The Shadow - The Devil's Partner Part 13

A grim double-tailing job had ensued. k.n.o.bs followed the unsuspecting Swade. The Shadow kept invisibly on the heels of k.n.o.bs. He was ready now to take advantage of that preliminary work. The Shadow intended to beat crooks at their own game.

In the darkness, he leaped silently to the top of the boatyard fence. A moment later, he was safely inside.

He began to move like a patch of blackness toward the square shape of the watchman's shack. Before he got too close to his goal, he halted.

Swade's craft was very close to the shack. The shack's window faced the boat. A revealing shaft of light bathed the boat's deck and the entrance to the tiny cabin below.

The Shadow could have taken a chance on the watchman's inattention; but tonight he was after certainty, not chance. It was important that Swade should not learn of this search by The Shadow.

The Shadow knew the watchman's routine. Every hour the fellow left his shack to make an inspection tour of the dark yard. It was almost time for one of those routine trips now.

Presently, The Shadow saw the man emerge. A flashlight stabbed through the blackness. It pa.s.sed harmlessly above the p.r.o.ne figure in the black cloak. The watchman moved to another part of the yard.

Swiftly, The Shadow glided to the empty shack. His eyes gleamed as he found things exactly as he had antic.i.p.ated. On a small electric stove, a pot of coffee simmered. The Shadow fixed that coffee quickly.

Then he ducked out of sight behind a broken-down armchair where the watchman had left a dog-eared magazine.

He was still there when the man returned. The watchman yawned, muttered to himself. He went over to the stove, poured himself a cup of coffee. He drank it and plumped lazily down in his chair, picked up the magazine.

The powerful narcotic with which The Shadow had spiked the coffee took effect quickly. There was a rustle of pages as the magazine slipped to the floor from the watchman's hand. His head lolled against the back of the chair. Only the chair's padded arms kept him from sliding to the floor.

Rising from his place of concealment, The Shadow lifted the drugged victim from the chair, shoved his body out of sight. Sibilant laughter whispered. The watchman would be out of action for at least two hours - plenty of time for The Shadow to search Swade's boat and to attend to some other equally important matters!

He crossed the yard noiselessly to Swade's boat and climbed aboard. He began a slow patient search.

THE SHADOW'S search took in every inch of the deck and the hull. It took him below - into the stuffy cabin; into the hull where the engine and the storage s.p.a.ce was located.

It got him exactly nothing! The Shadow's eyes flared with a grim light. He was not used to defeat. He was positive there was a secret hiding place aboard this boat.

The fact that he had not found it merely meant that he hadn't searched cleverly enough.

He searched again.

This time he noticed an odd fact that had escaped his attention before. He found his clue on the instrument panel at the plate-gla.s.s front of the cabin.

The Shadow stared at the indicator of the fuel gauge. It showed that the boat's tank was completely filled with gasoline. The laughter of The Shadow made a sibilant sound.

It was odd that a boat hauled up for storage should have a full gas tank. The normal thing would be to drain the tank the moment the craft was hauled out of the water.

Going back into the hull, The Shadow unscrewed the cap of the tank. He dipped his finger in and found nothing startling except that the tank was full.

An ordinary investigator would have concluded that his hunch was wrong. But not The Shadow. He noted an additional fact. The tank was arranged so that a whole section of the top could be removed to permit cleaning.

The Shadow removed it after a little deft work with a couple of tools.

This time, he was able to do more than dip a probing finger into the gasoline. He was rewarded by feeling a hook on the tank's inner side. It was about four inches below the level of the liquid.

A thin chain was attached to the hook. The Shadow tugged at the chain and found it heavy. When he pulled it up, he lifted a square box of metal from the bottom of the tank.

The box was locked and watertight, but it presented no difficulties to The Shadow. He opened it without delay.

He took out a large envelope. From the envelope came a sheaf of papers.

The Shadow examined his find. It was not the stolen case history of Jonah Minter that had caused the jittery banker to sacrifice fifty thousand dollars so foolishly. It was something else - a prize The Shadow had expected to find.

His laughter held a note of triumph as he slipped those papers beneath his black cloak. He didn't put the empty envelope back into the metal box until he had made a swift subst.i.tution. Instead of the original doc.u.ments, the envelope now held only sheets of blank paper.

The Shadow lowered the chained box to the bottom of the gas tank, replaced the section of the tank that he had unscrewed.

