Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 268 - Murder Lake

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MURDER LAKE
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. ECHO CAVE
? CHAPTER II. WANTED BELOW
? CHAPTER III. CREATURES OF BLACKNESS
? CHAPTER IV. GONE WITHOUT TRACE
? CHAPTER V. ANOTHER WAY OF MURDER
? CHAPTER VI. PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE
? CHAPTER VII. SETTING FOR CRIME
? CHAPTER VIII. THE SHADOW INTERVENES
? CHAPTER IX. WALL OF DOOM
? CHAPTER X. ARRIVAL IN REDLAND
? CHAPTER XI. CRIME'S CONSEQUENCE
? CHAPTER XII. CLINCH FINDS A FRIEND
? CHAPTER XIII. MASKED BATTLE
? CHAPTER XIV. GONE WITH THE NIGHT
? CHAPTER XV. THE DOUBLE TRAIL
? CHAPTER XVI. ONE RIDDLE SOLVED
? CHAPTER XVII. CRIME'S COMEBACK
? CHAPTER XVIII. THE SHADOW'S COMPROMISE
? CHAPTER XIX. CALLING ALL KILLERS
? CHAPTER XX. DEAD MEN'S LAIR
CHAPTER I. ECHO CAVE
HUBERT ENDORF shifted his cigar and gave his visitor a calculating stare. In a tone that was the
counterpart of his blunt features, he demanded:
"Did you know Tobias Morgan well?"
Lamont Cranston nodded.
"Quite well," he replied in a casual tone. "I met him in New York a few years ago. He wanted me to
invest in this department store."
It was Endorf's turn to nod. As he did his eyes became reflective.
"I remember when Morgan went to New York," he said. "He thought he needed outside capital to give
Dalebury a really big department store. But he couldn't make a deal except on a chain-store basis, which
was something he didn't want. So he came back and took me into partnership with him."
A big gong sounded as Endorf finished. It was five o'clock, the closing hour at Dalebury's leading
emporium. Swinging in his swivel chair, Endorf stared moodily from the window toward the big sign that
bore the names:
MORGAN AND ENDORF
"It will always be Morgan and Endorf," spoke the blunt-faced man in a softened tone. "It's been three
months since Tobias left on his vacation and never returned. But his name will live on."
"Then you think he is dead?"
Endorf swung abruptly at Cranston's calm question. On the way around he plucked his cigar from the ash
tray and was raising it defensively before his eyes met Cranston's. Snapping into his blunt self, Endorf
declared:
"We may know before today is over. The police are bringing in Shep Kroot, a local malefactor who
disappeared about the same time Morgan did. Shep hasn't talked yet but he will. However, I take it that
you know all this, otherwise you wouldn't be in town."
"Quite right," Cranston agreed. "I happened to be driving through with a friend when I heard the news. I
was interested in learning what happened to Morgan."
"You mean that unsolved crimes intrigue you?"
"They interest a friend of mine," returned Cranston with a slight smile. "I refer to Ralph Weston, the New
York police commissioner. He would never forgive me if he learned that I stopped in Dalebury and failed
to hear the police quiz Shep Kroot."
There was an interruption as a secretary entered. It gave Cranston a chance to study Endorf when the
man was off guard, which was a distinct advantage. So far both had been covering something, each in his
own particular way.
Cranston, for one, was covering the fact that he was interested in mysterious disappearances like that of
Tobias Morgan. He had been making the rounds looking into such cases, but without result until today.
The trouble in all those instances was that the person who could have profited most had likewise left
town.
Not so in the Morgan case. The man who had gained in a big way by Morgan's disappearance was his
partner, Hubert Endorf. If Morgan's disappearance was the result of murder, Endorf rated as suspect
No. 1 in Cranston's estimation. Through sheer complacency, Cranston had concealed that thought from
Endorf, but the latter had not done as well.
