Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 300 - Crime Out of Mind

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CRIME OUT OF MIND

Maxwell Grant

http://www.blackmask.com

? CHAPTER I

? CHAPTER II

? CHAPTER III

? CHAPTER IV

? CHAPTER V

? CHAPTER VI

? CHAPTER VII

? CHAPTER VIII

? CHAPTER IX

? CHAPTER X

? CHAPTER XI

? CHAPTER XII

? CHAPTER XIII

? CHAPTER XIV

? CHAPTER XV

? CHAPTER XVI

? CHAPTER XVII

? CHAPTER XVIII

? CHAPTER XIX

? CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER I

THE spotlight from the little balcony was focussed on the darkish man who stood in the center of the

nightclub floor. He was a commanding figure, this man, with his dark, full face and glinting eyes.

In fact, everything glinted about Planchini.

The great man's turban gleamed with a huge red stone that he termed the Token of Buddha. Similarly,

Planchini's regalia scintillated with an embroidery of costume jewelry. Beside him was a silver-rimmed

fish bowl, transparent but of a tinted glass that fairly shimmered with iridescence.

Most sparkling of all was the crystal ball that Planchini held in his right hand. No mere glass this, but

genuine rock crystal, so clear that it drew eyes with a hypnotic force.

Appropriate, such a ball, for this was the Crystal Room of the Chateau Parkview, one of New York's

swankiest hotels. To live up to its name, the Crystal Room was hung with huge cut-glass chandeliers and

Planchini had smartly posted himself so that one of these would serve as background in the spotlight, thus

adding its glitter to that of his performance.

For in the eyes and minds of many who watched him, Planchini was a real mystic of the highest caliber.

Even now, as Planchini dipped his right hand into the bowl to bring out a folded slip of paper, there was

breathless silence among the spectators who thronged the surrounding tables.

"I see the initials 'L. J.,'" declared Planchini, in stentorian tone, his eyes fixed on the crystal ball. "The 'L'

stands for the name Louisa and it is the name of someone present."

An audible gasp filled the interval that followed and Planchini, gesturing his right hand imperiously, carried

a second spotlight to a ringside table where a portly lady furnished a minor dazzle, except that her

jewelry, though less than Planchini's, was real.

"Louisa Jardine," continued Planchini, consulting the crystal. Then, without a glance at the woman who

nodded her identity, he added: "Amid that name I see a sparkle. It represents something lost that wishes

to return."

"My diamond pendant!" gulped the Jardine lady. "The one I lost - a week ago - unless it was stolen!"

"It was neither lost nor stolen," informed Planchini. "It was given to someone."

"Given!" exclaimed the portly Louisa. "I, give away my diamond pendant!"

"You did not give it away." Fixing on Louisa, Planchini's eyes fairly flashed with fire. "You gave it to a

friend for safe-keeping."

"But I don't remember -"

Louisa halted as a companion nudged her arm and whispered something. Then, with a giggly laugh, the

portly woman admitted:

"That's right. It must have been the night I was over at the Landworth Apartments visiting Mrs. -"

"No names, please!" Planchini was sharp, deft with his interruption, as though he had purposely held it.

"Do not tell me who your friends are. I am the one who tells you who they are."

Louisa gave an apologetic nod.

"You left the pendant there," reminded Planchini. "You may tell me if you remember."

"I don't remember."

Pondering, Planchini consulted the crystal, while portly Louisa, nervous in the spotlight, reached for a

champagne glass to take a drink. Again, Planchini was timing matters well.

"Perhaps," he stated, "you were in neither a mood nor a condition to remember."

The audience laughed while Louisa sputtered her champagne. Then, sheepishly, the woman admitted the

impeachment.

"It was a party," she said. "Maybe I'd been drinking too much. But Agatha - my friend, I mean - she

should have remembered and told me she had the pendant there."

"I see bubbles," divined Planchini, concentrated on the crystal. "Champagne bubbles, floating up from the

past. I gather the impression that your friend's condition was no better than your own."

