Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 020 - Kings of Crime

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KINGS OF CRIME
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. THE SHADOW LISTENS
? CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW'S WARNING
? CHAPTER III. FOUR KINGS AND AN ACE
? CHAPTER IV. CRIME BREAKS LOOSE
? CHAPTER V. BEHIND THE DOOR
? CHAPTER VI. THE BIG NIGHT
? CHAPTER VII. THE MAN WHO VANISHED
? CHAPTER VIII. CARPENTER TALKS TERMS
? CHAPTER IX. TABLES TURN
? CHAPTER X. THE BATTLE OF GLOOM
? CHAPTER XI. THE PRICE OF CRIME
? CHAPTER XII. CONVICT 9648
? CHAPTER XIII. A MAN AT BAY
? CHAPTER XIV. THE SHADOW'S VERDICT
? CHAPTER XV. THE MEETING
? CHAPTER XVI. EIGHT FOUR EIGHT
? CHAPTER XVII. THE HIDDEN SHADOW
? CHAPTER XVIII. THE CONVICT'S STORY
? CHAPTER XIX. THE SHADOW SPEAKS
? CHAPTER XX. BIG TOM RESISTS
? CHAPTER XXI. THE SHOTS FROM THE TOWER
? CHAPTER XXII. THE SHADOW DEPARTS
? CHAPTER XXIII. THE PAY OFF
CHAPTER I. THE SHADOW LISTENS
A WEIRD, mellow light pervaded the somber, black-walled room. The glow had a purplish tinge, and its
strange rays centered themselves in a single corner, where they reflected the shining surface of a polished
tabletop.
All was silent in that room. It bore the semblance of a chamber of death; and most mysterious of all was
the spectral figure that sat before the table. Clothed in a cloak of jet-black hue, with visage obscured by
the broad brim of a black slouch hat, this personage possessed the eerie quality of an apparition.
The Shadow was in his sanctum!
A ghostly being, shrouded by darkness, he awaited a message from some outside source. The very walls
of the room in which The Shadow dwelt seemed to melt away into nothingness.
Somewhere in New York—in this amazing spot that was known to himself alone—The Shadow was
formulating a plan to thwart the plots of evil-doers.
A light glowed across the table. Its sudden appearance brought a strange response from the being garbed
in black. A creepy sound shuddered through that secret room—a sound that formed itself into a mocking
laugh, uttered by unseen lips.
The laugh died away; but its echoes responded from the hidden walls. Those echoes were convulsive
reverberations that might have been the cry of a host of ghoulish demons, so unreal was their tone!
A white hand stretched forth from the black robe. Its appearance was uncanny, for it moved like a
detached creature as it crept across the surface of the table. The hand stopped upon a switch that was
attached to a black box on the wall.
On the third finger of the hand shone a shimmering gem, a rare fire opal that glimmered with
ever-changing shades.
From deep maroon, the jewel changed to a purplish hue that blended with the pervading light. Then its
rays were a light blue; again they became a firelike red, shining from uncalculable depths.
That stone was The Shadow's girasol—a priceless gem, unmatched in all the world—the solitary symbol
of The Shadow!
The switch clicked softly. A whispered voice spoke through the purplish gloom.
"Report."
A quiet voice answered from the wall.
"Burbank speaking. Contact arranged with Seaview City. Vincent has opened interior wire connection.
Ready for direct communication by radio."
"Proceed."
Silence followed the whispered order. Then came a slight clicking from the wall. After that, a confused
murmur gradually developed itself into the distinct voices of men, speaking.
The hand pressed a button at the side of the table. The purplish light faded. Thus, immersed in total
darkness, The Shadow had become an unseen member of a group of unsuspecting men miles away from
New York City!
Through his amazing genius and the cooperation of his trusted operatives, this mysterious presence had
invoked mechanical aid to place himself where he could hear without being seen.
The serious counsel of certain men was being brought directly to The Shadow's consideration. From the
hidden depths of his sanctum, he could both consider and advise.
MASTER of the unknown, The Shadow had a purpose in this self-appointed task. His identity a secret,
his strange habitation undiscovered, The Shadow, more than any other person, was equipped to battle
crime.
