Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 139 - The Sealed Box

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THE SEALED BOX

by Maxwell Grant

As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," December 1, 1937.

Within the sealed box was the key to a baffling mystery - and blood would

run before The Shadow grasped its secret!

CHAPTER I

HAND OF DOOM

THE silence of a sultry night lay over the old mansion. Dim lights from

the windows were feeble against that outside blackness. Set far back from the

street, the house was isolated amid the clusters of trees that girded the

spacious lawn.

The mansion seemed strangely remote, despite the fact that it was located

in the suburbs of Southbury, a city that had nearly one hundred thousand

inhabitants. The only feature that offset the shrouded aspect of the house was

the circling ray of an airway beacon that topped a neighboring slope.

Every half minute, that beam suddenly revealed a tall line of Lombardy

poplars; sweeping along the row of ghostly trees, it flashed a glimpse of the

mansion's gray-stone wall.

Within the house was a melancholy front hall, that absorbed most of the

light from two wall brackets. The hall merged into the darkness of a broad

stairway; and all was black above, except when the passing glare revealed a

short stretch of landing near a side window, just past the head of the stairs.

A whitish figure appeared at the top of the stairway, to hover there,

ghost-like.

The beacon's gleam slid past. It showed the figure to be a girl, attired

in nightgown and light kimono. There was a flash of a charming, rounded face,

framed against dark hair that hung over slender shoulders. Dark eyes sparkled

anxiously, small lips showed a twinge of consternation as the girl shrank back

into darkness.

The light passed; she started down the stairs. Her slippers produced a

slight clatter, that made the girl pause. By the time the beacon gave its next

flash of the vacant hall above, the girl's slippers were off. Her bare feet

made no sound as she stole to the bottom of the stairs.

Crossing the dim hall, the girl reached a deep-set door. Her light hand

turned the knob. Pressing the door gently inward, the girl peered into a room

where two men were seated.

One was white-haired; his kindly, deep-lined face was known to every one

in Southbury. He was Richard Whilton, owner of this mansion. Whilton was

esteemed for his philanthropy. Within the past two years, he had distributed a

fortune among the poor of his home city.

Whilton's visitor was a middle-aged man, tall, brisk of manner, despite

his heavy build. His eyes had a clear, steady gaze that went well with the

firm

set of his long-jawed chin. He, too, was well known in Southbury. He was James

Belver, champion of reform, a man of action who had driven crooked politicians

from the city.

"I SAY that I have a gift for Southbury," declared Whilton, speaking

dryly, from across his desk. "This time, Belver, it is not mere money. I

intend

to produce evidence that will expose the master grafter who gouged millions

from

this city!"

"That is impossible, Whilton!" exclaimed Belver, his tone an emphatic

basso. "Only one man knew who the hidden rogue was; and that man is dead."

"You refer to Mayor Dylan," nodded Whilton. "His suicide, of course,

ended

the trail. But Dylan left a written confession; in it, he mentioned a certain

sealed box -"

"Stamped with his own official seal," added Belver, "and containing

documents that would incriminate the master-crook we seek. Unfortunately,

Dylan's house was ransacked by the criminal himself. All Dylan's official

property was stolen. The sealed box must have been taken at that time."

For answer, Whilton opened a desk drawer. He produced a flattish, black

metal box, tightly bound with twisted wire. The ends of the wire met on the

center of the lid. There, Belver saw a thick circle of red wax, that bore the

imprint of an official seal.

"Dylan's own seal!" exclaimed Belver. "The one that was never found. The

box is intact -"

"Which means," put in Whilton, "that it is the one mentioned in Dylan's

confession. One of his relatives found the box and sent it to me. To-morrow,

Belver, I want you to name a committee of men qualified to open this box and

make the contents public."

"Why not give the box to our present mayor? Or to the chief of police?"

"You can name them on your committee, Belver. But I prefer to have you

see

that the facts are made public. You have just bought the Daily Enterprise; the

power and prestige of the press is something to be considered."

Belver nodded. He could visualize the huge sensation that this news would

create in Southbury. But he was eager as he eyed the box; that was why he

questioned:

"Why not form the committee tonight?"

