Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 116 - Intimidation,Inc

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INTIMIDATION, INC.
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," December 15, 1936.
Intimidation, Inc. had a new racket; one that made their ill-gotten
millions a sure bet - until The Shadow outsmarted them at their own game!
CHAPTER I
THE MAN WHO TOLD
THE face at the taxi window was chalkish. Eyes squinted nervously as they
met the glare of street lamps. Lips were pitiful in their twitch. A hand
trembled, as it tried to tighten a muffler higher above a chattering chin.
The man in the cab was marked for death; he knew that the threat of doom
was upon him.
The cab swung a corner; it stopped at the side door of a six-story office
building. The driver tilted his head sidewise and spoke to his passenger:
"Here we are, sir. At the Dorchester Trust Building. Guess you were right
when you said it stayed open until eight o'clock -"
The speaker stopped abruptly. The passenger had alighted; he was standing
beside the cab, shakily thrusting a five-dollar bill in the driver's
direction.
For the first time, the taxi man was gaining a complete look at his fare's
face.
The pallor of that countenance was plain. To the driver's astonished
eyes,
his passenger looked like a living corpse. Dumbly, the taxi driver took the
money, sat gawking as he heard a quavering voice tell him to keep the change.
He watched the passenger turn and make faltering strides through the side door
of the office building.
Slowly, the taxi driver reached beside him and drew a newspaper into
view.
It was a copy of the Dorchester Evening Clarion, the evening journal that
served
this city of two hundred thousand population. Tilting the newspaper into the
light, the taxi man saw the printed picture of the passenger who had just left
the cab.
Nodding to himself, the taxi man drove to the next corner; there he
stopped and beckoned to another cabby, who was standing gloomily beside a
vacant taxi. The fellow came over; the first driver pointed to the picture.
"Lookit," he said. "Ludwig Meldon. The guy that went screwy and unloaded
all his stock in Dorchester Power & Light. Knocked the price down and sold out
all he had left, today. They say he lost a quarter million!"
"I know it. I can read. But what's Meldon got to do with you?"
"I just dropped him back at the Dorchester Trust Building. The guy looked
bad. Like he was ready to croak himself."
"He must be cuckoo, stopping off at the Trust Company. It ain't open
evenings."
"He wasn't going into the bank. He wanted the office building. Had to get
there by eight o'clock. Wonder what he wants in there?"
THE taxi driver's query was at that moment being answered. Ludwig Meldon
had reached the third floor of the office building. He was standing outside an
office, where a frosted door bore the legend:
E. G. LENNING
Notary Public
The office was lighted; its glow showed through the frosted pane.
Nevertheless, Meldon knocked. His rap, moreover, was cautious.
The knocks brought no response. Nervously, Meldon opened the door and
stepped into the office. Except for its furniture, the room was empty. Meldon
looked puzzled; he had expected to find the notary.
The security of the lighted office curbed Meldon's nervousness. Chewing
his lips, the pallid man looked about. He noted two inner doors; one, he knew,
opened into a closet. The other door was behind Lenning's desk; it led into an
adjoining office that belonged to another tenant. Meldon stepped past the
desk,
tried the door and found it locked. He looked relieved.
In fact, Meldon had steadied sufficiently to study his surroundings. He
observed a typewriter in which two sheets of paper had been inserted, with a
carbon between. Though the upper page was blank, Meldon took this as a sign
that Lenning would return shortly. He seated himself at the desk and pulled
open a drawer on the right.
The first thing that Meldon saw was a stenographer's pad that bore a
shorthand scrawl. Though not familiar with shorthand, Meldon recognized these
particular notes by the book that contained them. They were statements that he
himself had dictated to Lenning.
Lifting the notes from the drawer, Meldon placed them on the desk. As he
did; his eye caught a glitter from the drawer. Lying there was a .32 revolver.
For a moment, Meldon stretched his shaky hand toward the weapon; then
withdrew and closed the drawer instead. Guns horrified Meldon; nevertheless,
his lips showed a smile, because he had learned that Lenning had a revolver
handy.
