Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 011 - Double Z

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DOUBLE Z
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. THE HUNTED MAN
? CHAPTER II. OVER THE WIRE
? CHAPTER III. DOUBLE Z STRIKES
? CHAPTER IV. BURKE BRINGS ACTION
? CHAPTER V. CARDONA ENCOUNTERS CRIME
? CHAPTER VI. THE SHADOW PREPARES
? CHAPTER VII. THE SHADOW AT WORK
? CHAPTER VIII. MANN LEARNS FACTS
? CHAPTER IX. GANGSTERS TALK BUSINESS
? CHAPTER X. CARDONA PREPARES
? CHAPTER XI. THE TIP-OFF
? CHAPTER XII. THE HIDE-OUT
? CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW'S FIGHT
? CHAPTER XIV. DOUBLE Z PLOTS
? CHAPTER XV. AT LOY ROOK'S
? CHAPTER XVI. TWO MEN TRAPPED
? CHAPTER XVII. THE THIRD SNARE
? CHAPTER XVIII. THE PIT OF DEATH
? CHAPTER XIX. CARDONA'S RUSE
? CHAPTER XX. CARDONA'S TRIUMPH
? CHAPTER XXI. THE SHADOW'S WORK
CHAPTER I. THE HUNTED MAN
THE hand that held the key trembled. At last it found the lock. The key turned. A tall man stepped into
the dim hallway, and closed the door behind him.
A slight sigh came from his lips—lips thin and parched, that showed above the heavy muffler which
covered the man's neck, even to his chin.
Slowly, the man moved along the hallway. He turned suspiciously as he reached the stairs, glancing back
at the door. The glass transom above it worried him.
He thought of the dark vestibule, which obtained its only rays of light through that very transom. He
remembered the nervousness that had gripped him while he had fumbled with the key. He listened, as
though he expected some one else to unlock the door.
Now the man laughed nervously. He started up the stairs, his fears banished. His tall, stoop-shouldered
figure seemed to stalk upward like a mechanical dummy.
At the landing, halfway to the second floor, he stopped; then continued on his journey, with that same
slow, methodical stride.
Another key grated in the lock of the vestibule door. The slight sound began just after the man on the
landing had again moved toward the second floor.
The vestibule door opened. A short, broad-shouldered man slipped into the hallway.
He closed the door noiselessly. His eyes gleamed in the dim light as he stared toward the landing below
the second floor. His firm face took on a pleased expression.
He followed the course that the first man had taken; but he ascended the stairs with amazing speed and
remarkable silence. Two steps at a time he went, one hand on the banister taking part of the burden, he
almost vaulted upward. But the strangely gangling figure of the first man was lost in the shadows.
The third floor of the building was darker. When the short, pursuing man arrived there, he stopped at the
end of the stairway. His keen ears heard the click of metal. The first man was unlocking a door at the
side of the hallway.
Swiftly, the pursuing man advanced through the darkness, keeping against the wall, and moving with his
previous stealth. Within a few seconds, he stood only an arm's length from the tall man at the door. He
heard the tall man's tense, hissing breaths, but the pursuer gave no sign of his own presence.
The door opened inward. The tall man remained motionless in the darkness. He was listening for sounds
from downstairs, totally unknowing that a living person stood within a yard of him. Not satisfied, he
tiptoed toward the stairway to listen, almost brushing against the hidden man as he went by. After a
momentary pause, the tall man returned along the hall. He walked with reassurance. By this time, the
short man who had followed him had gone in through the open door.
The tall man closed the door behind him and fumbled for a light switch. A click, and the room was
flooded with light. He was in a small, but comfortable, sitting room of a third-story apartment. The tall
man seemed confident in the security of his own abode.
He removed his hat, revealing a head covered with black, gray-streaked hair. He drew the muffler from
his neck, disclosing the face of a man of fifty. He doffed his coat and placed it on a chair.
