Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 085 - The Mardi Gras Mystery

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MARDI GRAS MYSTERY
by Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. THE EBONY BOX
? CHAPTER II. ADVICE IS FOLLOWED
? CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW BEFORE
? CHAPTER IV. THE NOD IS GIVEN
? CHAPTER V. A SPY BY DAY
? CHAPTER VI. THE CHANCE MEETING
? CHAPTER VII. CROOKS PREPARE
? CHAPTER VIII. THE OPENED BOX
? CHAPTER IX. WITHIN THE SNARE
? CHAPTER X. THE NEXT MORNING
? CHAPTER XI. THE SHADOW WAITS
? CHAPTER XII. HARRY OBSERVES
? CHAPTER XIII. THE FINAL MOVES
? CHAPTER XIV. THREADS IN THE NIGHT
? CHAPTER XV. AFTER DUSK
? CHAPTER XVI. THE DOUBLE CROSS
? CHAPTER XVII. CHANCE TAKES CHARGE
? CHAPTER XVIII. AT THE BONTEZAN
? CHAPTER XIX. CROOKS PLAY THEIR PARTS
? CHAPTER XX. DEATH AND THE SHADOW
CHAPTER I. THE EBONY BOX
THE Mardi Gras had reached its final hour. New Orleans was a city that teemed with its spirit of
Carnival. Beneath the brilliance of Canal Street, throngs persisted in their revelry, amid the remnants of
festooned decorations that had marked the last day's celebration.
This was Mardi Gras Day, itself. The climax to three weeks of intermittent merrymaking. By day, the
pageant of Rex had rolled along Canal Street, with all its marchers and its mammoth floats bedecked with
tinsel. The wide thoroughfare had been packed with humanity, pressed to the edges of the narrow strip
allotted to the grand parade.
Evening had brought Comus, with the last display of pageantry. Flares of vari-colored lights had
accompanied this brilliant procession. Then crowds had spread, to carry their hilarity everywhere, in one
last outburst of enthusiasm.
Masqueraders, detaching themselves from more sedate spectators, were seeking the streets of the old
Latin Quarter. This district, the Vieux Carre, formed a natural magnet for those who embarked in revelry.
Small wonder; for the Latin Quarter remained as a relic of old New Orleans. It was from streets as these
that the Mardi Gras had risen, more than a century before.
This modern Mardi Gras had centered about the superb pageantry of Momus; of Proteus, Rex and
Comus. Yet with all the festivities held by those resplendent groups, the lure of the Vieux Carre had not
been forgotten.
Here was the mellow glow of antiquated street lamps, that healed the scars of long-built walls. Balconies,
where faces peered from decorative rails. Cut through by Royal Street—Rue Royale to the old
French—the narrow thoroughfares of the quaint French Quarter formed settings that masked strollers
sought in preference to the wide sweep of Canal Street.
Many of the masked mummers had chosen costumes that were bizarre or outlandish. Turbaned Hindus
stalked with Malay pirates. Pierrots, clowns, Mephistos—all were in evidence. But among this medley
were others more in keeping with their surroundings. They were the ones whose costumes resembled the
styles that had existed when New Orleans was young.
STROLLING along the Rue Royale was a young man garbed as a French colonial gentleman—a style
that had prevailed in New Orleans two centuries ago. Silk hose and knee breeches were topped by a
lavish waistcoat, which, in turn, was enveloped beneath a long coat with large cuffed sleeves.
Upon his head he wore a wig, which was covered by a three-cornered hat. Beside him he carried a
rapier, sheathed in its scabbard. This stroller was masked; through the eyeholes of his domino he
surveyed the other passers curiously, while his lips formed a disdainful smile.
There was a reason for this masquerader's superior attitude. He felt himself apart from the boisterous
throng. To the others, Mardi Gras Day was a glorified Halloween; to this young man, the occasion held
tradition. His choice of costume had not been a random one. It had been in keeping with the locale of
New Orleans.
For Andrew Blouchet, the wearer of that costume, was the last of an old Louisiana family. His present
attire was cut to the same fashion as that of the first Blouchet who had ventured to America. Andrew had
seen that it was tailored to resemble the exact attire shown in an old family portrait.
Had the others chosen to preserve tradition, Mardi Gras, in Andrew's opinion, would be a most
picturesque event. For that reason, Andrews had appeared in one of the tableaux given this night; and he
had enjoyed the sight of costumes that were similar to his own. Returning homeward, he had lowered his
mask, that passers might not recognize him. He did not want to be considered as a mere masquerader
intent upon midnight frolic.
Turning from Royal Street, Andrew slowed his pace. He was away from the heavier throng; here, the
Vieux Carre held a charm that captured his imagination. Ignoring the costumes of those he met; noting
only their laughter, Andrew could picture himself in the city of long ago, where adventure might be had at
any corner.
Another turn brought him to the front of Gallion's restaurant. This was a place that Andrew liked; for
Gallion's, though under new management, had retained its reputation for rare French cuisine. Pausing
outside the door, Andrew was tempted to indulge in a midnight meal, for he usually ate a late supper at
Gallion's. Then the recollection of a heavy dinner made him smile and change his mind.
Before Andrew could pace onward, the door of Gallion's opened and a crew of merrymakers surged
forth. Among them was a tall man in a Harlequin costume, carrying a banjo. He was strumming a tune
and his long-jawed features showed a grin. This man, however, was masked; Andrew caught no more
than a general impression of the fellow's face.
