Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 275 - The Crystal Skull

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THE CRYSTAL SKULL

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

BENEDICT WADE sat at his desk like a great spider crouching in the center of its web. A mighty web,

indeed, if Wade included all that he could view from the windows of his office. The room was located in

a lofty penthouse, surrounded by the mighty skyline of Manhattan.

He was a handsome spider, Benedict Wade, when he chose to be, but at present his broad face was

relaxed into an ugly leer that represented the real self behind it. The glow of the setting sun reddened

Wade's insidious countenance, giving it a Satanic touch. Yet Wade's expression was a mere copy of the

grin from the skull that glared upward from his hand.

A rare curio, that skull. It was a miniature about a quarter the size of a human head, and it was entirely of

crystal; a connoisseur would have recognized it as pure quartz. Wade himself knew the value of such art

objects, for he dealt in them, but that was not the reason why he liked the crystal skull.

Holding the skull so that its crystalline depths reflected the dye of the blood-red sun, Benedict Wade

swelled with the thought of power. His were the eyes of a human leech who bled men of their wealth and

the skull was the amulet that made such practice possible!

Yet there was in Wade's gaze a hunted expression that ownership of this trophy could not quell. For the

moment, his eyes became restless, sidling nervous glances toward the windows, then at the strong, bolted

doors of his isolated office. Convinced that this high citadel rendered him immune from the thing he

feared, Wade uttered a hard laugh and put the skull away, deep in a desk drawer.

A moment later, a buzzer announced Wade's secretary. Recognizing the proper signal, Wade stepped to

the door, unbolted it, and admitted a meek-faced man who tendered him a calling card. Wade read the

name:

J. M. THORNTON

Stepping to the desk, Wade reached into the drawer as though to bring out the crystal skull. Then,

hesitating because of the secretary's presence, Wade dropped the calling card into the desk drawer.

Gesturing to the door that the secretary had entered, Wade ordered:

"Ask Thornton to wait in the little reception room. I am expecting other visitors and I must talk to them

first."

Hardly had the secretary gone, when Wade reached into the desk and brought out both the calling card

and the crystal skull. Holding the card beneath the skull, Wade studied it through the crystal. With a smile

that again revealed the evil in his nature, Wade replaced the objects in the drawer, just as a musical chime

announced the visitors he expected.

Usually, Wade would have bolted the door by which the secretary had left. Not only did he neglect that

precaution on this occasion, he actually left the door a trifle ajar. Then stepping to the main door that led

into his living room, Wade unlocked it. Opening the door he gave a welcoming gesture to two gentlemen

who were just about to seat themselves in easy-chairs. Wade's face was genial, his booming tone

well-modulated as he invited them into his office.

Wade knew these visitors well.

One was Artemus Glenfield; he was middle-aged, baldish and quite portly. Usually Glenfield was jolly, in

keeping with his type, since he was rated as a millionaire. But today, Glenfield looked troubled and

Wade knew why.

The other man was Lamont Cranston, also a millionaire, but never a man of moods. It was impossible to

guess Cranston's thoughts by studying his features. Always his face was impassive; in the sunlight it

seemed masklike. Even his eyes were changeless, though they gained a probing power when they fixed

steadily on anyone.

"You're early, Glenfield," boomed Wade, cheerily. "Our meeting is not until nine o'clock. That is when we

shall arrange to view the Amsterdam collection."

"I know." Glenfield gave a nod. "But I've already paid my share toward buying that collection. I'm

beginning to get worried, Wade."

With a broad smile, Wade reached into the desk drawer. Taking special care not to disturb other objects

there, he brought out a batch of official-looking papers.

"You've already seen these, Glenfield," reminded Wade indulgently. "But perhaps you'd like to look at

them again, the affidavits and certificates proving that the Amsterdam collection was placed in storage

immediately after it was unloaded."

Nodding slowly, Glenfield turned to Cranston as though the latter was his adviser on the question.

Wade's shrewd eyes were quick to take in the situation. Coolly, he said:

"Look them over, Cranston."