There was a mirror at the far side of the room. The tall man stood in front of it and studied his own
features. They were well formed except for the chin, which was long and pointed.
The man rubbed his chin reflectively. Then he placed his hands upon his temples to hide the streaks of
gray hair. He seemed pleased with his appearance while he held his hands in that position—pleased,
despite the worried, haggard expression which dominated his countenance.
OUTSIDE, a driving wind swept around the old house. In the room on the third floor, the windows, one
on each side of the mirror, rattled dismally. But that sound did not disturb the man who was engrossed in
his own reflection.
He evidently regarded this apartment of the old house on East Eightieth Street as a sanctuary, in which
nothing could harm him.
He did not hear the slight click behind him as the wind shook the panes again; he did not see the door
open slowly at the other side of the room.
The man studying his reflection lowered his hands from his temples, and a ghostly smile played over his
thin lips. They moved, as if muttering words of satisfaction.
A voice spoke behind him.
"Yes, judge," it said. "A little more black dye is necessary. The gray is showing through. Perhaps it is
coming back. That would be unfortunate."
The man before the mirror stood petrified. He no longer studied his own reflection. His eyes had turned
at an angle. They were focused on another figure that also showed in the looking-glass.
He was intently watching the man who had come up behind him, a short, stocky fellow clad in an old
coat and soft brown hat. The stranger's face was not unfriendly, but it bore a look that was both
sophisticated and challenging.
The tall man suddenly recovered himself. He swung quickly and faced his visitor. His hands went toward
his coat pockets, but stopped on the way. He noticed that the other man's hands were hidden. Any
intention he might have had to draw a gun faded instantly.
"Who are you?" he demanded in a hoarse voice. "How did you come in here?"
"My name is Caulkins," said the short man, in an affable tone. "I'm the fellow they call the 'Wise Owl'."
"The Wise Owl?"
"Yes. With the New York Classic. I'm the chap who gives the low-down on unsolved mysteries. That's
why I'm here to-night."
"You—you -" The man with the pointed chin began to splutter, but suddenly controlled himself. "Just
what," he asked, with sudden dignity, "is the purpose of your visit? I never knew that newspaper
reporters had the privilege of making forcible entry to a man's home."
"It wasn't exactly a forcible entry," declared Caulkins, with an agreeable smile. "I came in from the
hallway when you left the door open."
THE middle-aged man was studying his visitor closely. He had betrayed signs of nervousness at first;
now he felt sure that the speaker was telling the truth.
"Well," he said quietly, "we'll forget this intrusion. I might call the police"—he waved his hand toward a
telephone—"but I hardly think it's necessary. If you are really a wise owl, Mr. Caulkins, you will leave
here immediately."
"Not until I have interviewed you," came the firm reply.
"Interviewed me?" queried the tall man, with feigned surprise. "Why should you interview me? Perhaps
you have mistaken me for some one else. My name is Joseph Dodd—Joseph T. Dodd -"
"That's the name over the bell in the vestibule," interrupted Caulkins, "but it isn't your name. You've
changed your appearance since I last saw you. That was more than a year ago, just before you
disappeared—Justice Tolland!"
The older man did not reply. He stared at his visitor, wondering whether to order the reporter to leave or
to engage in a discussion with him. Then anger gave way to an expression of cunning on the thin man's
face.
"Why do you think I am Tolland?" the man asked suddenly.
"I know you are!" declared the reporter. "Judge Harvey Tolland disappeared fourteen months ago. Foul
play was the story for a while, but I never figured you were dead. Now, why are you here?"
The positiveness in the reporter's voice was convincing. Had the other man been less anxious, he might
have realized that the Wise Owl was bluffing. Caulkins watched him keenly, waiting expectantly for the
reply.
It came. The older man pointed to a chair.
"Sit down," he said, in a hopeless tone. "There's no use in my trying to deceive you any longer. You are
right. I am Judge Harvey Tolland."
Caulkins dropped into the chair with a broad, triumphant grin. His quest of fourteen months was ended.
