor said that you had left them on the porch, and had come in."

"I did!" exclaimed Harry. "But I didn't hear them come in. I was just going out to rejoin them. Since they are already upstairs, I shall retire also."

In his room, Harry Vincent wondered. Had his imagination been at work, during that episode in the cellar?

No. He felt sure that he had followed some person. Yet if he had, the amazing disappearance of that person seemed incredible.

Quick thoughts came to his groping mind. There was only one man who disappeared like that-and that man was The Shadow!

Harry had received no messages from New York. Could it be that The Shadow himself was at Brookdale, haunting the home of Blair Windsor like a spectre that one could glimpse but could not follow?

Harry Vincent was still bewildered when he fell asleep.

CHAPTER XIV. SPOTTER PAYS A VISIT

THE denizens of New York's underworld prowl while others sleep. At the very time when Harry Vincent was retiring, in peaceful Brookdale, a little stoop-shouldered man was sidling along an obscure street in Manhattan.

It was nearly twenty-four hours since Spotter had talked with Steve Cronin. The murderer had disappeared from town, and Maloney's crew of killers had cleared out at the same time.

Only Spotter remained. No one connected him with the death of Reds Mackin.

All evening, Spotter had frequented his usual haunts. He had been to the Black Ship, the Pink Rat, and other notorious dives of the underworld.

Those who had seen him had not suspected that he had any purpose in his mind. That was Spotter's way.

Cunning and secretive, the eagle-eyed crook conducted his affairs without interference.

To-night he had slipped out of the Pink Rat, and had chosen a course through narrow side streets that had a.s.sured him that no one was following him.

Spotter was always cautious that way. He had sure methods of slipping out of sight. Even though no one might be following him, he used his precautions.

Spotter chuckled as he sneaked along. Crooks and police were alike to him. They never had the goods on Spotter. When he had work to do, he did it suddenly and unexpectedly.

No one could suspect his present purpose; yet he left nothing to chance.

There was only one man, Spotter decided, who could ever trail him. That man was The Shadow-and now The Shadow was dead. The Shadow had been a menace; now the menace was removed.

The little man disappeared along a narrow alley. He dropped into a dark nook and waited. If any one was on his trail, the pursuer would come down the alley and betray himself. But no one came.

Spotter chuckled softly. He emerged from the darkness, went along the deserted street, and turned into the side door of a building on the corner.

Over the corner entrance hung three battered golden b.a.l.l.s. But Spotter chose a side entrance that led to the rooms above the p.a.w.nshop.

There was a second door, with a bell b.u.t.ton beside it. Spotter rang. The latch clicked, and the little man entered. The door closed behind him as he mounted the stairs.

A MAN was waiting at the head of the stairway, where a dim light shone. He scanned Spotter, recognized him, and took him into a small room. The shades of this apartment were drawn.

"I didn't expect you this early, Spotter," said the man. "You'll have to wait a little while."

"All right, Doc," replied Spotter.

The man whom Spotter was visiting was "Doc" Birch, the proprietor of the p.a.w.nshop. Doc Birch was a careful man in his dealings. He conducted a legitimate business and seldom received stolen goods.

He was a gaunt man, well along in years, who surveyed Spotter through large, thick spectacles.

"It's O.K. for you to wait, Spotter," said Birch, "but there's no one else that I'd trust.""Don't blame you, Doc."

"You know I'm working through a couple of the boys, but while they're all right, I don't go too strong with them. They're liable to blab or to get in trouble. It would spoil my game."

"You gotta watch out, Doc. It ain't wise to have too many in the know."

"I agree with you, Spotter. But I always try to unload the phony bills as soon as they come in. The sooner you shove out queer money, the better.

"I'd like to depend on you alone. It would be safer in a way; but if I did I'd have to keep the stuff here in the house. That would make it more dangerous in the long run."

"I thought you did keep it here."

"Well"-Birch hesitated before making his admission-"I might as well tell you the real dope, Spotter. I buy the goods outright, cash in advance. I don't know where it comes from myself."

"You don't?" Spotter asked in amazement.

"No," replied Birch. "I tell the messenger how much I want and when. How I got into the racket is my own business; no use in going into that. But I play the game straight.

"The fellow will show up any time now. He brings ten thousand in queer bills-but they're the best imitation I've ever seen-and I give him real money for it."

Spotter did not ask regarding the terms on which Doc Birch worked in paying for the counterfeit bills that came from the unknown source.

"You're taking out two grand to-night," remarked Birch. "The others will come at different times, to get theirs. Then I'm clear.

"They all work like you-fifty-fifty split with me. So far, I've never been stung."