Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 058 - Chain of Death

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CHAIN OF DEATH
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. PLANTED DEATH.
? CHAPTER II. FROM THE NIGHT.
? CHAPTER III. THE DEPARTURE.
? CHAPTER IV. THE POLICE SEARCH.
? CHAPTER V. MURDERERS TALK.
? CHAPTER VI. THE SHADOW WAITS.
? CHAPTER VII. CRIME INCORPORATED.
? CHAPTER VIII. ONE WEEK LATER.
? CHAPTER IX. THE CHAIN PREPARES.
? CHAPTER X. A MURDERER STRIKES.
? CHAPTER XI. THE SHADOW'S FINDING.
? CHAPTER XII. THE CREEPING SHADOW.
? CHAPTER XIII. DEATH STRIKES.
? CHAPTER XIV. THE CHAIN CLOSES.
? CHAPTER XV. CARDONA MEETS A VISITOR.
? CHAPTER XVI. A QUESTION OF CODES.
? CHAPTER XVII. THE SHADOW SOLVES.
? CHAPTER XVIII. OUTSIDE THE HARBOR.
? CHAPTER XIX. SHOTS ON BOARD.
? CHAPTER XX. SPOILS OF BATTLE.
? CHAPTER XXI. THE SUMMONS.
? CHAPTER XXII. THE DIVIDEND.
CHAPTER I. PLANTED DEATH.
MISTY night had settled on Manhattan. A chilly drizzle was creeping in from the bay. The bright lights of
Times Square blinked and blazed in defiance of the gathering fog. This district maintained its brilliance
despite the elements.
A young man, pushing his way through Broadway throngs, turned suddenly as he neared a subway
entrance at the corner of Forty-second Street. He stopped to purchase an evening newspaper. His face
showed keenly in the light. It was a well-featured countenance, with thick, dark eyebrows and a black,
pointed mustache as its most conspicuous features.
Though his face was a trifle haggard, as though from overwork, the young man showed no signs of
weariness in his action. As he stepped away from the news stand, he headed briskly for the subway
entrance and hurriedly disappeared down the steps.
A dozen minutes later, the same young man reappeared from a subway exit in a different section of
Manhattan. He had reached the Wall Street area. His footsteps again were hasty as they carried him
through a man-made canyon between two towering buildings.
Blanketing fog had created a strange effect in the lower district of Manhattan. The chilling drizzle had
come in more heavily from the Battery. It was accompanied by low-hanging clouds that swirled in
mist-like fashion about the upper stories of closely packed skyscrapers.
Towering office buildings rose out of sight. Like mountains of stone, they thrust their shafts into the
enshrouding fog. Passers in the street were few. The chasms between the massive monoliths were silent
and almost deserted. The business day ended, this district seemed a city of the dead.
Straight ahead, at a corner of the narrow street, was a tall white building that appeared magnified by the
fog. Light glimmered from its open doorway. Above, at scattered intervals, were the lights of offices,
which marked the presence of business men who had remained to work late.
Still higher, from spots where the building itself was invisible in the fog, shimmers of faint light marked
other offices that were occupied. This was not unusual. The huge Zenith Building, which the young man
now approached, was one of the best tenanted of skyscrapers. Every night found some late-stayers in
the thousand-odd offices that were located within its eight-hundred-foot walls.
THE young man entered the lobby of the Zenith Building. The place was scantily lighted. On the left was
a desk, where a watchman remained on duty. On the right, beyond, was a row of elevator shafts.
One elevator door was open. It was toward this objective that the young man turned his steps. He was
nearly at his goal when the stentorian voice of the watchman stopped him. Turning, with a slight grin, the
young man came back to the desk on the left.
"Forgot all about it, George," he remarked, as he picked up a pencil and began to sign the register book.
"I was in a hurry. I come in and out so much during the day that I never think to register at night."
"That's all right," growled the watchman. "I'm here to tell people when they forget."
