The Living Shadow s-1

by Maxwell Grant

  “Say, Bill,” he inquired. “Who is this fellow, anyway? I never saw him here before.”

  “New man on tonight,” was the reply. “Pete was sick. This fellow happened to come in. Said he could do the work, so I put him on.”

  “Well, he’s through tonight.”

  English Johnny again accosted the man who had sided with Harry.

  “I’m boss around here,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “You’re not my boss.”

  “I own this lunch wagon.”

  “You don’t own me.”

  English Johnny pushed the man aside.

  “Grab him, boys,” he said. “Grab him if he tries to start anything.”

  English Johnny turned his attention again to Harry Vincent. Lashing out with his right -

  But a long, white-clad arm flashed through the air. A terrific blow caught English Johnny on the side of his jaw to send him reeling against the counter.

  “Get him, boys,” cried the big man, spluttering with rage.

  English Johnny leaped forward himself, but another smash landed squarely in the midst of his beefy face. He dropped to the floor in front of the counter.

  Then the mob closed in on the man who had taken Harry’s part. There was a swirl of fists, and among them two arms in white cloth swung heavily and well.

  Harry had straightened up, and as one of the battlers was propelled in his direction, he grappled with the rowdy and hurled him against a stool.

  The mob had broken; three men were groveling on the tile floor. The others, too, had been beaten back by a white-armed cyclone that struck with the speed and power of lightning.

  The door was pulled back, and Harry was thrust through it.

  “Get your car,” commanded his new friend. “We’ll have to run for it.”

  English Johnny had arisen. Screaming a curse, he hurled his huge bulk at the man in white.

  Harry ran for the car. As the door slid shut, he heard a terrific crash - English Johnny had been flung over the counter to come cascading down amid a chorus of falling plates.

  It was but a few yards to the gasoline station. Harry reached the wheel of his car. He tossed a five-dollar bill to the astonished service man; spun the starter, and shot the coupe to the front of the lunch wagon. He could hear the sounds of fresh conflict within. He leaped to the ground and pulled back the door.

  A lone fighter was engaged with two opponents. He flung them aside, then beyond him came the flash of a revolver, drawn by a man in the background.

  But before the gunman could draw a bead with his weapon, the white-coated stranger galvanized into action. His long, remarkably strong fingers stabbed out like the beak of a vulture. In a flash he had wrested the revolver from the gunny - it all happened so quickly that the latter barely had time to marshal his amazement.

  So, with a path clear to possible safety, and with Harry waiting for his unexpected savior, the astounding stranger darted through the doorway. Then Harry sent the door crashing shut.

  Leaping for the wheel of his car, Harry got under way. The stranger vaulted into the seat beside him.

  As the motor’s drumming increased, the lunch wagon’s door opened. Three men barged forth, brandishing lead spillers in their hands.

  Again The Shadow’s forces had scored.

  CHAPTER XXVI

  A RACE FOR LIFE

  “Speed up,” came a terse voice from Harry’s side. “They’ve got a car. They’re following us.”

  As he pressed the accelerator, Harry marveled at the power of his companion. Virtually alone - for Harry’s help had been trivial - this man had handled eight opponents and had disposed of five of them.

  While the brawl had lasted, not a man in the crowd had had an opportunity to draw his gun. But when the mob had been scattered about the floor, the danger of a pistol shot had made flight the only reasonable course.

  The motor hummed as Harry gave it full power. The coupe was heavy, and held the road well. It was built for speed. They flashed through the countryside like a whirlwind. Vincent had not chosen the direction. He had taken the nearest highway that had appeared before him.

  The other car was gaining. Harry could sense that from his companion’s actions. He could not see the other man, for his eyes were focused on the road ahead, where the bright lights of the car opened a brilliant path. Yet he knew that his companion was peering from the opened window, back along the highway.

  The road seemed endless. Vincent knew nothing of the car that was behind. It must be a powerful automobile if it could overtake his speedy coupe. A turn from the highway might be advantageous, but he doubted if it would prove practical. He kept straight on, trusting to speed alone.

  Yet still he knew that the other car was gaining. He knew it first by a glare reflected in the mirror in front of him. The light increased. Miles were flying by; and with every mile the pursuers were coming closer!

  Then he could hear the roar of the automobile in the rear. He felt a great helplessness. He was at the wheel of a powerful, swift machine, forging ahead at rocket-like speed. Yet in back was another mighty engine of the highway - superior to his by just the smallest percentage; and in the final test he would be overtaken.

  There was a further disadvantage. When they reached the end of this stretch of well-paved road, Harry would have to slow his pace. If the distance became short by then, the coupe would be overtaken, and its occupants would be at the mercy of the merciless gangsters.

  But these thoughts were useless. Harry bit his lips in grim tension as he spurred the car to its limit.

  He was at the center of the road. The highway was almost deserted. But occasionally he would see a car coming from the other direction, and would bear down into the glare of its lights without slackening his speed. Each time the oncoming automobile would swing to the side of the road and let him pass.

