Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 285 - Fountain of Death

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FOUNTAIN OF DEATH

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

WHEN you talked to Noble J. Elder, you didn't wonder what the initial "J" signified.

That at least was the opinion of Johnny Craver. He was sure of one thing; that Elder's middle name

wasn't Johnny. It simply wouldn't fit.

For Johnny Craver had been a very confused young man until he met Noble J. Elder, the proprietor of

Sapphire Springs, founder of the Sapphire Sanitarium, and organizer of the Self Society that brought

young men like Johnny back into the world where they belonged.

The name Noble J. Elder began like a title and ended with a descriptive flourish. Eminence and dignity

were in his bearing as he sat behind the great desk in his private consultation room; while his shocky gray

hair and smooth, time-molded face marked him as a man of years.

Most impressive, however, of Elder's impressive features were his eyes.

They were kindly, patient eyes, mild even to their twinkle which seemed to have caught the color of the

deep blue pool that was visible from Elder's window, amid the surrounding ring of stalwart pines that

guarded it.

Apparently Elder's desk had been placed where he could keep a constant eye upon the famous Sapphire

Springs which gushed like a living fountain from the exact center of his extensive premises; but if Johnny

judged rightly - and he was one who might - Noble Elder was more interested in the folk who patronized

those waters, rather than the blue springs or the green trees.

For the curative properties of these surroundings could be attributed to Noble Elder quite as much as

Sapphire Springs. Indians, pioneers, and settlers all had owned the Springs in turn, but it had taken a

wise gentleman named Elder to prove that here lay the cure for mental as well as physical ills. Discovering

the true Fountain of Life and packing its contents into blue bottles at thirty-five cents a quart had merely

been Elder's first step to fame. So many visitors had come to see this remarkable source of health that the

Sapphire Sanitarium had sprung up in Arabian Nights' style and now was restricted to the members of

the Self Society who were desirous of imbibing Elder's philosophy along with the variety of aqua pura on

which he held complete monopoly.

Johnny Craver had imbibed both in copious quantities and was now receiving his final treatment. Smiling

as he chatted, Noble Elder did not forget the blue-tinted carafe which rested on his desk. From that

water-bottle, he replenished both Johnny's glass and his own, as a toast to his recuperated patient's

coming return to the outside world.

"No jitters any longer, Johnny?"

There was a touch of humor in Elder's tone; the encouraging touch that it always carried.

"No jitters. No butterflies, either" - Johnny tapped his diaphragm - "the kind that used to be flying around

here."

"Moths, Johnny," corrected Elder. He raised his glass with a smile. "It took nature's camphor to disperse

them."

"Camphor?" queried Johnny in surprise. "You mean there is camphor in Sapphire Water?"

"There might be," laughed Elder. "It contains about everything else that is healthful. Here is our latest

analysis, direct from the State Health Department. But wait" - Elder's face became serious as he laid

aside the paper he was passing across the desk - "here is an analysis of more importance. Your own,

Johnny."

Passing the other sheet to Johnny, Elder finished his glass of Sapphire Water and folded his arms while he

awaited the young man's reaction. Reading the typewritten report, Johnny began to shake his head.

"I was pretty much of a mess when I landed here, wasn't I?" began Johnny. "I came in on the end of a

one-week hangover inspired by a two-week binge. What was I seeing, pink elephants?"

"You'd passed that stage, Johnny. You were talking about snakes, mostly with six heads."

"And of course I wanted something to drink -"

"So we gave it to you. Sapphire Water."

Johnny reached for his glass.

"I certainly hated the stuff," he recalled, "but I couldn't do without it now. You're sure I can get it bottled

in New York?"

"Yes. All the best pharmacists carry it. Only there are other bottled goods in New York, too, the kind

that won't agree with you."

"I know." Johnny gave a savage nod. "I'm laying off."

"Of drinks only?"