Minutes passed. In his strained state, Meldon kept worrying because
Lenning did not return. His hand was on the pad that contained the notes of
his
own dictation. Those statements were precious to Ludwig Meldon. They were
facts
that he had told to Lenning; facts that the world would know after the notary
typed them and Meldon made his affidavit. There was something else, though, to
go with them.
Meldon drew a folded letter from his pocket, spread it out upon the desk.
Stubs of paper dropped from the folds: a railroad ticket and three
baggage-room
checks, that indicated luggage left at the station. Hastily, Meldon pocketed
the
ticket and the checks. He glanced at his watch; saw that it was three minutes
after eight. His face showed worriment; he feared that the building might
close
before Lenning returned.
Hurriedly, the nervous man picked up the telephone. He started to dial
Lenning's home number, thinking that the notary might be there. Meldon's
fingers fumbled their task. Clicking the receiver hook, he started to dial
again. This time, another factor stopped him. Half standing at the desk,
Meldon
became rigid.
ON a line beyond the telephone, Meldon could see the bottom of the closet
door. There, just on the fringe of the light provided by the desk lamp, he
spied a darkish, glistening blob of liquid.
At first glance, Meldon supposed it to be ink; it was a more startling
thought that made him hang up the receiver and step shakily from behind the
desk.
Reaching the closet door, Meldon stood riveted. His later thought was the
correct one.
The spot on the floor was blood!
Slowly, mechanically, Meldon gripped the knob and drew the closet door
toward him. He stepped back with a sharp cry, as a figure came toppling
forward
to sprawl, heavy and inert, face upward on the floor.
The opening of the door had delivered a dead man, a squatty figure with a
flame-scorched, blood-dyed shirt front. The victim had been slain by a
revolver
bullet through the heart - a close range shot that had killed him instantly.
Above the shirt collar, Meldon saw a moonish face with bulging eyes,
topped by a baldish pate. The dead man was Lenning. The notary's absence was
explained.
Meldon's blurted gasp was followed by moments of tense nervous strain.
Sight of the corpse brought his senses to a high-tuned pitch. His ears caught
a
sound that they would not ordinarily have heard. Turning about, Meldon saw a
movement of the door behind the desk.
Someone had unlocked the door from the next office. That person was
Lenning's murderer. One death delivered, the fiend was creeping in to gain
another victim.
Frantically, Meldon sprang to the desk, yanked open the drawer and
grabbed
the revolver that lay there. In his excitement, he gave no heed to the
commotion
that he raised. He wanted to get the gun before the door was open, not
realizing
that his own activity would speed the man who was creeping in from the other
side.
Meldon realized his mistake as he swung about wildly with the revolver.
The door banged the wall; an attacker surged upon him. Before Meldon could
either aim or press the trigger, his hand was doubled back toward his body.
Caught in the grip of an insidious foeman, Meldon was thrust backward
across the desk. His writhing form blocked the lamplight and half obscured the
features of the evil murderer whose face was eye to eye with Meldon's.
Despite that fact, Meldon managed a gasp of recognition. His frantic lips
were ready to mouth a name. The utterance never came. The muzzle of the
revolver was jabbed hard against his chest. A clamping thumb pressed Meldon's
forefinger. The revolver spoke, muffled by the struggling men.
Ludwig Meldon sagged from his opponent's grasp. Catching the sagging
shoulders, the murderer pivoted Meldon about and let his body sprawl in the
chair by the desk. Meldon's head and shoulders flopped forward; his hand,
still
gripping the gun, lay across the opened letter and the shorthand notebook.
HALF stooped behind Meldon's dead body, the murderer remained obscured.
His hand crept forward, gripped the letter and the notebook, to draw them from
beneath Meldon's forearm. For the moment, it seemed that the murderer intended
to carry those documents with him; then, as though impelled by some other
thought, he turned away.
Only his shoulder and the back of his head showed by the lamplight as the
killer stepped through the doorway into the adjoining office. The door clicked
shut; the turn of a key followed. After that came silence.
Passing moments showed the grim scene unchanged. Two dead victims lay in
the room of death. Lenning, the hapless notary, had gone first, purely because
he had been in possession of Meldon's dictated statements.
With Lenning dead, the murderer had waited to deliver further doom.