In his blunt treatment of his visitor, Endorf had shown all too plainly that the Morgan mystery was a sore
subject. Not only that, his reference to the disappearance as an "unsolved crime" was very much a
challenge. It looked as though Endorf had decided to throw the case into that category before someone
else did. He was working on the theory that the best defense was an offense.
FINISHING some detail matters, the secretary paused, about to leave the room, and said to Endorf:
"There's a man outside, sir, who says he's a detective. When I asked if it had to do with Mr. Morgan -"
"It has nothing to do with Morgan!" interrupted Endorf. "The man has come for the pay roll. Here!" -
Endorf hauled a drawer open and slammed a tin box on the desk - "give him this."
"But the pay roll isn't due, sir -"
"This is for the men at the warehouse. I hired a private detective to take it there, rather than have any of
our employees run the risk. No one can tell what may happen in Dalebury. Poor Morgan's case
convinced me of that."
The secretary took the cash box out to the detective. Seated in the outer office was another man, a quiet,
unobtrusive chap. He was the friend with whom Cranston was driving, and his name was Harry Vincent.
Looking into Endorf's office, Harry caught the slightest of gestures from Cranston, but it was enough.
As soon as the inner door had closed, Harry Vincent arose and strolled from the anteroom. He saw the
so-called detective going down the steps from the mezzanine. Taking advantage of the late shoppers who
were leaving the department store, Harry kept close to the man's trail.
The fellow wasn't difficult to follow, even though he did slide the cash box beneath his overcoat. The
overcoat itself was a beacon. It was a check job, too fancy to be stylish in a conservative town like
Dalebury. Besides the garish coat, the man was wearing a hat with a small feather, a unique adornment in
these parts. His face was thin and pointed, its nose the sort that poked into sight at every slight turn of his
head.
After a few blocks, the fellow went into a drugstore and found a telephone booth. From the cigarette
counter, Harry watched him fumbling with something under the level of the phone-booth window and
was quite sure that the prying nose was poking itself into Endorf's cash box.
Easing around by the booths, Harry arrived there just as the man began a phone call. "This is Bert
Bevry," he began. "Now listen..."
Whatever else was said Harry didn't hear it, for Bevry slammed the door abruptly before continuing his
theme. When Bevry came out from the phone booth the cash box was still beneath his coat, but its bulge
was matched by another on the opposite side. That was enough to prove that Endorf's cash had been
transferred to Bevry's personal possession.
Seeing Bevry crossing the street to reach a parked car, Harry checked the license number and hurried
back toward the department store to pick up his own coupe. On the way he saw Cranston, but there
was no chance to contact him. Cranston was accompanied by Endorf and the two were going toward the
city hall to await the arrival of the notorious Shep Kroot.
IT was just half past five when the local public enemy came into the police chief's office, handcuffed
between two officers who had received him at the bus terminal. He was booked and promptly
transferred to the district attorney, who motioned all visitors to be seated.
As the center of the throng, Shep Kroot seemed much abashed. He was a little man with a pasty face
and eyes that could match a rat's in quickness.
The D.A. opened ceremonies by asking Shep what he knew about Morgan's disappearance. Shep
resorted to the one word: "Nothin'." That, and "I can't remember," constituted his entire vocabulary for
the next half-hour.
Meanwhile, dusk was settling, and lights were put on to illuminate the gloomy office. The police chief
obligingly set a lamp so that it shone on Shep's sweaty face. The heat not only added to Shep's glisten; it
brought nervous looks from his darting eyes.
The scene was taking on the setting of a third degree, a fact that didn't escape Shep's attention. The
district attorney acted as though he had rehearsed it by adding a new point to his argument.
"You left town right after Morgan disappeared," reminded the D.A. "And it was just about the time when
the jewelry store was cracked. The fellows who did that job are all in jail, with one exception -"
"I wasn't in on it!" broke in Shep. "Anybody who says I was is a liar!"
