The Shadow - Death's Bright Finger Part 5

It glowed like bright silver. The hot dazzle of it made Pug's eyes go blind, as if he were staring into the rays of the sun. The brilliant silver ray touched the gun in Pug's half-lifted hand.

Pug Mallon screamed. So did the other fear-stiffened thugs.

The gun in Pug Mallon's hand had dissolved!

The hand that had held the vanished weapon was a horrible caricature of flesh and blood. The fingers seemed to be melting into nothingness. The stumpy palm glowed. There was a nauseous odor of burned flesh in the air of the underground room.

Pug dropped to his knees. He was insane with agony. He tried to scream for mercy, tried to mouth a terrified prayer. But already the dazzling silver shaft of brilliance from the finger of the Light was moving swiftly across his body.

Wherever it touched, the body of Pug Mallon writhed like vapor. He vanished like a chalk picture rubbed off a blackboard.

Where Pug had knelt on the floor there was only a thin sooty discoloration.

The Light seemed amused. The blinding ray from his fingertip faded to a pale shaft of milky moonlight.

The glow in his eyes, the strange brilliance that had made his teeth glint with phosph.o.r.escence, was gone.

"An object lesson," the Light said in his soft whisper. "Are there any more tough gentlemen in this room who feel inclined to challenge my orders?"

No one spoke. The fear of those five remaining men was something that could be smelled and tasted.

The Light waited, he seemed to expect a question. He kept watching the pale face of Snake Ca.s.sidy. Snake was toughest of the five crooks. Next to Pug Mallon, he had been closest to Flash Snark in the numbers racket. Snake was a realist. His motto was: "The king is dead: long live the king!"

Even his fear of the Light couldn't blur the shrewdness of Snake's crooked brain. The Light was the new underworld king. There might be plenty of dough and power for a guy who knuckled down.

But there- was one thing about this new set-up that puzzled Ca.s.sidy. He tried to get up courage to ask about it.

The Light seemed to read Snake's mind, for he said, "Go ahead. Ask!"

"If you're going to boss the underworld--and give orders to everybody, and take a cut from everybody--why break up a profitable racket? The numbers racket is worth a million smackers a year.

Why wipe it out?"

The Light chuckled.

"Here's your answer, my friend. I don't expect you to understand it, but here it is: Out of every dead racket a new one shall grow.

There was a faint murmur from the frightened victims of this new supercriminal. The words of the Light didn't make sense. But there were no more comments. Terror locked their lips.

The Light glided slowly backward. He didn't repeat his warning to those criminals to get out of town. It wasn't necessary.

He pa.s.sed quietly out of sight through the shattered door of the underground chamber. His arm brushed the torn edges of the thin, paper-like steel. He swept the door frame clean. It was as if there had never been a door there.

None of the crooks inside the room dared to move. Their faces turned. They stared at the dread blue-gray skim of soot on the floor where a shrieking man had been dissolved into nothingness before their horrified eyes.

All of them were suddenly violently sick.

THE Shadow was in his sanctum.

Blackness filled the room. The only illumination came from a single blue light in the midst of darkness. The light threw a pool of brightness on the polished surface of a desk.

The Shadow sat at that desk studying a written report. Only his hands were visible. Lean, sensitive fingers held the paper with a steady grasp. Intelligent eyes scanned it.

The report was from Rutledge Mann. Mann was an insurance and stock broker. He maintained an office in a downtown building. But that was only camouflage. Rutledge Mann was a secret agent of The Shadow; his expert on business and finance.

His report concerned the activities of the murdered Ron Dexter. It verified what The Shadow had already divined. Ron Dexter's blackmailing business was not a one-man job. Dexter had headed the racket because of his handsome looks and his position as a socialite. It made him a perfect tool to worm profitable secrets out of the society women who were foolish enough to confide in him.

A tougher criminal than Dexter had been behind the blackmail set-up. Rutledge Mann's report namedthat hidden boss. It was Flash Snark!

The Shadow uttered a sibilant whisper of mirth. Things that had been clouded in mystery were beginning to emerge slowly into proper focus. Only a beginning had been made. More would be learned later.

But a certain pattern in events was now faintly understandable. The Shadow could begin to see why Flash Snark had not been afraid to go to jail for a five-year rap. He could understand the reason for the murder of Ron Dexter.

The Light was a very cunning criminal, indeed!

The Shadow moved the report from Rutledge Mann out of the oval of light on his sanctum desk. Facts were what The Shadow was most interested in at this particular time.

He picked up a newspaper and studied the black headlines. Flash Snark wasn't the only kingpin of crime who had so dramatically surrendered himself to the police. Tony Bedloe was now in jail!

Tony Bedloe was as powerful a criminal as Flash Snark. Police had never been able to pin a thing on him. His specialty was a profitable one: slot machines. No slot machine made a penny of illegal profit without a cut for Tony Bedloe. No rival mob had ever been able to crack Tony's supremacy.

And now Tony had pleaded guilty to a minor violation of the law. For the next three years, he would be behind bars. His story to Inspector Cardona was an exact duplicate of Snark's.

He was going straight, that was all. Couldn't a guy get religion if he wanted to? Couldn't a guy pay off his mob and take a rap he deserved without such a big fuss being made?

The Shadow's laughter was like a whisper of vengeance in that darkened sanctum. He turned to the editorial page of the newspaper. The writer there a.s.serted that "a new and unknown force for justice"

was cleaning out the underworld. Not The Shadow. Someone more daring and powerful than The Shadow!

Tony Bedloe and Flash Snark had lied, the editor a.s.serted. They had been frightened into jail by an unknown avenger of crime. The police ought to be very thankful for the existence of this unseen partner of the law-- The Shadow knew better than that. He was not fooled. His laughter ceased. It ceased because he was looking at a tragic item in the newspaper.