Fiendish and efficient in his deed, a master killer had settled his score with
Ludwig Meldon, by murdering the man who had told the facts of crime.
CHAPTER II
COVERED EVIDENCE
FIVE minutes after the murderer's departure, a change occurred upon the
scene of death. The change did not take place within the room itself; it came
from the door to the hall, and so slightly did it alter the scene that even
the
murderer would not have noticed it had he remained to watch.
Grayishness crept across the frosted pane of the outer door. Becoming
motionless, that shadowy form made a silhouette against the outside lights of
the hallway. It marked the presence of a new arrival, who had come with superb
stealth to the spot where crime had struck.
Keen ears were listening from the corridor - ears that must have learned
something from the stillness of the office. Slowly, the door began to open
inward. Blackness blocked the light from the hall. The door closed; this time,
a blackened shape was apparent against the frosted pane. Moving toward the
desk, the shape became a living form.
The singular visitor was cloaked in black. His hands were encased in
thin,
black gloves. Above the upturned collar of his cloak was the brim of a slouch
hat, that completely shaded the features beneath them. Only the piercing glow
of firelike eyes was visible.
The Shadow, master sleuth who battled men of crime, had arrived in
Dorchester. He was here to pit his skill against that of the slayer who had so
recently dealt double death.
There was definite reason for The Shadow's presence in this city. Recent
events in Dorchester had forewarned him that crime might soon be due.
Financial
conditions in that prosperous city had undergone some curious changes.
One by one, big business men had entered into unaccountable transactions,
that had brought them great losses. None had explained their actions, although
the Dorchester newspapers had sought interviews with them. The latest event -
more astonishing than any before - had been Meldon's seemingly insane
sacrifice
of a controlling interest in Dorchester Light & Power. That event had brought
The Shadow to Dorchester.
Gaining some clue that linked Meldon with Lenning, The Shadow had reached
the notary's office, but only after death had struck.
A BRIEF view of the scene told The Shadow that a murderer had cunningly
contrived to cover the crimes. Noting the muzzle of the revolver held by
Meldon, The Shadow saw two chambers that contained used cartridges. Beside
Meldon was the opened desk drawer; in it, a box of cartridges of the gun's
caliber.
Circumstances indicated that Meldon had come here and engaged in a
quarrel
with Lenning. The scene gave the impression that Meldon had slain Lenning,
vainly tried to stow the notary's body in the closet, then, losing his nerve,
had committed suicide. There were details, though, that immediately told The
Shadow how the scene had been faked.
Chief of these was the position of Meldon's body.
The dead man's chair was too close to the desk. If he had voluntarily
shot
himself, Meldon would have jolted back with the impact of the bullet. Toppling
forward later, he would not have reached the desk. It was obvious, therefore,
that Meldon had been placed upon the chair and shifted forward to assume his
present position.
While The Shadow pictured the exact way in which the murder had been
done,
he noticed the letter and the notebook beside Meldon's arm. Spreading the
letter, The Shadow observed that it was a brief one, neatly typed on paper
that
bore no letterhead. It was addressed to Ludwig Meldon, and was couched in
definite terms.
The letter read as follows:
DEAR SIR: On or before the 12th of this month, you will openly dispose of
your holdings in the Dorchester Light & Power Company, by selling them in
blocks of fifty shares until the price has dropped below $30 a share.
You will then sell the remainder of your holdings as rapidly as possible.
No delay will be tolerated; nor will you be permitted to retain a single share
of that utility.
Others have followed instructions of this sort; and in so doing, have
shown their wisdom. The penalty for disregarding this warning, or mentioning
this correspondence to any one, will be your immediate death.
Destroy this letter. Remember that you are watched. Any false move will
be
immediately reported.
Yours very truly,
INTIMIDATION, INCORPORATED.
The letter showed that others in Dorchester had been threatened. Various
business men had acted against their own interests, under the urge of
"Intimidation, Incorporated." Like others, Meldon had followed instructions.
He
had sacrificed five thousand shares of stock, with par value of one hundred
dollars, at prices ranging down to thirty and below.
