The Shadow - Death From Nowhere Part 1

DEATH FROM NOWHERE.

by Maxwell Grant.

As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," July 15, 1939.

Death from nowhere...but The Shadow was there to trace its source!

CHAPTER I.

CRIME TO COME.

THERE were very few patrons in the Club Cadiz at the early hour of five in the afternoon. Archie Dreller noticed that when he came up the stairs from the street. A smile formed on his sallow, weak-chinned face, bringing a twitch to the feeble tips of his half-grown mustache.

Pa.s.sing a row of tables, Archie sneaked to a short hallway beyond the telephone booths and knocked at the door of Silk Elredge's office. A smooth voice invited him to enter and Archie did so, after casting a shoulder look along the dim pa.s.sage behind him.

That short hallway was not as deserted as Archie supposed. A tall, hawk-faced patron had risen from a table when the young man went by, and had taken the same route. Near the pa.s.sage, however, the personage in question had merged with the gloomy background, thanks to garments that he had drawn over head and shoulders.

Attired in black cloak and slouch hat, he was a thing unseen as he glided toward the closing door of the office. With gloved hand, he turned the k.n.o.b slowly, imperceptibly, and edged the door inward a mere half inch.

The Shadow, strange being who trailed crime to its source, was looking in upon this interview between Archie Dreller and Silk Elredge.

Usually, chaps like Archie visited Silk because they owed him money lost at the faro table on the floor above. This, however, was Archie's fourth call during the past week: and the frequency of those visits told that something else was afoot. Apparently, they had settled the details previously, for this conference proved very brief.

Across the desk from Archie sat Silk Elredge, faced partly toward the door. His roundish face had a smoothness that went with his oily tone; the only expression that he ever betrayed was a slight flicker of his eyes. Silk was listening, with poker-faced att.i.tude, when Archie questioned eagerly: "Then I won't have to talk to my uncle?"

"Not a word," purred Silk. "Have your friends in for the poker party as usual tonight."

"And tomorrow?"

"Start on that cruise we talked about. You've made the arrangements, haven't you?"

"Yes. But I was afraid you'd changed your mind -"

"I seldom change my mind."

Silk spoke that sentence with a final note, that meant the interview was ended. Archie arose, gave a grin.

"I'll run along and meet my sister," he declared. "She's got to be somewhere at five-thirty, and I'm taking her there. Anything else, Silk?"

"Yes." Silk's eyes showed a flicker. "You'd better hold that poker game to a five-ten limit, so you won't be broke when you go on board s.h.i.+p tomorrow."

There was vacancy in the pa.s.sage when Archie Dreller went out. Silk Elredge followed, a few moments later, and paused to look around the night club. He saw a tall, hawk-faced customer rising from a corner table, andapproached.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Cranston," greeted Silk. "It's rather unusual, seeing you here so early."

"I enjoy solitude," returned Cranston, in an even tone, "and no place could be more quiet than a night club at five in the afternoon."

The statement brought a nod of agreement from Silk. The proprietor of the Club Cadiz started across the dance floor. Halfway to the bar, a sudden thought struck him; he decided to return and give some pretext for talking further with Cranston. But when Silk finally turned about, he noticed the early customer going down the stairway, carrying hat and coat across his arm.

MEANWHILE, Archie Dreller had reached a sporty roadster, wherein he slouched behind the wheel and lighted a cigarette, expecting a prolonged wait before his sister Louise joined him. To his amazement, she arrived within ten minutes.

Though Louise had features that resembled Archie's, she was quite attractive. Archie's profile consisted of a sloped forehead, a sharp nose, puffy lips, and no chin - a very poor combination.

As for Louise, her fluffy blond hair produced an attractive forehead; her nose, though thin, had an aristocratic touch. Her lips were definitely languorous, and her chin could be properly described as small.

She was gifted, too, with a dimply smile and baby-blue eyes that carried a trustful gaze. Archie, however, considered the smile and the stare as proof that there was no brain behind them. He gave a snort when Louise told him that she wanted to go to an address in the East Fifties.

"I thought so!" he exclaimed savagely, as he wheeled the roadster from the curb. "You're going to see that fortuneteller again!"

"Rahman Singh is not a fortuneteller," reproved Louise. "He is an adept!"

"An adept at what?"

"He holds the wisdom of the East."

Archie thought that one over, while they paused in front of a traffic light. He gave another snort.