He watched the young man sign his name as Howard Norwyn; after that the number of the office to
which he was going-3318. Then Norwyn marked the time of entry as 9:15, taking it from a clock above
the registration desk.
"Your boss went upstairs fifteen minutes ago," remarked the watchman. "Guess that's why you're in a
hurry, eh?"
Norwyn nodded. He had read the name of his employer, George Hobston, on the register. He had also
noted the time of Hobston's arrival as nine o'clock.
Howard Norwyn hurried to the elevator. The sleepy operator had no challenge. The man was standing
slouched in the corner of the car; he took it for granted that any one who entered had registered. The
checking of names was the watchman's job, not his.
The elevator reached the thirty-third floor. Its lone passenger alighted. Howard Norwyn paced along the
gloomy marble corridor as the elevator doors clanged behind him. He reached the door of 3318. It was
the entrance to a suite. On the glass panel appeared the legend:
HOBSTON COMPANY
INVESTMENT ADVISORS
GEORGE HOBSTON
PRESIDENT
Norwyn found the door unlocked. He opened it and entered a darkened outer office. He seemed a trifle
puzzled. Ordinarily, George Hobston would have kept this room illuminated. It was light from an inner
room that allayed Norwyn's worries. He strode in that direction.
The inner office was Hobston's own.
Norwyn had an appointment with his employer, so he naturally supposed that Hobston was awaiting his
arrival. But as he reached the door Norwyn paused upon the threshold. He stared straight across the
dimly lighted inner office.
OPPOSITE was the entrance to a strong vault room where George Hobston kept all money and
securities. The vault room had a massive door of metal grillwork; beyond it, the vault itself was set in the
wall. This arrangement made it possible for Hobston to guard himself while opening the vault, through the
simple expedient of closing the grilled door behind him. Yet at the same time, air was obtainable through
the open metal work.
The grilled door was always kept closed. To-night, it was wide open. A light was burning in the small
vault room. Its rays showed the vault, also opened wide, with papers scattered everywhere. The vault
room, however, was empty!
Howard Norwyn stood petrified. Robbery was evident; still, there was no sign of the thief. In wild alarm,
Norwyn thought of his employer. Where was George Hobston? Spontaneously, Norwyn looked about
the gloomy office. His eyes fell on a figure that was slouched in a desk chair.
It was George Hobston. The president of the investment company was dead. His body was crumpled
forward, almost as if some one had placed it there. One motionless hand lay beside a telephone on the
desk. As Howard Norwyn's bulging eyes stared back and forth, they saw that George Hobston's back
was on a straight line with the open door of the vault room.
Mechanically, Howard Norwyn stepped forward. As he did, he sensed a sound from in back of him. He
wheeled toward the door to the darkened outer office. A man came springing from the gloom. As
Norwyn's hands came upward, husky fists caught his throat and sent him backward to the floor. A short
quick pounding motion banged Norwyn's head upon the thick carpet. Groggy, the young man sprawled
helpless, with arms outstretched.
Norwyn's attacker, a thick-set, leering rogue, arose to survey his work. A pleased grin showed on puffy
lips. The man had evidently accomplished what he sought. He had stunned Norwyn but had not seriously
injured him. Within a few minutes, the young man would come back to his senses.
Hoisting Norwyn's body, the thickset man carried his burden into the vault room. There he propped
Norwyn against the wall. He applied a handkerchief to the young man's throat, to remove the grime of
finger prints. From his pocket, he drew a revolver. He wiped it with the handkerchief and placed it in
Norwyn's right hand. Using the cloth as a covering for Norwyn's fist, the man squeezed Norwyn's hand
tightly about the weapon.
Stepping back, the evil-faced man delivered another leer. Howard Norwyn was moving weakly. His
eyes had not yet opened; but it would be minutes only before he regained full consciousness. With
handkerchief on hand, Norwyn's attacker clanged the metal door shut. Through the grill, he could still see
Norwyn moving feebly.