The greatest story of the year was in the bag. He had found the missing man, whose strange
disappearance had remained unsolved!
He watched intently as the tall judge strode across the room and unlocked a table drawer. Tolland
removed a paper from the drawer and thrust it into the reporter's hands.
"You have asked me a question," he said grimly. "You want to know why I disappeared. There is the
answer!"
Caulkins hastily unfolded the paper. He scanned the written lines that appeared upon it. Suddenly, his
hands began to tremble.
The older man, now calm, watched him grimly. The reporter's eyes were fascinated. They had completed
the reading of the message; they were staring at the cryptic signature that appeared beneath it.
Then Caulkins uttered his startled exclamation in words that were gasped through trembling lips.
"A threat from Double Z!"
CHAPTER II. OVER THE WIRE
NEVER was a man more dumfounded than was Joel Caulkins of the Classic, after he had read the note
shown to him by Judge Harvey Tolland. The fact that the older man was now calmly surveying him from
an opposite chair did not ease his perturbed mind.
For the cryptic name of Double Z spelled fiendish horror. It was a title coined from the strange signature
of a fanatic whose connection with a series of murders had terrorized New York and bewildered the
police.
Caulkins, with his inside knowledge of detective investigations, knew of the menace that lay behind that
strange signature. He had been shown other notes signed by Double Z, and not for an instant did he
doubt the authenticity of this one.
The two letters appeared side by side, one a half line lower than the other, so close together that they
formed a mysterious symbol.
Slowly, mechanically, Caulkins folded the paper and laid it on the table beside him. He looked at Judge
Tolland and noticed that the jurist's thin lips were twisted in a mirthless smile.
"Startled, eh?" asked Tolland.
"Yes," admitted Caulkins.
"I read your articles regarding my disappearance—those that you wrote under the name of the Wise
Owl. They were keenly done, Caulkins. Strangely enough, they were partly true. But they missed the
important elements."
"This note from Double Z?"
"Yes. But you were not to blame for that."
Caulkins nodded thoughtfully.
"I never would have connected it," he said. "Double Z was not heard of until several months after your
disappearance. Even now, I do not understand.
"The note simply says: 'You have one week to live'—then comes the signature. Since Double Z was
unknown at the time, I cannot understand why the threat frightened you. Judges often receive letters from
fanatics."
"Caulkins," said Tolland slowly, "I am going to be confidential with you. With any other newspaperman, I
would have bluffed this matter out. I have been on the verge of revealing myself during the past few
weeks. I think you can help me—and also aid the police to clear up this terrible mystery."
The reporter's eyes focused keenly on Tolland's. The statement freed his mind from the bewilderment
that had gripped it. Here would be a real scoop!
"The theory of my disappearance," said Tolland slowly, "has followed one general trend, beginning with
the day I left my home and did not return. That day was, incidentally, the day after I received that note
from the man you call Double Z.
"It has been presumed that I had accepted bribes from criminals, and that I feared discovery. On the
contrary, it was because I refused bribes that I found it necessary to disappear. There were certain cases
due to come up before me.
"I received a visit from a man who offered me a very large sum to favor the defense of one case and the
prosecution of another. I refused. After that I received the Double Z warning."
"You knew the man who tried to bribe you?"
"I knew the man."
"But you said nothing?"
"I could do nothing at the time. It would have been impossible. The standing of the man—well, you will
realize it later when I tell you who he is. The warning came from him."
"He is Double Z?"
"Yes. He knows that I am still alive. He wants to kill me. I have frustrated the man for months. I shaved
my mustache and dyed my hair. Yet, despite my changed appearance, you recognized me, which is proof
that my disguise is insufficient. So I am now ready to act; to bring this affair to a crisis; to meet my enemy
and turn his own weapons upon him."
"His own weapons?"
"Yes. The letters he has been sending to the police. What do you think is their purpose?"
"I considered them the messages of a fanatic."