That, alone, was the clew to The Shadow's presence in this sanctum, and his actions to-night. When The
Shadow prepared, it could be for one purpose only. The thwarting of master plotters was The Shadow's
work.
A voice was speaking from the invisible box upon the wall. Its tones were deliberate and precise. It was
the voice of a man who had authority.
Other voices responded. One was friendly—another was gruff—a third was wheedling. A friendly laugh
of greeting broke into the conversation.
A sudden lull followed. Then, amid subdued murmurs, came the rapping of a solid object upon a table. A
meeting was in order. The buzzing died away.
A clock began to chime. Its slow strokes sounded nine. A few snatches of low conversation were
interrupted by another warning series of raps.
With complete silence gained, the important-sounding voice began to speak. No one interrupted. Quiet
listeners were intent.
Among those listeners was The Shadow!
CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW'S WARNING
"IT is nine o'clock. Let us attend to business."
The speaker was Rufus Cruikshank, newly elected mayor of Seaview City. Firm-faced, immaculate in
attire, important in bearing, he commanded the respect of those about him.
Cruikshank was seated at a large table in the Green Room of the new Hotel Pavilion. Congregated about
him were the most important citizens of Seaview City. These men constituted the Public Safety
Committee of the prosperous shore resort.
"Our new administration," declared Cruikshank, in his dignified tone, "faces a most important task.
Seaview City, gentlemen, has grown to remarkable proportions. It is our task to govern it with wisdom
and discretion.
"We have at our disposal a capable police force, headed by an excellent officer. I believe that we all have
confidence in our police chief, George Yates. He is here to-night to cooperate with us in our conference."
Cruikshank ceased speaking to turn to the end of the table, where a stalwart, red-faced man in uniform
was sitting in an uncomfortable pose. The chief's beefy countenance reddened even more as he saw all
eyes turned in his direction. Yates uttered a gruff acknowledgment of the mayor's introduction.
"We can rely upon Chief Yates," resumed Cruikshank. "He has orders to report directly to me in every
matter. It is my duty to take up all his important findings with this committee. Therefore, gentlemen, I
think that it would be wise for us to hear what the chief has to say."
Chief Yates arose at these words. He was tall and heavily built, and made a good figure despite his
bulkiness. Once on his feet, he experienced little difficulty in talking.
"Policing this city," he said, in a booming voice, "is a special kind of matter that is different from a lot of
places. People come here to enjoy themselves. We've got to take that into consideration.
"There's restrictions we've got to enforce, and the more sensible they are, the better. That's what I've
found out. It's up to you, gentlemen, to decide what you want done, and I'm the fellow to do it. But if I
can help by giving any suggestions, I'll do it when I'm called on."
Yates looked around him questioningly. He seemed to be awaiting interrogation. A sharp-faced man
seated beside the mayor took up the opportunity immediately. This was Louis Helwig, one of the
principal promoters of Seaview City.
"What about the closing hours on night clubs?" he questioned.
"There's an ordinance says one o'clock," responded the police chief. "It hasn't been regularly enforced.
The way it's worded don't make it official, unless we want to put the clamps on. Then we've got it to
use."
"Can you use it?"
"Yes."
"On what basis?"
"On complaints. It don't affect any except the ones we've got the complaints on."
"That appears satisfactory." Louis Helwig nodded as he spoke.
His nod was taken up by a man who sat beside him. This individual was a square-faced, businesslike
man, Raymond Coates by name. He was the principal real-estate dealer in Seaview City.
MAYOR CRUIKSHANK alone appeared doubtful. He shook his head slowly.
"It seems to me," he announced, "that varied interpretation of a closing ordinance can lead to both trouble
and criticism. We must have an effective weapon to deal with public nuisances.
"The license suspension covers that, your honor," prompted Chief Yates. "We can close them up tight on
complaint. We've done it quick enough, when we've been told to. The only trouble"—his face became
grim—"is, that we've been kept off too much."
"That was during the past administration," declared Cruikshank coldly. "I can assure you, chief—and all
others present—that such circumstances shall not exist while I am in office."