Whilton pondered; then, slowly, he gave his explanation.

"I have a mysterious friend," said Whilton, "who calls himself The

Shadow.

He aided me once in the past, when crime threatened. I have notified The

Shadow

that I have learned something concerning the exposure of another crime, that I

may need his cooperation in trapping the master-criminal. I expect a visit

from

him, to-night."

Belver's clear eyes showed wonderment. Whilton noted it; with a smile, he

assured his friend that The Shadow was an actual personage, although Whilton

admitted that he did not know the mysterious being's identity.

Belver was impressed. As he arose from his deep chair, he expressed his

willingness to be ready in the morning. He was considering names of men for

his

committee, when a sudden thought occurred to him. He questioned:

"Does any one else know that you have received this box?"

"My niece, Eunice." Whilton was referring to the girl who still stood,

unnoticed, outside the study door. "I showed her the box and told her what it

was. Eunice can be trusted."

"What about the servants?"

"They know nothing." Whilton paused; then added: "It happens, though,

that

Rufus Vosgle was here this evening."

"In this room?" demanded Belver, anxiously. "Where he could see the

sealed

box?"

"Vosgle was here," admitted Belver. "Alone, for a few minutes, while we

were finishing dinner. Afterward, I talked with him -"

"But where was the box during that time?"

"In the desk drawer, all the while."

"Was the drawer unlocked?"

"Yes. I remember that, because I opened the drawer after Vosgle had gone.

That was when I showed the box to Eunice."

BELVER paced the floor. His lips were compressed, as though holding back

some statement. Whilton saw it.

"I know you do not approve of Vosgle," said the old man. "Nor do I,

Belver. I must admit, though, that I have always found him to be a competent

attorney. He is the best lawyer in this city."

"Certainly," agreed Belver, "if you call the smartest the best. Plenty of

crooks have found Vosgle a good lawyer. That's why they hire him to defend

them."

"I know it. To-day, I would never choose Vosgle as a counselor. It simply

happens that he was my attorney before he went into criminal practice.

Ethically, he had a right to do so. He and I have argued the point, often."

Belver shook his head.

"Perhaps I am prejudiced," he admitted. "I cannot tolerate crime in any

form. If I were a lawyer, I would never defend a criminal. Somehow, I feel

that

a lawyer who does so should be branded as a crook himself. But since you trust

Vosgle, I am satisfied."

Belver shook hands with Whilton. Eunice took that opportunity to slide

away from the door. She was on the stairs when her uncle and his visitor came

out through the hall. When the big front door closed, Whilton went back to his

study, without a glance toward the second floor.

Stealing upstairs to her room, Eunice reached the other side of the

house.

She heard the rhythm of Belver's smooth-motored car. She watched the

taillights

twinkle as the big machine rolled from the driveway.

After that, stillness and gloom were complete. Not even the flickers of

the airway beacon were visible from the side of the house where the girl's

room

was located.

BELOW, Richard Whilton sat, troubled, at his desk. In front of him lay

the

sealed box, its black surface shiny beneath the desk lamp. He pictured two

men.

Whilton saw what this box could mean to each.

James Belver, the reformer, who had accomplished everything except the

capture of the man who had managed evil. Rufus Vosgle, whose law practice had

thrived during those days when graft and corruption were rampant.

To Belver, the opening of the box would be the final triumph of a long,

hard-fought cause. To Vosgle, it might mean disaster; the revelation of some

name that the lawyer already knew, but wanted to keep dark.

Would Vosgle throw over one interest, to protect another? Would he, an

attorney, pry into the affairs of a client like Whilton, if the defense of

some

criminal lay at stake?

Whilton feared that he would. The recollection that Vosgle had been alone

in this room, with access to the sealed box, was a memory that brought beads

perspiration to the aged philanthropist's brow. He hoped that The Shadow's

arrival would not be long delayed.

The Shadow would come by air. With that thought, Whilton turned off the

lights, all except the small, shaded lamp on the desk. He went to the window;

raised the shade, to breathe the comfortable air. It had been very hot in the

study, with the shades drawn.