Louisa concluded her embarrassment with a giggle.

"Agatha would just love that," announced Louisa, "but you're right, Mr. Planchini, one hundred percent

right. I mean you're right about the party - I only hope you're right about the diamond pendant!"

"The crystal never lies," assured Planchini, dropping the folded slip back into the bowl. "Now to my mind

come the figures three - four - three - two - seven -"

By the time Planchini had completed that slow spoken procession of figures, Louisa was shaking her

head, signifying that they meant nothing to her.

"I'm not thinking of the number on a dollar bill tonight, Mr. Planchini."

"I receive the letter 'J,'" Planchini insisted. "With it the figure four -"

Noting that Louisa had started talking to the persons at her table, Planchini waved for the spotlight to

circle the audience.

"Someone is thinking of that number," boomed Planchini, "the serial number on a dollar bill!"

The spotlight finally fixed upon a wan-faced man who had half-risen from a rear table. The man was

holding up his arm and nodding so emphatically that his chin almost disappeared into his oversized tuxedo

collar. That satisfied Planchini.

"The number has been identified," announced Planchini, dropping a slip that he had started to lift from the

bowl. "And now" - deliberately, with a grand display of showmanship, the mystic drew another folded

piece of paper - "we come to a very happy subject: 'Love.'"

A slight wave of Planchini's hand and the orchestra, lost in the darkness of its platform, began to play the

soft harmony of the wedding march, while Planchini chimed in with a modulated tone:

"I can foresee the happy event. It will take place within the next fortnight. The impression comes from

that direction" - the spotlight followed as Planchini pointed - "and there is no reason to blush, young lady.

You are not yet a bride, though you soon will be. May I congratulate the lucky man, since he is now with

you?"

The spot had fixed upon a girl who smiled as she reddened slightly in its glare, then hid her face behind a

menu, while the young man with her acknowledged that Planchini was right as to the date of their

prospective wedding, by waving both hands, then clasping them as a sign of self-congratulation.

With a gesture, Planchini ended the music and brushed away the extra spotlight. He dipped his hand for

another slip of paper while his face assumed an air so serious that the chuckling audience hushed.

Planchini had the knack of being impressive when he wanted and it went far toward convincing the

spectators.

That was, with certain exceptions.

Two of those were a pair of men at a table near the door. Even in the gloom, their faces showed a

contrast. One was undersized and slouchy, yet keen-eyed and wise of face. His companion was both

suave and sleek, to the point where he was oily on both counts.

They were here in a professional capacity, or such they would have termed it: Val Varno, the

sleight-of-hand king and Glanville Frost, magic's great creative mind. At least so they considered

themselves and neither disputed the other's argument.

Pausing in the midst of a one-hand manipulation of some slips of paper, Val Varno thumbed toward the

floor where Planchini was still working.

"From corn," summed Varno, "and strictly."

"At fifteen hundred a week," remarked Frost, smoothly, "I would say the corn is ripe."

"But what does the guy do?" demanded Varno. "Somebody collects slips in a fish bowl and takes them

away fifteen minutes before Planchini shows. Anybody could get to the questions and read them."

"People don't worry about their questions," returned Frost. "They are interested in the answers."

"So what does Planchini give them? Numbers off of dollar bills and a prediction of a wedding that every

columnist has written up."

"The business about the diamond pendant was good."

"Straight hoke," gruffed Varno. "The dame will never find the thing."

"She might," considered Frost, "and it would be a swell break for Planchini if she does."

That brought a scoffing comment from Varno.

"Sounds like you're going mental," he said. "Soon you'll be believing there's something in the stuff."

"There is something in it," reminded Frost. "Otherwise you wouldn't be practicing at handling slips

yourself. There's fifteen hundred dollars in it, every week."

Varno gave a very wise grin.

"Soft money for either of us," Frost added, "or both. With your skill, Val, you could swipe slips right

under their noses. As for my presentation, it would begin where Planchini leaves off."

"Sounds right," assured Varno. "When do we begin?"