"When three men testify to the same fact -"
"Them three?" yelled Shep. "They would, the rats! I told them the job was nix. Maybe they think I
squealed."
"So!" The district attorney folded his arms. "You admit yourself an accessory?"
Shep broke. He wasn't admitting complicity in either case: Morgan's disappearance or the jewelry-store
robbery. But he'd tell whatever might have a bearing on either - if the D.A. would treat him right. To
prove that Shep would be treated right, the district attorney turned off the glaring light and said:
"Go on. The Morgan case first."
Shep licked away the sweat that had trickled down across his lips. Blinking at faces that he could
scarcely see, he proceeded.
"It was this way," informed Shep. "Me and a couple of guys get a call over at the poolroom. It was just
another haul job. I thought we'd be trucking beer to some of them local-option towns. What we find out
in back of the department store is a big long box that looked like a couch belonged in it. On the thing is
some typewriting that says to stow it in the back of Echo Cave. We don't know nothin' about Morgan at
the time. We think some floorwalker swiped some goods and wants it stashed."
Shep halted suddenly, dropping back in his chair, his hands thrown up in self-defense. Looming in upon
him was the bulky form of Hubert Endorf, whose blunt face showed fury.
"You killed Morgan!" stormed Endorf. "You're trying to evade the facts!"
Two men hauled Endorf back before his hands could tighten around Shep's neck. As Shep went limp,
Endorf did the same. Meeting the sympathetic gaze of the district attorney, Endorf spoke apologetically.
"You know how my nerves are. Poor Morgan's disappearance has been worrying me horribly. If
Morgan's body is in that box, I want to identify it and see that Morgan has a proper burial."
The district attorney turned to Shep and demanded sharply:
"You say you put the box in the back of Echo Cave. How could you manage that? The back of that cave
has fallen in, rendering it unsafe for visitors - or haven't you heard?"
For the first time Shep showed something that resembled a smile.
"I'll say I heard!" he declared. "It was us blasted in the back after we stuck the box there. The note says
hide it, so we do!"
"How much did you get for the haul?"
"A century. It wasn't much, split three ways."
Shep's testimony was dwindling in importance. The district attorney was asking the police chief about
Echo Cave; how safe it would be to enter.
Men were answering, stating that the rear of the cave was blocked with loose stones, past which a
person could probably squeeze, though no one had tried it.
There was one man who did not wait to hear those details; he had taken them for granted. His name was
Lamont Cranston, and he was gone. At that moment he was stepping into a car that had just arrived, a
coupe driven by Harry Vincent.
In the gathering dusk, Cranston merged with the darkness within the car. What aided the way he slid
from sight was the black cloak that he drew across his shoulders, the slouch hat that he placed upon his
head.
His voice, when it spoke, was no longer Cranston's. It was a low-toned whisper belonging to that most
singular of beings - The Shadow!
In two words, The Shadow named his destination:
"Echo Cave!"
CHAPTER II. WANTED BELOW
SPEEDING along the road to Echo Cave, Harry Vincent reported on Bert Bevry. He told how he had
learned the man's name, and described a brief trail which he had followed. Bevry had driven about ten
miles to a neighboring town, where he had left the car and caught an express train into New York.
How much money Bevry had found in Endorf's cash box, Harry didn't know; but he had taken all of it
because Harry had picked up the cash box later from a trash can in the station. He had brought it back to
Dalebury and driven directly to the city hall on the chance that Cranston would still be there.
In fact, Harry had found time to send a wire to Rutledge Mann, The Shadow's contact man - or, rather,
one of them - in New York. Thus, other agents would be posted to watch for Bevry when he arrived.
Finding Echo Cave was easy. You couldn't miss it after leaving Dalebury, for until recently the cavern had
been the town's most important attraction, and all along the road were signs pointing to the cavern.
Swinging into a side road which constituted the last stretch, Harry was about to turn on the lights when
The Shadow stopped him with a warning.
"Somebody may be here ahead of us."