Whilton stood at the window, while the beacon light revolved, lashing its

stream of light through the poplars.

Just as the rays were again streaking toward him, Whilton heard the thrum

of a distant motor. A plane was guiding by the beacon, to make a landing at an

airport a few miles beyond.

The passing light showed Whilton's smile, as he stepped back from the

window. The old philanthropist was turning toward his desk, confident that The

Shadow would soon be with him. There was a stir outside the window, that

Whilton did not hear. A crouching figure arose, just as the light of the

beacon

passed. The sill was low; the lurker cautious, as well as powerful. He came

over

the edge and into the room without Whilton hearing him.

Whilton had senses keener than his ears. Just as he reached his desk, he

gained the impression that he was not alone. He wheeled; in the gloom he saw a

face that he recognized. An instant later, a springing assailant was upon him.

A gunshot sounded; deep beneath Whilton's coat, the report was almost

completely muffled. That one shot was sufficient. The assailant had shoved the

revolver muzzle against Whilton's heart. The old man slumped from the

murderer's grasp.

The revolver was pocketed. Two hands came beneath the desk lamp, grasped

the sealed box that Whilton had fought to guard. Turning, the killer sprang

quickly toward the window, vaulted through. He was running, huddled low behind

a hedge, when the beacon light again arrived.

All that the passing brilliance showed was the floor of the study, on a

line between the window and the desk. There, bathed in the instantaneous glow,

lay the body of Richard Whilton, face upward. A killer had done his evil work,

to carry away the sealed box as a trophy.

That murderer was fortunate. He had accomplished his deed of death before

the arrival of The Shadow.

CHAPTER II

THE LONE CLUE

WITHIN fifteen minutes after the murder of Richard Whilton, a blocky,

beefy-faced man arrived at the Southbury city hall. The arrival was Police

Chief Mulley, mainspring of the law in Southbury.

When he reached his office, Mulley found James Belver awaiting him there.

The police chief was apologetic when he spoke to the reformer.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Belver. I was notified that you had come

here; but I was out at the Cairo Club."

"Quite all right, Chief Mulley. I am glad, though, that you have arrived.

I have a matter so important that it cannot be delayed."

"If it's about the Cairo Club," began Mulley, "we can't do much about the

place. There's some bad-looking eggs hanging around that joint, but we've got

nothing on them. As for that blond dame, Theda Morenz, she was cleared of the

blackmail charge -"

Belver's impatient headshake told Mulley that he was on the wrong track.

The police chief decided to listen.

"Only twenty minutes ago," explained Belver, in a deep, tense tone, "I

talked with Richard Whilton. He has just acquired the sealed box mentioned in

Dylan's confession."

Mulley stood dumfounded. He couldn't believe Belver's statement. The

sealed box had long been given up as a lost cause.

"Whilton wants to hold the box until to-morrow," continued Belver. "But

there are others who know that he has it. One, in particular, is Rufus

Vosgle."

The police chief showed a savage glare.

"Vosgle knows a lot of crooks," he growled. "It was him that got Theda

Morenz out of her jam. You've got to watch who you pinch in this town, just on

account of Vosgle."

Grabbing the telephone, the chief put in a call. Belver heard him order a

squad of plain-clothes men for immediate duty.

"You apparently agree with my opinion, chief," declared Belver. "Whilton

should be protected while he has that box in his possession. At the same time,

it would not be right to enter his grounds, or to disturb him. He spoke to me

in confidence, when he showed me the sealed box."

"We'll be careful," promised Mulley. "You and I can drive around the

place

in my car. If everything's all right, I'll post the men clear outside the

grounds."

EVERYTHING was not all right at Whilton's; but that fact was already

recognized, while Belver and the police chief were in conference. The city

hall

was a full ten minutes' driving distance from Whilton's mansion; and events

were

due before Belver could arrive with the police.

The sweeping beacon showed the line of poplars, motionless; below, it

revealed blackness, nothing else. Yet there was a stir in that darkness, the

moment that the light had flashed away. A tall, cloaked figure was moving

invisibly through the night.