Dorchester Power & Light was a strong company. With pressure ended, the
stock would rise. Meldon had lost fully a quarter million; someone else would
gain that sum. If Meldon preserved silence it would be impossible to trace the
gainer. That was why Meldon had not followed the final instructions.
To offset the supercrook who represented Intimidation, Incorporated,
Meldon had retained the letter that he had been told to destroy. He had
dictated notes to Lenning; he had planned to make affidavits, and leave the
letter with the notary also. Meldon had expected to be far from Dorchester
when
the news was printed.
THE SHADOW was familiar with shorthand. He scanned Lenning's notebook and
found reference to previous cases. He read how Julian Reth, a big chemical
manufacturer, had sold out a subsidiary concern, the Apex Dye Works. The
purchaser, James Blosser, had gained three hundred thousand dollars' worth of
dyes for fifty thousand.
Soon afterward, Martin Lambroke, owner of the Lambroke Silk Mills, had
bought the dyestuffs at their full price. Blosser had made a quarter million.
A
week later, he announced that he had bought a huge art collection for the
Dorchester museum.
To Ludwig Meldon, once he had received his letter from Intimidation,
Incorporated, the story behind those deals was plain. Reth, Lambroke and
Blosser had all been threatened. They had followed orders. The real pay-off
would go to the unknown seller of the art collection. The treasures gained by
the museum would be exaggerated ones, worth but a fraction of the price paid
by
Blosser.
The Shadow had already heard of that deal. He had analyzed the possible
inflation behind it. Meldon's letter was tangible proof. The notebook
statements coincided with The Shadow's deductions. Meldon had died because his
plan to leave Dorchester had been guessed. There was one odd factor, however:
why the murderer had left the letter and the notebook They stood as evidence
against the supercrook; they also proved that Meldon had neither murdered
Lenning nor committed suicide.
A sound came from a radio in the corner of the office. MXDO, a local
station in Dorchester, was coming on the air at eight-thirty, after a two-hour
silent stretch. The announcer was introducing Hugh Bursard, owner of the
station. A deep, well-modulated voice began to speak about the State
exposition, soon to be held in Dorchester. Bursard was stating that the
exposition committee would meet on the next day, to decide the matter of
building contracts.
The Shadow went to the radio and pressed the switch to cut off the
program. He went to the outer door; listened there. He started toward the door
in back of the desk. He heard a slight sound from beyond it. Quickly, The
Shadow glided across the office and stationed himself behind the open door of
the closet.
THE door from the next office opened; a sweatered man sneaked into view,
pocketing a key as he came. The Shadow saw a thuggish face. He watched the
intruder stare at the bodies of Meldon and Lenning. The man's ugly lips showed
a pleased grin, as if sight of death pleased him.
His gloat finished, the rowdy stroked his stubbly chin. It was plain that
the sight of the bodies was a treat that he had not anticipated. After
deliberation, the thug picked up the telephone and turned the dial with his
stubby forefinger. The Shadow heard his low growl:
"That you, Brad?... Yeah, this is Skeet... Sure, I'm up in the office.
Listen, Brad. There's a couple of stiffs here. Looks like one guy croaked the
other and then rubbed himself out... Sure, I'll go through with it, Brad.
"Yeah, I just wanted you to know about it... Sack Balban didn't say
nothing when he slipped you the orders, did he?... All right. I'll give the
joint the torch."
The Shadow recognized the name of "Sack" Balban. He had expected to hear
it after reaching Dorchester, but not so soon as this. Sack Balban was a
racketeer who had gained a notorious reputation in the city of Dorchester, but
who had managed recently to keep himself within the law. It was known that
Sack
had numerous underlings; obviously, "Skeet" and Brad were members of the
tribe.
Skeet lost no time after getting Brad's O.K. The Shadow watched him rip
open desk drawers and bring out sheaves of paper. Skeet strewed these along
the
floor; he added paper-laden folders that he took from the filing cabinet.
Picking up a wastebasket, he dumped its contents beside the desk. With a sweep
of his hand, Skeet shoved Meldon's letter and Lenning's notebook into the
debris.
