Crime, Insured s-129

by Maxwell Grant

  No one, not even The Shadow!

  CHAPTER XVIII. FRANCINE EXPLAINS

  SHORTLY after dawn, George Melrue awoke with a headache. Despite promises he had made to Francine, George was still drinking rather heavily, on the excuse that it was the only thing he could do to pass the time quickly in this isolated apartment.

  The window shade was flapping. George crawled from the bed to close the window. He looked to a courtyard below the apartment-house wall; there, he gained a blurred impression of motion. He thought that he saw a blot of blackness melt from sight.

  It suddenly struck George that it was poor policy to gawk from an open window. He started back toward his bed. He stopped when he saw a streak of light beneath the door that connected with the living room.

  George donned slippers and dressing gown; he wondered why Francine had risen so early.

  The girl had evidently come from her bedroom quite a while before; for George found her seated at a table, finishing a letter. Francine was attired in a gay kimono; but her expression was serious. She seemed to be choosing words with great care. Hearing George enter, the girl looked up.

  "What's the idea, sis?" demanded George. "I thought we were supposed to be keeping out of sight. Here I find you writing a letter -"

  "To Mr. Reddingham," inserted Francine. "Have you any objection, George?"

  At first, George offered none. Then, as Francine finished the letter and began to fold it, her brother argued:

  "Sure, I've got an objection! First you insist that we sneak out of sight, without even mentioning it to Reddingham. Now you're writing to him. That doesn't make sense!

  "It's dangerous, sis" - George's tone became a plaintive whine - "and I don't like it! If we'd talked to Reddingham in the first place, it might have been all right; but you were afraid to do that -"

  Francine gestured an interruption. Rising, she passed George the letter.

  "Read it," she suggested. "It explains matters. If you have any questions, you will find me in the kitchenette making breakfast."

  George read the letter. He was rubbing his eyes before he had finished the first three lines. From that point on, his mouth was open in amazement. The letter stated facts that almost stunned him. Its contents were as follows:

  DEAR MR. REDDINGHAM:

  Recently, I received advice from a friend who calls himself The Shadow. He told me that enemies plotted to gain three million dollars that rightfully belonged to myself and George; that it would be best for us to stay somewhere out of sight.

  We have followed that advice. We are safe and we have the three million dollars. But The Shadow has not sent a message that we expected. It is to come in a radio announcement from Station WNX at 8 p.m. We are to listen for certain emphasized words.

  Unless we hear from The Shadow by tonight, we shall have to

  depend upon you. We have counted upon The Shadow choosing someone with whom we can place the money safely. If he does not help us, we shall risk a visit to your office tomorrow.

  Sincerely, FRANCINE MELRUE

  Carrying the letter, George popped into the kitchenette, wearing a dumbfounded expression. He stammered questions; and Francine calmly answered them. She told her brother of her two meetings with The Shadow and admitted that the supposed threat from crooks had been a fake.

  "Then we've been duped!" expressed George. "You were fool enough to believe the fellow, Francine.

  The Shadow is playing some game of his own! He wants us out of the way!"

  Francine pulled open a cupboard drawer. George blinked. He was looking at stacked bundles of bank notes, bonds and other securities. Francine smiled.

  "If The Shadow chose to dupe us, George," said the girl, "he would scarcely have placed three million dollars in our possession."

  "Three million dollars!"

  George's tone was breathless. He pawed through the wealth; made an estimate of its amount. Francine was right; The Shadow was a friend. George's expression became one of concern.

  "We'd better get away," panted George. "Go somewhere else - take the money with us - put it in good hands! If something's happened to The Shadow - maybe we'll be next -"

  George halted under Francine's contemptuous gaze. He saw a thrust of the girl's chin; knew what was in her mind. Weakly, George sat down.

  "I guess I'm a cad," he admitted. "Thinking of our own safety and not caring what's happened to this chap who helped us along. I'm sorry, Francine."