The Shadow, arriving from the airport, had spied the lifted shade at the

window of Whilton's study. The beacon light had shown the interior of a

seemingly empty room. Yet that room, judging from the appearance of the house,

was the only place where Whilton would logically be.

The Shadow reached the house wall. Entering over the low sill, he saw why

the room had looked deserted. Whilton's body was conspicuous on the floor; the

bloodstain on the murdered man's shirt front told its own story.

By the glow of the desk lamp, The Shadow studied the body. He shifted

with

each arrival of the beacon light, so that his own shape was always blended

with

some blackness. After that inspection, The Shadow went to the desk, to make a

search there.

His examination produced nothing of value, until he returned again to

Whilton's body. Lifting the dead weight easily. The Shadow peered along the

floor beneath. He saw a glimmer; his gloved hand was prompt to pick up the

object, just as he settled the body back in place.

Swinging away from the arriving beacon light, The Shadow crouched beyond

the desk, to examine the one clue that he had gained.

The object was a gold coin, of Spanish mintage. Its ordinary value was

about ten dollars; but the date showed that the coin was more than a hundred

years old. In excellent condition, the gold piece probably had a high

collector's value.

It was possible that the coin had dropped from Whilton's vest pocket

during the struggle; but it was just as likely that the murderer had lost it.

Because of the last-named prospect, The Shadow placed the coin in a pocket

beneath his cloak.

Richard Whilton had requested The Shadow's visit to Southbury, with the

promise that he would allow the cloaked investigator full leeway in a certain

matter that concerned crime. Whilton's death, itself, was a matter for

investigation. The Shadow was taking over that case, as a preliminary step to

the subject that Whilton had mentioned but had not specified in detail.

THE dimmed lights of an automobile were moving slowly along the road

beyond the line of poplars. They attracted The Shadow's attention. They were

gone from sight before the beacon's flash came by; but as The Shadow watched,

he saw the car return. It came to a stop. The lights were extinguished.

Moving close to the window, The Shadow waited. Pressed against the wall,

he gained occasional glimpses of the lawn when the sweep of light went by. The

Shadow could see men deploying around the mansion. From their actions, he

judged that they were detectives from Southbury.

Ordinarily, The Shadow would have found no difficulty in slipping through

a closing police cordon. All that he needed was a suitable exit from the

ground

floor, either through a door or a window. His logical choice lay on the other

side of the house, since the raised shade in Whilton's study had attracted the

law toward that room.

That was why The Shadow started across the hall. Chance was to prove the

move a bad one.

There was a sudden clangor of the front doorbell. Seeing a passage on the

other side of the hall, The Shadow glided toward it; once in darkness, he

listened, hearing a sound from upstairs. At this late hour it was likely that

the summons would be answered from that direction.

As it happened, Eunice had heard the bell and was coming to the stairs.

But there was another arrival due, at the very moment when The Shadow least

expected him.

A door jerked open from the rear of the passage. The light from the

kitchen showed The Shadow. Out popped a servant, who had been in the kitchen

ever since Belver's visit. Chunky, powerful, the fellow was the sort who

didn't

wait to ask questions.

The servant was flinging himself upon The Shadow as the cloaked visitor

turned to meet him. Thrusting gloved hands to halt the servant's charge, The

Shadow made a quick, backward step. That move would have given him the

vantage,

but for the wide, sweeping curve of the stairway's bottom step. The Shadow

stumbled against it; caught himself by shoving his shoulder to the newel post.

That moment's interval brought the driving servant upon him.

Bowled over by the charge, The Shadow grappled as he went. His powerful

fists caught hands that tried to clutch his throat. The Shadow and his

adversary spun as they fell. Neither had the advantage when they hit the

floor,

out in the big hall.

Eunice saw the spill, from halfway down the stairs. In the dim light, The

Shadow was recognizable only as a mass of fighting blackness; but the girl

recognized the servant and raised a loud cry:

"Gilbert! What's the trouble?"

Gilbert was in no position to respond. He and The Shadow were coming up

together while furious pounds sounded at the front door, telling that Eunice's

call had been heard outdoors. The girl saw the servant stretched toward the

high ceiling, then fly through the air under The Shadow's heaving lunge.

