The Shadow - The Golden Dog Murders Part 6

"Message received from Cliff Marsland. Baron's gang planning to s.n.a.t.c.h Rodney Mason. Exact details later."

"Stand by!"

The white dot of light vanished. The headphones were replaced. The pale blur of The Shadow's face disappeared. No sound from the black reaches of the sanctum indicated what his purpose was.

He reappeared silently. There was a heavy leather-bound book in The Shadow's hand. As the light glowed stronger, the book was revealed as a 1938 copy of "Who's Who."

The Shadow turned to Section M. He read the brief paragraph allotted to Rodney Mason. It told him what he wanted to know. He learned that Mason was a young research chemist, well known for his studies of the molecular properties of precious stones.

Chemist - molecules - sapphires!

Soft laughter of The Shadow pierced the sanctum.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE GRIM STOWAWAY.

IT was past noon when Rodney Mason awoke. He swung his bare feet to the floor. He didn't have to stare at the clock to know that it was late in the day. He had not gone to bed until almost dawn. The starlit sky had been streaked with gray when Mason had silently let himself into his suburban home.

He was still worried about Drexel. The butler hadn't turned up since his disappearance, two nights ago.

Rodney frowned. He decided to shower and dress.

Fully clothed, he opened the front door of his house, picked up the morning newspaper that had been lying there for hours.

One glance at the headlines and his calmness deserted him. The wholefront page of the paper was black with the story of the horrible murder of Peter Randolph.

Mason's attention was riveted to only one fact in that ghastly murder account: the blood sapphire. The gem that had been found clenched in the dead hand of the millionaire collector was a duplicate of the synthetic sapphires in Rodney Mason's own laboratory!

Dropping the newspaper, Mason raced to his laboratory. He swung outward the shelf that concealed the tiny vault in the wall. His muscular hand explored the interior. It was empty. His sapphires were gone.

THE discovery didn't seem to astonish Mason. It merely deepened the ugly look in his eyes. He read the entire murder story carefully.

He learned about the stolen Necklace of Purity; read of the legend of evil connected with those sacred gems missing from a pagan altar in India. His laugh was harsh as he read about the vengeance of a nude golden G.o.ddess with the head of a snarling dog.

"Bunk!" he snarled under his breath.

The thing that interested him most was the fact that Randolph's butler was missing. The disappearance of Parker was an exact duplicate of the vanis.h.i.+ng of Drexel.

Rodney Mason hesitated whether he should call the police or not. He didn't, however. Instead, his suave murmur voiced the number of Isabel Pyne.

Isabel's voice on the wire sounded shaky. She was frightened. Her terror increased when Mason told her that the imitation blood sapphires had been stolen from his laboratory. The girt gasped. She asked a swift question: "Rodney, have you ever heard of a man named David Frick."

Mason's eyes gleamed. He didn't reply for a moment. Then: "No. I never heard of him. Who is he?"

Isabel described the vicious attack that had been made on her the night before.

She told of the drug that had robbed her of her will. She explained how an unknown rescuer had put her attacker to flight and had saved her from being kidnapped. She had no idea of the ident.i.ty of her rescuer. He was gone at dawn, she declared, before she awakened.

Mason was grimly interested in the man who had foiled the attack. He made Isabel describe Harry Vincent's appearance. He listened carefully.

Suddenly, he heard Isabel's voice change. It became colder; there was suspicion in it.

"Rodney, exactly where were you last night?"

"I was home," he said quickly. "I wish you had telephoned me. Why didn't you?"

"I did! There was no answer."

Mason's eyes blinked. He covered the mistake smoothly.

"That's funny! My bell didn't ring. Hold on - wait! I left my lab phone connected. I forgot to throw the bedroom switch. That's why I didn't hear the bell. The lab door was closed."

Isabel said: "Oh!"

"I don't think you had better call the police about this," Mason advised gently. "You don't want to be drawn into a sensational murder case. There isno need for anyone to know that you saw my synthetic sapphires. Suppose you let me handle the police."

"All - all right, Rodney."

"I'll come and see you soon. Keep quiet about everything. And don't forget, darling - I love you!"

Mason hung up. His smile deepened. He murmured in a low tone to himself: "And now for the cops."

But when he again lifted the phone, he was disagreeably surprised. There was no hum on the wire. The line was dead.

A cold glint came into Mason's eyes. He bounded swiftly toward a window.

The shade was drawn. He peered around it to the grounds in the rear of his house. The outside wire stretched on insulated brackets along the cottage wall to a conduit box close to the cellar window.

A man was crouched close to the wall. He had just clipped the phone wire.

The broken ends were jerking loosely. The wire cutter was still gripped in the man's hand.

Mason's breath hissed. He backed to a cabinet in the laboratory, where he always kept a loaded pistol. He was reaching for the heavy b.u.t.t of the weapon, when a voice stiffened him.

"Drop that gat, stupid! Turn around!"

The voice was vicious. There was murder in its command. Rodney Mason obeyed.

THREE men were staring at him. All three had guns leveled at the chemist.

Two of the thugs stood just inside the doorway. David Frick would have recognized both of them. They were Squint and Turk, the thugs who had helped Sam Baron to dispose of the body of Peter Randolph's butler.

The third member of the trio was Baron himself. He was grinning murderously.

"Keep those hands up high!"

There was no fear in Mason's eyes, merely a cold watchfulness.