For the first time, Elder's voice was sharp, but only to force home his point. Instantly, Johnny's fists

tightened and Elder's eyes observed the action of the fingers that gripped the glass. Leaning forward,

resting his chin on his interlaced hands, Elder spoke a steady reminder.

"Revenge is not right," declared the gray-haired man. "Only justice is right."

"I know," admitted Johnny. "But I'm not thinking of those fair-weather friends who helped me drink up

what was left of the money that was owing me. I'm thinking of a gentleman named Claybourne."

Elder's gray eyebrows raised, puzzled by the name.

"Jerome Claybourne," specified Johnny. "You must have heard of him, unless I clouded the issue by

terming him a gentleman."

There was a head-shake from Elder.

"I must have been pretty incoherent," admitted Johnny, "because Claybourne was the cause of all the

howls I was making when I landed here. I must have been seeing his fat face on all those snake-heads."

"You mentioned something about your father's partner -"

"That's Claybourne. He's the gentleman - excuse the term - who swindled dad out of nearly everything.

Father would have been alive today, if he hadn't lost that last fifty thousand. If I could lay these fists on

Claybourne!"

They were tight fists, Johnny's, and as he raised them, they seemed to draw him to his feet. Into his

enlarging eyes came a wild look that directed its fury upon the man before him. In this resurgence of his

recent dementia, Johnny was in a fair way to mistake the mild and kindly features of Noble Elder for the

fat, piggish face of Jerome Claybourne. Then Elder's calming tone intervened.

"Violence is not justice. Be honest with yourself before you render judgment upon others. Opportunity

comes only to those who rightfully deserve it."

Those statements flowed from the lips of Noble Elder like the blue water that gushed from Sapphire

Springs. A month ago, Johnny Craver would have called such phrases bromides, but now they carried

the weight of a sound philosophy.

"You're right, Mr. Elder," agreed Johnny. "If anybody needed violent treatment, I did when I arrived

here. Only I didn't get it."

"Of course not, Johnny. We treat everyone as gently as we can."

"And you certainly were more than honest, before you judged me."

"It is my own rule. I should keep it."

"But when it comes to opportunity," asserted Johnny, "it's one thing I don't deserve."

"Why not?" inquired Elder. "You can make your own opportunities, you know."

"I only hope so. I owe a lot I ought to repay."

"To whom?"

"To you, Mr. Elder." Johnny leaned forward, earnestly. "I was all set to pitch myself into the street from a

range of twenty stories, when my friends took hold of me."

"At least you have a few friends left," smiled Elder. "Why not thank them instead of me?"

"Because they shipped me here to be rid of me. They just didn't want their nice sidewalk splattered.

You're the man who put me straight."

Elder had risen from the desk and was coming around it. He laid a firm hand upon Johnny's shoulder.

"You're the man who will keep yourself that way," declared Elder. "You were weak, but I have made

you strong. The rest is yours to maintain or acquire: health, happiness, wealth -"

"Did you say wealth?" Subsided into his more normal self, Johnny gave a hearty laugh. "That's a long way

off."

"The long way can always become a short way."

"I hope you're right," decided Johnny, "because I owe you plenty, Mr. Elder."

"You owe me nothing, nor does anyone else."

"But if you run this place free, how do you manage to get along?"

"I have found the short way," replied Elder with a smile. "When you have found it, you will understand."

Timed almost to Elder's final statement, a polite rap sounded at the door. In response to Elder's call of

"Come in" a drab-faced man entered. He was one of the attendants at the Springs, an unofficious fellow,

whose main job seemed to be to dip out Sapphire Water and distribute it to the guests.

"Hello, Kirkwood," greeted Elder. Then, to Johnny: "You know Kirkwood, of course."

Johnny gave a matter-of-fact nod. Vaguely he recalled that the drab man's name was Kirkwood and that

was sufficient. Judged by his expressionless face, Kirkwood could hardly be cultivated, even as a mere

acquaintance.

"The car is ready, sir."

Kirkwood gave the information in a dull, but methodical tone, which Elder acknowledged with a bow.