"The man is a fanatic," admitted Tolland, "but an amazingly clever one. I am the only person who knows
the purpose of his messages. They are sent to frighten me."
"To frighten you?"
"Certainly! When I received mine—the first of all the Double Z correspondence—I took it seriously and
went into hiding, in this house. The enemy suspected my game. He knew that I was protecting my own
skin in order to deliver a counterattack.
"He felt that the effect of his threat would gradually wear off. So he launched his campaign of informing
the police of his intended murders, believing that each one would weaken my morale when I heard of it."
CAULKINS sat upright in his chair. This amazing statement threw a new light on Double Z. It showed a
method behind the criminal's strange notes to the police.
"For months," went on Tolland, "I have been giving my enemy a chance to betray himself. One slip—one
slight clew of his identity to the police—and my reappearance would clinch the fight for justice. That clew
has not been forthcoming. And I, alone, cannot give his name to the authorities. It must come from
him—from some act of his.
"Nevertheless, I have decided to act—because of you."
"Why because of me?" asked Caulkins in surprise.
"There are two reasons," declared the judge calmly. "First, because you discovered me. That shows that
my enemy may discover me, also. I am not immune."
"I saw you in a little barber shop," explained Caulkins, "having your hair dyed. Your chin looked familiar.
I followed you here. I obtained a key that opened the vestibule door."
"The second reason," continued Tolland, passing over the reporter's explanation, "is because you
credited that note when you saw it. I was afraid to put it to the test before. Now I am sure that I shall be
believed when I speak."
"With your prestige -"
"My prestige? Where is it now; I may have had some before I obeyed the impulse to flee to safety. Yet I
was wise to go into hiding. I learned that my enemy had arranged a complete frame-up that would make
my sudden death seem well-deserved. I believed that."
"What do you intend to do now?"
"I'm leaving that up to you. You are free to lift the lid with the most sensational true exposure of crime
that has ever appeared. Meanwhile, I shall be traveling. You will hear from me when the time comes for
my statements."
"When Double Z has been exposed?"
"Yes. If the exposure fails, I shall still be safe—safer than I am here in New York."
Caulkins arose and paced the room. He swung toward Tolland with a question.
"When shall I start?"
"Right now!" declared Tolland, as if fearing to hesitate. "Every minute may be precious, now that some
one has discovered me. Call your newspaper from here. Give them the story, while I am here to check
on any questions. Then we shall both leave and that paper will remain in your possession."
Caulkins picked up the message from Double Z. He spread it and pointed to the signature.
"Who is Double Z?" he asked.
"I shall tell you, Caulkins," replied Tolland. "His name is an important one. There is method in everything
he does even in that signature. What does it represent to you?"
"Double Z. Two initials. I can think of no one who would have such initials."
Judge Tolland seized the paper.
"Look now!" he declared, moving his finger across the signature. "Does that mean anything to you?
Forget Double Z. Think of a big man— a powerful, prominent man whose initials are -"
Caulkins suddenly stiffened. A startled look of incredulity came into his widening eyes. Before he could
reply, Tolland picked up a pen and paper from the table and wrote a series of short lines, inscribing his
signature beneath.
"There!" he exclaimed in a voice of indignation. "There is the name of the fiend—the merciless murderer!
I have written it, with my signature beneath. That is my statement to you. Tell your paper; tell the police.
When it is safe, you can count on me to testify!"
Caulkins leaped to the telephone. He dialed a number. He stood, with both papers on the table before
him, studying one and then the other, his eyes bulging, his breath coming in anxious gasps.
"Classic?"
His question came in a wildly eager whisper. Judge Tolland, eyes gleaming expectantly, stood close
beside the reporter, tense and hopeful.
"City desk," ordered Caulkins.
A pause. Both men were strained. The time it took for the connection seemed interminable. It was a
matter of seconds only, but to Tolland those seconds were hours.