"What about hotels?"
The question came from a sallow, suave-faced man. Graham Hurley was the owner and manager of the
luxurious Hotel Pavilion, in which this meeting was being held. He was frank in his question, seeming to
admit that it applied to his own interests.
"We don't bother the hotels," responded Yates, "unless a lot of trouble breaks out. Then they generally
call us in before it gets bad. They've got to keep their business right. That's the way it works out."
"Gentlemen"—Rufus Cruikshank's cold voice was stern—"we are going to administer Seaview City so
that it will become the greatest resort in this country!"
"It's that already!" interposed one of the committeemen.
"In order to do so," continued Cruikshank severely, "we must pursue a wise course. A resort that is tight
shut may be as bad as one that is wide open, so far as progress is concerned.
"Nevertheless, I shall not hesitate to impose curbing regulations. I feel convinced that our existing
ordinances are sufficient, if properly enforced. Do you agree?"
"Let me make a suggestion," said Hurley, the hotel owner. "This establishment of mine represents a
tremendous investment. I intend to make it a credit to Seaview City. Bad places hurt good places. I don't
want to see any bad places.
"The chief made a vital statement when he said that people come here to enjoy themselves. Let them do
so. Be ready with strict enforcement, and begin it with the cheap, undesirable places. They cause the real
trouble. Eliminate them, and you eliminate complaints."
Murmurs of agreement followed. Rufus Cruikshank studied his companions closely, as though anxious to
determine their sincerity. At last he nodded thoughtfully, and the others appeared relieved by his reluctant
agreement.
"We have the matter of open crime," he said. "My investigation shows that it is not prevalent in Seaview
City. Am I correct, chief?"
"We can handle crooks," declared Yates emphatically. "We bottle them up when they float in here.
They're all small fry that think they're going to get easy pickings. Leave them to me. They don't amount to
much."
"Is your force adequate?"
"Sure, the way things have been going. We don't get organized crime here. If we did, I could shift the
squads that watch the other places."
"Seaview City has doubled in population in two years," observed Cruikshank. "There has been no
increase in the size of the police force."
"Well, I could use more men."
Louis Helwig was quick with an objection, and Coates sustained him.
"The area of the city has not increased," he said. "We have ample police coverage. More officers would
mean a new appropriation -"
"Which we are anxious to avoid -" came from Coates.
"Because of the appropriations for the extending of the board walk," added some one, "and also the fund
for the completion of the municipal auditorium."
These were persuasive arguments which Mayor Cruikshank could not ignore. He had been elected on
the crest of a reform wave, but the promise of Seaview's development had been an important plank in his
political platform.
"I've got enough men," interposed Chief Yates hastily. "We can always use more, but I won't need them
-"
"Then we are equipped against crime," declared Cruikshank.
"Absolutely!" said Yates.
"It is agreed, then," questioned Cruikshank deliberately, "that we shall retain the present maximum of our
police force?"
Affirmative expressions came from all.
"Are there any other comments?" asked Cruikshank.
COMPLETE silence followed the question. The ornate clock in the corner chimed the half hour. Men
began to rise from the table.
Then came a sudden, chilling moment that ended all motion. The members of the committee were aghast
as they heard an awe-inspiring sound.
Through the room crept the weird mockery of a whispered laugh. Rising to an eerie crescendo, it broke
like a huge breaker in the surf. Its myriad echoes murmured a dying response.
Into this room—seemingly from nowhere—had come the laugh of The Shadow!
No one stirred. Every man realized that the laugh would be the precursor of some more startling event.
Seconds ticked by as they waited breathlessly.
Their faces were startled; even the police chief's bluff countenance paled. Only Rufus Cruikshank, stern
and dignified, retained his composure.
Now a voice swept through the room. A sardonic, whispered voice, it carried the same penetrating tones
that had characterized the dreadful laugh.
"Prepare for crime!" declared the voice. "It will strike soon. Be ready! That is my warning."
A pause, while the men stared, wondering, scarcely believing that this sinister voice could be that of a
living man.
