The Shadow - Trail of Vengeance Part 3

The Shadow knew the answer. Retribution, begun by Bert Glendon and old Timothy; had scored its first success, with Horace Trelger as the target. Mere minutes had prevented The Shadow from viewing that stroke of vengeance!

CHAPTER VI. THE SECOND GOAL.

IN a small, obscure apartment, Bert Glendon was chuckling over newspapers spread before him. He felt very much at home in this apartment; it so reminded him of his uncle's house. For years, Timothy had been furnis.h.i.+ng it with castoff articles given him by old Lionel Glendon.

A snug nest, intended for Timothy's old age, the apartment had become the headquarters for vengeance seekers. No one knew that Timothy lived here, which helped their scheme to perfection.

Swelled by the first success, Bert Glendon was not concerned with moral issues. The exploit could be definitely cla.s.sed as crime, but Bert did not care.

Nor did old Timothy.

"Very satisfactory," came a wheezy voice at Bert's shoulder. "I am an old man, a very old man, but I still like money. Especially when it belongs to other people."

Hands thrust into sight, he spread the loot that had come from Trelger's safe-deposit box. Bert heard lips give a satisfied smack. A key struck the table. Bert turned, with a laugh. Timothy was standing beside him.

No longer was Timothy his usual reserved self. He was displaying talents that no one would have credited him with possessing. With relish, Timothy was giving another vocal imitation of the man whose voice he had duplicated: Horace Trelger.

"Excellent, Timothy," Bert acquiesced. "Your act is immense! How long have you been practicing it?" "For years," replied Timothy. "Much of my time was idle when I served your uncle. Once"-the old butler drew up proudly-"I rather fancied myself an actor, Mr. Bert."

"You fancied right, Timothy, and it was swell stuff, picking my uncle's friends as types to imitate. You scored a ten-strike at Trelger's office!"

"You didn't do so badly yourself, sir. As my new chauffeur, you behaved with-shall I say?-discretion."

Bert was fingering the bundles of securities that had once been the property of Horace Trelger. He calculated their worth as more than double the sum that had been swindled from his uncle. But Bert had no intention of returning the balance to Trelger. In fact, he only wished that the profit had amounted to more. Nevertheless, there was no trace of avarice on Bert's features.

"My uncle said he gave his money to charity," declared Bert soberly. "Poor Uncle Lionel! He had his pride. Very well: it will all go to charity-the amount that is rightfully mine, as well as whatever belonged to Trelger."

Timothy nodded his approval. He liked the flash in Bert's eyes, the solid way in which the young man thrust out his chin. Bert was a true Glendon, in Timothy's estimate. He wasn't seeking money; he wanted retribution.

Only briefly did Timothy's eyes narrow the way Trelger's had. Bert's very frankness made Timothy wonder if Lionel's nephew really meant what he said. A quarter million in hand was a vast sum to give up, a temptation that might prove too great. But Bert dismissed the subject by dumping the securities into the table drawer, and Timothy's qualms immediately vanished.

"Clever of you, Timothy," complimented Bert, "to remember where we could borrow an old car so much like Trelger's. We borrowed it the proper way, too, when we sneaked it out the back door of the garage at a time no one was around. But there is still one mystery you haven't cleared up." Bert reached to the desk. "This key to Trelger's safe-deposit box."

"Very simple, sir," explained Timothy. "When Trelger was swindling your uncle, he used the key as a come-something-or-other."

"A come-on?"

"The very word, sir! He purposely left the key in your uncle's possession, though he pretended it was an oversight. He wanted to gain Mr. Glendon's trust-which, unfortunately, he did."

Bert grinned.

"But not yours, Timothy?"

"Indeed, no, sir!" Timothy's tone was horrified. Then, blandly, the butler added: "Since Trelger seemed to have the habit of mislaying keys, I had a duplicate made from the original before your uncle returned it to him. A mere precaution, sir, in case Trelger should mislay the key again."

