The Shadow - Death's Bright Finger Part 8

But an instant later, Vincent lost his complacence. He sat up with a worried jerk as the taxicab whirled around the corner into the avenue.

Stoker's car had turned south. It was vanis.h.i.+ng downtown at a fast clip. Moe Shrevnitz had turned north!

Before Vincent could yell to Moe, the taxicab slackened suddenly. Vincent, who was leaning forward, didn't have a chance to utter a word of protest. In his ears he heard an unexpected sound. A sibilant whisper of laughter made Harry turn his head.

The Shadow was standing on the cab's running board!

Deep-set eyes, like flame, bored into Harry's. Two words crackled with authority: "Orders changed!"

A black-gloved hand projected over the gla.s.s pane of the partly opened window. A folded sheet of paper pa.s.sed from The Shadow to Harry Vincent.

Vincent dropped his eyes to the paper for a fleeting instant. When he lifted them to receive further instructions, The Shadow was gone. Moe Shrevnitz kept the taxi moving at a slow pace, while Vincent opened the note. He read it twice to make sure he understood correctly. Then, with a bound, Harry was on his feet. He said nothing to Moe but wrenched open the cab door. He vanished into the darkness of the building fronts as swiftly as The Shadow had before him.

Moe crowded on more speed. He sent his empty taxi charging ahead. But he didn't drive very far in a straight line. At the next corner, Moe again made a sudden right turn. He drove a few yards eastward from the corner and braked to a stop.

He went into a bar and grill on the corner.

The bar had an entrance on both the avenue and the street. By sitting on the end bar stool and turning his head slightly, Moe commanded an excellent view of the side street where he had parked his cab. He kept his gaze glued on a doorway farther down the block.

The spot that Moe kept so grimly in sight was the stage door of the Club Penguin.

MOE ordered a gla.s.s of beer and dug himself a handful of pretzels from the bowl on the bar. He was watching for a girl.

Almost before Moe could start on his beer, a pretty girl emerged from the rear door of the night club.

She was blond and shapely. She glanced toward Moe's empty cab, called loudly: "Taxi! Hey, taxi!"

Moe blandly ignored the summons. He turned his back and calmly drank his beer. The bar-man chuckled.

"Hey, don't you like to carry dames? If I was a hacker, I'd be down there right now helping that babe aboard."

"Let someone else hack her," Moe muttered. "I'm thirsty. Draw me another beer."

The blond showgirl stopped a rolling cab. She drove off. Other girls appeared. Moe ignored their urgent calls toward his empty cab.

He was finis.h.i.+ng his third beer, when he suddenly saw what he was waiting for. He wiped his mouth hastily, grabbed a handful of pretzels on the way out.

He shot his taxicab toward the stage door where the girl stood, before any other hacker could cut in and s.n.a.t.c.h his fare away from him. She was dark-haired and lovely. But Moe didn't care about her looks.

Her name was all that interested him. He hadn't made any mistake in identifying her.

The girl was Dawn Reed!

She gave Moe an address. He jockeyed the cab ahead with professional skill. He roared through the block with such ease that it was queer the way he bungled his turn at the next corner. He cut it entirely too sharp. His tires made a squealing noise as the rubber sc.r.a.ped the curbing.

Moe's hand hung way out in an exaggerated traffic signal. Any of his taxi pals, watching him, would have been amazed. Moe acted as if he had forgotten all his driving experience.

But there was method in his bungling turn. As he straightened and drove southward, a tiny pellet of paper dropped from Moe's cupped hand to the pavement. In the darkness, it seemed impossible for anyone to notice it. But someone did. Harry Vincent spotted it, because he was waiting to receive such a message. The instructions of The Shadow had warned him to be on the alert.

A moment later, Vincent knew exactly where Dawn Reed was going. The address she had given to Moe was her own apartment house.

Vincent, relieved by The Shadow from his duty of trailing George Stoker, got busy on this new a.s.signment. He hailed another cab and headed downtown toward Dawn Reed's home. He made sure he would get there as quickly as possible, by slipping a dollar bill as an advance bonus to his driver.

Vincent was counting on his own cab's speed, plus the slowness of Moe Shrevnitz's hack.

Moe co-operated beautifully. Dawn wasn't aware of it, but Moe used every trick of the taxi trade to spin out his trip as long as possible. He took advantage of every red stoplight, of every traffic snarl.

By the time Moe's cab halted in front of the apartment house where Dawn lived, Harry Vincent was already on the spot, although completely out of sight across the avenue.

Moe's job was done for the moment. He drove away. He didn't see the sleek sedan that pulled up to the curb a few seconds later. But Harry Vincent did.

Peter Bascom got out of the sedan.

BASCOM hurried toward Dawn before she could cross the sidewalk and enter her apartment building.