It was a hard jolt for Gilbert, but The Shadow gave him the benefit.

Delayed in his plunge, the servant had time to thrust his arms ahead of him.

flattened; then came dizzily to hands and knees, temporarily out of combat.

But

the delay of softening it for Gilbert was a serious matter for The Shadow.

A pair of brawny detectives came piling from the death room. They had

entered the house through the study window.

THE SHADOW wheeled across in front of the stairs. There was a shout from

the kitchen door; another pair of dicks had entered by the back of the house.

As revolvers gleamed, The Shadow made a sudden feint toward the front

door. There, he saw Gilbert, on hands and knees, yanking back the big bolt.

Before detectives could aim, The Shadow wrestled Gilbert away; swung the

fellow about, knowing that the dicks would not fire at the servant. Gilbert

had

managed to get the bolt loose; the front door whammed inward, to admit a trio

detectives who had been hammering there.

With a spin, The Shadow clamped one hand to the light switch, plunged the

hall into darkness. With a side shove, The Shadow sent Gilbert toward the last

bunch of detectives; then performed a twisty dive through the darkness of the

hall.

There was chaos in the hall; shouts, while detectives grappled for their

invisible quarry. There were no shots; for the dicks had no target, but some

revolver hands made slugging motions in the air. The confusion carried to the

front walk, where James Belver was dashing up with the police chief. They

arrived in time to hear the hoarse voices of detectives:

"We've got him!"

"Hang onto the guy!"

"Find that light switch!"

BELVER and Mulley were in the doorway when the lights came on. They saw a

cluster of detectives piled upon their prisoner, with two extra dicks on the

floor, rubbing their heads. Their own pals had tapped them neatly during the

fray; but they didn't mind it, since the capture had been made.

Eunice, on the stairway, was staring downward. She could see better from

above. The girl was the first to give a surprised exclamation as the group

disentangled itself. The prisoner who came up from the floor, under the

gripping hands of three detectives, was Gilbert!

The dicks who had entered by the front door showed pleased grins; for

they

thought they had the right man. Growls from the other detectives told them

that

they were wrong. They gaped when they learned that there had been two

fighters,

not one. They had seen no one but Gilbert; The Shadow had doused the lights

before they spied him, also.

Spreading, the detectives formed a circle, covering the front door and

the

two side exits. That circle reached the stairway, where Eunice stood. There

wasn't another outlet; yet the center of the hall was vacant, except for

Gilbert, who puffed as he went to the stairs and sat down there.

Those dicks who had spoken of a cloaked opponent received the doubting

glares of the dicks who had grabbed Gilbert. Talk of a mysterious battler in

black sounded like a pipe-dream.

The Shadow had vanished completely from the scene of the swift fray.

CHAPTER III

FROM THE DARK

WITH half a dozen witnesses to testify that The Shadow had been in the

hallway, the police chief gave prompt orders to search for the mysterious

invader. He detailed his entire squad of detectives to search the grounds.

James Belver accompanied the police chief into the study, to examine

Whilton's body. Gilbert joined them, while Eunice remained in the hall. The

girl took the news of her uncle's death bravely. She had feared that harm

would

come to Richard Whilton, because he possessed the sealed box.

Alone, Eunice felt worried. At times, she glanced toward the darkened

stairs, watching the occasional flashes that streaked the hallway above. At

last, she decided to enter the study and be with the others.

Police Chief Mulley was growling accusations when Eunice arrived.

"That fellow in the cloak," he denounced. "We've got to find him! He's

the

murderer."

"I'm not so sure of that," objected Belver. "Whilton spoke of a

mysterious

friend, whom he called The Shadow. He said that person was going to visit him

to-night."

"The Shadow, eh?" The police chief turned to Eunice. "Did your uncle tell

you anything about him?"

Eunice shook her head. The only mention that she had heard concerning The

Shadow was the statement that Whilton had made to Belver. Eunice didn't

mention

that she had listened in on that conference. She stated, however, that she had

happened to come from her room; that from the upstairs hall, she had seen her

uncle bid good night to Belver.