Stepping almost to the edge of the closet door, Skeet drew a cylinder
from
his pocket. The object was the size of a small drinking glass. Skeet removed a
metal cap, to show a glass interior. Liquid showed within. The cylinder was a
highly inflammable acid bomb, that would ignite when broken.
Standing at a discreet distance, Skeet prepared to hurl the device
against
the base of the desk. His leer showed that he would welcome the display of
fireworks. His path was clear to the doorway of the next office and Skeet
turned in that direction, ready to travel fast. His hand came back to hurl the
bomb.
A hiss halted the firebrand. Startled, Skeet tried to identify the sound
and guess the direction from which it came. For a moment, he studied his hand
in alarm, fearful that the noise came from the fire bomb. The hiss ended in a
whispered laugh, low and sinister. This time, Skeet looked in the right
direction.
The thuggish torch stood rigid as he saw The Shadow. The cloaked avenger
had stepped from behind the closet door. His right fist held an automatic; his
left hand, extended, was reaching for the bomb that Skeet held.
Shrinking, Skeet let his hand come down; he was only too willing to give
up his bomb. Skeet knew that he was faced by The Shadow.
Two seconds more, and Skeet would have stood helpless, ready to answer
any
questions that The Shadow might put. In those seconds, something else
occurred.
There was a sharp clatter from the hallway door. It swung inward; with it, a
long-limbed man crossed the threshold. Revolver in hand, the newcomer aimed
for
The Shadow.
IT was Brad, the crook who had received Skeet's call at a pay booth near
the office building. Brad had decided to come and look the place over. He had
arrived in time to oppose The Shadow.
With any ordinary foeman, Brad would have held the bulge. Not with The
Shadow. As Brad's gun blazed, The Shadow was already on the move, feinting
toward the closet door, then suddenly changing direction to place himself
beyond Skeet. Bullets spattered wide, accompanied by Brad's fumed oaths. The
curses ended as The Shadow jabbed a sudden shot, following Brad's wild third
one.
The stabbing bullet found Brad's gun arm. The crook's gun lowered; his
lips ejaculated a cry of pain. Staggering back through the doorway, Brad
became
a hopeless target. He would have surrendered on the instant, if Skeet had not
intervened. It happened that the ugly faced "torch" had joined the game.
Diving past the desk, Skeet hit the floor on his knees, using his left
hand to break the fall. Heaving with his right, he hurled the fire bomb
straight for The Shadow.
The Shadow saw the missile coming. Too late to dodge it, he made a
sidewise leap into the closet, whipping the door shut as he went. Lenning's
body prevented the door from coming to a full close, but its swing was far
enough.
The fire bomb hit the barrier at an angle, glanced from the door and
struck the wall. It exploded with a silent puff that produced a huge sheet of
whipping flame. Like blobs from a cauldron, the fire scattered everywhere
about
the room.
Brad was safe. He had reached the outer hall. So was Skeet, as he
scrambled through the doorway to the next office. The Shadow held a spot of
temporary security. Though fire lashed the door, it did not penetrate to the
closet.
THE pyrotechnic force of the fire bomb ended within a dozen seconds.
Inspired by the chemical flames, masses of paper ignited; they were blazing
high, licking toward the bodies of Meldon and Lenning when The Shadow emerged,
and stepped across the nearer corpse. Furniture was catching fire; The
Shadow's
path was almost blocked; but by skirting the wall beside the windows, he
reached
the doorway through which Skeet had fled.
Already, The Shadow heard shouts within the building. The gunplay had
alarmed tenants, who would soon arrive to deal with the fire. The Shadow took
Skeet's route. Passing through a darkened office, he reached an opened window
and saw a low roof beyond it.
Skeet had made a get-away. Brad had fled by the stairs. The crooks had
gained sufficient time to elude The Shadow tonight. With no intention of
pursuit, The Shadow swung through the darkened window and merged with the
blackness of the lower roof.
Tonight, The Shadow had learned of Intimidation, Incorporated, the title
under which some supercrook masqueraded. He had seen the proof of murder; had
discovered one of the killer's methods of covering evidence. Encountering
Skeet
and Brad, The Shadow had gained a link to Sack Balban, local racketeer whom
the
cover-up men served.