"They mean nothing," interposed Cranston, calmly. "Guy Culver showed me similar evidence covering a

consignment of Chinese art treasures that were stored safely in a warehouse. I refused to contribute to

their purchase and I was wise. The whole consignment turned out to be a fraud."

"But I contributed, Wade!" broke in Glenfield. "I lost every dollar that I put up! If I'd talked to Cranston

then, I might have saved my money."

"You probably would have," agreed Wade. "And is that why you talked to Cranston about my

proposition?"

Sheepishly, Glenfield nodded. Stepping around the desk, Wade gave Glenfield a friendly thwack on the

shoulders.

"You did the right thing," assured Wade. "There is no comparison between Culver's proposition and

mine. True, I have gathered three hundred thousand dollars toward purchasing the Amsterdam collection

sight unseen, but I have positive proof that its listed items are intact and genuine."

Both Wade's handclap and his tone were reassuring to Glenfield. The portly man brightened immediately

and turned happily to Cranston.

"You see, Cranston?" queried Glenfield. "Wade is willing to go to any lengths to prove himself. He tells

me there is still a chance for someone to invest another fifty thousand -"

"Twenty-five thousand," interrupted Wade, blandly. "Half of the share I reserved for myself. Cranston is

quite welcome to that portion if he wants it. I'm afraid he's still thinking about the Culver fiasco. But I

don't think Culver was to blame for it. He died very suddenly, you know."

Cranston had turned. His eyes were fixed straight upon Wade's. With steady lips, Cranston spoke in his

calm tone:

"I know."

Turning a trifle nervously, Wade picked up the documents and thrust them in Cranston's hands. With a

slight nod to Glenfield, Wade gestured the portly man toward the door and saw him out into the living

room.

"Good-by, Glenfield," said Wade. "If there is anything wrong with the proposition, Cranston can call you

later. Let me talk to him a while. I am positive I can reassure him."

Closing the door, Wade locked it and came back around the desk. Seated there, Wade folded his arms

and asked:

"Would you like a preview of the Amsterdam collection, Cranston?"

Cranston's eyes met Wade's across the documents. Calmly, Cranston nodded.

"It is stored in the strong room under the Green Star Line pier," informed Wade. "I can arrange for you to

examine them before nine o'clock. That should settle everything happily, provided you know genuine art

treasures when you see them. For example -"

Pausing, Wade reached into the desk drawer and brought out the crystal skull. Turning it so the hollow

eyes were toward his visitor, he passed the skull across the desk to Cranston.

"As a test, Cranston," remarked Wade, "give me your opinion on this curio."

"It is rock crystal," returned Cranston, holding the skull into the sunlight, "and flawless. An exquisite piece

of workmanship. Tell me, Wade, where did you acquire such a fine specimen?"

"I know real treasures," assured Wade. "The Amsterdam collection is worth ten times the asking price.

Do you believe me, Cranston?"

There was no reply from Cranston. His gaze was probing further into the sockets that represented the

eyes of the crystal skull.

"Here are the documents, Cranston" - Wade rustled the papers that his visitor had replaced upon the

desk. "Have you finished with them?"

Again, Cranston did not reply. His eyes were fixed hard upon the skull. They had widened and their firm

focus pleased Wade as much as Cranston's silence. Wade's face took on its uglier aspect as he raised

from his chair and demanded in a sharp, penetrating tone:

"You knew Culver, didn't you, Cranston?"

In response to the stabbed question, Cranston spoke in a mechanical monotone.

"Yes. I knew Culver quite well."

"Answer this question," jabbed Wade. "What was the cause of Culver's death?"

"A heart attack," replied Cranston. "Such was the official verdict."

"I mean the real cause?"

"I know only the official verdict."

On his feet, Wade came around the desk. His hands were twitching murderously as though he planned to

tighten them about Cranston's neck. Riveted, Cranston saw nothing of the approaching menace. He was

gripped by the hypnotic influence of the crystal skull.