"Wisdom of the East Side, you mean! If Rahman Singh is such a hot-shot, why isn't he on Park Avenue?"

"His surroundings are unimportant to him," replied Louise. "His occult powers are superior to all else. He has proven that by the remarkable things that he has told me."

Archie nervously slipped the car into gear. Giving a side glance toward his sister, he asked anxiously: "What did he tell you?"

"He told me," replied Louise, "that I had an uncle named Adam Rendrew, from whom I shall inherit a trust fund of twenty-five thousand dollars. He said I had a brother - that's you, Archie - who was to receive the same amount."

"He pumped that out of you!" snapped Archie. "You're a fool, sis. A crazy little fool!"

Louise didn't notice the comment. Staring straight ahead, she continued her account: "Rahman Singh also told me that Uncle Adam has a stepson named John Osman, who lives at the house with us. He said that John would receive the rest of the estate, about two hundred thousand dollars, because of the faithful way inwhich he has managed Uncle Adam's business affairs."

Archie's attempted mustache was performing wigwags with its tiny tips.

This was going too deep into family affairs! But Archie was to hear more - and worse.

"Besides," declared Louise triumphantly, "Rahman Singh told me all about our cousin, Dwight Kelden!"

Traffic started a pile-up behind the roadster, when Archie jammed on the brakes.

"You know what Uncle Adam has always told us!" he exclaimed. "We're never to mention Dwight's name to anyone!"

"But I didn't mention it -"

"You must have! Listen: if Dwight ever found out that Uncle Adam swindled his father, years ago, there'd be a lawsuit that would take every nickel that Uncle Adam has got. If -"

Honking horns interrupted. Starting the car, Archie continued with incoherent mutters, which ended only when Louise a.s.sured him that Rahman Singh had said nothing about the money. He had merely stated, so Louise said, that her cousin, Dwight Kelden, lived in California.

The car pulled up in front of a bas.e.m.e.nt doorway flanked by heavy-curtained windows. Louise alighted, and was admitted by a dark-skinned servant in Hindu attire.

Archie drove away, intending to be back in half an hour. He didn't care about the dusk and heavy traffic. He just wanted to be on the move, so that he could mutter as much as he pleased without having people stop and stare at him.

CONDUCTED by the servant, Louise went through a shabby anteroom, across a larger room where chairs were set in rows in front of a platform. She reached a corner door, hung with frayed velvet curtains. The door opened, revealing a bearded man with glittering eyes, who wore a Hindu costume complete to turban.

"Enter the sanctum, Miss Dreller," said Rahman Singh, in a rich, deep tone. "The crystal foretold your arrival. We shall consult it further."

As they sat at a table centered by a crystal ball, Louise produced a letter from her handbag. It bore an air-mail stamp and was postmarked San Diego.

"It came this morning," said the girl. "From Dwight. I wrote him, as you suggested. Of course, I didn't mention any of those family matters that you learned from the crystal. But -"

She paused. Rahman Singh was drawing the envelope across his forehead. It pressed the band that marked the lower border of his turban. A liquid that Louise did not notice was sponged against the face of the envelope.

Lowering the letter toward the crystal ball, Rahman Singh was able to read the message, for the liquid had rendered his side of the envelope transparent.

Laying the envelope aside, he stared at the crystal.

"I see a journey," declared the Hindu, "to the south - to Mexico. Dwight Kelden will be gone for two weeks."

"Oh, marvelous!" exclaimed Louise. "That's exactly what he told me in the letter!"

She was reaching for the letter, but the Hindu's hand stopped hers. The envelope was not yet dry; he had to fill in more time.

"I see a dark-haired woman -"

Louise interrupted with an exclamation; then laughed.

"It must be a Mexican senorita," she decided, "but I thought for a moment that it might be Helene Graymond. She's the girl who comes to our house and works as secretary for John Osman. She met Dwight when he was East, a year ago, but I suppose that by this time she has forgotten him." Soon afterward, Rahman Singh completed his study of the crystal and returned the letter to Louise. He reminded her that there was to be a special seance at eight-thirty that evening.

"I'm so sorry!" exclaimed Louise. "I won't be able to come. I'm going to a party."

"With your brother?"

"No," returned Louise. "This is the night when he and his friends play poker at the house. Why, you should be able to see all that, Rahman Singh!"

They had reached the anteroom; the Hindu gave an apologetic bow, showing a white-toothed smile from the black beard that adorned his darkish face.