Bert thwacked a hand to Timothy's shoulder. He admired the butler's foresight in planning for any future eventuality. The duplicate key that Trelger hadn't even guessed existed had been the master touch in dealing with the first man of the swindling five. Then Bert's face set itself in rigid lines. Bluntly, he asked: "Who is next, Timothy?"

With a wise smile, Timothy unfolded a frayed slip of paper and handed it to Bert, who studied it inpuzzled fas.h.i.+on.

"This isn't a name, Timothy," said Bert. "It is just a lot of numbers."

"Precisely," was Timothy's reply. "Those numbers happen to be the combination of a safe owned by another of your uncle's friends, a man named Jared Rayne."

IN choosing Jared Rayne as the next man in line, Timothy was not so original as he thought. Elsewhere, Rayne's name was coming under direct consideration.

The men who had picked it from a list of their own were Lamont Cranston and Rutledge Mann, who were holding another of their confabs in a secluded corner of the Cobalt Club.

"No question about it," Cranston was saying. "Those s.h.i.+pping contracts on which Lionel Glendon lost so heavily were all to the benefit of Jared Rayne."

"The records don't show it," mused Mann. "Still, I am not so familiar with contracts as with the market. It would seem that Rayne helped out Glendon by a.s.suming the obligations that old Lionel could not fulfill."

"He did," agreed Cranston, "but Lionel took half the loss. Then Rayne, by a stroke of good fortune, managed to deliver, and collect the full price. The whole thing was fixed beforehand."

"Much like a stock-rigging scheme," nodded Mann. "But how can we be sure that Bert Glendon will go after Jared Rayne next?"

"We can't be sure," replied Cranston. "But I intend to check on the matter. Go on with your digging, Mann, and see what dirt you can heap on other of Lionel's friends. I'll soon know how good a lead Rayne is."

Sauntering from the nook, Cranston went to the grillroom of the club and joined a conference between Commissioner Weston and Horace Trelger. The two were still harping on the mystery of the rifled safe-deposit box, and Cranston hoped to have his say when the commissioner's was exhausted.

Wheezy as ever, Trelger was still insisting that he hadn't double-crossed his office workers. It would be a thing unheard of, Trelger argued, for a man to impersonate himself. Whereupon, Weston put in a blunt conclusion: "Then someone must have doubled for you, Trelger."

Slowly, Trelger shook his head. He wasn't denying the point; he simply couldn't imagine how the thing had been accomplished. It was obvious to Cranston that Trelger didn't suspect Timothy. Very probably, Trelger regarded the old butler as a nonent.i.ty. At last Trelger's eyes showed a gleam.

"This thing worries me, commissioner," he began. "It worries me badly-"

"I should think it would," interposed Weston. "You sustained a severe financial loss."

"I might have suffered worse," argued Trelger. "Suppose force had been necessary, on the part of my unknown enemy!" With a shudder, Trelger huddled, his hands to his throat. "I might have been injured; perhaps killed! None of us is safe, commissioner!"

The term "none of us" awakened Weston's interest. As for Cranston, it simply saved him the trouble of pressing subtle inquiries. At least, Trelger regarded his misfortune as the outcome of the vicious Glendon swindles, even though he hadn't yet reached the point of suspecting Timothy and Bert as having a hand init. A feeble, self-effacing butler and an almost forgotten nephew were hardly to be regarded as partners in a vengeance that had swelled to the proportions of outright crime.

"I mean that none of my friends is safe," elucidated Trelger. "I should say, none of my wealthy friends, though I have others in all walks of life. I am very democratic, commissioner. Very!"

"Keep to the wealthy friends," advised Weston. "If any may be victimized, I should like to know who they are."

Trelger thought a moment.

"I can think of only one," he declared, at length. "That is, only one who might find himself in immediate jeopardy."

"Who is he?" asked Weston.