Restraining himself, Wade lowered his voice, but his tone became savage as he spoke close to

Cranston's ear.

"Guy Culver was murdered," declared Wade, emphatically. "I want you to name the man who killed

him."

"A heart attack," spoke Cranston. His voice, though it maintained the monotone, seemed like an echo

from the past. "No evidence of murder."

"Did you kill Culver?" rasped Wade. "Come, Cranston, speak!"

"No one killed Culver."

Angrily, Wade snatched the crystal skull from Cranston's unresisting hand. Clamping his brawny hands

on his visitor's shoulders, Wade spun Cranston toward the door. There was no doubt that Cranston was

hypnotized; he had reached a state of somnambulism under the mesmeric influence of the skull-shaped

crystal, but his subconscious mind could still resist all questions that he had predetermined not to answer.

Acquainted with the subject of hypnotism, Wade happened to know its specific limitations and know that

it would be impossible to break the subject's will. But there were other ways to deal with unruly

individuals and Wade was ready to apply a suitable system. Choosing a line of less resistance, Wade

spoke again in Cranston's ear.

"You would still like to see the Amsterdam collection?"

"Yes," replied Cranston in his echoed tone. "It is at the Green Star pier."

"But you must meet someone who will take you there."

"Meet someone -"

They were through the doorway. His hand behind him, Wade closed the door quite softly and began to

pilot Cranston across the living room.

"The strong room is locked," asserted Wade. "There are watchmen on duty. You must meet someone

who can arrange to let you in."

"Meet someone -"

Though Cranston's words were the same, his tone had changed. Apparently he had convinced himself,

under Wade's persuasion, that a guide would be needed for the coming expedition.

"Wait at your club," ordered Wade. "You will receive a phone call at half-past eight. Go where the

person who calls tells you."

"Wait at the club - call at half-past eight. Go where told -"

"And go alone, Cranston."

"Go alone."

Thrusting Cranston through a door on the far side of the living room, Wade stopped him in front of an

elevator. Pressing a button with one hand, Wade snapped the thumb and fingers of his other. The action

roused Cranston to a higher level of consciousness, yet did not fully rouse him. As the elevator arrived,

Wade bowed his visitor into the car and said with a bow:

"Good-by, Cranston."

"Good-by, Wade."

"And remember, half-past eight, Cranston -"

"Half-past eight."

The door closed with a clang that would help rouse Cranston further from his hypnotic trance. To the

elevator operator, Wade had simply said good-by to a visitor who had responded quite in normal

fashion. There was not a scrap of evidence to prove that Benedict Wade had started Lamont Cranston

along a road to doom!

CHAPTER II

WHEN Benedict Wade returned to his penthouse office, he closed and locked the door with one of his

unpleasant smiles. Crossing the room, he changed expression as he neared the desk, his face becoming

more benign. Wade intended to buzz his secretary and tell the fellow to admit Mr. J. M. Thornton.

Before Wade could press the buzzer, a glossed voice intervened. It was a tone that in a sense resembled

Wade's because, by nature, it was harsh, though its owner had the judgment to smooth it. But in this case

the veneer was thinner than with Wade. The man who spoke from over by the window could never have

posed as a person of wealth or importance. He sounded more suited to a servant's part.

Turning, Wade saw a stocky man seated in an easy-chair and knew the arrival must be Thornton. The

visitor had simply invited himself into the office through the private door that Wade had purposely left

ajar. Like his voice, Thornton's blunt face had a gloss that wasn't sufficient to hide the hardness beneath.

For the moment, Wade felt uneasy as he heard Thornton's words:

"Hello, there, Wade. Don't bother to buzz that dope you call a secretary. I told him you said he could go

home."

Wade's eyes took on a glare of challenge until he followed Thornton's gaze. The stocky man was looking

toward the desk directly at the crystal skull. Though it was too distant to produce a hypnotic effect on

Thornton, the skull served a purpose. It was the mutual symbol that both Wade and Thornton

acknowledged.

Seating himself behind the desk, Wade looked steadily at Thornton and said:

"When out, come in."