FOR a moment, the man became cautious. He had given Norwyn a loaded weapon; a sudden recovery
would enable the victim to fire from the vault room. Norwyn's attacker drew a revolver of his own. He
raised the weapon; then lowered it as he observed Norwyn slouch back into a stupor.
The villain's work was done. In the dull gleam of the office, which was lighted only by a corner lamp, the
thickset man's pockets showed heavy bulges that represented stolen money and securities. The man
approached the dead body of George Hobston; he frisked the pockets in a manner which showed that
he had already gone through them, but was merely making sure that his search had been complete.
Placing his handkerchief upon the left hand of the dead man, the ruffian clamped the lifeless fingers to the
telephone receiver. He used Hobston's hand to knock it from the hook.
With the revolver pointed to the open window of the office, the murderer stood in readiness for clicks
through the receiver. His vile face showed its vicious grin. Evil had gained a triumph.
Murder had been this villain's first crime. Then had come robbery. The third step in the sequence was
under way. This man who had slain George Hobston; this crook who had rifled the investment dealer's
safe, was ready to complete his evening's work.
Simply, but with craft, he was planting his crimes upon Howard Norwyn, the young man who was lying
helpless behind the locked bars of the vault room!
CHAPTER II. FROM THE NIGHT.
WHILE grim events were taking place on the thirty-third floor, the lobby of the Zenith Building still
maintained its hollow quiet. Two men came walking in from the outer door; simultaneously, the clang of
metal announced that the elevator had reached the ground floor.
Two passengers alighted. Like the two men who had entered, they went to the registration desk to sign.
The watchman was busy, checking the names of two persons who had entered and watching the
departers tabulate the time that they were leaving.
Other eyes observed the cluster at the table. These were the eyes of a watcher at the outer door.
Standing against the wall, in from the sidewalk, was a tall figure that was remarkably inconspicuous.
Dressed in dark suit, this spying visitor might well have materialized from the blackened fog. He formed a
shape that was almost spectral. Brief minutes had passed since his arrival here; he moved inward through
the door. It became the form of a man whose close-fitting suit was glistening with moisture from the
drizzle. In his right hand, this arrival carried a black briefcase.
There was something amazing in the stride of this tall personage. Where other footsteps had clicked upon
the marble flooring of the lobby, his paces were swift and noiseless. Swinging to the right side of the
lobby, where the window of a darkened shop showed black, the intruder was almost invisible as he
headed for the elevator.
The watchman turned to see the two men who had registered go toward the elevator. Swinging about, he
observed the other two men making their departure. He missed a glimpse of the extra arrival who stood a
dozen paces from the elevators.
It was when the watchman turned toward the outer door that the tall intruder came suddenly to life. His
quick, noiseless steps brought him to the elevator; he moved into the car just as the operator was about
to close the doors.
The two men who had registered were engaged in conversation. The operator was sleepy and had no
interest in his passengers. No question was put to the carrier of the briefcase. The operator closed the
doors. The elevator was ready for its upward trip.
It was at that moment that the watchman found another duty. A buzzer had been sounding beside the
registration table. It indicated a call from an office. The watchman picked up a telephone and growled
into a mouthpiece.
"Hello. . . Hello. . ."
The watchman received no reply. Instead, he heard a sound that startled him. Over the wire came the
report of a revolver. Then a gasp, a gargling, incoherent groan. A voice tried to mouth words. It failed.
The thump of a falling receiver was the final token.
"Hello. . . Hello. . ."
The watchman looked at the board. He saw the number of the office from which the call had come:
3318. He hung up the receiver and wheeled toward the elevators. The lone night car had started upward.
Its dial showed that it had stopped at the eighth floor.
The watchman hung up the receiver. He waited for breathless seconds. Then he raised the receiver with
shaking hand and put in a call to the police. He knew that crime had struck within the Zenith Building. He
was sounding the alarm.
THE elevator was leaving the eighth floor. Two passengers had left it-they were the men who had
registered-and only one remained. The operator looked toward the tall personage who held the
briefcase.