"Just what I suspected," he said, huskily. "Drexel didn't steal those synthetic sapphires of mine. He was murdered. You killed him! You also killed Peter Randolph and his servant, Parker!"

"So what?" Baron jeered.

"Who are you working for - Frick?"

Baron looked puzzled.

"This mug knows too d.a.m.n much," Squint interrupted. "Let's croak him and be done with it."

"Yeah!" Turk growled.

The two thugs advanced from the doorway. But Sam Baron halted them with an oath.

"The first guy who tries to croak Mason gets a slug from my gun! We ain't killing this wise jasper. We need him in our business. A guy that can fake jewels as neat as he can, is worth a h.e.l.l of a lot more to us as a live proposition. This is a s.n.a.t.c.h job!"

"Suppose that blond dame of his squeals?"

"What can she say? And she won't talk, anyhow. Didn't you hear this wise guy tell her to b.u.t.ton her lip till she heard from him? Take him, boys!"

At the cry, Mason tried to throw himself backward toward the window. He had no chance. Turk put him out of action with a swift blow that dazed him.

Squint grabbed the wrists of the victim.

Both of Mason's hands were thrust limply into his coat pockets. A hole was slashed through the lining of each pocket. Cords were tightly drawn around the wrists, and the cord was looped beneath the coat by thugs who knew theirbusiness.

When they had finished, there was no outward evidence that Mason was a prisoner. The cords that were stretched tautly around his stomach and back were concealed by his b.u.t.toned coat. A gag was jammed into his mouth and his lips pulled down over the wad by strips of flesh-colored adhesive tape.

Sam Baron chuckled.

"Very nice! Squint, stay here. Turk, you beat it downstairs and out the back. Tell Pete everything is O.K. in here. Find out if we're ready for the walkout."

Turk left the room.

"Pete is probably asleep under a bush, the lazy punk," Squint grinned. "I never saw such a sleepy mug in all my life!"

BUT Pete wasn't asleep. Events unknown to the mobsmen had snapped Pete to a tense watchfulness.

He had barely clipped the outside wire of Rodney Mason's telephone, when he heard the hissing whisper: "Marsland!"

And the sound of that name sent an icy chill through Pete's blood. Only one man in New York could have uttered that call.

The Shadow!

The Shadow alone knew that "Pete" and Cliff Marsland were the same personality. The Shadow had planted Marsland in Baron's gang as a spy. Now his voice was calling from the thick blur of bushes that surrounded the chemist's suburban home.

Marsland glided toward the shrubbery. The black-robed figure of The Shadow confronted him. Half turned so that he could watch the house, Marsland listened intently to the swift questions of The Shadow.

Some he was able to answer. Others he was not. The gang had not taken Pete fully into its confidence. He had no knowledge where the kidnap hideout was located. That was Sam Baron's secret. The car they were going to use for the s.n.a.t.c.h was parked in the rear lane.

Suddenly, The Shadow vanished. Cliff Marsland knew why, as his attention was jerked back toward the house. Feet were descending the rear stairs. The Shadow's keen ears had heard the sound a few seconds before it registered on Marsland's senses.

Cliff sprang away from the bush. He dropped in a drowsy pose to the gra.s.s, pretending to be half asleep. Turk swore as he emerged from the rear door and saw him.

"What a guy! You're supposed to be a lookout, dope!"

"Can't I watch layin' down?" Cliff whined in the sleepy drawl he always used in the role of Pete. "The car's O.K. Everything's set."

Turk melted back into the house. Cliff sprang to his feet.

He glanced anxious toward the parked car. It was placed in the rear lane, so that it was clearly visible from where Cliff stood. There was no sign of The Shadow. Cliff, however, sensed where he was.

The Shadow had already attained his objective. He was crouched in utter darkness. He had slipped inside the luggage compartment in the back of the car.

It was not a comfortable fit. A huge metal object made it difficult for The Shadow to find room for his doubled-up body. But the nature of that object made his eyes gleam with satisfaction. It gave him a direct clue to the place where the mob was planning to take Rodney Mason. The thing was an outboard motor!

There was only one answer to the riddle. The gang was going to use a boat and not on a river! The Hudson was too far away. The hide-out must be on one of the many lakes that dotted this suburban section.

The Shadow was in a grim dilemma. He had to hide long enough to make sure where the lake was located. But if he stayed too long in his dangerous hiding place, he would be discovered when the thugs opened the back of the car to remove the outboard motor.

The Shadow accepted the risk. He remained where he was.

CHAPTER IX.

THE STEEL HOOK.

CLIFF MARSLAND'S uneasy thoughts remained on The Shadow, as the kidnap sedan hummed swiftly along.

He and Squint sat on the rear seat, with Rodney Mason between them. Turk drove the car. Sam Baron sat up front with Turk. No one but Baron knew exactly where the car was heading. He directed Turk which roads to take.

Mile after mile slid backward. Finally, at an order from Baron, the sedan turned onto an unpaved road. It wound through a thick growth of pine and hemlock, climbed higher and higher toward the brow of a hill.

Suddenly, the road turned sharply at the verge of a steep cliff. The ground fell away toward a secluded, cuplike valley. There was the blue s.h.i.+mmer of a lake far below. Baron's eyes gleamed at sight of the water.

"Take it easy down the hill," he told Turk. "When you reach the bottom, bear left. Keep your eyes open for a rowboat without oars."

The hill was steep. Turk took the left turn at the bottom and began to circle the lake. It was a large one, with a wooded island out in the center.