"While you are departing"—the voice was ominous—"others are gathering. They plot crime. They are
close by you at this very moment. Prepare to meet them. Heed my warning!"
Men were clawing at their faces. Others were slumped in their chairs. Some, half standing, were
trembling. Of the dozen present, not one was unperturbed. Only Rufus Cruikshank upheld his dignity; yet
his fingers were tapping nervously upon the table.
Again came the fear-stirring laugh. Its tremolo ended with a gruesome dwindling that seemed to repeat
itself upon the ears that heard it. The silence that followed was incredible. Roused imaginations still
fancied that they sensed the token of some weird presence.
"Who—who—what is it?"
The stammered question came from Louis Helwig. He turned from man to man, as though seeking an
explanation. At last his gaze rested upon Graham Hurley, the hotel proprietor.
Hurley shook his head slowly. He, too, was seeking an explanation, but saw only blankness when he
looked toward Police Chief Yates. He was met with a cold, inquiring stare when he encountered Mayor
Cruikshank. At last, realizing that this strange event had taken place in his own hotel, Hurley knew that
the answer rested with him.
AMID the intense silence that followed the final ripples of the awesome laugh, Hurley had a sudden
inspiration. His eye lighted upon a switch on the wall, where a plug was jammed into a socket. Going to
that spot, Hurley removed the connection and slumped into a chair beside the wall.
"It must have been the radio," he said, in a trembling voice.
"The radio!" The words were echoed by Raymond Coates. "I've heard that voice over the air! It's the
voice of The Shadow! But these words were no part of a radio program!"
"Gentlemen," announced Mayor Rufus Cruikshank, in a self-possessed voice, "we may be the victims of
a hoax. I consider this to be some prank which our defeated opponents have arranged to worry us."
Tense silence followed. Every one expected to hear again the shuddering tones of The Shadow's voice.
But no word came.
Graham Hurley, examining the radio socket, turned to the others, and announced that this must have been
the cause of the uncanny sounds.
"Can you trace the connection?" questioned Rufus Cruikshank.
"No," said Hurley, shaking his head. "Some one has evidently tapped the wiring from somewhere in the
wall. It would mean a great deal of trouble, and probably no result."
"Then we shall forget it," declared Cruikshank firmly.
"I'm not so sure it is a hoax." Chief Yates was speaking. "It sounded like a warning to me. It sounded like
whoever spoke knows something."
Yates nodded emphatically as he made this statement. The others were momentarily impressed by his
words. Then opinion changed as Rufus Cruikshank spoke quietly.
"Gentlemen," said the mayor, "I shall abide by your decision. You represent the Public Safety Committee.
We have made our plans. Now, from an unknown source comes a voice of warning. Shall we heed it, by
appropriating special funds for the prevention of unmentioned crime— or shall we choose to regard it as
a useless, freakish utterance that shall have no bearing upon our course of action?"
"There are other appropriations necessary -"
"We rely on your good judgment, mayor -"
"We're well equipped for crime, anyway -"
These were the stumbling responses that followed the mention of a special appropriation. Now that the
warning voice was no longer present, the apprehensive men were changing their opinions. Mayor
Cruikshank rapped upon the table.
"The meeting is adjourned," he declared.
The men filed from the room. The lights were turned out. The officials of Seaview City had made their
decision. They had failed to accept the warning of The Shadow!
A SHORT while afterward, a young man entered the obscure Green Room of the Hotel Pavilion. He
found his way through the dark until he reached the switch by the wall. He plugged in the loose cord.
"Vincent speaking," he said, in a low voice. "In the Green Room. The others have gone."
"Remove connections." It was Burbank's quiet voice that replied. "Detach dictograph. Remove
equipment from your room. Pack, and return to New York."
From beneath a corner rug, the young man detached an instrument that was connected with an unused
lamp cord. He went back to the wall, and placed his hand upon the plug.
As he hesitated, he heard the low, whispered sound of an echoed laugh, which ended abruptly. The
young man removed the plug. No longer could The Shadow hear what was said in this room. No longer
could The Shadow speak to those who might be present.