"Thirty-five," announced the passenger.
The operator nodded. The car sped upward. It reached the thirty-fifth floor. The passenger alighted. The
doors closed and the elevator began its downward trip.
A soft laugh came from the lips of the visitor who stood in the corridor of the thirty-fifth floor. Long,
white hands opened the briefcase. From it, they drew the folds of black cloth.
This became a cloak which slipped over shoulders. A slouch hat settled on the visitor's head. Black
gloves were drawn over white hands. A brace of automatics came from the brief case and disappeared
beneath the folds of the cloak.
Then the case itself was rolled into small compass. It went out of sight beneath the cloak as the tall
visitant moved in the direction of a stairway. This being who had passed the watchman was indeed a
creature of the night.
It was The Shadow who was descending from the thirty-fifth floor of the Zenith Building.
Crime had already struck in the Zenith Building. No word of its completion could have reached The
Shadow. Yet he was here, in the building where one man lay murdered and another was held a prisoner,
to have crime planted upon him. George Hobston's suite of offices was on the thirty-third floor. The
Shadow had alighted at the thirty-fifth. His course had become a descent. He reached the thirty-third
floor and there he stopped.
The corridor was silent. A full four minutes had elapsed since the watchman in the lobby had received the
telephone call from 3318. The Shadow had been in the elevator when the watchman had gained word.
An automatic bristled in The Shadow's fist as the black-garbed visitant stopped before the door of 3318.
The free hand turned the knob. The Shadow entered the suite. A tiny flashlight appeared in his left hand.
It sent a shining disk of light about the outer office.
The room was empty. Striding to the inner office, The Shadow saw that this dimly lighted room contained
but a single occupant. That lone man was dead. The body of George Hobston lay sprawled where the
murderer had left it.
THE SHADOW saw the telephone upon the desk. The receiver, lying beside the instrument itself, was
proof of what had happened. The Shadow knew that a call had been made below. That call, moreover,
had been given during the last four minutes.
Approaching the body, The Shadow detected something else. It was the trace of revolver smoke; a faint
odor of burned powder that was most noticeable close to the desk. The Shadow's eyes saw the swirling
of heavy fog from the opened window. The Shadow knew the answer.
A shot had been fired close by this desk. Yet, as The Shadow viewed Hobston's body, he could tell that
the man had been killed from a greater range. A soft laugh came from The Shadow's hidden lips. It
sounded weirdly through this room of death.
Subtle in his conclusions, The Shadow could see factors that others would not note. Hobston's dead left
hand was clamped to the fallen receiver. His right hand, however, was loose as it stretched toward the
telephone.
An inconsistency that others might pass; yet to The Shadow, it was evidence of what had actually
occurred. Beginning with the scent of powder-an odor that would soon be disseminated throughout the
room-The Shadow had gained a starting point.
A murderer, he knew, had deliberately given an alarm. Why? The answer must be here. Already, The
Shadow was looking toward the spot where it could be found-the grilled door to the lighted vault room.
The Shadow had observed that entrance before he had viewed Hobston's body. All the while, he had
been sending keen glances toward the metal door. Howard Norwyn, slumped behind the grillwork, was
motionless. The Shadow had glimpsed the outline of his body; but had left the inspection of the vault
room until later.
A sound came upward from the street. It was the whine of a siren. A police car was arriving through the
fog. Again, The Shadow laughed. Like a living phantom, he strode to the grillwork and worked upon the
automatic lock.
His keen eyes flashed as they surveyed the form within. Lack of motion by Howard Norwyn had
indicated that the young man might be dead. But as The Shadow worked, Norwyn moved. He blinked.
He stared at the grillwork; he could see the motion of blackness beyond it.
Then Norwyn realized that he held a revolver. The fact impressed itself as he was rising. Thinking that an
enemy stood without, the young man emitted a hoarse cry, just as the door swung open in The Shadow's
grasp.