"Shep's pals?" began Harry. "Why, they wouldn't take the chance of -"
"Not Shep's pals," interposed The Shadow. "The persons who received Bevry's call."
"But Bevry skipped with Endorf's money."
"Exactly." The Shadow's low laugh was reminiscent. "But Endorf is not a man who would lay himself
open to such simple embezzlement. That cash was a price that Endorf paid to Bevry."
The thing dawned suddenly on Harry.
"A price for a real body snatch!" he exclaimed. "To make up for the amateur job that Shep did without
knowing it! Endorf must have known that Shep couldn't stand the heat."
The Shadow's laugh told that Harry had finally guessed it. Endorf could not afford to have Morgan's
disappearance become a matter of murder. Disposal of the corpus delicti had been the stumbling block in
every unsolved case on The Shadow's list to date. It showed the operations of a professional ring
working on a high-priced scale.
Fortunately, Endorf hadn't called in such expensive operators until he feared that the cheaper job done by
Shep would not stand the strain. The Shadow was at last upon a vital trail.
THIS road was dark because a cliff towered alongside it, part of the limestone ridge that housed Echo
Cave. Picking his way along the gloomy highway, Harry pulled up in front of the cave itself. All was quiet
there.
But soon cars would arrive, bringing representatives of the law. Until then, the body-snatchers would
have their chance to earn the money paid by Endorf - if they had not already done so. The Shadow was
banking on the prospect that the work was not yet completed. His specialty was holding up such games
of crime, but he couldn't afford to let his presence be discovered too soon.
Standing beside the car, The Shadow surveyed the cliff above and saw that, despite its height, it was not
formidable. To The Shadow it promised a route for later departure; so he instructed Harry accordingly.
"Drive along this lower road," directed The Shadow. "Take the first fork to the left. At the end of five
miles you will strike a dirt road that leads above the cliff. Drive back along it and wait on the higher level
until I join you."
Harry eased the car away, still without lights. Against the black entrance to the cavern, The Shadow was
totally invisible. With a whispered laugh he let the gaping darkness swallow him.
When a tiny flashlight flickered, it was deep within the shrouding confines of Echo Cave. The Shadow
discovered stumpy stalagmites that blocked his route; in sidestepping them he avoided the hanging
stalactites as well.
Through the gloom pierced by the thin, moving beam, came an unaccountable sound, a whisper that
seemed to pronounce the word, "Hush!" It was the faint stir of The Shadow's cloak, magnified by vaulted
roof of the cave.
The sound itself was helpful. Should invaders hear it they would never trace its human source. Rather,
they would take it as a ghostly warning, a thing to deter their expedition.
Such was in keeping with The Shadow's well-formed plan. By reaching the rear of the cave ahead of
Bevry's band, he would be able to hold them in abeyance, then drive them outward into the clutches of
new arrivals who represented the law.
In leaving the city hall, The Shadow had started with the certainty that the local authorities would not
delay long in investigating the claim made by Shep Kroot.
Through a narrow passage where the drip from stalactites echoed like anvil clangs on the stalagmites
beneath, The Shadow reached a widened chamber that represented the new limit of the cave. Sweeping
the floor, the tiny flashlight picked out a clump of tumbled debris which marked the deeper passage.
Working his way through rough-hewn crevices, The Shadow found definite evidence of the dynamite
charge that Shep had mentioned. Limestone specimens were chopped off sharply. Everything likely to
break had been broken; hence The Shadow needed little caution.
A turn in the passage promised to bring him into the final chamber where Shep and his companions had
stowed the oblong box. Then, as The Shadow shouldered past the final turn, his little torch extinguished
itself instantly.
It wasn't needed. The Shadow had come into daylight!
THE illumination came from high above, down a long, vertical shaft that had its opening above the cliff,
where the sunset was still in evidence.