"After we really know Planchini's system," replied Frost. "Don't bluff yourself, Val; the fellow has

something ultra with those smart answers. We'd better nail it first."

Frost shifted as someone pressed by his chair. With an upward glance, Frost recognized the passer and

gave him a nod. Then to Varno, Frost undertoned:

"Remember him?"

"Lamont Cranston," returned Varno. "We ought to remember him, even though we only met him once."

"I met him before that," stated Frost. "I used to see him at the meeting of the Universal Wizards

Association before they expelled me because I ran for Second Vice-President ahead of my turn."

"A smart apple, Cranston" - Varno's eyes were following the man in question toward the door - "and I'm

wondering if he was here checking on Planchini's act."

Val Varno wouldn't have wondered, had he followed Lamont Cranston in person, instead of merely with

his eyes. Outside the door of the Crystal Room, Cranston crossed the spacious lobby, strolled past the

cigar stand and entered a telephone booth that bore a sign:

"Out of Order."

There, Cranston blended with blackness. The reason was that within the booth, he slid himself into a

waiting cloak that was black in hue, with a slouch hat to match. A few moments later the door of the

booth slid open under a parting kick to reveal something even more remarkable.

The telephone booth was actually empty. Lamont Cranston had become The Shadow and with that

transformation he was gone!

CHAPTER II

VAL VARNO and Glanville Frost weren't the only skeptical pair of gentlemen who were watching

Planchini's act.

Over in another corner of the Crystal room, near a door marked "Exit" were two other guests clad in the

customary tuxedos required at the Chateau Parkview.

One was a man who wore a half smile that seemed a perpetual part of his rather broad face. He was

youthful in appearance, but the low lights of the nightclub helped that illusion, because at close range, his

features bore deep lines that could be charged to age rather than dissipation.

Those lines hardened his face, giving a ruthless background to the amiable expression which his lips

falsified. All that this character needed was a name to describe him properly and he had it.

His name was Smiley Grimm.

The other man was thin of face with a tall forehead, accentuated by the thin hair that topped it. His

features were dryish, even to his eyes, which were roving but not shifty. Those eyes, if they met others,

remained steady until they established a certain indifference.

But when those eyes fixed upon something that interested them, they narrowed and their very sharpness

seemed to stab the object of their gaze. As for a name, this man was also well-equipped.

His name was Keene Marker.

They looked like old friends, this pair, but they were of comparatively recent acquaintance, though they

had heard of each other through underground channels. Both were confidence men who had varied their

swindling careers by turning professional gambler when occasion called.

Certainly no man could boast a better poker face than Smiley Grimm, with his half-indulgent surface

masking his hard interior. His manner, too, was a cover for that certain deftness required in running up a

poker hand or ringing in a cold deck.

Conversely, Keene Marker was the sort who could not only probe the faces of others, but was sharp

enough of vision to detect any difference in cards that might become slightly nicked in play. This in turn

made it a logical conclusion that Keene would live up to his other name of Marker should a pack demand

the tampering that would provide the necessary nicks.

They'd never met before, Smiley and Keene, because each made it a habit never to stay in one place too

long.

Fast-moving swindles were their specialties. Smiley preferred selling stock in Canadian gold mines while

Keene could fairly pour the goods when Oklahoma oil wells were concerned. They were fast-movers

personally, as soon as the con game was worked, and they used their gambling skill to pay for expenses

during their long itineraries.

Indeed, the two had become almost legendary figures, even to each other and now they had met, Smiley

and Keene, on a common ground that demanded their collaboration.

Each was wise, so wise that he would not reveal too much to the other. Who had brought them here,

neither cared to state, each simply intimating that he had received a good tip from some private source.

But it was no secret why they were here. They had work to do and of a daring sort.

At present that work was to check back on Planchini's act. The mystic was just finishing his turn, so the

summing up was due.

"Only eight questions," spoke Smiley, with a slight laugh. "Easy work for his dough."

"Easy work for our dough," acknowledged Keene, "particularly as I'm already picking number five as the

one that counts."