  There was another sign that the race was closing up. The roar of the pursuing motor had become louder; and above it came sharp, quick reports. The gangsters were firing at the coupe. But the fast-moving target eluded their shots. But would their aim improve when the range had become less?

  It was a time for action. But what else could Harry do?

  He listened for a sound from his companion. But there was none. Had the man been struck by a bullet? No; Harry would have heard the steel messenger crash through the back of the coupe. Perhaps - the thought was chilling - the man had been clipped by a revolver shot as his head had been thrust from the window.

  Harry dropped his right hand from the wheel. He touched the body of his companion.

  “Easy,” came a whisper. “Watch the wheel. I’m all right.”

  The man had divined Harry’s thoughts. Somehow Harry felt that this wild ride might have a happy ending. His companion had shown amazing strength during the battle in the lunch wagon. Perhaps in the next emergency he would again display some unexpected power. That would be soon, Harry knew, for the pursuers had lost no ground.

  The road began to wind. The course was slightly uphill. It was harder to control the car, but it was an unexpected advantage for the occupants of the fleeing coupe. As a target, their car was more elusive than before.

  The highway now curved steadily to the left. The voice spoke beside Harry.

  “Keep to the left of the road.”

  This was strange advice. It would throw them into the path of any car that might be coming from the opposite direction. Yet Harry obeyed. The voice had carried a command. It was different from the voice of the man who had fought in the lunch wagon. It sounded like a voice that Vincent had heard before - where he could not recall, for his mind was feverish from strain.

  The voice spoke again an instant later.

  “Close to the left.”

  The turn in the road was becoming sharper. Harry held tightly to the wheel. There was a hill at the left, and it was difficult to stay close. But the lights of the pursuing car were almost lost behind the bend.

  Another co
mmand from Harry’s right.

  “Use your brakes. A sharp turn to the left. Take it close. Slow down quickly.”

  He could only obey. He jammed the brake pedal and the speed of the car suddenly decreased. He was at the sharp turn; it curved almost at right angles. Here, at the left of the road, Vincent could not have controlled the car but for the slackened speed. At that, the momentum seemed to draw them to the right, where the broad highway was banked, and he pushed the brakes on again almost stopping the car.

  Then the roar was upon them. Swerving around the curve, the pursuing car came whirling at terrific speed. It was high on the banked-up road, its position at the right giving it the advantage which Harry had neglected.

  The gangsters could not have sighted the coupe until they were almost beside it; for as their huge sedan came up, Harry could hear cries of exultation. Instinctively, he looked to his right and saw the big machine beside him - on the other side of the road, close to the white rail fence. Then his companion leaned between him and the window. He saw the glint of steel; and a sharp shot came from the gun that had been wrested from the gangster in the lunch wagon.

  There was another report from the sedan - a louder explosion. The big machine swayed; then crashed through the rail amid the clatter of breaking glass and shouts of terror. It hung there, precariously poised upon an embankment

  The realization of what had happened came to Vincent as he pressed his foot upon the accelerator, and felt the coupe leap in response. With one well-timed deed, his companion had disposed of the pursuing car, through strategy and skill. His single pistol shot had found its resting place in the left front tire of the big sedan! The tire had blown, and the driver had been helpless to save his speeding car from the crash that brought destruction!

  He looked to his right. His companion was lost in the darkness. Some time during the flight, the man, without Harry’s knowledge, had removed his white coat and apron.

  The road straightened suddenly; then curved to the right. Harry was on the proper side, and as he took the turn he automatically gave the car full speed. Then he gasped in sudden terror. Directly before him was a railroad crossing; across his pathway stood a freight train, scarcely fifty feet ahead.

  He brought his foot to the brake pedal, but he knew that the operation was hopeless. A big box car seemed to grow before his eyes, and he bent his head for the certain crash. Then a hand appeared before him; the wheel was jerked violently to the right, and the car careened on two wheels as it was guided to a narrow road beside the freight train.

  Harry’s head struck the post beside the window. He heard the click of the emergency brake, and he sank behind the wheel, exhausted and half stunned as the car came to a stop. He felt himself being helped from the coupe. Then he was half lying on a wooden bench. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his forehead, as he breathed the cold night air and sought to steady his trembling nerves.

  Harry opened his eyes and looked about him. He was sitting on the bench of a little station. The end of the freight train was rolling by; he could see lights in the caboose.

  He stood up and saw the road down which the car had come, but the coupe was gone. The man who had thrice rescued him within the past hour had ridden away in Harry Vincent’s automobile!

  Quickly he reached in his pocket and found the pad upon which he had inscribed the numbers of the code in Bingham’s safe. He scanned the top page by the light on the station platform.

  The page that bore the code was gone.

  In its place were carefully inscribed words, printed in pencil. The message was brief but clear:

  “Train for New York in twenty minutes. Take it.”

  Harry studied these words, his groggy mind pondering over their significance.

  He felt that the code had reached its proper destination. Instead of being called for at the Metrolite Hotel, it had been picked up on the way.

  For the man who had fought in the lunch wagon, the man who had sent the pursuing gangsters through the rail, the man who had snatched the coupe from what had seemed sure destruction was none other - could have been none other - than The Shadow!