By that trickle of light The Shadow saw heaps of stones, not of limestone origin, piled on the floor of the
little chamber. The blast of a few months ago had caved the chamber's roof, bringing masses of debris
that buried the oblong box, but at the same time opened an outlet to the world above!
That Endorf had looked into the situation was evident. He must have found the shaft by a private trip to
the cliff top. Its existence probably had much to do with his hiring of expert talent to get rid of the telltale
box. For Bevry's workers were already here!
From his narrow passage The Shadow saw two men, their backs turned toward him. They were of
stocky build, much brawnier than Bevry. They had completed their brief excavation and were raising the
oblong box from its forgotten resting place. Watching the casket come upright, The Shadow saw that it
had been attached to a rope leading up the shaft.
Gazing upward, the men spread their arms. Morgan's improvised coffin began a smooth upward trip,
hoisted by a block and tackle. As it went it revealed a rope ladder hanging down the far wall of the
narrow shaft. As soon as they were sure that the box was properly on its way, the two men started up
the ladder, one waiting until his predecessor had gone a considerable way.
Like a shape materialized by the cave's own gloom, The Shadow glided forward, crossed the stone pile
and caught the bottom rung of the dangling rope ladder. Looking up, he saw why the men had worried
about proper clearance. Some thirty feet above, the shaft narrowed slightly and made a slight bend of its
far wall.
The two ghouls had waited for the hoisted box to go past that danger spot. Similarly, the second man had
allowed the first to get by the slight bend, before beginning his own climb.
It was now The Shadow's turn to apply the same process. There was no need to hurry the climb. Rather,
caution was the watchword. The box, then the men, were due to reach the outlet at intervals of about one
minute each. The Shadow could certainly cut that time along the final stretch of the hundred-foot climb.
It would take these marauders more than a minute to stow the box into a waiting vehicle, preparatory to
departure. The last thing they would ever expect would be the arrival of a mysterious challenger from the
very pit which they were so positive was empty.
Box and men were over the brink of the shaft. The Shadow had only thirty feet more to climb and he
would be there in a moment. He started to speed his ascent, and the impetus was remarkable. The
Shadow didn't just increase his rate; he actually doubled it!
Then he saw why.
THE rope was going upward, too. Instead of loading the box, the crew on the cliff was first hauling up
the rope ladder. A good break for The Shadow if he could turn it to his own advantage; but seconds had
become highly precious. Rather than waste time drawing a gun, rather than handicap his progress in the
slightest, The Shadow threw everything into his climb.
It wasn't quite enough.
The Shadow's clambering hands were still a dozen rungs short of the top when faces appeared around
the outlet. The Shadow couldn't see those faces plainly because the sunlight was behind them. But the
ruddy glow, slicing down into the shaft, gave an all too good impression of The Shadow.
There were startled shouts above. The rope stopped its upward pull. Those startled men had seen the
thing they feared: the figure of an interloper on the rope ladder, as betokened by its weighty drag.
Revolvers gleamed in the sunlight as ugly fighters whipped them out to deal with the foe that they knew
could only be The Shadow.
If they thought they had the cloaked avenger at a disadvantage, they were wrong. Hanging to the swaying
ladder, The Shadow kept a one-hand grip while his other fist produced a .45 automatic with twice the
speed of those drawn revolvers.
Given another half second, The Shadow would have begun to snipe those foemen like targets on a
shooting-gallery rack. They were on the verge of a surprise that would have been their last on earth if
there hadn't been a cooler head among them.
Another shout was answering the excited calls and, with it, the rope ladder quivered. An instant later The
Shadow was plunging downward, ladder and all, in a fling that caused his shots to ricochet from the walls
of the shaft.
The sunlit outlet was narrowing to a tiny hole from which faces had bobbed away. Revolvers were
answering over the edges, but they were merely bouncing bullets from the shaft walls. Neither The
Shadow nor his rival marksmen were clipped in that short-lived fusillade. Credit for the result belonged to
another hand - that of the man who was hauling up the ladder.