Then, clasping hands with Johnny, the gray-haired healer stated:

"I am sending Kirkwood to New York with you. He will return when you no longer need him.

Good-bye, Johnny, and good luck."

As the door closed on Johnny and the trained seal who accompanied him, Noble Elder slowly shook his

head. Then, returning to his desk, he pressed a button and stood waiting, staring out past the pure blue

spring, to watch the station wagon that swung along the pine-arched road, carrying Johnny Craver back

to a turbulent world. As dust swallowed the departing car, a woman's voice spoke methodically:

"You summoned me, Mr. Elder?"

"Yes, Agatha." Elder turned to face a woman whose looks were plain to the extreme. "I want you to call

New York for me."

Agatha picked up the telephone, which seemed all the more odd, since with her straight, primly parted

hair, she looked like someone straight from Puritan days. But she was efficient, this secretary of Elder's,

even though make-up wasn't part of her office equipment.

"You want to talk to Mr. Cranston?" queried Agatha, in an even, efficient tone. "About Johnny Craver?"

Elder nodded.

"You know everything, Agatha," he complimented. "Yes, I'm worried about Johnny. He needs watching,

more perhaps than I can possibly give him, now that he has left here. I hope that I can depend upon

Cranston to do all that may be needed."

Thus did Noble Elder survey the prospects of Johnny Craver, a young man whose future would depend

upon the philosophy that he had absorbed at Sapphire Springs along with the curing waters.

In leaving the rest to Lamont Cranston, Elder was placing Johnny in good hands; perhaps better hands

than Elder himself realized!

CHAPTER II

"SO what about Johnny Craver?"

Margo Lane put the question in a piqued tone and meant it, though her motive was somewhat

double-edged. She wanted Lamont Cranston to feel that she resented the time he had lately wasted on

Johnny, whose chief forte had always been the wasting of other people's time. But there was also a dash

of curiosity in Margo's nature, which she felt that she could satisfy by pressing the question bluntly.

"Poor Johnny," returned Cranston, sympathetically. "He always seems to have a tough time of it."

"And so does everybody else," reminded Margo, "when they begin to turn soft-hearted on his account.

You ought to know better, Lamont."

"Yes, Johnny always was a weakling."

"That's just what I mean." Margo's dark eyes flashed significantly. "Such people shouldn't concern you."

"You think not, Margo?"

"Not if you're thinking of your friend The Shadow," returned Margo, pointedly. "His job - and so I might

say yours - is to handle strong men, of the wrong kind."

"Quite right," nodded Cranston. "Only we're dealing with a different Johnny."

"He looked like the same Johnny when I saw him, except that he isn't drinking."

"But he is drinking, Margo, a wonderful beverage called Sapphire Water. It's done wonders for him."

"You mean that stuff from the place where Johnny took the rest cure? Why, you could fill one of those

blue bottles with Catskill punch right out of a Manhattan faucet and nobody would know the difference.

Not even Johnny."

"Probably not, Margo."

There was something calm in Cranston's reflective tone; a note that Margo was quick to catch. Instantly

her manner became serious, for she recognized that the subject was deeper than she supposed.

Cranston's summary of "probably not" gave Margo her cue.

"You mean that Johnny is a mental case?" demanded Margo. "But I thought he'd improved!"

"So he has," affirmed Cranston. "His Sapphire sojourn cured him thoroughly. He's a different person, a

strong one, at least on the surface."

"Then it's all for the better -"

"You remember the old Johnny," interposed Cranston. "He was always denouncing others and taking it

out on himself."

"Yes," nodded Margo. "He was always trying to drink up bars and pitch himself out of windows. His

friends managed to stop him before it became fatal."

"Well, suppose" - Cranston's calm gaze became speculative, but Margo saw a glint of foresight in those

eyes - "suppose that Johnny became his old self in a strong way."

"You mean he'd take it out on others instead of himself?"

Cranston nodded, slowly, but emphatically.