"You mean that question about the diamond pendant?"

"That's right, except I'm wondering about the bill reading that followed."

"Why?" demanded Smiley. "Planchini gave the bill number, didn't he?"

"Yes and no," retorted Keene. "The guy that spoke up was a stooge. I've spotted him before, saying a

question was meant for him, when Planchini got jammed."

Planchini's act was finished and the dark-hued mystic was salaaming himself off stage. Lights were

beginning to glow from the big chandeliers and Keene gave a quick side-glance at Smiley, who had a

pencil and notebook lying in front of him. Reaching beneath the table, Keene produced a newspaper and

opened it to the sporting page.

"We'll act like we're picking horses," undertoned Keene. "We don't want anybody to know about those

notes you're checking."

"Who wants to know?" Smiley demanded.

"A couple of mugs over there." Keene was looking toward Val Varno and Glanville Frost at the other

side of the club. "They're taking notes too."

Smiley became interested.

"Yeah?" he inquired. "Why?"

"Because they're a couple of magicians," informed Keene. "One of them is doing the coin roll" - Keene

was referring to Varno, who was causing a half-dollar to somersault along the backs of his fingers - "and

the other is wearing a color-changing necktie" - Keene's sharp eyes were studying Frost, who was

leaning forward, writing something on the tablecloth - "and the thing has slipped. It's half green and half

yellow."

"And why should the magic boys be taking notes?" persisted Smiley.

"Because they want to mooch into the mental racket," explained Keene. "Fifteen hundred a week is

better than fifteen bucks a show, isn't it?"

"Should be."

"Well, that's the difference between a mentalist and a magician, even though they both do the same

tricks."

With that, Keene let his gaze rove elsewhere and specifically to the wide door that formed the entrance

to the Crystal Room. Eyes from that direction might be too observant, Keene decided, because the

doorway was packed with persons who were looking for tables. With Planchini's act over, some of the

customers were leaving, but there was more of the floor show to follow. Hence some of the people at the

door were moving out to the lobby rather than be jostled and finding that they weren't glancing his

direction, Keene decided to look them over.

"There's Sidney Maywick," confided Keene. "He lives here at the Chateau Parkview."

"You mean Baldy with the Van Dyke beard?" queried Smiley, without looking up. "Who's with him

tonight?"

"Nobody. He's looking around as if he expected some friends."

"Spot them if you see them. All of Maywick's friends have dough. I'll match you whether we sell them

gold mines or oil wells."

"Why not sell Maywick?"

With the question, Keene stared at Smiley who expected the gaze and looked up to meet it.

"Maywick handles stock himself," explained Smiley, "and it's all gilt-edged. He wouldn't buy an oil well if

it poured out molten gold. But we might get some of his friends to trade in what they bought from him for

something that we have to sell. Get it?"

Nodding, Keene turned for another look at Maywick, but the man with the Van Dyke had been shunted

to the lobby along with other disappointed customers. Nor was there a chance of glimpsing him beyond

the throng for at that moment the lights in the Crystal Room went out and a spotlight centered on a dance

team that came blossoming on the floor to an accompanying crescendo from the orchestra.

Settling back in the semi-darkness, Keene gave a low significant whisper to Smiley.

"Planchini ought to be up in his room by now."

"What's more important" - Smiley tilted his head toward the balcony that was almost above them - "is

that the projection guy is up there instead of in his office."

Smiley gestured his hand toward a door near the exit. The door in question was closed and bore the

word "Private" in large letters. It was a combination office and property room where the projection

equipment was kept and the operator stayed between shows.

Right now that room was unoccupied, which was why Smiley and Keene happened to be at their

particular table. It was also why the shrewd pair began to listen and intently.

It came, the ring of a telephone bell, sounding muffled through the door from the room where nobody

was.

Together, Smiley and Keene counted the rings of the telephone. The progression ended with five,

indicating that whoever was calling had hung up after listening to that number of rings across the wire.

"I was right," undertoned Smiley. "The fifth question. The one about the diamond pendant."