Norwyn raised his gun too late. Like a living avalanche, The Shadow came sweeping in upon him. A
blackened fist clipped Norwyn's chin. The young man slumped to the floor. The revolver clattered from
his hand.
The Shadow gained the weapon. He opened the chamber and spied one empty cartridge. A soft laugh
came from his lips as he pocketed the weapon. Standing above Norwyn's slumped form, The Shadow
gazed at Hobston's body.
THE situation was plain. Some one had murdered George Hobston. The killer had thrust Howard
Norwyn into the vault room, planting the gun upon him. The grillwork offered numerous loopholes. It
would have been easy for a man to have killed Hobston from this room.
The false evidence looked plain. Apparently Hobston and Norwyn had quarreled. Hobston had managed
to lock Norwyn in the vault room. Then Hobston had put in his call; Norwyn, coming back to his senses,
had shot his employer in the back.
The openings in the grill were too small to push a revolver through. Hence Norwyn could not have gotten
rid of the gun until released. Had the police arrived before The Shadow, they would surely have arrested
Howard Norwyn as the murderer of George Hobston.
The police! Again, a siren's whine came cutting up through the foggy night. The Shadow's laugh was grim.
The Shadow could see the truth of what had happened here. He knew that Howard Norwyn must have
been overcome by some swift-acting foe.
The real murderer was gone. To leave the wrong man here for the police to quiz would be in keeping
with the murderer's desire. Too late to apprehend the killer himself, The Shadow, at least, could balk the
criminal's schemes.
The Shadow had a double opportunity. First, to release Howard Norwyn from his dilemma; second, to
leave the police looking for the murderer. The man who killed George Hobston could not have gone far.
Doubtless, he was still in the building; secure in the thought that murder would be blamed upon Howard
Norwyn. The Shadow saw a way to save an innocent man from trouble; also to force the police to the
search, which the murderer thought would be delayed.
Turning toward the vault, The Shadow stooped and raised Norwyn's body over his shoulder. Carrying
the unconscious young man as a trifling burden, the Shadow strode toward the outer office.
In his possession, the black-clad investigator was carrying the revolver which contained the empty
cartridge. The Shadow reached the corridor. It was as silent as before; yet The Shadow knew that any
minute would bring men of the law into this hallway.
Swiftly, The Shadow gained the stairway. Still carrying his burden, he turned upward. As he did, a
shuddering laugh of triumph came from his lips. Echoes died along the hall. The Shadow was gone;
Howard Norwyn with him. Silence reigned for the space of seven seconds.
Then came the clang of the opening elevator doors. Three men leaped into the corridor. Detectives had
arrived from headquarters. They were here to view the scene of crime. They did not know that a visitor
from the night had arrived before them.
For The Shadow, swift and decisive, had left no trace of his mysterious presence. Yet he had carried
away the man on whom crime had been planted; and with him, the weapon that the murderer had used to
deliver death.
CHAPTER III. THE DEPARTURE.
THE detectives had left the door of the elevator open. The operator, no longer languorous, was lingering
in the corridor until their return. He did not have long to wait. Two detectives came on the run from
3318.
"A guy's been murdered." one of them informed. "You're going to take me down to the lobby, so I can
bring up the rest of the squad. Say-we'll have to start a search of this whole blamed building."
"You're right," returned the other dick. "Have 'em keep a close watch in the lobby all the while. There's
no way for the murderer to get out of this building except by the elevators. That's a cinch."
"This is the only car that's running," remarked the operator. "The others are all down in the basement."
"Good," commented the detective.
While this conversation was under way, The Shadow had reached the floor above. At a spot directly
over the heads of the detectives and the operator, he had laid Howard Norwyn on the floor. Strong
hands were at work on the closed doors of the elevator shaft. With an instrument of steel, pried between
the sliding metal barriers, The Shadow released the catch.
The doors opened; peering downward, The Shadow saw the top of the elevator a few feet below. He
could hear no sound of talk; for the elevator was a solid car that completely filled its portion of the shaft.