"Mr. Belver came here at ten o'clock," summed the police chief. "He left

at quarter past, to reach my office at ten-thirty, because that's when I was

informed at the Cairo Club that Mr. Belver had called from the city hall."

"I reached my office at quarter of eleven; and by eleven o'clock we were

back here. That's when we uncovered The Shadow. He put up a fight and slipped

us. We find Whilton murdered, the sealed box gone. That makes The Shadow

Suspect No. 1."

Belver reminded that Whilton had spoken of The Shadow as a friend. It

didn't impress the police chief. He said that a friend would have stayed to

explain himself.

Chief Mulley ordered the search to tighten; to close in upon the house

itself. As he shouted orders through the door, a new arrival approached the

portal. Mulley stepped aside; a tall, stoop-shouldered man entered. Eunice

recognized the shrewd, pointed face that was topped by gray hair.

The arrival was her uncle's attorney, Rufus Vosgle.

WHEN the lawyer saw Whilton's body, he shook his head sadly. Sharply, he

asked for details of Whilton's death and received them. He registered

amazement

when he heard about the sealed box. He acted as if he couldn't believe that

the

box had been in the study, when he made the early evening visit.

"We have Whilton's statement that the box was here," remarked Belver,

watching the lawyer closely. "Eunice and I both can testify to it."

"Whilton should have told me," declared Vosgle. "This is just one more

instance that proves how unwise a man can be, by not showing full confidence

his attorney. Whilton's mistake produced his death. However, that is past."

The

lawyer swung to the police chief. "The present problem," Vosgle added, "is to

capture this man who calls himself The Shadow."

"Just what I was telling Mr. James Belver -"

Belver himself interrupted the police chief's statement.

"Don't forget," he reminded, "that three quarters of an hour elapsed

between the time of my departure and the time when we found The Shadow. Some

one else could have entered meanwhile."

"But there is no proof that any one did," inserted Vosgle, coldly. "It is

the law's duty to arrest The Shadow."

"So that you can defend him in court," snapped Belver. "That's your

specialty, Vosgle, getting suspects out of trouble. It looks like you're

trying

to acquire another client, ready made."

Vosgle's eyes showed a dark, cold glitter - the sort of gaze that the

lawyer gave to juries.

"If The Shadow is arrested," the lawyer told Belver, "I shall not defend

his case. Let that be understood beforehand, Belver."

"You'd like to see him take the blame, I suppose," retorted Belver. "You

wouldn't want to handle the case and fluke it. If you're protecting the real

criminal, Vosgle, I'd say that -"

The police chief stepped between the pair. Belver managed, though, to

complete his last shot:

"I'd say that you'd better account for your own whereabouts, Vosgle,

between the hours of ten and eleven!"

DURING the argument, Eunice had gained a sudden determination. She

hurried

up to the second floor, before the detectives came in to search the house.

Reaching her room, Eunice turned on a small light and opened a bureau drawer.

From it, she brought a .22 automatic. Holding the gun, she put her hand into

the pocket of her kimono.

A whispered laugh tinged the gloom behind her. Eunice spun wildly,

bringing the gun from her pocket. She saw The Shadow; he had stepped from the

darkness of the wall, to face the girl with folded arms. Eunice met the gaze

burning eyes; but her face was determined as she spoke.

"I was sure that you passed me on the stairs," asserted the girl. "That

why I came up here. I am turning you over to the law. You are suspected of my

uncle's murder."

The Shadow remained motionless. Eunice heard the whisper from his hidden

lips.

"I expected you," was The Shadow's reply. "That is why I waited. I was

your uncle's friend. I need every fact that pertained to his death. You can

supply many."

It dawned on Eunice instantly that The Shadow could have departed before

this. That, in itself, was proof that The Shadow depended on Eunice.

The Shadow was wanted by the law. But there remained a doubt in Eunice's

mind; and The Shadow's own presence settled it.