"He ought to be watched," decided Margo, seriously. "Yes, he really ought to be."

"His friend Noble Elder thinks the same," said Cranston, with a smile. "That's why I've been watching

him. It's even more important, now that he's shipping his trained seal back to Sapphire Springs."

Margo's eyes opened in wonder.

"Trained seal?" Incredulity filled Margo's tone. "You don't mean they have such things flipping around the

waters of the health resort? You mean Johnny brought one with him as a pet - or as a sort of fetish?"

"This one is a human seal," explained Cranston. "It answers to the name of Kirkwood. He's an attendant

from the sanitarium; they call them trained seals, just for short."

"I should have remembered. What does this one look like?"

"It has everything but whiskers. Just a blank face and a vocabulary limited to 'Yes, sir' and 'No, sir.' Of

course it knows how to buy Sapphire Water by the case and keep pouring it whenever Johnny looks

dry."

"At Johnny's expense of course."

"No." Glancing at his watch, Cranston gestured that it was time to be leaving the restaurant where they

were lunching. "Johnny is really broke. His good friend Elder is financing him back on his feet."

"Including buying bottles of his own spring water at retail?"

"Elder can't do otherwise and still expect New York dealers to handle Sapphire Water. But don't worry

about Elder; his patients always pay their debts."

"You mean his cures are that good?"

"Exactly. Elder's tonics, physical and mental, are good for wealth as well as health. As I said before, he's

merely afraid that Johnny's cure will be too rapid, that's all."

Things were getting too rapid for Margo, right then. Leaving the restaurant during their conversation, she

and Lamont were now in Shrevvy's cab and it was riding post-haste somewhere. Shrevvy rated as the

original demon driver of Manhattan, which was why Cranston had bought his cab outright and kept

Shrevvy as a salaried driver.

There were times when Cranston wanted to reach certain places a little faster than anybody but Shrevvy

could take him. Those were often times when Cranston happened to be his other self, The Shadow, so it

was Shrevvy's job to pilot a black-cloaked crime-smasher in a cab that usually looked empty when it

contained such a passenger.

Of course Cranston never admitted his dual identity, so out of respect to his visible employer, Shrevvy

felt it proper occasionally to show full speed by daylight. But this occasion seemed to have some

justification, as Margo gathered when the cab went winging down a ramp. From the corner where she

had telescoped, Margo managed to gasp:

"Why all the rush, Lamont?"

"We're meeting Johnny," replied Cranston. "He is seeing Kirkwood off, and he said he'd wait for me at

the train gate. I gave Shrevvy the speed sign on the chance you might want to see Kirkwood before he

left."

The cab was shrieking to a halt at the bottom of the ramp, and Margo found herself precipitated amid a

mass of redcaps. Since neither Margo nor Cranston had baggage, the porters parted, and Margo found

Cranston whisking her among a lot of train gates where an amplified voice was delivering an "All

Aboard!"

"Too late," decided Cranston. "There goes Kirkwood's train. Well, we'll look for Johnny."

Margo took a long breath and blinked. Then:

"Is this Penn Station or Grand Central, Lamont?"

"The Pennsylvania Station," replied Cranston. "You didn't have time to guess the direction, the way

Shrevvy brought us here. Anyway, you ought to recognize the place."

"I'm recognizing the people," returned Margo. "Look, Lamont, there's a sunbonnet job that couldn't have

come from anywhere except the Pennsylvania hill country."

"Very interesting," remarked Cranston, turning in the opposite direction, "but I'm more interested in

finding Johnny."

"Sunbonnet Sue is looking for somebody, too," said Margo. "Well, if anybody is looking for her, they'll

find her. What a plain face she has!"

"There's Johnny, coming from the train gate," interposed Cranston. "This way, Margo. We'll meet him."

"A face like a dress-shop dummy," mused Margo, across her shoulder. "You know, Lamont, you could

make that face into almost anybody's. Why -"

Twisting her elbow from Cranston's helpful hand, Margo stood stock-still and stared most impolitely.