Dawn turned as Bascom called to her. She hesitated, then stopped. The two began to talk.

They seemed to be in no big hurry, either to part or to go into the building together. Harry Vincent took advantage of the delay by sliding swiftly into a telephone booth in the cigar store opposite, where he was waiting. He picked up the receiver and dropped in a nickel. Almost before the buzz of the dial had ended, Harry heard a quiet, faraway voice: "Burbank speaking."

To Burbank, Harry made a swift report. A report was necessary at this juncture, because from now on Vincent was expected to use his own judgment.

Emerging from the booth after making his report, Vincent saw from his doorway that Dawn and Bascom were still engaged in their confidential discussion outside the entrance to the apartment building.

On his own now, Harry played hunch. He crossed the avenue at the next corner and walked back on the opposite side.

As he pa.s.sed Bascom and Dawn Reed, he lurched as close as he dared without making it obvious. He was able to do this with safety because Bascom hadn't had a glimpse of him in the night club or afterward. Dawn hadn't seen Vincent at all.

The two were talking in low voices. But it was an argument, just the same. The fact that they were arguing made their tense voices carry a little farther than they realized.

Bascom was trying to persuade Dawn to go with him to a late night spot for a final good-night drink.

Dawn was demurring. She was tired, she said. Why couldn't Bascom be a nice boy and give her a rain-check on that drink?

That was all Vincent could hear. He had to keep on walking in order to hide his interest in this pair. Suddenly, he had another hunch. From the sound of Bascom's voice, Vincent was convinced that the new owner of the Club Penguin wasn't going to let Dawn argue him out of that last drink. Dawn seemed equally stubborn about not accepting the invitation. So, Harry thought, why not get inside the building and have a quick look at Dawn's apartment while the two suspects argued with one another out front?

Vincent quickened his stride. He continued onward, intending to try an entry through the delivery alley on the side street. A moment later, his heart gave a quick leap of excitement. Vincent had a double reason now for hurrying toward the corner!

A tall figure was crossing the avenue. It was a figure with a quick stride and a curious forward tilt of the body. It was impossible to tell who the man was. His hat brim was pulled low on his forehead. The coat he wore was a long shapeless garment that flapped in the wind around his legs and m.u.f.fled the outline of his body. He had turned up the coat collar, as if his ears were cold.

But Harry was almost positive of the ident.i.ty of the man.

Carl Trevor!

Harry hadn't paid much attention to the orchestra leader at the Club Penguin. He had been given no special orders concerning Trevor. But there was something furtive about the way the fellow disappeared past the corner of the apartment building. Harry had a feeling Trevor was going to take to his heels the moment he was out of sight.

Harry increased his own speed. But when he turned the corner, he uttered a sharp oath of disappointment.

The side street was empty!

Vincent guessed what must have happened. Trevor--if it really was Trevor--had done what Vincent had suspected. He had started running the moment the corner wall of the apartment building hid him. There was only one spot where he could have vanished: the delivery entrance to the bas.e.m.e.nt.

The wall of the apartment building was unbroken except for the one flight of stone steps leading downward to the bas.e.m.e.nt.

Harry Vincent made sure that the gun in his pocket was in good working order. Then he descended the steps. He moved with caution, hugging the dark wall. There was a single dim light glowing in the bas.e.m.e.nt ceiling, but it showed no signs of a human being.

Vincent searched the entire cellar before he came to the puzzled conclusion that Trevor wasn't there. He wondered if the fugitive had sneaked aloft on the service elevator. It sounded risky. Maybe Trevor had played safe and climbed the fire stairs. But to where?

Where else but to the apartment of Dawn Reed! It strengthened Vincent's determination to take a hand in the game himself.

IT was easy to find out the floor on which Dawn lived, and the number of her apartment. There was a placard on the bas.e.m.e.nt wall near the entrance to the service elevator. The placard was placed there for the convenience of tradesmen and delivery boys. It was a directory of all the tenants in the building.

The door to the service shaft was locked. Evidently the elevator was not used after a certain hour at night. But the steel door leading to the fire stairs wasn't locked. Vincent had no trouble shoving it open.

He made the long climb upward as fast as he dared. He couldn't hear a sound from above, although hestopped cautiously many times to listen on his way up.

Had Carl Trevor really sneaked ahead of him to make a secret search of Dawn's apartment? Or had he eluded Vincent in some way, down in the dark bas.e.m.e.nt, and sneaked out by a rear exit to the courtyard? For that matter, was the tall guy in the long coat really Carl Trevor?

Vincent didn't try to answer these puzzling questions. He had reached the goal he was after. In front of him was the service door of Dawn Reed's apartment.