He'd simply released the winch, letting the ladder drop and take The Shadow with it!
At the bend in the shaft, The Shadow almost stopped himself, but his clutch on the stony wall was ruined
when the gathering folds of the ladder came tumbling upon him, lashing his head and shoulders with the
slap of a cat-o'-nine-tails. With a jolt The Shadow went through the bottle-neck to the stone-strewn pit
below.
Revolvers were still barking when a sharp voice stopped them. The man who had dropped the ladder
told his companions to forget their guns and help him with the ropes. As they tugged, the ladder stuck
momentarily, as though hands still clutched it. Then, jerking free, it came up from the shaft.
At another snarled order; the crew began shoving stones down into the shaft. There was a clatter as
chunks of rocks descended, followed by the clanging thud of a huge boulder that three men shoved
together. Others finished by dumping sizable stones into the pit and kicking smaller fragments as a final
offering.
As the group was turning to load the oblong box into their waiting vehicle, their snarly spokesman
scoffed:
"Those Dalebury yaps want to find a dead guy down below. All right, they'll find one - The Shadow!"
CHAPTER III. CREATURES OF BLACKNESS
MUFFLED by the confines of the shaft itself, the rattle of gunnery and the crash of rocks failed to carry
out through the vast vault of Echo Cave. Thus such sounds remained unheard by the citizens of Dalebury,
who were at that moment arriving outside the cave.
They had come in plenty, these representatives of a long-delayed quest.
Police chief, district attorney, both had their satellites. Endorf was along, followed by a dozen other
friends of Morgan, who regarded him loyal to the dead man's memory. In the midst of this throng was
Shep Kroot, no longer handcuffed, since he was to point the way to where the box was buried.
After a brief confab at the entrance of the cave, about half the group entered, leaving the rest outside.
Spreading through the cave the glare of flashlights made wide swaths, bringing shimmering effects from
the limestone formations.
Shoving Shep ahead of them, two officers reached the blocked passage that marked the safety limit.
There, the police chief shouldered forward and took Shep into personal custody. Standing beside them,
Hubert Endorf watched the police and others clear a path through the passage that The Shadow had so
recently covered.
Away from the focused flashlights, Endorf could give play to his nervous feelings. He liked this darkness,
even though it reminded him too much of Morgan.
The cave picked up the voices and the clatter as men forced their way through to the deepest chamber,
but the sounds lessened as the work progressed. Word was coming back that Shep hadn't lied about the
dynamite job. The debris showed definite signs of a blast. Then came the report that the final obstacle
had been removed.
Men were crowding into the stone-strewn chamber, half a dozen of them. They saw what looked like a
hole in the floor, beside the far wall. Approaching, men stooped to probe. The hole became a solid form
as flashlights fell upon it. Then hands were clutching a human figure, drawing it upright, as one hoarse
voice proclaimed:
"It's Morgan's body - wrapped in a black shroud!"
The very suggestion froze all hearers except one. He was the person that these finders had mistaken for
the body of a long-dead victim. The husky voice and its reverberations stirred The Shadow from his
daze!
The last thing The Shadow remembered was landing from a thirty-foot plunge that was somewhat broken
by the tangle of a rope ladder. The bend in the shaft had not only slowed his pace; it had caused the
shower of stones to cascade beyond his present resting place, while the big boulder had jammed on the
way down, blocking the debris that followed it.
Important though they were, those later facts weren't in The Shadow's mind. His present impression was
that he was in the clutch of enemies from above, for the boom of echoes rendered incoherent the words
now sounding in The Shadow's ear.
WITH a sudden twist The Shadow ended his resemblance to any other person living or dead. Literally,
he swept himself into blackness, for daylight was gone from the blocked shaft, and so were the flashlights
as The Shadow completed his swirl. Swinging the gun that he still clutched, The Shadow knocked those
torches from the hands that held them.
