The Shadow - Washington Crime Part 3

"You gave me information that I wanted," resumed the spy, "but the prize is not yet in my possession. There is always a chance of some miscalculation.

In my game, nothing can ever be taken for granted. Until my negotiations are completed, I shall hold you prisoner.

"Perhaps there may be occasion for you to exert your talents again in my service. Upon that possibility depends your hope for life. That is all."

JARRUTH was returning, bringing a small tea wagon loaded with food. He wheeled it in front of The Shadow; placed a spoon in the prisoner's hand. The Shadow began to eat a bowl of hot soup.

The operation intrigued him. Each spoonful that he slowly removed taxed his full concentration. Lifting the weighted spoon was a difficult as a balancing act.

Each slow swallow of soup was welcome. It seemed to bring warmth and strength; steadiness that offset the hashish. Nevertheless, The Shadow was not deceived. He knew that the effect of the drug still held him. As Creelon had declared, The Shadow was helpless.

Wisely, the master-spy had foreseen that ordinary bonds could not hold The Shadow captive; and that formidable prison bars would be useless. Creelon had adopted a surer course. He had deprived The Shadow of physical power. Like a Philistine chieftain, Creelon looked upon The Shadow as a shorn Samson whom he could taunt and scorn.

Soup finished, The Shadow sank back wearied, but less under the influence of the hashish. He noted a perceptible increase in the speed of things about him. His own actions must have been more normal; for Creelon spoke in an undertone to Jarruth.

The servant reached for a gla.s.s of greenish liquid, thrust it toward TheShadow's lips. It was coming slowly, but the result was inevitable. Jarruth's approaching hand, with all its fancied slowness, was speedier than the closing of The Shadow's lips. The gla.s.s reached The Shadow's mouth. Its pressure forced his head backward. He tasted the bitterish liquid; felt it gurgle as it reached his throat.

The Shadow's captors were relying upon this new dose of dope to keep him helpless for the remainder of the day. With a short laugh from his level lips, Hugo Creelon turned and stalked from the room. As he looked back from the doorway, the master-spy saw The Shadow slumping off balance, to be caught by the rough arm of Jarruth. Jarruth jolted the prisoner deep in the easy-chair, as Creelon closed the door.

Outside The Shadow's room, Creelon followed a short hallway that was blank on the right; but had two doorways on the left, with another straight ahead.

He stopped as he saw a warning light blink from a bulb above the end door of the hall. Creelon opened the first door on the left. He stepped into a s.p.a.ce that was like a darkened closet, but with a flight of steps. He closed the door behind him; pressed his way through curtains at the top of the steps.

Creelon was behind a sheet of plate gla.s.s. Through it, he could see the interior of a large reception room, furnished in ornate style, with heavily draped windows. The gilded furniture was conspicuous against the purple velvet of the curtains.

The spy watched the door from the hallway. It opened; a bespectacled man who looked like a secretary bowed a visitor into the room. The arrival was a woman, of definitely Spanish appearance. Her features were handsome, rather than beautiful; that was partly due to the haughtiness that seemed a part of her make-up.

It would have been impossible to guess the woman's age. She looked young; but her high-bridged nose, her straight cheeks and narrow lips were the types of features that would change but little with years.

The woman was clad in black, a color that well suited her, for it made her olive skin show light by contrast. Her eyes, sparkling in glance, were also black. So were her thin eyebrows and her hair. The woman was of the extreme brunette type that is found among the Castilian n.o.bility of old Spain.

ALONE in the reception room, the dark-haired woman looked about curiously, as though suspecting eavesdroppers behind the heavy curtains. She glanced toward the gla.s.s in the wall of the room, but did not see Creelon beyond it. Seating herself, the visitor produced a black cigarette case that glistened like polished ebony. With slender fingers that showed long, red-tipped nails, she drew a satin-tipped cigarette from the case, applied a tiny platinum lighter and puffed long wreaths of smoke.

Creelon moved away from the big gla.s.s. He descended the steps, came out through the hall. Reaching the next door, he opened it and stepped into the reception room. The woman was looking in the direction when he entered. Her thin, ruddy lips formed a pleased smile.

With a bow, Creelon approached. The woman extended her hand; Creelon received it and bowed again. He took a chair directly in front of the plate gla.s.s, which showed his reflection from a gilded frame. The gla.s.s was an Argus mirror; on this side it appeared to be a silver surface, with no trace of transparency. It could be seen through on only one side; in this case, through the back.

"It is indeed a privilege," remarked Creelon, in purred tone, "to receiveas visitor so celebrated a person as Senorita Nina Valencita, whose charm has captivated the capitals of all Europe."

"Not so great a privilege," returned Senorita Valencita, "as that of meeting Hugo Creelon, whose name and fame are held as a secret by only the chosen few."

"Our methods differ," declared Creelon. "Where you mask your intrigue by appearing openly, I keep both myself and my methods under cover. To you, senorita, goes the greater credit for playing the more difficult game."

Nina Valencita smiled as she puffed smoke toward the ceiling. Her eyes sparkled as she looked about.