  George's penitent mood showed that he would follow any plan that Francine offered. The girl put the letter in an envelope, sealed and addressed it. While she was affixing a stamp, she told her brother:

  "I'm calling up the corner store for some groceries. I can tell the delivery boy to mail this letter. It will reach Mr. Reddingham before his office closes."

  AT four that afternoon, the letter reached Reddingham's; but it was not delivered to the attorney.

  Reddingham's secretary was ill; a smug substitute was working in his place. When that man saw the envelope, he promptly compared it with a sample of Francine's handwriting.

  Immediately afterward, the substitute secretary found an excuse to leave the office. He took the letter with him.

  Shortly before five o'clock, Strampf was ushered into Bradthaw's office. With a dry smile, the cadaverous investigator handed the letter to the master-crook. Strampf commented that the letter had been intercepted at Reddingham's office.

  Bradthaw's eyes became steely as they read the letter. The gray-haired executive took only a few minutes to form his conclusions.

  "The Shadow was far ahead of us," decided Bradthaw. "He must have known too much about the Melrues, at the time when he blocked the jewel theft. It was The Shadow who took Caudrey's three million, before we even thought of the X-ray photographs. He talked to the girl, knowing that she had nerve.

  "The Melrues went through with the house sale just to bluff us. Afterward, they had to take to cover. By that time George had become worried. Francine took charge of everything. It is now her turn to be troubled."

  Strampf nodded; he added the harsh remark:

  "Because they have not heard from The Shadow. They do not know that The Shadow is dead.

  Tomorrow, we can waylay them when they come to see Reddingham."

  With a smile, Bradthaw shook his head.

  "Too crude, Strampf," objected the crooked executive. "They might call Reddingham before they approached the office. Learning that he never received the letter, Francine would foresee danger. There is a better way to handle this."

  Leaning across the desk, Bradthaw brought his fist down with a triumphant thump, as he announced:

  "We shall let the Melrues hear from The Shadow!"

  STRAMPF'S tiny eyes blinked before he caught the idea. Bradthaw waited; he could almost picture the workings of Strampf's mechanical mind. At last, Strampf spoke.

  "It can be arranged," he stated, crisply. "A false message from WNX. One that the Melrues will accept as authentic word from The Shadow. Just what do you wish to tell them?"

  "We must bring them here," declared Bradthaw. "Safely, without the slightest semblance of danger. I shall be the man whom The Shadow has appointed as custodian of the three million dollars."

  Bradthaw's plan was perfect. His own reputation was undisputed. The Melrues would recognize his name, his standing as a big man in the insurance world. They would not hesitate at placing the three million dollars in his care. So Bradthaw reasoned, and Strampf agreed.

  "They will tell me everything," chuckled Bradthaw. "That will enable us to cover every detail. If we learn that the Melrues have spoken to no one other than The Shadow, we can eliminate them promptly. Their disappearance will be complete.

  "If they have mentioned their secret to certain friends, we can act accordingly. In that case, we shall keep the Melrues under cover until we have dealt with those other parties. Merely a precaution, Strampf."

  Strampf nodded.

  "A wise precaution," he agreed, "and there
fore necessary. Whatever happens to the Melrues afterward, will never be blamed upon you, Mr. Bradthaw. However, I anticipate no complications. It is probable that the Melrues have spoken to no one other than The Shadow."

  "And The Shadow," added Bradthaw, "would have spoken only to his agents. The Shadow is dead. As soon as the Melrues are on their way here, we shall eliminate The Shadow's agents also."

  "With the exception of Burbank?"

  "Burbank excepted. Until he has put that black-ray machine in operation. Afterward, death for Burbank!"

  BRADTHAW had settled the question of The Shadow's agents. The verdict pleased Strampf. He would not have to keep further tabs on the prisoners. Ace Gandley's outfit would no longer be required.

  Strampf had already set nine o'clock as the dead line, in case The Shadow's agents were to be eliminated. Under present circumstances, the death hour might come sooner.

  At eight o'clock, the message would go from WNX. If the Melrues responded promptly, they would automatically sign the death warrant for five of the six prisoners who had once served as The Shadow's agents.