"Belonging to Louisa Jardine," whispered Keene, "who was visiting somebody named Agatha."

"Mrs. Agatha Somebody," added Smiley, striking a match so he could see his notes. "She lives at the

Landworth Apartments."

"And what does that tell us?" side-toned Keene, while Smiley was using the match to light a cigarette.

"We can't burst into the Landworth and yell for Agatha."

"Naturally not," agreed Smiley. "We want that pendant and anything with it, but we don't know where or

how to get it -"

"Listen, Smiley!"

The interruption that Keene croaked was tuned to another ringing of the telephone in the closed office.

Together, Keene and Smiley counted the new succession, which ended with the sixth ring.

"The phony question!" came Smiley's hissed whisper. "The one the stooge acknowledged!"

"And we thought it was the number on a dollar bill," purred Keene. "You've got it written, haven't you?"

"I have."

"We'll pick up Dirk on the way."

That was all. A few minutes later, when the lights flooded the Crystal Room so the dance team could

take its final bow, the obscure table by the little-used exit was devoid of Messrs. Smiley Grimm and

Keene Marker.

CHAPTER III

THE tiny light licked along the gilded wall and paused upon a simple-framed portrait of a plumed

cavalier. A whispered laugh sounded from the darkness behind the beam as the light enlarged its circle.

It was coming closer to the portrait, that flashlight, bringing with it the person who carried it, but when its

progress stopped, the beam narrowed again to a pencil ray that threw a spot resembling a silver dollar.

Into that glow came gloved fingers to test the framed portrait with a few deft touches. The picture swung

open like a door, frame and all, disclosing a wall safe behind it. The safe was a small one, but ample for

its portable contents: gems.

The fingers busied themselves with the combination: three to the left, four to the right, three to the left,

two to the right, seven to the left.

These were the numbers in rotation that someone had not been thinking about in reference to an

imaginary dollar bill whose serial had been reeled off by Planchini, the seer of the Chateau Parkview.

The safe door came open and the enlarging circle of the flashlight threw back a dazzle that made the

resplendence of the Crystal Room seem trivial.

Again, a whispered tone - the laugh of The Shadow!

The Jardine pendant, valuable though it was, formed but a minor item of this collection. Here in the

hidden wall safe of an apartment living room, was a fortune in gems, all the property of Mrs. J. Allison

Agnew, whose husband owned a sizeable chain of small-town drugstores which gave him an excuse for

seldom being in New York.

There was a touch of whimsy in The Shadow's laugh.

Until a few years ago, J. Allison Agnew had preferred to live here in New York because his wife was

always cruising somewhere in the yacht that he had bought her. When the yacht had been sold and later

commandeered for coastal patrol, Mrs. Agnew had evidently invested its equivalent in these gems,

hoping they would increase in value toward the purchase of a better post-war yacht.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Agnew had taken over the apartment and her husband had decamped. Distance had

always been a factor in preserving what trifling harmony existed in the Agnew family.

Little wonder that Mrs. Agnew, whose first name happened to be Agatha, should have suggested that

Louisa Jardine leave her diamond pendant here. Even less surprising was the fact that Agatha should

have forgotten it, considering how common jewelry was in the Agnew menage.

From a zippered bag, The Shadow produced an inlaid jewel case, but instead of opening it, he placed it

in the safe, after he had poured the existing contents of that safe into the bag itself. Drawn tight, the bag,

when placed beneath The Shadow's cloak, was a far more secure repository for the Agnew gems than

was the wall safe, now that the combination had become public property.

Closing the safe, The Shadow turned the knob and swung the picture back where it belonged, thus

setting the scene for the next act in this drama. Moving through the darkness, The Shadow reached a

window; there, the dim light from a courtyard blotted itself briefly as he swung out to a ledge.

From there, The Shadow's course was a mere three stories down, since the Agnew apartment was only

on the fourth floor in a corner of the Landworth Apartments that included all apartments designated by

the letter 'J.'