Swiftly, he quitted the craft. He sprang downward to the dark earth of the boat yard. Unseen, he raced back to the fence that enclosed the grounds on the land side.

Scaling the fence, he began to creep carefully along the outer side of the barrier.

He waited for nearly ten minutes near the spot where he had first shown himself. Then he began to advance again. Two figures had approached the fence through the weeds. They were convinced they had arrived un.o.bserved. The Shadow could hear k.n.o.b Maletto's voice: "Just like I told you, boss. A cinch!"

"What about the watchman?"

That was Anthony Kilby's voice. It was edgy with eagerness.

"We'll have to wait a while. It won't be long now. Pretty soon the guy will leave his shack. He'll make his regular inspection tour. Then he's our meat!"

"Are you certain you can handle him? He's sure to be packing a gun. Swade is no fool. He's probably bribed the fellow to be specially watchful."

"Leave the mug to me," Maletto whispered. "He won't get no chance to use a gun. What I'll do will be to attract his attention. Only, he won't find nothing when he gets there. What he'll get will be a nice sock over the skull from behind! He'll pa.s.s out quick. Then I'll lug him back to his shack and dump him somewhere out of sight. When I'm all set, I'll tip you a signal from the shack window. I'll snap the light out and on again, three times."

"O.K.," Kilby said. "Don't make any mistakes!"

"Leave it to me," k.n.o.bs grunted. "I've had lots of practice on strong-arm stuff. Gimme a boost up."

KILBY helped his henchman to the top of the dark fence. k.n.o.bs dropped silently to the other side. No sound came from within as he crept through the blackness toward the watchman's distant shack.

Outside the fence Kilby glued his eye to a small knothole.

The Shadow no longer was watching Kilby from the tall weeds. Having learned all he wanted to, The Shadow was on his way back into the boat yard.

He crawled over the fence at a spot considerably distant from the crouched Kilby. Safely inside, he melted invisibly through the blackness.

For a long time, nothing happened. The Shadow, like Maletto, was waiting for the next routine appearance of the watchman.

Presently, the door of the shack opened. It was time for the watchman's next tour. The stab of his flashlight disclosed his progress through the cluttered yard.

k.n.o.bs Maletto watched grimly from the spot he had chosen. When the flashlight had traveled far enough, he picked up a chunk of board and made a deliberate noise. Then he faded soundlessly to another spot.

The noise was heard by the watchman. The ray of his torch jerked in a quick semicircle. It bathed the spot that Maletto had just quitted. The light showed nothing.

Swiftly, the watchman yanked a gun from his pocket, advanced at a run. He bent over the place where the board had been dislodged.

As he did so, he flung himself suddenly flat to the ground.

Maletto swung his gun. He was startled to find no target for the b.u.t.t of his clubbed weapon. The watchman's sudden flop earthward left only empty air where his skull had been. The swing of Maletto's weapon against nothingness pulled him off balance. The watchman's clutch at the ankle of the thug completed the trick.

With a strangled cry, k.n.o.bs went headlong on his face.

It was a cry that was not repeated. It died out under the impact of a swiftly delivered blow. Maletto remained on the ground in a tangled huddle. He was out cold.

The watchman rose to his feet. From his lips came a barely audible whisper of mirth.

The watchman was - The Shadow!

Swinging the inert body of the captured thug across his shoulder, The Shadow moved swiftly toward the lighted doorway of the shack.

Kilby caught a vague glimpse of all this through the knothole in the fence. To him, the picture was satisfactory. He had heard Maletto's decoy sound, had seen the watchman race to the spot. Then he had heard a m.u.f.fled cry and the impact of a treacherous blow.

Kilby was correct enough about what had happened, except for one grim detail. The victim was his own henchman!

But he was certain that everything was all right when he saw the signal from within the watchman's shack.

The light within went out, came swiftly on again. Twice. Three times.

Anthony Kilby muttered a quick oath of pleasure. He scaled the top of the boatyard fence, dropped to the other side. He didn't try to hide his movements. Stealth was no longer necessary. But speed was!

Confident that Maletto was keeping an eye on a slugged watchman within the shack, Kilby searched the boat of Simon Swade. He didn't waste time as The Shadow had. He seemed to know exactly where to look. He ducked down into the cabin, squeezed through a narrow opening into the hull.