Then Harry Vincent, operative for The Shadow, was gone. The room was empty and still. The Shadow's
mission was ended.
The Shadow knew. The Shadow had heard. The Shadow had spoken. He had warned men against
crime, and his words had passed unheeded.
What menace threatened Seaview City?
Only The Shadow knew!
CHAPTER III. FOUR KINGS AND AN ACE
THE SHADOW had spoken facts!
While Rufus Cruikshank, mayor of Seaview City, was still talking to his companions in the palatial lobby
of the Hotel Pavilion, master minds of crime were gathering beneath that very roof!
Two men were seated in the living room of a suite de luxe in an upper story of the great hotel. One was a
huge bulk of a man, past middle age. He still carried a youthful air and smiling face; yet his heavy, bluff
countenance had a hard-set look, that belied the friendly twinkle in his eyes.
Many persons in other parts of the country would have recognized this man, but he was a newcomer to
Seaview City, and virtually unknown there. He was "Big Tom" Bagshawe, proprietor of a chain of
palatial gambling houses, located in many parts of the United States. His most famous establishment was
in Florida, where Big Tom was usually seen.
Where money was, Bagshawe was also. His presence in Seaview City denoted that he expected to
accumulate wealth from this prosperous resort.
The other man was of a totally different type from Big Tom Bagshawe. Short, pasty-faced and possessed
of shifty, cunning eyes, this individual had none of the friendly expression which characterized his big
companion.
He was a fiend of the underworld, whose operations were so cunningly conducted that police had never
managed to place their hands upon him. "Shifter" Reeves he was called, and his connection with
questionable enterprises had always been a matter of speculation on the part of investigators.
These men were conversing in low tones. Both of them were cautious in their statements. Evidently this
meeting had served as their first introduction. Big Tom was eyeing Shifter with a curious expression, and
the pasty-faced man constantly turned quick glances in the direction of his companion.
Three soft raps sounded on the door. Shifter Reeves darted another sharp glance toward Bagshawe.
With a slow, indifferent attitude, Big Tom arose to answer the knock.
"Three raps," he said. "That's Number 3."
When Big Tom opened the door, a stocky man entered. He was well dressed, and carried himself with a
challenging air. He closed the door behind him, and studied both of his companions. Satisfied they were
the men he expected, he introduced himself.
"I guess you've heard of me?" he announced. "They call me Hooks Borglund. You're Big Tom
Bagshawe"—he glanced at the gambler as he spoke—"and I suppose you're Shifter Reeves. Where's the
other fellow?"
"He'll be here next," answered Big Tom. "He's Number 4. After him comes -"
"Hooks" Borglund nodded as though he understood. He sat down and lighted a cigarette nervously. All
conversation ended; the three men were waiting.
THE silence did not last for long. Four raps sounded at the door. Big Tom answered the demand for
admittance.
The man who entered was tall and well built. He had the manner of a gentleman. While the others looked
prosperous, even wealthy—yet common—this man formed a contrast, because of his aristocratic
bearing.
He was attired in a perfectly fitting dress suit, which he wore with the easy air of a man of the world. His
clean-shaven face was handsome. Even the three who awaited him were impressed by his guise.
This man had an air of superiority that was not an affectation. He did not introduce himself as Hooks
Borglund had done. He seemed to take all for granted as he sat in the chair, paying little attention to those
about him.
Big Tom, seeing that the newcomer intended to make no statement, decided to supply the introduction
himself. He did it in the form of a question.
"You're Herbert Carpenter?" he asked.
The newcomer nodded.
"My name's Bagshawe," declared Big Tom. "This is Shifter Reeves, and this is Hooks Borglund. We're
the three that you were supposed to meet."
"Glad to know you," answered Carpenter.
Before any one could add further comment, there were five slow raps at the door of the suite. Big Tom
cast an anxious eye about him to make sure all the others were properly seated.
"It's him," he whispered. "That means lights out, understand?"
The others nodded. Bagshawe extinguished the lights. He slowly opened the door, and a man walked in.
Only his outlined form could be seen against the dim light of the outer passage. This quick flash ended as
the man closed the door behind him. As Big Tom sidled back to his chair, the new visitor found a seat for
himself.