"I admire your apartment, Mr. Creelon," she said, "particularly because of its location. I have never enjoyed the privilege of secret residence in the emba.s.sy of so great a nation as -"

She paused, catching a slight warning motion from Creelon's usually straight lips. Nina responded with a wise smile. She decided to let Creelon talk.

"We can reserve further compliments," remarked Creelon, dryly. "Our present business concerns us; I have an important task for you; provided that you can accomplish it without producing suspicion."

"Why should I create suspicion?"

"Because of your previous operations in the field of espionage.

Particularly those during the recent Spanish revolution."

"Spain is supposed to be my native country," smiled Nina. "It was only natural that I should have gone there, to join in the cause of the royalists."

"You feel sure then, that you have not been watched in Washington?"

"Quite positive. My recent engagement to John Marthess, nephew of the late Senator Marthess, indicates that I prefer marrying money rather than acquire it by other means."

CREELON nodded in slow, convinced fashion. His nod ended with a sudden expression of doubt.

"Since you are engaged to young Marthess," he objected, "it might cause undue comment if you were seen with another man, even though the meeting might be a short one."

Nina shook her head.

"Not at all," she responded. "I have many friends in Washington.

Moreover, Mr. Creelon, I understand when I should be discreet."

"There is another objection. Do you intend to marry Marthess?"

Nina shook her head. Creelon actually smiled.

"I thought you did not," he said. "That is why I sent for you. If you were marrying a man of wealth, you would have no need for money. But if you are merely engaged to a wealthy man, as an excuse for being in Washington, your status is excellent."

Creelon paused to glance at his watch, which showed three o'clock.

"Within the next five hours," said the master-spy, "I want you to locate a man named Frederick Bryland."

"Formerly a major in the United States army," added Nina, with her suave smile. "I have met Mr. Bryland."

"All the better. I can count upon you to find him. When you speak to Bryland, tell him who I am and where I may be reached."

Nina Valencita gasped as she stared at Hugo Creelon. She could not believe the order. Hugo Creelon, the spy whose name was known only to the cleverest ofhis own profession; calling upon her to reveal his ident.i.ty to a former army officer. Whether jest or madness, Nina could not understand it. Then came Creelon's brisk voice: "Tell Bryland that I am prepared to purchase the National Emergency Code, technically known as the NEC. If he will bring it here, intact, there will be no quibble regarding the price."

Enlightenment showed upon the sophisticated face of Nina Valencita; with it, amazed admiration. She was one of the few who had heard of the theft that had stirred official Washington. She had supposed that Hugo Creelon would be seeking possession of the NEC. But the extent of the superspy's espionage was far beyond her expectations.

Creelon had not only learned who held the NEC; he was living as an unofficial guest in the emba.s.sy of a foreign country. That meant that Creelon had already arranged for prompt disposal of the NEC, once he acquired it. That was in keeping with Creelon's usual system of safeguarding every move.

Creelon had risen; he was ushering Nina to the door. Near the portal the superspy remarked: "Your fee for this slight service will be twenty thousand dollars. The same amount that you received for your dangerous journey to Madrid, not long ago."

The statement showed that Creelon was a shrewd bargainer. His mention of the Madrid mission forced Nina to accept the present terms as satisfactory.

The fact that the National Emergency Code was worth an immense fortune to Creelon was something aside from the present deal.

Nina spoke her acceptance. She knew that there were others in Washington whom Creelon could use as contact agents with Bryland. She knew also that the master-spy, superbly entrenched, could end her own game by a mere snap of his fingers.

Moreover, Nina had good reason to accept any offer that Creelon might give. Success on this mission could mean further service with the greatest of all international spies.

WHEN Nina had gone, Hugo Creelon returned to the room where he held The Shadow prisoner. Opening the door, he saw Jarruth seated by the window. The scar-faced servant grinned and motioned toward the easy-chair. Creelon saw The Shadow, slumped pitifully, his hands hanging limply to the floor.

"The dose was sufficient, Jarruth," remarked Creelon. "It will do until after his next meal. Tell me when he wakens from his stupor. Then I shall determine his dinner hour. I would prefer it to be late."

Jarruth did not question why Creelon had such preference; nevertheless, Creelon gave the answer.

"Perhaps we shall not have to use hashish again," observed the spy, as he turned to step out into the hall. "If my work in Washington is completed, we can give this prisoner a more potent remedy. One that will provide a permanent sleep!"

With that, Creelon indulged in one of his rare smiles. The evil twist that came to his lips was significant. Hugo Creelon was convinced that it would be unnecessary to keep The Shadow alive after to-night.

CHAPTER VI.

MARQUETTE'S TRAIL.

AT dusk, that same day, Vic Marquette stopped to see Senator Ross Releston. The secret service man had nothing to report. Vic's hope was that Releston had heard something from either Cranston or The Shadow. Finding thatmatters stood unchanged, Marquette brought up an old theme.

"Somebody must have known that Follingsby had that code," insisted Vic.

"It could have been Bryland. I'd like to satisfy myself about that fellow."