Though death had arrived before him, The Shadow was embarked upon a
campaign that would not end until he dealt in person with the master murderer
who styled himself as Intimidation, Incorporated.
CHAPTER III
DOOM'S NEW THREAT
THE next morning, the Dorchester newspapers carried the story of double
death, with photographs of Meldon and Lenning. They also reported the
short-lived fire, which had been extinguished before it could destroy
Lenning's
office or burn the bodies that were lying there. All that went up in smoke
were
the papers that Skeet had strewn on the floor.
Among those, however, were the letter and the notebook. With such
evidence
burned, it was not surprising that the newspapers accepted the police theory
that Meldon had murdered Lenning and then committed suicide. It was conceded
that Meldon must have been crazed, when he disposed of his holdings in
Dorchester Power & Light. It was believed that he had held some imaginary
grievance against Lenning and had slain the notary on that account. Under such
circumstances, Meldon's supposed suicide seemed logical.
By afternoon, the news was stale. The Evening Clarion did not run the
pictures of the dead men. Instead, it showed the portraits of four men who
were
to convene in important conference regarding the State exposition.
The first portrait was that of Mayor Jonathan Wrightley, a pompous
gentleman with side whiskers. The second was Hugh Bursard, owner of Station
MXDO; a long-faced man with sharp eyes and the high forehead of a thinker.
Bursard was highly recognized because of his nightly talks on civic progress;
which went on the air from half past eight until nine o'clock.
The third picture showed Elwood Clewiss, local lawyer who had recently
been elected district attorney. Clewiss was legal representative for the State
exposition. His picture showed him as a rugged type of man, with heavy brows,
straight mouth and hard, challenging jaw.
The last portrait was that of an elderly man whose thin face and narrow
forehead were topped by a brush of whitish hair. He was Newell Radbourne,
financier whose efforts had been sought to make the exposition possible.
Though
his interests took him throughout the State, Radbourne frequently made his
headquarters in Dorchester, where he was an important figure in banking
circles.
There was oddity, however, in the fact that the pictures of Clewiss and
Radbourne were side by side. It happened that Clewiss was counsel for an
obscure inventor named Ray Kroot, who was suing the Interstate Textile Co. for
infringement of a patented rug-weaving machine.
Kroot was claiming damages in excess of two hundred thousand dollars; if
he won the case, Radbourne would be the loser. For, among the industries which
he controlled, Newell Radbourne held sole ownership of the textile company.
Fortunately, both Clewiss and Radbourne were tactful men; otherwise, they
might
have clashed, as members of the State exposition committee. Since the affairs
of
the exposition had nothing whatever to do with the patent case that Kroot had
instituted, the lawyer and the financier agreed separately to continue their
individual services to the exposition.
FOUR o'clock found three members of the committee gathered in a
conference
room at the Dorchester city hall. Mayor Wrightley was seated at the head of a
table; on either side were Hugh Bursard and Elwood Clewiss. While the mayor
was
sorting papers that pertained to contracts, Bursard and Clewiss chatted. One
subject discussed by them was the death of Ludwig Meldon.
"No one can prove that Meldon was insane," insisted Bursard. "He may have
had some purpose in disposing of his utility holdings. Perhaps he counted upon
Lenning to aid him in a future scheme."
"A possible theory," smiled Clewiss. "In that case, Meldon murdered
Lenning because the latter refused to go through with the arrangements."
The owner of MXDO shook his head.
"I am not sure that Meldon murdered Lenning," he declared. "From the
newspaper accounts, all evidence against Meldon was of a purely circumstantial
nature."
"The coroner's verdict was suicide, in Meldon's case," argued Clewiss,
emphatically. "I am willing to accept it."
The conversation ended as two persons entered the room. Those at the
table
looked up to see Newell Radbourne, accompanied by a tall, calm-faced stranger.
Smiling a greeting, Radbourne introduced his companion.
"Gentlemen," said the shocky-haired financier, "this is Mr. Lamont
Cranston, from New York. He arrived in my office an hour ago. Mr. Cranston is
an extensive traveler; he has contacts in every country of the globe. He
believes that he could arrange for an Oriental exhibit at the State
exposition."