"Yeah," returned Thornton. "When in, stay in."

So far, the exchange of statements could have applied to Thornton's self-introduction to Wades office,

but that was not the purpose, as was proven by what followed next.

"When out," added Wade, "go out."

"When in," completed Thornton, "stay out."

Whatever the meaning of the rigmarole it immediately cemented the acquaintance between Wade and

Thornton. Though it was apparent that the two had never met before, they promptly became

confidential.

"You heard me talk to Cranston," declared Wade. "He is the man who is causing all the trouble."

"You put the hyp on him all right," conceded Thornton, "but it didn't prove anything, unless he told you

more after you steered him out of here."

"He said nothing further," stated Wade, "but I told him to expect a call at his club at half-past eight. We'll

be told where to meet someone who will take him to the Green Star pier."

Thornton gave a chuckle.

"You mean the long way, don't you, Wade?"

"The long way," nodded Wade, "that never gets there. You will attend to that job, Thornton."

Thornton nodded and gestured to the desk.

"Any job you say," declared Thornton. "While you own that skull, you're boss. Only when I leave, I'd

better take it where it belongs. You won't be needing it any longer, will you?"

"I have finished with it," returned Wade. "The Cranston problem still belongs to you, though."

"Of course. The order goes with the skull."

There was an indifference in Thornton's tone that bothered Wade. Leaning his bulky arms upon the desk,

Wade looked across at Thornton and inquired sharply:

"You don't believe that Culver was murdered, do you, Thornton?"

"No, I don't," returned Thornton, bluntly. "He had everything under control. The suckers fell so hard for

his talk of Chinese treasures that he didn't even have to take them to the warehouse before we switched

the good stuff for junk."

Wade gave a reluctant nod.

"We sent the good stuff to the Big Skull," continued Thornton, "and nobody had any trouble on the way.

The cash went, too, and Culver was just as happy as you are now. I know, because I stopped around to

pick up the crystal skull so I could pass it along to you."

Thornton's term "happy" didn't properly apply to Wade. Creeping automatically across the desk, Wade's

big hand clamped itself upon the crystal skull as though reluctant to part with the trophy. Wade was

recalling that nothing had happened to Culver while the skull had been in his possession.

"I guess Culver was jittery;" said Thornton to soothe Wade's qualms. "He looked like a fellow with a

bum heart. It was kind of a strain keeping those suckers in line right up to the finish. Culver gave out, that

was all."

Wade's nod was more assured.

"It is a strain," he admitted, "but Culver found it easier than I. Almost anybody was willing to listen to his

proposition. When they found they were trimmed, they gave Culver some benefit of the doubt, but they

weren't willing to fall again. I had to find a new crop."

"Except for Glenfield," reminded Thornton with a grin. "The way he acts, he'd fall for anything. When you

gave him the convincers, he was ready to help sell Cranston."

"Where Glenfield helped most," affirmed Wade, "was in bringing Cranston here. If it hadn't been for that,

I would have made a bad mistake."

Thornton raised his eyes in a puzzled look.

"There is a man named Albert Osgood," explained Wade, "who was interested in Culver's deal and who

has listened to my proposition, too. Only he didn't fall for either and it bothered me. Osgood is coming

here this evening, but he isn't buying into the Amsterdam collection. That bothered me even more."

"I begin to get it," nodded Thornton. "You mean Osgood was at Culver's after I left with the crystal

skull?"

"That's right. I figured Osgood could have knocked off Culver in order to get the cash that was no longer

there. I began to wonder if he planned the same with me."

"A moocher in with a bunch of suckers!"

"Tonight I might have ordered you to dispose of Osgood," admitted Wade, "but fortunately Cranston

came along. I took a chance that he might be the hidden rival who is trying to spoil our game, so I

hypnotized him with the crystal skull -"

"And learned that he knew Culver," broke in Thornton. "Say - he fits into the picture as well as

Osgood!"