  Burbank's message to The Shadow had called for aid before nine o'clock tonight. Events had shaped to produce an earlier dead line, without Burbank knowing it.

  By nine tonight, rescue might prove impossible. Death was scheduled to reach the prisoners before The Shadow's arrival.

  CHAPTER XIX. MESSAGE OF DOOM

  EARLY evening found The Shadow's agents tense, even though they did not show it. A clock in their living room marked the approach of eight. One hour more would mark the limit that Strampf had given them.

  All of the prisoners knew of Burbank's message to The Shadow. Burbank had passed the word along, by a silent eye-code that all the agents understood. Glances, with simple shifts of gaze, enabled them to spell out secret messages.

  Ace Gandley's thugs were keeping close watch tonight. Each bedroom held a brace of armed men; others were watching from the main door that led into the living room. In effect, the prisoners were surrounded by a ring of captors.

  They knew, too, that Ace had henchmen upstairs, with lookouts posted outside the house. Nevertheless, the prisoners felt confidence in The Shadow's ability to enter anywhere. In their mind, the future was settled.

  The Shadow knew that Strampf was due at nine o'clock. The agents could picture their chief awaiting the cadaverous man's arrival, as the right time for a thrust of rescue.

  As minutes ticked toward eight o'clock, an unexpected change took place. Ace Gandley came into the room.

  Ace was a burly ruffian whose grin added to the natural ugliness of his face. His eyes carried a mean glint as he squinted toward the prisoners. Ace picked out Burbank.

  "Come along, you! I got something to talk about."

  Burbank had to comply. He did not like it, for he preferred to be with the other prisoners when Strampf arrived. Ace's order predicted unforeseen complications, especially when the ugly-faced leader added a command to the guards.

  "Drag out that machine," Ace told them. "Bring it along after you've locked up the little rooms."

  Ace took Burbank through the main door. They followed a narrow passage to a room that served as Ace's headquarters. A tough-faced rowdy was seated at a radio.

  Burbank noted a telephone in the corner; also a long, flat box with a padlock. He saw a large master-switch on the wall - one that apparently controlled all the lights in the building.

  "Sit down," growled Ace. Then, to the man at the radio: "All right, Kelvey. Tune in on WNX."

  ACE watched Burbank. The contact man remained impassive, but he sensed the ominous. Burbank could almost guess what was due next.

  There was a crackle of static. WNX was on the air. Chimes registered eight o'clock. A purred voice followed, it was the tone of a new announcer. The speaker stressed certain words:

  "It is unwise to leave important matters to the future. Act immediately. Insurance will meet your problems.

  It is a friend at all times. Be square with yourself -"

  The voice purred on, but it no longer emphasized words. The message was given, and Burbank had heard it. So had Ace. The ugly crook was grinning at the concern shown by The Shadow's agent.

  Burbank could not take his eyes from the radio. His fixed gaze told that he understood.

  "Leave immediately. Meet friend at Times Square."

  Such was the message; and it could not be from The Shadow. Someone had placed a new announcer at WNX, to send a false message. Unquestionably, that message was for persons whom The Shadow intended to protect. Instead, it was designed to enmesh them.

  Ace offered Burbank no further explanation regarding the message itself. As a matter of fact, Ace did not know the full details. Marvin Bradthaw had swung the deal. He had arranged with WNX to take over a sustaining program that usually went on at eight o'clock.

  Bradthaw had managed it easily. He had previously used radio as a booster for insurance sales. WNX

  had gladly accepted him as a commercial backer for a regular program. The introduction of a new announcer was an acceptable proviso.

  ELSEWHERE, listeners had heard that message. In their hidden apartment, George and Francine made haste to answer the long-awaited call. They packed their three million dollars in a suitcase and hurriedly put on hats and coats.

  Five minutes later they were in a taxi, riding to Times Square.

  The trip was a short one. When they alighted from the cab, the Melrues decided to wait at the neatest corner, where anyone looking for them would recognize them immediately. Their wait was less than three minutes.

  A man stepped from the crowd and spoke to them. They recognized Louis Caudrey.