Easing downward, The Shadow gained a footing on the top of the elevator. His strong arms stretched
forward and drew Howard Norwyn into the shaft. The Shadow rested the young man on the car; his
gloved hand eased the doors shut.
In the midst of solid blackness, The Shadow crouched to the top of the elevator and gripped Howard
Norwyn in a firm grasp. The space was ample; so long as The Shadow held Norwyn on his precarious
perch, no harm could befall the man who had been rescued.
Yet The Shadow was not a second too soon. Hardly had he completed his preparation before the
muffled clang of the doors sounded from the thirty-third floor. The elevator began a record drop on its
way to the ground floor.
The Shadow clutched Howard Norwyn tightly during the three-hundred-foot descent. His grip was firm
as the car came to a stop at the lobby. Doors clanged again. Footsteps shuffled from the elevator; but
voices could not be heard in the lobby.
THE SHADOW was counting, however, upon another interval. Sliding over the side of the car, he
slipped downward until his feet rested upon the top of an elevator that was on the basement level. From
this adjoining shaft, The Shadow could just reach Norwyn's feet. He drew the young man toward him as
Norwyn's body came limply from above. The Shadow caught it and rested the stupefied man upon the
lower elevator.
Seconds passed; then doors clanged. A whirr of air as the first elevator sped upward. Its shaft was clear.
The Shadow edged over the side of the basement elevator and worked upon the lower doors. They
came open. The Shadow dropped to his objective.
Getting Norwyn through was a more difficult task. The Shadow was standing at the edge of the shaft
which contained the one operating elevator. Below was a pit of considerable depth. The Shadow was
equal to the job. He brought Norwyn's light form over the edge of the elevator, caught the slumping body
and swung it to safety. In the basement, The Shadow closed the doors to the shaft.
During the day, the basement of the Zenith Building served as a concourse to the subway. At night,
however, heavy doors were closed at the top of the stairs to the lobby. Hence the basement was
deserted; not only that, the police who had arrived in the building had not started a search in this
direction.
Howard Norwyn was coming to his senses. The whizzing trip down through the elevator shaft had
produced a reviving effect. But The Shadow gathered him as before and carried him along the deserted
concourse.
A turn in the wall brought The Shadow to a heavy barrier. A pair of metal doors, dimly discernible
outside the range of the basement lights, were closed and locked. These, during the day, stayed open
against the walls. At night, they were shut. A huge bar, dropped from one door into a catch on the other,
added strength to the lock.
The Shadow again rested Howard Norwyn on the floor. By this time, the young man was almost entirely
conscious. He was rubbing his chin ruefully, trying to take in his surroundings. He stared toward The
Shadow, who was by the doors, but he could barely discern the black-clad shape.
The Shadow was picking the lock. Clicks responded to his efforts. He forced the big bar upward and
poised it carefully as he opened the door on the right. Turning, The Shadow gazed toward Howard
Norwyn. His gleaming eyes saw that the young man was recovered, but still dizzy. The Shadow stepped
beyond the door.
There he dropped coat, hat and gloves. The black garments went into the unfolded briefcase. Depositing
the bag, The Shadow stepped back through the door and approached Howard Norwyn.
"Come." The Shadow's voice was a quiet, commanding tone, different from his sinister whisper. "We
must leave. Do not delay."
Howard Norwyn nodded. He sensed that this was a friend. The Shadow aided him to rise. Norwyn
passed through the open door. The Shadow drew the barrier slowly shut; then gave it a quick jerk that
caused a slight clang. From inside came the answer; the poised bar dropped from the jolt and clattered
into position. The doors were barred on the inside as before!
THE SHADOW and Howard Norwyn were in a gloomy underground passage, where the only light
came from a hundred feet ahead. The Shadow paused to work upon the lock that he had opened. With
the aid of a special key, he again locked the door. Picking up his briefcase, he gripped Howard Norwyn
by the arm. Together, they made their way along the underground passage.