Then:

"It just couldn't happen, Lamont," Margo declared. "But look for yourself and see the man who's meeting

Miss Prim Puss. Over there by the other train gate, see him? He must be her twin brother; his face is just

as blank as hers, absolutely without expression!"

Plucking for Lamont's arm, Margo found it wasn't there. Turning, Margo saw him coming toward her

with Johnny. In a sprightly mood, Johnny was quick to catch Margo's astonishment.

"Hello, Margo," he greeted. "What's bitten you?"

"That man over there," returned Margo. "I don't mean he bit me. I just mean" - Margo stared, more

puzzled than before - "why he's gone, and his girl friend with him."

"You mentioned an odd-looking woman," recalled Cranston. "But what was odd about the man?"

"The same thing," explained Margo. "He was the original dead pan, as frozen as the Great Stone Face."

"Sounds like Kirkwood," laughed Johnny. "Too bad he just left. We could have compared him with your

candidate in the line of impersonality."

"But does Kirkwood have a girl friend?"

"Spare the thought. Still" - Johnny's forehead furrowed - "Agatha was just about his speed. She's Elder's

secretary. Good folk, both, but about as individual from the human standpoint as those big pinetrees that

look like a set of matched golf clubs. How did I stand it at Sapphire Springs, anyway?"

Cranston's keen eyes saw their chance to press home a more current subject. Calmly, he asked:

"How are you standing it here, Johnny?"

"All right," acknowledged Johnny. Then, his own tone calm, he added: "I'm going to the Claybourne

reception tonight. Will I see you there?"

For once, Margo could have sworn that Cranston looked amazed, though the impression might have

been the reflection of her own astonishment. At least Cranston was silent long enough for Johnny to

continue:

"I know. Claybourne is supposed to be my worst enemy. But I reduced him to a pet peeve and now he

doesn't rate at all. Give credit to Noble Elder. He knocks such foolish notions out of you."

"I'm glad to hear it, Johnny," returned Cranston. "Yes, we'll see you at Claybourne's. How about coming

along with us for the rest of the afternoon?"

"And dinner?" added Margo.

"Both out," smiled Johnny, with a shake of his head. "I need a nap - it's the last thing Kirkwood reminded

me about - and I've reduced to two meals a day, both already eaten. But if you're going past my hotel,

you might drop me off."

Shrevvy's cab was waiting, as usual, having wormed itself into a cul-de-sac from which the cab starter

couldn't budge it until Shrevvy sighted the proper passengers. It wasn't until they neared Johnny's hotel

that the young man became talkative.

"Do you know," said Johnny, "the best thing about the help that Elder gives you is that it makes you want

to help others, even strangers that you've never met. For instance -"

The cab stopped as Johnny was drawing a folded slip of paper from his vest pocket. Tucking the paper

away, Johnny opened the door and smiled.

"I'll tell you all about it tonight," he promised. "It can't prove more boring than the usual conversation at

Claybourne's."

With that, Johnny was gone, and the cab was pulling away. Turning to Cranston, Margo said:

"He's doing wonderfully, Lamont!"

"If you mean Johnny Craver," returned Cranston, steadily, "I would say he is doing too wonderfully. He

will bear watching this evening, Margo."

"Is that what Noble Elder told you?"

"Approximately. He said to watch for a crisis, and he was right."

The sudden thought struck Margo that Lamont Cranston might be very right, too. He usually was.

CHAPTER III

IN his sixteenth story hotel room, Johnny Craver uncapped a blue bottle and poured himself a copious

draught of Sapphire Water. Raising his glass, he looked off beyond the narrow stretch of horizon that he

could see between the taller buildings and drank a toast to Noble J. Elder.

"Good old Elder," affirmed Johnny, aloud. "Maybe you're drinking with me at this moment." Johnny tilted

his head. "Anyway, I guess I'm looking in the general direction of Sapphire Springs. Maybe not, though."