  George was not sure that Caudrey was the friend whom the message meant, until the droopy actuary motioned them into another cab. In a low tone, Caudrey informed:

  "Reddingham received your letter. Right after that, he heard from some mysterious party who had made arrangements for tonight. What it's all about, I don't know; but Reddingham asked me to meet you."

  Caudrey's tone was frank. It fooled George effectively. Francine's details had not included the names of criminals who sought the three million dollars. Hurden, of course, was linked; but George knew nothing of the proxy's connection with Caudrey.

  It looked as though Caudrey had been deputed as a reliable person by both The Shadow and Reddingham.

  "We're going to see a big insurance man named Marvin Bradthaw," explained the actuary. "Whatever your business is, Reddingham says you can show full confidence in Mr. Bradthaw."

  Caudrey was watching both his companions as he spoke. If either of the Melrues had shown distrust, Caudrey would have flashed an emergency signal.

  Thugs were close at hand, ready to spring to action if needed. The cab was away from the corner, in a spot where smart trigger men could board it instantly and subdue the occupants without fuss. The driver, too, was in the game.

  It happened, however, that both George and Francine took Caudrey at his word. The actuary closed the cab door and gave an order to the driver. The cab started off.

  Watchers slid away to put in a telephone call. The news would reach Strampf long before the Melrues reached the downtown Solidarity Tower.

  Within fifteen minutes after the false message had been broadcast from WNX, the Melrues were within the meshes of the far-flung network controlled by Marvin Bradthaw.

  THAT quarter hour had proven a troubled one for Burbank.

  First, Ace Gandley had introduced an underworld brother named Kelvey as the fellow who had imitated Burbank's voice to fool The Shadow's agents. With a grin Kelvey put on his act for Burbank's benefit.

  Kelvey's own tone was a raspy one. He used it first.

  "This is Kelvey," he spoke. Then in methodical fashion, he added: "Burbank speaking."

  "Pretty neat huh?" gloated Ace, to Burbank. "Maybe I ought to send Kelvey in to pull it on those other lugs. Give 'em a laugh before they croak."

  Ace eyed Burbank but saw
no effect. Angrily Ace added:

  "You think I'm waiting until Strampf shows up at nine o'clock! You got another guess. That's been switched! All Strampf's waiting for, is word that the radio stuff worked. When he gets that, he'll call here.

  We'll be set!"

  Two of Ace's thugs were bringing out the black-ray machine. They had dismantled it; Burbank saw them stack the parts in the crate. The pair opened a long padlocked box. From it they produced three submachine guns.

  "We're doing it right," informed Ace. "We're going to spray those pals of yours! When that's done, we pull the big switch and beat it. This whole joint will cave!

  "You're lucky, Burbank. Strampf needs you to work on that machine. That's why you're going along with us. I'm telling you this so you'll have sense enough to lay off any dumb stuff."

  The importance of the next few minutes loomed upon Burbank. Desperately, he sought some way to aid his fellow agents. For the first time Burbank was ready to believe that The Shadow had been eliminated, as crooks claimed. Still there was a chance that his chief was still alive.

  Despite his desire for mad action, Burbank retained his methodical manner. He looked across the room; calmly arose from his chair and started in the direction of the crate that held the ray machine.

  "What's the idea?" snarled Ace roughly. He sprang across to grab at Burbank's shoulders. "Who told you to fool with this thing?"

  "You said that Strampf wants me to fix it," returned Burbank. "It will be ruined, the way these men of yours packed it. Since my life depends upon it. I naturally want to keep the machine in good shape."

  BURBANK started to remove portions of the apparatus from the crate. He reached the base and began to untangle its wires. A moment more and Burbank would have had them connected to send a message by the radio beam. A call for The Shadow, stating that nine o'clock would be too late.

  Burbank had worked a message under Strampf's nose. He could fool Ace as easily. Unfortunately, the necessity of unpacking some of the apparatus had put another idea into Ace's head. The mobleader guessed that something was up. His conclusion, though erroneous, defeated Burbank.