"Jared Rayne, on Long Island," replied Trelger. "You see, Rayne keeps large sums of money in a safe at his home. If this happens to be a deep-laid plot, engineered by perpetrators who have studied the habits of persons like myself, it may prove bad for Rayne."

"And who else might be in danger?"

Shaking his head, Trelger arose and put on his m.u.f.fler. Weston was helping him with his coat, when the wheezy man said: "I'd rather not hazard random guesses, commissioner. Of all my wealthy friends, Rayne is the only one who happens to be in town at present. I'm not anxious to have him inconvenienced-"

"He won't be," interposed Weston. "I'm expecting Inspector Cardona shortly, and I'll send him out to see Rayne. Cardona handles such matters tactfully."

"I am glad of that," wheezed Trelger. "Suppose you phone me, afterward, at my house. I shall be up late, going over my books. I intend to prove that I was actually robbed."

TRELGER stalked out, quite unaware that he had furnished Cranston with specific information. Trelger's mention of Rayne corroborated The Shadow's own opinion, and the mention of a safe in Rayne's house was the final point. The Shadow was quite sure that if Timothy could provide a duplicate key to a safe-deposit box, a little matter of a safe combination would not stump the old butler.

Leaving the club soon after Trelger, Cranston stepped into his limousine and told his chauffeur to take him to the section of Long Island where Rayne lived. As the car started, Cranston drew out a drawer from beneath the rear seat and produced dark garments that would transform him into a being cloaked in black.

A whispered laugh filled the limousine. It was the mirth of The Shadow, p.r.o.nouncing that he, the mystery hunter, had learned the second goal chosen by those vengeance seekers, Bert Glendon and Timothy.

Tonight, The Shadow intended to cross their path in time.

Perhaps The Shadow's laugh would have carried a grim note, had the future opened itself sufficiently to disclose the extent to which misguided vengeance would carry itself, this evening.

More serious crime than robbery would be awaiting at that second goal!

CHAPTER VII. THE GAME REVERSE

DRAYNE'S house stood by itself in the middle of an ample lawn, where anyone could look it over, day or night, from the seclusion of surrounding hedges.

In a way, it could be better studied after dark, for it was easy to pick out rooms and hallways by their lights. Certainly, The Shadow would find little trouble learning the interior arrangements by an outside survey.

But it chanced that The Shadow wasn't the first observer to look over Rayne's tonight, and those who were already on the ground required very little time to make their survey. They knew what Rayne's house was like inside; at least, one did, and he was informing the other. Timothy was the man who knew, and he was telling Bert Glendon.

The two were in Timothy's own car, the secondhand coupe that had aided their flight the night their partners.h.i.+p began. In simple fas.h.i.+on, Timothy was stating facts concerning Jared Rayne and the house where the old man lived.

"You probably remember Rayne," remarked Timothy. "He was at the funeral, along with the rest. He is a huge man, with a heavy face. Quite ugly."

Bert nodded.

"Rayne talks like this," continued Timothy. "He says: 'Come, come! Let us get to business!' He is always very abrupt."

There was a chuckle from Bert. He recalled Rayne perfectly from Timothy's imitation of the big man's voice. Pleased by the laugh, Timothy warmed to his theme.

"Rayne is often sarcastic," he added. "When your uncle sent me out to the house, Rayne looked at me and said: 'So! You are Glendon's servant. I don't remember you, because I never notice servants.' He proved it by not noticing me."

"So that's how you picked up the combination to the safe," laughed Bert. "When Rayne was getting out those duplicate contracts, he didn't watch you."

"I watched him," declared Timothy. "Very closely."

Mention of the safe reminding him that there was work ahead, Timothy got out of the car and gestured for Bert to follow. Pointing to the house, Timothy indicated a dimly lighted room on the high second floor.

"Rayne's study," he stated. "The safe is in the corner where this side of the house meets the rear wall. The study can be reached by the rear stairway that leads up from the back kitchen. I ate with the servants the last time I was there. They are seldom in the back kitchen."