A match flickered, but it did not show the fifth man's face. His head was turned down as he lighted a
cigar. Then all that denoted his presence was a small moving glow of fire that traveled up and down as
the man intermittently raised and lowered his cigar.
"All here?" came the low question from the man with the cigar.
"All here," answered Bagshawe.
There was a short silence, during which the fifth man seemed to be forming a plan of speech. In the
darkened room there was a tenseness as though this newcomer was sizing up the men whom he could
not see. The others waited for him to speak, a positive indication that he was the one most vitally
concerned with this meeting.
"YOU know who I am"—the voice came in a harsh emphatic tone, as the obscured man made his first
remark. "My name is Bryant. That's enough. Never mind my first moniker; there's lots of other guys have
the same. They call me Wheels Bryant. That's the name they give to big shots."
Despite the fact the other four men constituted a group of self-confident individuals, there was no
challenging response to the boastful claim which had been advanced. The other four unquestionably
acknowledged "Wheels" Bryant as their leader.
"This is my lay," resumed Wheels. "I'm working it my own way. I got everything fixed, and I'm giving all
of you a cut-in. Whatever I say goes.
"Each of you is a specialist, and I am the one to pick the spots. I don't want any complaining if one guy
gets a lot to do and another has it soft. That's all part of my game.
"I'm working from under cover. I can find out what's going on in this burg. That makes it easy for the rest
of you. I'll handle it so that the bulls won't bother you, and if you get in any jams, I'll get you out.
"There's the terms; I've put them up to you separate, now you're hearing them together. If you're set,
we're ready. If any one of you has a squawk, make it now."
The silence that prevailed showed they were all satisfied. These men had evidently received individual
communications from Wheels Bryant, and all knew what they were to expect.
"We're going to ride this town," declared Wheels Bryant gruffly, "and we're going to begin by working
the gambling end first. Big Tom likes to make soft money. We're going to let him do it, and the profits
come into headquarters.
"For a while it's going to look like Big Tom is furnishing the gravy, but that won't last long. His pickings
will be small change when we get riding high."
Grunts of approval sounded among the listeners. Wheels Bryant ignored the sounds. His cigar light cut a
fiery arc as it shot through the air and disappeared out the open window.
"You've got your lay, Reeves," declared Wheels. "That old display building, out on the end of Seaview
Pier, is your place. You go in there to-morrow, and hire it for storage of boat equipment. The building
has been condemned until next year, and they will be glad to rent it to you. Understand?"
An affirmative response came from Shifter Reeves.
"Shifter is handling dope," announced Wheels. "That's for all of you to know. He's going to make a big
clean-up. That house on the end of the pier is fixed up just the way he wants it. They used it for
submarine observations last summer, and it's fixed right for bringing in the hop. Shifter has got his men,
and outside of them, we're the only ones who are going to know about it.
"As for you, Borglund—I'm holding you for a while. When your chance comes along, it will be the grand
clean-up. We're not going to run any chances by running any kidnappings until we're ready. Every good
racket lasts just so long, and we're going to spill yours in a big way, when the time comes. Get me?"
"All right with me," affirmed Hooks Borglund.
"But in the meantime," added Wheels Bryant, "you're going to be busy, Carpenter. I hear you're a pretty
foxy bird. Like to work alone, and all that. Give you the right pickings, and you'll knock them off.
"Well, Seaview City is just the spot to find a lot of rich playboys, all set for a blackmail job. It's up to you
to get them. When Big Tom opens that swell joint of his, you'll find it a handy hang-out. Right?"
摘要：

KINGSOFCRIMEMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2002BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.THESHADOWLISTENS?CHAPTERII.THESHADOW'SWARNING?CHAPTERIII.FOURKINGSANDANACE?CHAPTERIV.CRIMEBREAKSLOOSE?CHAPTERV.BEHINDTHEDOOR?CHAPTERVI.THEBIGNIGHT?CHAPTERVII.THEMANWHOVANISHED?CHAPTERVIII.CARPENTERTALKSTE...

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