Norwyn blinked as he came into the light. For the first time, he realized where he was. They were
entering the subway station, one block from the Zenith Building. The Shadow had opened the way
between the skyscraper and the station.
Howard Norwyn followed his rescuer through the turnstile. A train was coming into the station; The
Shadow urged Norwyn aboard. As they stood on the platform of the car, Norwyn studied this stranger
who had brought him here.
He did not recognize The Shadow as the one who had encountered him at the door of the vault room.
Nor did Norwyn recall the strange journey through the elevator shaft. He remembered, dimly, that he had
found George Hobston dead. He could recollect an enemy striking him down; then this friend who had
brought him to the subway.
The face that Norwyn viewed was a singular one. It was a countenance that might have been chiseled
from stone. Thin lips, inflexible features; these formed the masklike face. Most noticeable, however, were
the eyes that burned from the sides of a hawklike nose.
Those steady optics held Howard Norwyn with their gaze. Dizzy as he clutched the inner door of the
speeding subway car, Norwyn lost all sense of other things about him. The roar of the train precluded
speech. The dominating eyes commanded trust and obedience.
The express came to a stop. A sliding door moved open; The Shadow's hand caught Norwyn's arm.
Nodding, the young man followed his commander to the platform. The Shadow headed for an obscure
flight of steps. He and Norwyn reached the street.
They were at Fourteenth Street. Half a block from the station. Norwyn's rescuer stopped beside a
limousine. A chauffeur bounded to the street. He opened the door. Norwyn felt a steady hand thrust him
into the car. Then his companion joined him.
"New Jersey, Stanley," spoke a quiet voice through the speaking tube.
THE car rolled away. Howard Norwyn settled back in the cushions. He began to feel a sinking
sensation. The back of his head was aching as a reminder of the pounding that it had received from the
antagonist in Hobston's office.
"Where-where are we going?" questioned Norwyn, faintly.
"You will learn later." came the quiet reply.
But-but what has happened to Mr. Hobston?" protested the young man. "Who-who killed him?"
"That we shall discover."
"But I-I should be back there. I-I must explain to the police. If they-if they-"
"If they find you, they will hold you for murder."
Howard Norwyn clutched at the strap which hung beside the window of the limousine. He tried to bring
himself up from the cushions to stare at the quiet speaker. All he could see was the outline of the other
rider.
The words still rang in Norwyn's ears. Sickened, the young man dropped back. He realized the truth of
those steady words. He understood what the murderer had intended. Much had been stolen from
Hobston's vault. Enough, however, remained to incriminate whomever the police might have found in the
vault room.
"The revolver!" gasped Norwyn, suddenly. "I-I had it in my hand. Was it-was it-"
"It was the gun that killed George Hobston. It was in your possession. I have brought it with us."
A sigh of relief came from Howard Norwyn. It was followed by a groan as the young man realized that a
predicament still existed. Norwyn's aching head rolled back against the top of the seat. Dazedly, his mind
was yielding to drumming thoughts of new danger.
A hand stretched forward. It held a small vial. As Norwyn grasped the little bottle, he heard the
command from beside him:
"Drink."
Norwyn pressed the bottle to his lips. He swallowed its contents. His head became light. The vial slipped
from his hands. Swimming thoughts faded; under the influence of the opiate, Howard Norwyn slumped
against the cushions and became quiet.
His worries were ended for the night. On the morrow, The Shadow would hear his story. The limousine
摘要：

CHAINOFDEATHMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.PLANTEDDEATH.?CHAPTERII.FROMTHENIGHT.?CHAPTERIII.THEDEPARTURE.?CHAPTERIV.THEPOLICESEARCH.?CHAPTERV.MURDERERSTALK.?CHAPTERVI.THESHADOWWAITS.?CHAPTERVII.CRIMEINCORPORATED.?CHAPTERVIII.ONEWEEKLATER.?CHAPTERI...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：84 页 大小：210.59KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-19

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