"Thanks for telling me," said Bert. "You can keep a lookout while I'm up there, Timothy."

"But I intend to go, Mr. Bert-"

"You did the last job," interposed Bert. "I'm taking this one. No, Timothy"-Bert pushed away the revolver that the butler offered him-"keep your old revolver. You may need it. If I should run into Rayne, I certainly would be tempted to fill him full of slugs. So don't give me the opportunity."

Despite Timothy's protests, Bert insisted upon invading the premises himself. Timothy's familiarity with the house was unimportant, since he had given Bert the essential details. When Timothy argued that he could approach the study silently, whereas Bert might make some noise, the young man gestured toward the dim lights to prove that no one was anywhere along the required path, hence slight sounds would not matter.

What harrowed Timothy most was the fact that Bert might be seen and recognized. To that, Bert countered that he had met Rayne only once, whereas Timothy had seen him often. As for Rayne's penchant for not remembering servants, Bert was sure he would recall Timothy if he saw him burglarizing the safe.

As a final point, Bert produced a dark handkerchief and wrapped it around his face, covering his features up to his eyes.

"I'll wear this," a.s.serted Bert, "and Rayne won't have a chance to recognize me, if he does see me.

Besides, Timothy, it isn't silence that counts most. It's speed. If anything calls for a hurried exit, I can make one faster than you. That settles it!"

GESTURING Timothy to a post beneath the study window, Bert moved to the back door and entered.

Timothy waited nervously, his hand tightening frequently on his old-fas.h.i.+oned gun.

Seldom was Timothy nervous; in this case, he was that way only on Bert's account. He didn't like his new master to be taking such a risk.

In fact, Timothy liked it so little, that he soon gave up his watch. Creeping to the back door, he entered and crossed the kitchen to the rear stairs that Bert had taken. In the shelter of those stairs, Timothy waited. He didn't want to neglect his outside duty, but he felt he belonged inside. So he was compromising, by his halfway course.

Meanwhile, Bert had reached the study. Seeing the safe in the corner, behind a large desk, he moved over to it. With him, Bert had the precious combination, and was hoping that Rayne hadn't changed it since the time when Timothy took down the numbers.

Just before entering the house, Bert had remembered to ask Timothy for the folded paper, and the servant had given it rather reluctantly. Opening the slip, Bert smiled beneath the mask that he was wearing. He hadn't forgotten anything.

There, Bert was wrong.

He'd forgotten the window. Or, to put it another way, Bert had forgotten to notice the position of the floor lamp that was standing, lighted, near the desk.

It happened that the lamplight was blocked off by Bert's body, with a result that could be seen outside.

Against the inner wall of the room, a great patch of darkness rose to represent Bert's head and shoulders crouched in front of the safe.

With every turn that Bert gave the dial, the broad streak s.h.i.+fted. It was like a beacon of blackness to eyes outside. There were eyes outside that saw it. They belonged to The Shadow.

Moving along the hedge, The Shadow came close to Timothy's car. Making sure it was empty, he picked an opening through the hedge. Gliding close to the house, he looked for a watcher below the window and found none. Timothy's attempt at two-way duty had cleared the path for The Shadow. Continuing that path was a simple matter for the unseen visitor in black.

The Shadow changed his course from the horizontal to the vertical. Flat against the house wall, he moved upward as easily as he had come across the lawn. The house was built of gray stone, and The Shadow'sdigging fingers and soft-toed shoes found holds that made the climb as simple as a trip up a ladder. The only difference was in speed.

The Shadow was moving upward carefully, and therefore slowly. He wanted to reach an angle where he could peer into the room from a window corner, and thus gain a view of the safe and the man who was working at it.

Time was shorter than The Shadow supposed. The safe swung open as soon as Bert finished fingering Timothy's combination. Right in the middle lay an object that attracted Bert's eye. It was a metal cash box, the sort that would contain valuables.