The men themselves escaped The Shadow's cyclonic onslaught, for they were dropping away madly,
anxious to escape this dead man who had come to life. By the time they rallied and closed in upon the
cloaked figure, they were sure he had become a ghost. They were grappling with one another; The
Shadow had gone from their midst.
Added to that, an eerie laugh resounded, seemingly in their very midst. From the passage, The Shadow
was sending back his challenge to the men he still thought were representatives of crime. The Shadow's
taunt, flung from the passage, was carried among the strugglers who sought the ghost who uttered it!
There were others, though, who failed to experience that illusion. They were men who were still coming
through the passage. They saw the cloaked outline of The Shadow as he blocked their flashlights, and
they drove forward to cope with the intruder. Hearing their approach, The Shadow charged them, driving
flashlights and guns upward.
He was himself again, The Shadow. Recognizing that these were men from Dalebury, he realized his
mistake about the others. It wouldn't do to stay around and go through lengthy explanations. Even if
believed, such explanations wouldn't help; not while criminals were riding far away with the remains of
Morgan.
So The Shadow plowed a path right through the men who had opened the blocked passage. Their
massed bulk couldn't slow him, for The Shadow had loads of impetus behind him. The men that he had
left beneath the shaft were on the way out, too, coming with a maddened surge that nothing could resist.
They were shrieking that they didn't intend to stay in a cavern that contained a ghost who could vanish,
yet still be heard.
FIRST to issue from the passage, The Shadow wheeled into the glare of converging flashlights. Men in
the main cavern were responding to a hoarse shout raised by one of their members: Hubert Endorf.
"It's Shep Kroot! Stop him!"
It was to Endorf's advantage to create a diversion. Whether or not Morgan's body had been found,
Endorf bore a grudge against Shep, and was hoping that the squealer would attempt a getaway and be
slain in the act. Guns were drawn, but they froze as their owners saw the weird shape of The Shadow,
looming like a mammoth bat.
Away from the light so suddenly that no one could pick his exact direction, The Shadow gave a laugh
that might have come from anywhere. Immediately, flashlights began to sweep in all directions.
The Shadow's gun spoke three times, delivering its shots in the air. Each stab was from a different place,
directed at a new angle. The echoes, coming like a cannonade, were something that The Shadow hoped
would confuse the men about him. The echoes did confuse them, a dozen times over.
Into the glare of the outspread flashlights swept a dozen Shadows! At least, they were creatures of
blackness that resembled his cloaked form. They were those blobs that had hung high in the domes of the
cave, flocks of bats disturbed from their roosts by The Shadow's upward gun stabs!
Zooming into the paths of light, the bats loomed to human proportions, it being impossible to distinguish
their exact size as they swooped. Nor were they easy to shoot, considering their speed and the
excitement of the marksmen. Guns were popping in the air and amid the wild barrage, the real target -
The Shadow - was speeding toward the main door of Echo Cave.
One incident marred The Shadow's departure, a happening that he did not witness. As men poured from
the inner passage to join the crowd in the great cavern, Endorf spied Kroot among them and gave
another cry. Three guns trained on Shep and fired point-blank, before he could dodge away from the
flashlights that revealed him.
Thus, under the guise of justice, did Endorf dispose of the bungler whose testimony had proven so
costly.
MEN were pouring into the cave as The Shadow neared its entrance. Knowing nothing of the ghostly
happenings within, these arrivals saw winged creatures swooping toward to them.
摘要：

MURDERLAKEMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.ECHOCAVE?CHAPTERII.WANTEDBELOW?CHAPTERIII.CREATURESOFBLACKNESS?CHAPTERIV.GONEWITHOUTTRACE?CHAPTERV.ANOTHERWAYOFMURDER?CHAPTERVI.PAST,PRESENT,FUTURE?CHAPTERVII.SETTINGFORCRIME?CHAPTERVIII.THESHADOWINTERVENES...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：71 页 大小：183.84KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-22

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