He didn't have too much trouble with the lock. He used a thin, s.h.i.+ning tool that made little noise. Tenants usually depended on the slot-and-chain mechanism on these service doors, more than the lock. Harry's heart was in his mouth as be gently pushed the door open. If the chain was in place, he was stuck! He didn't have the tools with him to cut through such an obstacle.

But his luck was good. Dawn had forgotten to hook the chain in its slot. The door continued to open.

Harry crept into a dark kitchen. Intuition told him that he was alone. He was sure of that just from the blank feel of the silence in his throbbing ears.

He began a slow, careful prowl to make sure.

Instead of turning on lights, he used a tiny electric torch, keeping it close to the floor as he advanced from room to room. His gun was ready for action in case of sudden attack. But he didn't have to use it. The apartment was empty.

He wondered if there was collusion between Trevor and Bascom. Had Bascom deliberately detained the night-club singer outside while Trevor sneaked toward her apartment for a search? But how could that be? Trevor had vanished. He hadn't come upstairs.

Vincent felt confused and uncertain. He didn't know at what instant Dawn might return. The thing to do was to keep out of sight and watch what took place when she did return. Vincent followed the tiny glow from his light, looking for a place to hide.

He entered Dawn's bedroom. His light showed him a roomy wardrobe closet that seemed to fit the bill.

The complete emptiness of the closet puzzled Vincent. He thought: "She must be planning to get away.

Either tonight or early tomorrow. That's why she's so anxious to shake off Bascom!"

His torch veered from the closet. Its tiny beam crept across the floor to the opposite wall, crept up the wall between the two huge windows of the bedroom. Then, suddenly, the beam halted.

Vincent gave a choked exclamation. He was staring at the metal sheen of a wall safe. It was wide open.

He could see the sheen of paper and the glitter of trinkets.

The safe door had completely vanished--hinges and all!

Harry felt his scalp crawl. Into his mind came a terrifying memory. He was thinking of another steel door that had vanished inexplicably--the big steel door that had once guarded the rear of Flash Snark's criminal headquarters!

CHAPTER IX. A KING'S RANSOM.

HARRY VINCENT moved swiftly forward.

He was scared. Like every other agent of The Shadow, Harry was aware of things that were stillunknown to the police. He knew the horrible power possessed by the unknown crime master who called himself the Light.

It was clear what must have happened to that vanished steel door. The Light had literally "put the linger"

on it. He had used the same dreadful weapon that had turned The Shadow's automobile into a film of blue-gray soot. He had, however, weakened the devilish power of his brilliant silver ray so as not to dissolve the wall safe into nothingness.

Why, then, had nothing been stolen?

Harry examined the contents of the safe. They had been tossed back in helter-skelter fas.h.i.+on after a quick search by the Light. The papers didn't give Harry any clue: the lease of Dawn's apartment; some insurance policies; a tin box containing a sheaf of government bonds; a sizable amount of cash in twenty-dollar bills.

The jewelry, too, offered no clue. Some of it looked fairly valuable. But the Light had ignored Dawn's bracelets and necklaces and rings.

Harry had a queer hunch that, for once, the Light had been baffled.

Obviously Dawn's open safe could stand a little more watching tonight. But how, and from where? Harry decided that the best hiding place was the wardrobe closet into which he had already peeped.

He darted swiftly back, aware that at almost any instant now, Dawn Reed would return--perhaps with the tall and dangerous-looking Peter Bascom.

The closet was completely empty. Every garment on the horizontal pole that supported the garment hangers had been cleaned out. Shoes and hats had vanished--everything! Nor was there a sign of a single piece of luggage anywhere in the apartment.

Dawn was apparently all set for a quick sneak somewhere.

The empty closet offered a good chance for a resourceful man to hide himself. There was a high, wide shelf at the top. From the shelf to the floor, a drape was hung to keep dust away from hanging garments.

Harry proved that this high shelf was solidly built, by chinning himself and peering over the edge.

He saw just what he wanted. An extra bolt of the drape material lay toward the back of the shelf.

In a moment, Harry was up on the shelf, lying in a cramped huddle. He bunched the bolt of cloth in front of himself. Only a very tall man could see over that shelf without chinning himself or standing on a chair.

The shelf was deep enough to permit Harry to keep well back from the edge.

He closed the closet door. With the same tool that had picked the lock of the service door, he drilled a small hole that permitted him a view of the ruined safe across the room. The hole was well above the level of normal eyesight.

Vincent had barely finished his preparations, when he stiffened on his shelf. He had heard a faint sound from the front of the apartment. A key had turned swiftly in a lock. It was followed by the click of a closing door.

A swift patter of feet came racing through the apartment from the front foyer. The sound told Harry it was a woman even before he recognized Dawn through his tiny peephole.

He could see her because she had snapped on the bedroom light. She was alone. Her face was tight withrage. She was cursing Peter Bascom fiercely under her breath.