In his enterprise, The Shadow had been leisurely, taking due time to study his surroundings. As a result,

he hadn't completed his work with much time to spare. Hardly had the window cleared itself of darkness

that vanished in the style of vapor, when sounds came from the door of the apartment itself.

The man who was making those sounds was Keene Marker. He was showing Smiley Grimm a very

clever trick, although Smiley wasn't watching closely. Much though he was interested in Keene's

craftsmanship, Smiley still kept darting glances along the hall outside of the door marked J-4.

Past the automatic elevator that they had used to reach here, Smiley saw the door of a fire tower. The

door was slightly open, and as Smiley watched it, he could see it move, though slightly. All that was to

the better, because behind that door lurked a watcher named Dirk Elverton, a handy man indeed to keep

as a reserve.

Keene was using a tiny but efficient instrument in the form of a needle drill that he had applied to the lock

of J-4. It had bitten its way through the metal and now Keene was removing it to supply a circular device

with other needles that he termed jabbers. Under the pressure of a small plunger, the jabbers pressed

home and the lock gave a barely audible click which meant that it had yielded.

Opening the door, Keene warded Smiley back before he could enter. Smiley's hand went for a gun, but

again Keene gripped his arm. All Keene wanted to do was cover the work he had just accomplished,

leaving no traces of the holes that he had drilled. Keene did this by applying a special wax that plugged

the tiny pin-points.

"Good any time we want to use it again," undertoned Keene. "I have a string of set-ups like this, all over

the country."

Smiley's lips broadened their artificial spread a trifle, thus registering approval. Then, eying the special

needler that Keene was returning to a plastic case, Smiley commented:

"It wouldn't do for safes."

"No," Keene admitted, "but I've punched strong boxes with it. In this case, we don't have to worry about

getting into the safe. All we have to do is find it."

Smiley was bringing a flashlight from his other pocket. In closing the door, Keene gestured impatiently for

his companion to put the torch away.

"Guns make funny noises," opined Keene, "and flashlights give funny flickers. Let's act like we belonged

here, only first, we ought to be fixed in case we meet somebody who knows we don't."

As a means to that fixing, Keene produced two silk handkerchiefs, each neatly knotted at diagonal

corners. He slipped one over his head and drew it down past the blindfold stage until it came to his nose.

Instead of being loose, the silk remained taut because it hooked over Keene's ears.

Duplicating Keene's job, Smiley put on the other mask, but with more difficulty, since Smiley's head was

broader. Then Keene found a floor lamp and turned it on so that the two masked men could survey the

Agnew living room.

It wasn't more than half a minute before a cluck came from beneath the silken folds that draped Keene's

chin.

"Take a look, Smiley," said Keene. "That picture over there."

Smiley looked and saw a flattering portrait of Agatha Agnew glaring haughtily from the wall, as though

disapproving the operations of these cracksmen deluxe. It didn't happen to be the picture that Keene

meant.

"The other wall, Smiley."

Turning, Smiley viewed the plumed cavalier and supplied an indulgent laugh. Squared against the wall,

lacking the forward lean that the other pictures showed, and of just the right size to conceal a wall safe,

this picture fairly shouted what lay behind it.

Keene clucked approvingly as Smiley put on a pair of gloves before manipulating the straight-set frame.

It wasn't long before the thing came open; merely the fraction of a minute. Inside was the wall safe with

its glistening knob. Smiley reached for it.

"Here goes with that one buck combination," announced Smiley. "Only which way should I start - left or

right?"

"The first figure ought to mean left," decided Keene. "So if it didn't mean left, that series Planchini called

off would have started with a zero. Bills have zeros you know."

Smiley knew and acted accordingly. Three - four - three - two - seven -

At the end of those turns, alternating left and right, the safe opened under Smiley's steady fingers. A

satisfied intake of Smiley's breath accompanied his sight of the casket that The Shadow had left. Gripping

the object, Smiley extended it to Keene.

Putting on thin gloves of his own, Keene received the casket and held it to the light. He noted that it had

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