He had tools in the pocket of his coat. He used them to open the top of the gasoline tank. Like The Shadow, Kilby grabbed at the thin chain attached to a hook below the surface of the fuel. He pulled up the metal box. He tried key after key with trembling fingers, until he had the box unlocked.

A gasp of delight came from him when he took out the bulky envelope. But it changed quickly to a sharp yelp of dismay.

The papers that Anthony Kilby had s.n.a.t.c.hed from the envelope were blank; The Shadow had done a neat job of subst.i.tution.

IT did not occur to Kilby that The Shadow had visited the boat ahead of him. Nothing occurred to him except the rage in his heart. He realized only that something had gone wrong with a perfect plan!

Rus.h.i.+ng to the deck of the boat, Kilby shouted recklessly toward his unseen pal in the watchman's shack.

He got no answer.

But he was smart enough not to forget one important detail before he raced to find out what had happened to Maletto. He darted out of sight for a moment. He used that moment to replace the metal box in the gas tank, to put back the tank's cover.

Then, with drawn gun and tight lips, Kilby raced to the watchman's shack.

Maletto was on the floor, bound and gagged. He was still dazed from the blow The Shadow had dealthim, but he recovered his wits as Kilby ripped the gag loose and unbound him.

"What happened?" Kilby snarled.

"I dunno. Somebody was wise to the stunt. Before I could sock the guy, I got socked myself!"

"Where is the watchman? Where did he go after he slugged you?"

"It wasn't the watchman," Maletto said thinly. His face was pale. He rubbed the lump on his head with a shaky hand. "I caught a quick look at the guy who yanked me off balance. I think it was - The Shadow!"

Kilby swore. There was fear in his voice. He grabbed at the arm of his scared confederate. He seemed to feel hidden menace in every patch of blackness outside the shack.

Maletto felt that way, too.

The two men beat a hasty retreat to the fence. Presently, dim echoes from a departing car were faintly audible.

Laughter followed the final fading of that sound. The Shadow once more appeared in the shack.

He had allowed the discomfited pair to escape because he was not yet ready for his final haul. The final haul would include another fish in The Shadow's net: Simon Swade!

The Shadow dragged the unconscious watchman from concealment, propped him in the armchair. Then he busied himself with the pot of coffee that was still simmering gently on the electric stove.

He dumped the drugged coffee, washed out the pot. He did a careful, competent job. When he had finished, no trace of the drug that he had used remained in the pot.

The Shadow made fresh coffee; just enough to fill the pot to the same level it had contained after the watchman had drunk his last cupful.

When the watchman came to later on, he might be suspicious. A sniff at the pot, a taste of the coffee, would end any vague suspicion of treachery. The watchman would decide that he had fallen asleep over his magazine.

If he was in the pay of Swade, he would be afraid to say anything about that. He'd be too scared of being fired. Simon Swade would continue to remain blissfully ignorant that The Shadow had made a successful raid.

Nor would Kilby or k.n.o.bs Maletto be in a position to warn Swade of what had happened. To warn Swade would be to admit that both had tried to double-cross him.

The Shadow had played a perfect game!

All that remained was for The Shadow to resume the now highly dangerous role of Lamont Cranston.

He was aware that both Kilby and Swade suspected Cranston was a convenient personality a.s.sumed by The Shadow. A trap was in the making. It was a trap that Lamont Cranston intended to walk into!

The Shadow was going to let Kilby and Swade play the game to a finish. In their effort to trap him, The Shadow was going to permit them to trap themselves!

CHAPTER XIV. THE HOUSE OF STONE

LAMONT CRANSTON sat in the lounging room at the Cobalt Club. An evening paper was in his hand, but he seemed too bored to glance at it.

It was early evening. Most of Cranston's fellow clubmen had departed to attend the theater or what not.

Cranston had smilingly declined half a dozen invitations. Now he had the ornate lounging room practically to himself.

It was a set-up that suited The Shadow. His boredom was a sham. This was the third evening that Cranston had hung listlessly around the Cobalt Club. He expected a visit from either Simon Swade or Anthony Kilby. Perhaps both of them.

Tonight, he was not disappointed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw both Kilby and Swade approaching from the club's lobby. He raised his newspaper and turned partly away. His glance strayed toward an archway that gave access toward the club's small and rather cozy bar. A wistful look came into his eyes.

Swade thought he knew what that look meant. He laughed jovially as he tapped Cranston on the shoulder.