The whispered tone, those steady burning eyes, inspired the girl's

confidence. Eunice desired the capture of her uncle's murderer; and two facts

impressed her. She was sure that The Shadow was not the culprit; also, that he

- far more than the local police chief - was the person, who could trace the

actual killer.

Eunice's hand replaced the gun in her pocket. Low-voiced, Eunice poured

out the story of the sealed box. She told of the earlier visit of Rufus

Vosgle;

of the conference between Whilton and Belver.

Footsteps, voices from the stairs. Detectives were coming up. Eunice's

lovely eyes were filled with anxiety. She no longer wanted The Shadow trapped;

but feared that she could not prevent it.

A whispered voice reassured her. The Shadow's hand stretched forward;

upon

the thin-gloved palm, Eunice saw the Spanish gold piece. She heard The Shadow

inquire:

"Did this belong to your uncle?" Eunice shook her head negatively; then

asked:

"You found it in the study?"

The Shadow gave an affirmative reply.

"The murderer must have dropped it!" exclaimed Eunice. Then, her tone

strained: "Quickly! You must leave!"

The Shadow swung from the light. He blended with the darkness of the open

window. He dropped soundlessly to the ground beneath.

Detectives entered; Eunice assured them that there could be no one hiding

in her room, but, as an afterthought, she requested that they search.

During that hunt, Eunice looked from the window. She breathed relief.

Seemingly, The Shadow had picked his way through the police cordon. He, the

one

friend upon whom her uncle most depended, was free to continue the quest for

the

murderer who had stolen the sealed box.

WITH the search ended, the police chief left detectives in charge. He

arranged for the removal of Whilton's body; then rode downtown with James

Belver.

Rufus Vosgle followed; midnight found him still in the police chief's

office, smoking a long cigar. Belver was there, too. He became suddenly

suspicious when a telephone call came for the lawyer.

Hanging up, Vosgle ignored Belver, to speak to the police chief.

"A friend of Whilton's just arrived at the depot," said the lawyer. "He

called the house and learned of Whilton's death; that's why he called here. I

told him to come over."

"Who is he?"

The question was from Belver. Vosgle paid no attention until the police

chief also asked it. Then, the lawyer replied:

"A man named Lamont Cranston. A New York millionaire. I remember that

Whilton often mentioned him."

Belver recalled the same. Cranston was a sponsor of a museum that had

received several gifts from Richard Whilton.

WHEN Cranston reached the police chief's office, he impressed every one

there. The arrival was a tall, calm-faced personage, whose hawkish features

had

a masklike expression that made it impossible to gauge his age.

Cranston heard the details of Whilton's death in a solemn fashion. The

questions that he asked, coupled with his quiet manner, were such that the

police chief did not begin to guess that this visitor was the very person

whose

arrest he sought. For the role of Lamont Cranston, wealthy globe-trotter, was

one The Shadow adopted often.

The final question that The Shadow asked was one that awakened the police

chief's approval, and produced sudden interest on the part of James Belver.

"What about Whilton's estate?" inquired the visitor. "Who will benefit by

his death? That is something that should be considered."

All eyes turned to Vosgle. The lawyer had the answer.

"The bulk of the half million will be divided," declared Vosgle, "between

Eunice Whilton and certain charities. There are a few small legacies to

servants like Gilbert; also a larger one" - Vosgle paused momentarily - "to a

young man named Larry Sherrin."

"Larry Sherrin!" exclaimed Belver. "I remember him! He worked for Whilton

once. But I thought -"

What Belver thought, he did not add. He seemed perplexed about the

matter.

It was Vosgle who provided the dry explanation.

"Whilton once intended to make Sherrin his junior partner," declared the

lawyer. "There was some misunderstanding, that caused Sherrin to give up that

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THESEALEDBOXbyMaxwellGrantAsoriginallypublishedin"TheShadowMagazine,"December1,1937.Withinthesealedboxwasthekeytoabafflingmystery-andbloodwouldrunbeforeTheShadowgraspeditssecret!CHAPTERIHANDOFDOOMTHEsilenceofasultrynightlayovertheoldmansion.Dimlightsfromthewindowswerefeebleagainstthatoutsideblacknes...

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Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 139 - The Sealed Box

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