This item didn't carry the sensational headlines that described the surrender to the police of Tony Bedloe.

It was tucked away on an inner page. It was a brief account of a fire that had destroyed a two-story building that housed the tobacco business of Jonas Lee.

The building had been completely gutted. In the charred ruins firemen had found the blackened skeleton of Jonas Lee. Police declared that Jonas Lee had probably been asleep when the fire started. He had been burned to death before he could rouse himself and escape.

There was no mention of the fact that his throat had been cut. That was a fact that could scarcely be learned by examining the charred skeleton of a fire victim.

Murder!

Murder by the most powerful force for evil that The Shadow had ever faced! A genius of crime, armed with a weapon that seemed almost supernatural! Had The Shadow at last met his master?

CHAPTER VI. TILE CLUB PENGUIN.

"I DON'T know what to think." Inspector Cardona said.

He was talking to Lamont Cranston. Cranston didn't seem particularly interested. He had dropped into police headquarters on a purely social visit. He and Joe Cardona were good friends of long standing.

He didn't reply to Joe's remark. It encouraged Cardona to continue talking.

"I'll admit I'm puzzled," Joe went on. "The newspapers all agree about why Snark and Bedloe busted up their rackets and went to jail. They were forced to. There is no other answer."

"You think they were made to quit by some unknown champion of justice?" Cranston asked.

"Yeah. Someone like The Shadow. Only tougher! And yet--"

Cranston encouraged Cardona with more silence.

"And yet," Joe growled, "there's that d.a.m.ned rumor I keep getting from my stool pigeons!"

"Rumor?"

"Yeah. The boys in the underworld are whispering. The whispers say that the guy who put the heat on Snark and Bedloe is a criminal. The biggest and most powerful criminal the town has ever seen!"

"That doesn't seem reasonable, does it?" Cranston murmured. "Criminals don't usually destroy profitable rackets after they have taken them over from crooks they have put the heat on. If I understand correctly from the newspapers, the numbers racket is dead. So is the slot-machine graft that Tony Bedloe used to run."

"That's why I'm stringing along with the newspapers. Whoever forced Bedloe and Snark into jail did so for motives of good, not evil."

The Shadow shrugged. He could have astounded Cardona by making a few quiet remarks. But the time for confiding in the police had not yet arrived. The Shadow held his tongue.

A moment later, there was an interruption. A police attendant entered Cardona's office.

"George Stoker is outside. He says he's got to see you right away."

Cardona looked surprised. Stoker was the expensive lawyer who had taken care of all of Flash Snark's affairs before the numbers king had gone to jail.

"Tell him to wait," Cardona snapped.

"He says he can't wait. He's acting very nervous.'

"Nervous?" Lamont Cranston spoke quietly.

"Yes, sir. He's 'doodling' out there in the anteroom. You know--drawing screwy little things all over a scratch pad with a pencil. Looks like he's scared to death!"

"Show him in," Cardona said. George Stoker was a big man. As he came in, it was easy to see that he was seriously disturbed. His face was pale. He walked with a quick, nervous stride.

"I'm here to make a request," he said harshly. "No, it's a demand! I'm a citizen. I'm a member of the bar.

I pay plenty of taxes."

"What do you want?"

"Police protection!"

Cardona's eyes narrowed. He didn't like criminal lawyers. He didn't like George Stoker in particular.

Stoker had saved the bacon of many a slick criminal.

"Why do you want protection?"

"I've been threatened with death." Stoker quavered. "Unless I quit my law practice and get out of town."

Cardona whistled. The Shadow's face was expressionless.

Stoker explained rapidly.

"I found a warning last night. I was asleep in bed. Something made me wake up--I don't know what. But I had a queer hunch that there was danger. I got up and searched my apartment. All the doors were locked, as were the windows. I went back to bed. When I rearranged my pillow, I found a note under it.

Here it is."

Stoker handed a sheet of cheap paper to Cardona. Lamont Cranston said, "May I?" in a polite voice. He didn't wait for an answer. He read the note over Cardona's shoulder.

It was printed in rough capital letters. It was unsigned. It ordered Stoker to quit the law business and leave town. It promised death if he refused.

"I want a cop stationed outside my home every night, from now on," Stoker said harshly. "I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'm going to be chased out of town! I've done nothing wrong. Criminals are ent.i.tled to a lawyer's protection. My profession is--"

"That'll do!" Cardona snapped. "You don't have to apologize for defending your rotten crooks in court!

I'll post a cop outside your house."

Stoker lost some of his nervousness. His voice steadied.

"Thanks. I also want to inform you that from now on, I shall carry a gun. I have a permit. I'm also hiring a bodyguard. I'm not running away. I'm going to fight!"

"Any idea who this unknown enemy of yours is?" Cardona asked quickly.

"No. I hear rumors. Maybe you have, too. About some new master criminal who intends to take over New York and run it."

"Anything more definite?"

"No. But I've got a few smart spies. If I hear anything that will help the police, I'll certainly let you know."

Stoker was regaining his nerve. He rose to his feet. The Shadow rose, too, after a fake glance at hiswatch.

"I had no idea it was so late," he told Cardona in the voice of Lamont Cranston. "I've got an appointment at the Cobalt Club." He gave George Stoker a friendly smile. "Can I drop you off somewhere on the way uptown?"

"Thanks." Stoker nodded. He accompanied The Shadow down in the elevator and got into Lamont Cranston's car.

THE Shadow drove slowly, to give Stoker a chance for more talk. Most of what the lawyer said was repet.i.tion. But one fact remained clear to The Shadow: Stoker was not going to submit to the ugly warning he had received. He intended to fight back against his unknown enemy.

Stoker chuckled without mirth.