"Better than Osgood," claimed Wade, "because he didn't show his hand. He must have visited Culver

privately, as he visited me today. If Culver had only tested him with the crystal skull, he would have found

out the thing that I have."

"I didn't think you found out anything, Wade."

For reply Wade first stared steadily at Thornton to impress the man that something important was to

come. Then in a tone as vicious as it was sharp, Wade fairly hissed:

"I discovered that Cranston is The Shadow!"

Thornton came up from his chair as though jolted by the mere suggestion. To every man of crime, the

name of The Shadow was a menace in itself. That Thornton was a professional crook of long standing

was plainly evident from the frequency with which he lost his gloss and in this emergency it forsook him

completely.

Staring at the door through which Cranston had gone, Thornton shoved his hand into his pocket and

brought out a fat, but stubby, .38 that was patterned along his own proportions. Then, with a short laugh,

Thornton let the revolver slip back into his pocket.

"The joke's on me, Wade," gruffed Thornton. "You really had me scared. Only Cranston couldn't be The

Shadow. He wouldn't have let you push him around the way he did. You must have really had him

hyped."

"Only to a degree," declared Wade. "The influence of the crystal skull is powerful. It is far more effective

than the usual crystal ball and this specimen" - Wade picked up the skull - "is flawless and therefore ideal.

I have tested it often, and Cranston is the only subject who resisted when I put a vital question."

Thornton still wasn't convinced. He was firm in his belief that The Shadow wouldn't stand a "push

around," and as Thornton repeated that argument, Wade began to be impressed. At last Wade struck

upon what seemed a compromise as well as a solution.

"Cranston is probably working for The Shadow," declared Wade. "In fact, he may be doing it

unknowingly. The Shadow must certainly get around in high circles and would therefore meet men like

Cranston."

That brought immediate approval from Thornton. This sort of talk was common among crooks.

"The Shadow could have steeled Cranston for the ordeal which I gave him," added Wade. "However, I

was able to drive home by posthypnotic suggestion. Cranston will be waiting for that call at half-past

eight."

"And he'll get it," snapped Thornton. "We'll grab the guy and find out if he's working with The Shadow.

We won't need hypnotism to find it out. We'll use heat."

"Cranston may put up a fight -"

"If he does, it will be his last. I'm putting the special crew on the job, the local boys who don't know

about the Big Skull. Say" - coming to his feet, Thornton groped through the dusk that was beginning to

cloud the penthouse - "how about a drink before I leave? Got one handy?"

Wade turned on a desk lamp and reached to the bottom drawer which was slightly open. It contained

some bottles of brandy and Wade took out one that was half filled. He handed it to Thornton and

gestured to the living room, saying he would find a glass in there.

"Leave the bottle," added Wade. "My guests will probably want some when they come tonight."

Thornton reappeared with a filled glass in his hand. Before draining it, Thornton proposed a toast which

he drank alone, though Wade furnished a smile of full agreement.

"Here's to the guest that won't be here," boasted Thornton. "The Shadow's friend - Lamont Cranston."

As he finished his drink, Thornton picked up the crystal skull and packed it in the pocket that didn't

contain the gun. Watching the skull, Wade noted a curious effect. Though it was almost dark outdoors,

the clear quartz picked up the last flicker of sunset and gathered it in a glimmer that shone like a vivid red

eye.

To Wade it was a symbol of success, that glint that represented the eye of the crystal skull, but there was

another factor that would prove more important.

That factor was Thornton, the man who, tonight, would be the Voice of the Skull, summoning a victim to

disaster!

CHAPTER III

IT was quarter-past eight when a polite attendant crossed the foyer of the exclusive Cobalt Club and

informed Lamont Cranston that he was wanted on the telephone. There was nothing odd in the way that

Cranston strolled to the phone booth to answer the call; in fact, the only oddity was that Cranston had

been lounging around the foyer as long as he had.

Of course, the personnel at the club were not informed that Cranston had a dinner date at eight o'clock

with Margo Lane, a vivacious brunette who frequently accompanied him on crime-hunting expeditions.