"Without the crystal," he accented, gesturing back toward his sanctum, "I am helpless. But with the crystal - ah! - you have seen my power to learn all."

Louise was still nodding when the servant ushered her out to the street, Rahman Singh returning to the inner premises. The girl looked at her watch, noticed that it was not yet six o'clock, which meant that she would have to wait awhile before Archie returned.

DURING the seven minutes that she stood outside the darkened doorway, Louise became vaguely conscious of a stir from a pa.s.sageway beyond a neighboring house. Staring, she thought that she saw a sliding patch of blackness. It faded as she watched, and Louise, from then on, was gazing in the wrong direction.

The shape had flitted along the wall beside her, to merge with deep darkness. Eyes were watching from the gloom, when Archie's car pulled up.

Hovering closely, the unseen observer heard Archie say: "Listen, sis, if that fake Hindu is throwing one of his s.h.i.+ndigs tonight, you're not going."

"There will be a seance tonight," returned Louise, icily, "but it happens that I accepted an invitation to a party at the Witherspoons' apartment, and am going there instead."

Archie seemed satisfied, when they drove away. So did The Shadow, as he emerged from darkness. Keeping clear of the doorway, where Rahman Singh's servant might be on watch, The Shadow chose a rapid course along the gloomy street.

Later, The Shadow arrived in his own sanctum, a room with shrouded walls that spoke of actual mystery. Compared to the headquarters of The Shadow, the tawdry parlor that Rahman Singh termed a sanctum was a pitiful sham.

The Shadow's sanctum was hidden away in an old building in the heart of New York City.

Plucking earphones from the wall, The Shadow spoke to his contact man, Burbank, and gave him certain instructions that were due to end the false career of the self-styled Hindu, Rahman Singh. Then came a whispered laugh, eerie and prophetic in its tone.

Apparently The Shadow, through methods of his own, was quite conversant with circ.u.mstances that surrounded Adam Rendrew, and his various relations.

The Shadow was to prove a figure in those affairs, as much as either Silk Elredge or Rahman Singh.

Just how those two fitted into the picture, only The Shadow knew; but from his findings, he knew that crime would soon be due. How soon it would strike was evidenced when he inscribed in ink the single word: "Tomorrow." The written word faded from the paper, as was the way with all The Shadow's secret writing; for he wrote with disappearing ink. Tomorrow, The Shadow would be prepared to battle coming crime!

CHAPTER II.

MURDER IN ADVANCE.

AT night, the Rendrew mansion looked very much like a morgue. Standing on a side street in Manhattan, it loomed above other forgotten residences, as if proud of the fact that it had dominated the neighborhood for more than fifty years.

The mansion's only rival was the house next door, but that structure had long ago fallen into decay. Separated from the Rendrew mansion by an inner courtyard, the next-door house showed lines of windows that had been boarded up for the past ten years.

The interior of the Rendrew house was anything but cheerful. The rooms were large, but gloomy; the hallways seemed like caverns. The only place that bore a modern touch was the ground-floor room that had been converted into an office.

A girl was seated there, staring reflectively at the wall. She was Helene Graymond, the secretary whose name Louise had mentioned to Rahman Singh.

Usually, Helene left the house at five o'clock and did not return until the next day.

Tonight, she had remembered some important accounts and had come back here on her own. She had finished her work, and the silence of the old house had stirred her recollections of those who lived in the place. Never had Helene encountered a more curious menage than the Rendrew household.

Of course, old Adam Rendrew was the cause. He was a crabby old tyrant, whose meanness forced others to adopt protective measures. About the only person who could handle him at all was his stepson, John Osman.

Middle-aged and methodical, Osman handled Rendrew's affairs to perfection; in fact, had pulled them out of serious difficulties.

The old man had overinvested in real estate, which he had been unable to sell. To offset that, Osman had become a rental agent, with his office here in the old house, and was making the properties show a profit. Whenever he could manage it, Osman went to his club for dinner, as he had done this evening, for he disliked the smugness that he had to show in order to please old Rendrew.

Archie Dreller had developed into a whiny weakling, through living with his uncle. He was always trying to please the old man, so that he would not lose the trust fund that Rendrew had promised him. Archie's one refuge was a room that he called his den, which was in the bas.e.m.e.nt underneath the kitchen.

There, once a week, Archie brought in friends for a poker game, a practice which his uncle tolerated because the den was so remote. This evening, Archie's pals had been going through the hall on tiptoe, until they had all a.s.sembled.