"Bryland could have known nothing," returned Releston. "Remember, Marquette, that I was with him when we visited Follingsby. Whatever Follingsby said, I heard. In fact, I heard more than Bryland. For a short while, Follingsby and I were chatting alone while Bryland was merely looking at curios that Follingsby had brought from Panama."

"And Follingsby said nothing about the war department -"

"Not a word. That is, nothing to indicate that he had been there. You are unjust, Marquette, to hold suspicions regarding Bryland."

"I'd like to get Bryland off my mind."

"That would be a simple matter. Go and see him. He is dining to-night at the Apollo Club, with a young lady named Martha Leeth."

"Congressman Leeth's daughter?"

"Yes. Bryland is a bachelor; and quite a ladies' man. He dropped in this afternoon and called Miss Leeth while he was here. That is how I happen to know where he will be to-night."

THE Apollo Club was Washington's newest night club, a bright spot that attracted patrons throughout the evening hours. The place was usually about half filled during the dinner period; the big crowds came later, about the time of the nine o'clock floor show. Hence Marquette did not expect much difficulty in locating Frederick Bryland.

There was one feature of the Apollo Club that Vic did not remember until he arrived there. Though the place had a huge dining room, it was also provided with smaller ones that adjoined the main one. In addition there was a bar, in a room by itself; also a c.o.c.ktail lounge. Patrons preferred the smaller rooms during the dinner hour.

When Marquette inquired for Bryland, he was referred from one head waiter to another. When he reached the doorway of a smaller dining room, a page boy pa.s.sed him and went to a corner table, where a man and a girl were seated. The man arose; Vic noted that he was straight-shouldered, square of jaw and with sharp, deep-set eyes. The man was Bryland; but Vic did not know him by sight.

As Bryland walked past, Marquette encountered the head waiter. When Vic inquired for Bryland, the fellow looked toward the corner table.

"Mr. Bryland was there a few moments ago, sir," he said. "Miss Leeth is still at the table; he will probably return shortly."

"I'll look for him," remarked Vic, remembering the man who had pa.s.sed him.

"I know him by sight."

Finding Bryland was not so easy as Vic hoped. He looked into the barroom; thought he saw Bryland with a group of men, but was mistaken. It was when he pa.s.sed the c.o.c.ktail lounge that he suddenly spied the man. Marquette stopped just short of the door.

Bryland was seated at a table, talking to a woman dressed in black velvet.

There was a simplicity about her attire that made it the more conspicuous, particularly as it showed her face to best advantage. Marquette saw an aristocratic profile; decided that the woman was Spanish. Vic recalled a photograph that he had seen of that profile.

An a.s.sistant manager was standing close at hand. Vic turned to him and inquired: "The lady in the lounge, with Mr. Bryland. Isn't she Senorita Valencita?" The manager nodded; then confided: "Probably Mr. Bryland is an old friend. Senorita Valencita has many acquaintances in Washington."

Marquette was thinking along another track. He stepped back as he saw Bryland and the woman rise and come toward the door. He caught a s.n.a.t.c.h of conversation: "Then you will come there?" the woman was inquiring. "And bring -"

"Of course," inserted Bryland. He had noted Vic from the corner of his eye. "You can rely upon me. After all" - Bryland's smile was well faked - "the matter is of little consequence!"

For a moment, Nina showed puzzlement; she covered the expression quickly.

"Of some importance to me," she said, with a smile. "Enough to make it worth while asking you the favor. Good night, Mr. Bryland."

As Bryland bowed, Nina turned back through the lounge. A moment later, Marquette heard a rustle beside him; turned to see Martha Leeth.

THE congressman's daughter made a complete contrast when compared with Nina Valencita. Martha Leeth was actually young; she was a p.r.o.nounced blonde, with bright blue eyes. Her taffeta gown was a cascade of peac.o.c.k-blue ruffles, which gave her a babyish look.

The indignation that she displayed was far from childlike, however.

Martha had seen Nina and had summed the brunette with a glance. Martha was determined to show herself as much a woman of the world as the Spanish brunette, whom she instantly regarded as a rival for Bryland's affections.

"So that was your message," snapped Martha. "I'm bringing mine, in person!

Good-by!"

Martha turned about on a trim silver heel and started in the opposite direction. Bryland gripped her arm. He protested as he followed close beside the girl.

"It was nothing, Martha - merely an old acquaintance - a slight favor -"

Martha tried to draw away as they neared the outer door. Bryland said something about the unfinished dinner; Martha snapped back that she had signed the check, putting it on her father's account. Bryland stopped her by the cloak room.

"Your wraps," he said quietly. "Don't forget them, Martha."

The girl waited impatiently while Bryland obtained the wraps. Smiling slightly, Bryland remarked: "Let's forget it, Martha. It's nearly theater time. You know that I have tickets."

"I'm going home," returned the girl. "Straight home! If you care to call a cab, you can do so! If not, I shall call one myself!"

Bryland bowed; he conducted Martha out through the door. Several persons had stopped to witness the spat; Marquette stepped up beside them. He saw a cab pull up outside the club. Martha entered it and Bryland followed, despite her protest. The cab drove away with the pair inside.