  CHAPTER XXVII

  THE CODE IS SOLVED

  The watchman outside the Laidlow house flashed his lantern across the lawn. Great, long shadows appeared beneath its gleam. The watchman was used to such shadows. They seemed to move and sway as he walked his course.

  He flashed his light against a side window. All was darkness underneath. Shadowy darkness - thick darkness that seemed like something real.

  The window was locked, but it was like so many other windows in the house - easy to be opened if one would care to perform that action.

  The watchman turned away. As his light was withdrawn, the black gloom moved up and obscured the window, and amidst the sable darkness the window opened silently.

  It had been unlocked and opened before the watchman had traveled sixty feet.

  Something was moving in the Laidlow house; moving silently, invisibly. A mysterious presence had entered the place. A clock struck one.

  The tiny, penetrating ray of a pocket flashlight appeared in the library. The shades of the windows were down. The light could not have been seen from outside.

  The light flashed along rows of books. There were many such rows in that library. They occupied the walls on two sides, from the ceiling down to the floor.

  The light stopped. It came closer to the shelf and was focused on a single book. The volume was an abridged dictionary; one which must have been consulted often, for its leather back bore signs of considerable usage

  Tapering, well-shaped fingers appeared in the little disk of light. They were fingers with smooth-pointed nails. The fingers drew the dictionary from its position. The light disappeared.

  A moment later it appeared again, this time shining upon the polished surface of a mahogany table. A hand placed the book beneath the glow; and two slips of paper fell on the table.

  One sheet carried this numbered inscription:

  “730-16; 457-20; 330-5; 543-26; 605-39; 808-1; 457-20; 38-14; 840-28; 877-27; 101-13; 872-21; 838-10.”

  The other sheet of paper was blank.

  The hand turned the pages of the dictionary; not slowly nor rapidly, but easily. The book lay open at page 730.

  An index finger moved down the left column of the page, pausing an instant at each word, checking off the words as a clock might tick. It stopped at the sixteenth word.

  The word was “slide.”

  This appeared immediately afterward upon the blank sheet of paper. It was printed by the hand, which used a sharp-pointed pencil.

  Then the leaves of the dictionary were moved again, and the mystic finger stopped at the twentieth word on page 457. This word was “left.”

  The cryptic number 457-20 appeared twice on the sheet that bore the code; so the hand, as though to save excess operation, printed the word “left” two times, allowing proper space for the words that were to come between.

  The movement of the hand continued as it went through the pages of the dictionary. The fifth word on page 330 was “frame”; the twenty-sixth word on page 543 was “of.”

  The transcribing went on so regularly that each new word appeared as though timed exactly. After a while the complete series of numbers was decoded, forming a message in capital letters which read:

  SLIDE LEFT FRAME OF PORTRAIT TO LEFT AND UPWARD WORD BLUSH WILL UNLOCK

  In only a few hours after Harry Vincent had copied the code in Ezekiel Bingham’s safe, its secret had been divined and its message had been translated!

  The papers were picked up and crumpled by a hand. The light moved along the floor and back to the book case, where the dictionary was carefully replaced in its position on the shelf.

  Then the flashlight swept the wall, stopping for a brief moment upon each picture in the library.

  It moved through the doorway and along the hall, into a living room where shades were also tightly drawn. Each pictur
e was subjected to the searching ring of brilliant light; and finally the circle of illumination poised on a small painting of a child, which was set in a heavy gold frame that seemed fastened permanently to the wall.

  A hand appeared again, and its thumb and index finger touched the frame at the left side of the portrait. They moved to the left, and the frame followed. They pushed upward, and the frame responded to the movement.

  A mechanism clicked, and the painting, actuated by hinges beneath its right side, swung open like a little door.

  The circular glow revealed a wall safe that had been cunningly concealed behind the portrait. There were five slots on the door of the safe, set in a row. A letter showed in each opening. The fingers started at the left, and touching the letter, caused an interior wheel to revolve.

  The letters B, L, U, S, and H came into view.

  The fingers reached for a knob; the door of the safe opened outward. It was hinged at the left, opposite from the hinges of the portrait.

  The interior of the little safe was entirely illuminated by the radiance of the bulb in the flashlight.

  The safe was empty!

  The light remained there for half a minute. Some one was thinking behind that flashlight. A mind was working amid the darkness.

  Then the hand reappeared and closed the safe. The fingers spun the letters. The portrait was shut also; and the frame at the left was brought back to its correct position. A silk handkerchief brushed the frame, removing any marks that might have remained.

  The flashlight was out. All was silent for a while, then the circle of illumination appeared again above the table in the library. A hand was writing, and keen thoughts were finding their cold expression on a sheet of paper:

  “Joyce discovered the purpose of the code. The house was entered last night and the gems were taken. Bingham has them now. That explains his absence.

  “English Johnny will meet Bingham - soon. It cannot be tonight. It may be tomorrow night, for it must be soon.

  “The note that English Johnny wrote was false. It was obviously false. It was done to deceive an unseen watcher who was not deceived.