A voice came over the wire. Tolland saw Caulkins clutch the phone more firmly. The reporter's lips
began to move, and Tolland's hands gripped the edge of the table as he leaned close to catch the words
from the other end of the line.
Vindication! His opportunity was here. After months of persecution, he had decided upon the vital step.
Within the next few minutes the persecution which had threatened him would be ended.
For Caulkins was about to reveal the identity of the man called Double Z— reveal it so all the world
would know the secret of that man who gloried in crime.
CHAPTER III. DOUBLE Z STRIKES
THE reporter at the city desk in the Classic office placed his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone
and called to the city editor.
"Caulkins on the phone, Mr. Ward."
"Just a minute, Gaynor."
The reporter spoke into the telephone. Again he called to the city editor.
"Says it's urgent, Mr. Ward."
The city editor came grumbling to the desk.
"Time he called up," he said. "Expected him in an hour ago. We want that Wise Owl copy in a hurry."
He took the swivel chair as Gaynor slipped out of the way, and picked up the telephone.
"Yeah?" he growled.
Words came breathlessly from Caulkins.
"Biggest scoop ever, boss," was what Ward heard. "I've located Judge Tolland -"
"Where?"
"Right here with me now. In a hideout on East Eightieth Street. Listen: This Double Z business -"
"Wait, I'll put Gaynor on, if you can't get in with the story."
"No, no, boss!" came the protest. "Wait until I give you the dope. I'm afraid something may happen if I
don't get it off my chest quick. Judge Tolland is alive. He's given me a statement. He knows who Double
Z is. Don't think I'm crazy, boss! Double Z is -"
The voice broke off. Simultaneously, Ward heard the sound of a revolver shot over the wire. Three more
followed in rapid succession. There was a clatter of a telephone falling.
"Hello! Hello!" called the city editor.
Vague sounds came through the receiver. Ward fancied that he heard a gasp. A sharp click ended the
chaos. The phone was hung up at the other end.
"Gaynor!" shouted the city editor. "Try to locate where that call came from—the phone number! Quick! I
heard shooting."
He singled out another reporter.
"Up to Eightieth Street, Briggs," he said. "East Eightieth. Take Stewart along with you. Try to locate
Caulkins. He was calling from somewhere up there. There was shooting in the place where he called
from."
The alert city editor spotted another man.
"Get police headquarters, Perry. Tell them what you just heard. Shooting up on Eightieth Street. Caulkins
is there."
Ward sagged back in his chair, his excitement passed. He became meditative, giving no thought to the
scurrying men who were on their way to do his bidding. He leaned forward to the desk and wrote a
concise memorandum of what he had just heard.
Then he pushed pencil and paper aside while he checked his recollections. He tilted back in his chair and
looked across the room at the clock. He glanced toward the typewriter desks. Harwood, star rewrite
man, was sitting idle.
"Say, Harwood," said the city editor in a matter-of-fact tone, "do a Wise Owl column. Anything you
want. It's your job from now on. I don't think Caulkins will be with us any longer."
THE city editor of the Classic was correct in his prophecy. A few hours later, the lifeless body of Joel
Caulkins was discovered in the third story of an old house on Eightieth Street. No shots had been heard
in the vicinity.
Police had arrived at the place by a process of elimination. The owner of a little store had seen a car pull
away from the building where no car had stopped for months. The place was supposed to be empty. The
statement had warranted a search. The body of the ex-Wise Owl was found there.
Acting Inspector Fennimann was accustomed to reporters from the Classic. He considered most of them
a nuisance. The tabloid newspaper was always after sensational stories, and the Wise Owl revelations, a
page of presumably inside stuff, was not liked at headquarters.
But on this particular night, after he had received a report from Detective Sergeant Wentworth, the acting
inspector was surprised to receive a visit from Dale Ward, city editor of the Classic.
The editor received a cordial welcome. In a few minutes he and Fennimann were in close conference,
chewing fat cigars while they talked.