Solemnly finishing his drink of water, Johnny gave a sudden laugh and reached for the bottle.

"I'm looking Kirkwood's direction, though," chuckled Johnny. "Due West, the way the tunnel goes under

the river. So here's to you, Kirkwood. I hope the three quarts in your suitcase will hold out until you

reach the ever-flowing Springs."

With that, Johnny's face went solemn again, as though it wasn't right to jest about such matters. Johnny

sat down suddenly, still nursing his second glass of water.

"Don't mind me if I talk aloud," spoke Johnny. "I'm only pretending that you're still here, Kirkwood.

That's why Elder sent you along, to encourage me to speak my thoughts. It must have been, because you

never answered, Kirkwood."

A pause; a few sips of the energizing spring water. Then:

"If I hadn't talked, you would have stayed. That was your job, Kirkwood, and I admire you for it. You

found out I was all right, so you went your way. But it was boring to have you around, so here's to you,

Kirkwood."

Finishing the glass, Johnny thumped it on the table; then stared at the blank wall.

"You were a crutch, Kirkwood, that's all you were!" Johnny's tone became defiant. "A human crutch that

Elder sent along because he thought I needed it! I'm talking to you, Kirkwood, and I might as well be

looking at you, because that wall is no blanker than your face!

"I'll prove it!" Coming to his feet, Johnny drew a pencil from his pocket and drew a circle on the wall. He

added two lines for a pair of closed eyes, a circle for a nose, and a straight slit for a mouth. "That's you,

Kirkwood, old frozen face!"

Standing back, Johnny surveyed his character sketch; then proved that he had something of the artist in

him. Stepping to the wall, Johnny began to add expression to the thing that he had drawn.

"All you need is a little touching up," declared Johnny. "That's all, Kirkwood, old boy. Some eyebrows

like mine, a sharper nose, a grin like the one I used to give you - only you wouldn't take it.

"Funny about you, Kirkwood" - leaning back; Johnny studied his improvements, which indeed has

something of his own features - "do you know, the way you always kept watching me gave me hope that

some day you'd turn human. I'm human enough, and I was trying to help you, but maybe I'm too human.

"You weren't watching me to acquire some of my charm - if any." Johnny gave a disparaging chuckle.

"You were watching to see that I didn't eat too much, that I drank enough Sapphire Water, that I took

my nap. You were watching when I talked and laughed to learn if I was the old Johnny or the new."

Flinging the pencil across the room, Johnny gave a disgruntled snarl and flung himself in an easy chair.

"That's the way the old Johnny acted," he sneered. "I can be my old self, now that you aren't here,

Kirkwood, but I won't keep on with it." Drawing himself erect in his chair, he added with steady dignity:

"I'm the new Johnny Craver - here to stay."

It was then that Johnny's hand dipped to his vest pocket as it had in the cab. Bringing out the folded sheet

of paper, Johnny opened it and shook his head sadly.

"Too bad," he declared. "Well, maybe I can be a good example instead of a horrible one."

Reaching for the telephone, Johnny called a number that he read from the paper. When a voice

answered, Johnny politely inquired for Miss Linda Brock; then tilted his head in characteristic fashion as

he sensed a delay at the other end of the wire.

At last a woman's voice spoke, stern, austere.

"Who is calling Miss Brock, please?"

"A friend," replied Johnny. His tone carried a full note of conviction. "A friend she has been waiting to

hear from."

Whispers were vague across the wire, indicating a secret consultation at the other end. Then a girl's voice

spoke in a tired monotone:

"I am Linda Brock. Who are you?"

Johnny paid no heed to the lack of query in the tone. With the same sincerity, he said:

"I'm Johnny Craver. You've heard of me but not by name."

"You've been away to Sapphire Springs."

"That's right. It did me good, Linda. If you're in the same whirl that I was, you'd better take a trip there. It

will do you good."

"I believe you, Johnny."

Though there was no lift to the monotone, the words were encouraging, so Johnny rallied to his theme.

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