She was on the telephone and she came right to the point.

"Dinner at eight?" queried Cranston in answer to Margo's reminder. "Why, yes, I'd almost forgotten it!"

"Almost!" echoed Margo across the wire. "It's quarter past eight already."

"I've been waiting for another call," apologized Cranston. "It's due at half-past eight."

"But I thought we were going up to Wade's penthouse at nine," reminded Margo, "along with your friend,

Glenfield."

"Wade's at nine." Cranston repeated the words mechanically. "Curious, I don't remember it, Margo."

"Are you going to be there - or somewhere else?"

"I really don't know, Margo."

"Who is going to tell me where you will be? Or did you call that appointment off?"

"I don't know."

There was a mechanical note to Cranston's tone, and as he spoke his hand replaced the receiver on the

hook. Margo's voice was sounding again, asking for information about Wade's party, but Cranston gave

it no heed. Mere emphasis on the question of half-past eight had induced the post-hypnotic state that

Wade had promised as the aftermath of Cranston's treatment from the crystal skull.

Cranston was still in the booth when the phone bell rang again. Answering a call, he heard a voice that

was smooth in a forced way, asking for Mr. Cranston. Stating his identity, Cranston listened while

Thornton announced himself as the man that Cranston was to meet - and where. Mechanically, Cranston

acknowledged the instructions and left the club.

Outside a taxicab slithered across the street and Cranston boarded it automatically. He gave an address

in a careful tone that brought a quick look from the driver. It happened that this was Cranston's own

special cab and Moe Shrevnitz, who piloted it, wasn't used to the faraway tone he heard.

"Is everything all right, chief?"

"Of course, Shrevvy." Cranston responded naturally to the question. "I'm to go alone, that's all."

Amid his response to the post-hypnosis, Lamont Cranston was acting normally when in familiar

surroundings. This special cab - of which Wade knew nothing - was as natural a spot as the foyer of the

Cobalt Club. There was a reason why Cranston kept the cab on call. It was his favorite conveyance

when he embarked on missions that concerned his other self, The Shadow.

As Cranston, The Shadow could afford to take chances. He had accepted risk this very afternoon when

he had allowed himself to be influenced by the crystal skull. It had fitted with his role as Cranston, and he

had counted on his resistance as The Shadow to nullify the hypnotic effects that he knew Wade hoped to

induce. Deliberately, Cranston had accepted the first phases of trance before he learned the high power

of the skull's control. Yet the keen brain of The Shadow had restrained him from the depths.

And now, though still hanging in the balance, Cranston was acting as he always did when Shrevvy's cab

was wheeling him to a place where uncertainty ruled.

Cranston was becoming his other self, The Shadow!

From beneath the rear seat, he was drawing a sliding shelf from which he produced a black cloak and a

slouch hat. With a twist that brought him upright, Cranston slid the cloak over his shoulders and clamped

the slouch hat on his head. The single operation gave the effect of a dwindling form that blended with the

gloom inside the cab. In becoming The Shadow, Cranston had, in a sense, rendered himself invisible,

though there were still traces of his almost nebulous presence when the cab passed lights that shone

directly through its windows.

Completing his outfit with a pair of thin black gloves, The Shadow packed a brace of automatics beneath

holsters under his Tuxedo jacket.

Now his mind was back to the last thing he remembered before Wade had begun to exercise the crystal

skull; namely, Wade's invitation to visit the strong room of the Green Star pier and view the Amsterdam

collection.

Since The Shadow wasn't expected to reach that pier at all, the place would probably be unguarded

except by the regular watchmen. As the cab approached the looming bulk of the great, gaunt pier, the

situation proved even better. Nobody was about. Pointing the cab to an obscure parking place, where he

could reach it later, The Shadow alighted.

A ghost of its better days, the Green Star pier had once known a heavy transatlantic trade. There had

been odd rumors just before such traffic ended. Professional smugglers had for some reason been

switching to the Green Star Line during the last few months of its regular business. The Shadow was

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Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 275 - The Crystal Skull

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