"I heard the shots that killed Caulkins," explained Ward. "But it was what happened before then that is
most important. He was in a hurry when he called me. Before they bumped him off, he told me that Judge
Tolland was there with him."
"Judge Tolland!" Fennimann raised his eyebrows incredulously. "That's impossible, Ward! If Tolland was
anywhere around New York, we'd have located him before this. Say! You aren't going to run any stuff
like that, are you?"
"That wasn't all that Caulkins said. He told me that Tolland knew all about Double Z. He was just going
to let me know who Double Z was when -"
Ward stopped as the door opened. In stepped the familiar form of Joe Cardona, the dark-visaged
detective whose reputation as a crime investigator was known throughout New York.
"I'm glad you're here, Joe!" exclaimed Fennimann. "This Caulkins killing has got me worried—with
Inspector Klein away and you off on an other job. This is Mr. Ward, city editor of the Classic. What
about this Caulkins case, Joe—have you seen Wentworth?"
"Yes," replied Cardona tersely, while he was solemnly shaking hands with Ward.
"I stopped at East Eightieth Street on my way home from the Bronx. I've seen the place—the body—and
Wentworth's report. Happened to call here while you were out, and they told me about the murder."
Fennimann turned to Ward.
"Tell Joe what you told me," he said.
Cardona was expressionless while he heard the city editor's statement. Then he became thoughtful. He
scratched his chin and turned toward the newspaperman.
"How many shots did you hear over the wire?" he questioned Ward.
"Four."
"Did the receiver click right after that?" continued the detective.
"Not for fifteen or twenty seconds—perhaps half a minute."
"Four shots," said Cardona thoughtfully. "That's the number of bullets that were in the dead man's body."
"Which means -"
"That if anybody was with him when he called, it's a sure bet that's who killed him."
"He said that Judge Tolland was there," Ward asserted.
"So you told me. Was Caulkins reliable?"
"He was the Wise Owl," said Ward without a smile. "Apt to get fanciful at a typewriter—but not on the
telephone, when talking with me."
CARDONA closed his eyes. He was visualizing the scene in that room on East Eightieth Street, where
he had observed the lone body of Joel Caulkins. He pictured the bullet-ridden form.
"Wentworth thinks that some gangsters coaxed Caulkins up there," he said. "Wentworth may be wrong.
Let's see that paper he brought you, Inspector."
Reluctantly Fennimann pulled a paper from the desk drawer. Cardona studied it and read it aloud:
"You have one week to live!"
He passed the note to Ward, who stared at the cryptic Double Z signature in amazement. Fennimann
looked questioningly at Cardona, who signaled that all would be well.
"Where did you find this?" asked Ward.
"In the dead man's hand," said Fennimann.
"This ties up Double Z with the murder," was the city editor's comment. "But where does Judge Tolland
come in?"
"That's the question," said Cardona.
"Is this a genuine Double Z note?"
"It looks like one. If there is such a person as Double Z, it is probably genuine."
"What do you mean—if there is a Double Z -"
"It may simply be a ruse adopted by different criminals," explained Cardona. "But in this case it may be
Double Z. He had told us of several murders before they occurred—but they may not have been of his
doing."
"I understand that," replied Ward. "Caulkins covered some of the Double Z cases and was working on
them as the Wise Owl. Double Z, I understand, is presumably a fanatic, who has a remarkable
knowledge of what is going on in the criminal world."
"Look here," declared Cardona. "I'm going to give you some theories. But lay off of any wild stuff. Work
摘要：

DOUBLEZMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2002BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.THEHUNTEDMAN?CHAPTERII.OVERTHEWIRE?CHAPTERIII.DOUBLEZSTRIKES?CHAPTERIV.BURKEBRINGSACTION?CHAPTERV.CARDONAENCOUNTERSCRIME?CHAPTERVI.THESHADOWPREPARES?CHAPTERVII.THESHADOWATWORK?CHAPTERVIII.MANNLEARNSFACTS?CHAPT...

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