Seating himself at the table, Radbourne produced typed sheets of paper
and
passed them to the committee members. Nods came from all as they read. None
observed the smile that showed on the lips of Lamont Cranston.
Though he had presumably arrived in Dorchester today, the calm-faced
personage had actually been in town for nearly twenty-four hours. Last night,
he had appeared in garb of black. Today, he had chosen another guise.
The supposed Lamont Cranston was The Shadow.
Recognizing that new threats would follow the one delivered to Ludwig
Meldon, The Shadow had mapped a strong campaign to reach Intimidation,
Incorporated. It was his belief that the crook who used that title would
strike
again, wherever he saw chance for profit.
One field that might offer opportunity was that of the State exposition,
upon which millions of dollars would soon be spent. Therefore, The Shadow had
deemed it good policy to investigate the affairs of the exposition. By
proposing an Oriental exhibit, The Shadow had chosen an excellent method.
MAYOR WRIGHTLEY was the first to comment on the proposition that he read.
"This seems fair enough," he announced, pompously. "Mr. Cranston agrees
to
produce a minimum of twelve exhibitors, each to pay the regular rent for
space.
Since any additional exhibitors will also be charged in full, we have nothing
to lose."
"Mr. Cranston has a chance to gain, though," inserted Bursard, in the
deep
tone that he used over MXDO. "If he chooses, he can charge the exhibitors more
than the usual rental."
"What if he does?" inquired Clewiss. The attorney's tone was sharp. "That
is his business; not ours. I favor the proposition."
Radbourne followed with a prompt statement.
"I discussed that factor with Mr. Cranston," declared the financier. "He
said that some profit might be possible, but that it can scarcely pay him for
the difficulties that he will encounter. It is not an easy matter to line up
Oriental exhibitors in short order. Am I right, Mr. Cranston?"
"Quite right," assured The Shadow, in an even tone. "Moreover, the
unfavorable rate of exchange will limit the exhibitors in the amounts that
they
can pay. I must allow for heavy shipping charges and customs duties. Frankly,
it
is my interest in Oriental products that has inspired me to make this offer,
rather than any hope for profit."
The listeners were convinced, Bursard included. Mayor Wrightley made a
motion that the offer be accepted. It was carried unanimously; the agreements
were signed. As The Shadow arose, the mayor invited him to remain.
"The remainder of our business will be brief," assured Wrightley. "We
have
merely to accept the proper contract for the construction of the city stadium
at
the exposition grounds. You might as well remain with us, Mr. Cranston."
Arranging papers on the table, Wrightley scanned them and delivered a
broad smile.
"We have received a great variety of bids," he remarked. "The lowest is
one million two hundred thousand dollars; the highest, two million. Quite a
difference."
"Too much of a difference," snorted Clewiss. "You can eliminate the two
million dollar bid immediately. By the way; who set such an outrageous
estimate?"
"The bid came from Ralph C. Markallan," replied Wrightley. "His contracts
have always been well handled. His concern is most reliable. But he has
evidently ignored the fact that close competition and small profits are always
to be anticipated in city contracts."
Clewiss nodded and stepped over to study the various bids, remarking that
he had seen them previously, but had not had time to study them. The others
accepted the apology. It was plain that they were all familiar with the bids.
"These lower-priced concerns are doubtful," began Clewiss. Then, with a
pleased tone, he added: "Wait! Here is one quite as good as Markallan's. I
refer to Lubaker-Smythe. Their estimate is one of the lowest, and the concern
is noted for its reliability."
"We have already considered that fact, Mr. Clewiss," remarked the mayor.
"That is, I have discussed it with Mr. Bursard and Mr. Radbourne. Three of us
are already agreed to let the contract to Lubaker-Smythe."
"Count me as a fourth."
摘要：

INTIMIDATION,INC.byMaxwellGrantAsoriginallypublishedin"TheShadowMagazine,"December15,1936.Intimidation,Inc.hadanewracket;onethatmadetheirill-gottenmillionsasurebet-untilTheShadowoutsmartedthemattheirowngame!CHAPTERITHEMANWHOTOLDTHEfaceatthetaxiwindowwaschalkish.Eyessquintednervouslyastheymettheglare...

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