Those with the banjo player were an odd assortment of masqueraders, who had apparently formed a
chance group. They were singing while the banjo artist strummed his tune. Andrew stepped aside to let
the group ramble on their way. Then, with a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders, he followed slowly in
the same direction.
Not far past Gallion's, a girl was standing near a doorway, peering toward the group that was advancing.
The banjo player paused, that the girl might notice his skill at melody. Apparently, he was inviting her to
join the group of singers. Andrew saw the girl shake her head; the strolling crowd continued on its way.
THE girl was in costume. She was wearing a short-skirted ballet dress; and as Andrew approached, he
noted that her face was masked. Her left arm was pressed against the side of the doorway; and as
Andrew drew closer, he saw that she was holding an object that she had previously kept from view.
This was a flat, black box that glistened with a polish. It looked like a large jewel box of ebony; the
corners and the hinges were of silver. Curiously, Andrew eyed the girl more carefully, but did not pause
in his pace. It was the girl herself who brought him to a stop.
Just as Andrew reached the doorway, the girl stepped forward. She darted quick glances in both
directions. Then, with her right hand, she gripped Andrew's arm.
As the young man halted, the girl spoke. Her tone, though tense, was modulated.
“Here is the box,” stated the girl. While Andrew gaped, she thrust the ebony object into his hands. “Be
sure to keep it hidden until you are alone.”
“The box?” queried Andrew. “But—but—why—”
“Hide it,” insisted the girl. “It is important that no one should know that you have received it. Please put
the box out of sight.”
“There is some mistake,” objected Andrew. “Really, I know nothing about the matter!”
“I understand,” smiled the girl. Her tone was confident, more natural. “Please! Put the box away. I see
some people coming in this direction.”
Mechanically, Andrew obeyed. Protests were useless; the girl's assurance won. As Andrew slipped the
box into a wide inside pocket of his copious cloak, the girl produced a small silver key, which she
handed to the recipient of the box.
“Be careful,” she whispered. “Do not let anyone see you unlock the box. You will understand when you
find the contents. Everything will be explained.”
Andrew was looking at the key. It was oddly shaped and curious in design. He turned to speak to the
girl. He was too late. She had already turned and was walking hastily away, taking the direction from
which Andrew had come. The girl had passed the door of Gallion's restaurant. She was mingling with a
group near the corner.
For a moment, Andrew thought of overtaking her; of repeating his belief that a mistake had been made.
Then he realized that his hesitation had given the girl time to hurry toward Royal Street, where he would
have but little chance of finding her again. Moreover, her last words had somewhat dispelled his doubt.
The girl had said that the contents of the box would explain everything. Perhaps she was right.
Pocketing the key, Andrew resumed his pace, walking more briskly than before. His rapier swung back
and forth, almost tripping him as he strode along; but Andrew paid no attention to this impeded progress.
He passed the next corner, where the banjo player and singers had stopped to indulge in melody.
Andrew did not notice them when he went by.
He was holding the ebony box with pressure of his elbow, keeping it tightly in his pocket. For Andrew's
imagination was at work. He had encountered adventure; and it seemed unbelievable. The lure of
mystery was quickening his footsteps and he was taking no chances of letting the box slip his grasp
between here and his home.
ANDREW BLOUCHET lived in the Vieux Carre. He had taken an apartment in Frenchtown because it
was the portion of New Orleans that intrigued him. Andrew had received a small inheritance from his
parents; he had decided that his dwindling funds would last him longer in an unpretentious residence. That
had been another reason for the apartment in the Vieux Carre.
After a few turns, Andrew arrived at the old building where he lived. He unlocked an outer door and
went through an archlike hallway that led him to a tiny courtyard. There he ascended a flight of stairs to
the second floor, directly over the arch through which he had come. Here was a hall, with a door on each
side. Andrew unlocked the one at the left.
He stepped into a long living room that ran from street to courtyard. It was like a studio, with smaller
rooms leading off from the far wall. Locking the door behind him, Andrew turned on the light. In a far
corner stood an old, squatty safe that bore the name “R. Blouchet.” This was a relic from an importer's
office that Andrew's father had once conducted.
The corner of the room formed a secluded spot; a tiny alcove away from all windows. There, Andrew
pulled the ebony box from his pocket. He noticed that it was light in weight, but he did not pause to
ponder on that fact. Setting the box on the safe, he produced the silver key and eagerly unlocked the
box. With nervous tremble, he raised the lid with his left hand.
An amazed gasp came from Andrew Blouchet's lips. For a moment, the young man stared; then his
hands dipped toward the box. Before his eyes were stacks of bank notes; the crisp paper crinkled as his
fingers clutched the currency. These bills were of large denominations; fifty and one-hundred-dollar
notes.
While he clutched the bills and spread them, Andrew looked anxiously for some sheet of paper that might
be with the money. The girl had said that the contents of the box would explain the unexpected gift; yet
there was nothing within the ebony casket other than the money itself.
Then, as the value of the prize impressed itself upon him, Andrew began to stack the bills and count
them. Automatically, he mumbled the amounts aloud, adding as he went along.
“Fifty—one hundred—one hundred and fifty—”
He came to the end of the fifties; he was counting the one hundreds and the combined stack was half
exhausted. Then came a change in the denominations; an unexpected difference that made the young man
blink.
For an instant, he thought that he was back to fifties, for he saw the figure 5. He was wrong; he knew it
as he stared. Each five was followed by two ciphers. Andrew had come to a layer of five-hundred-dollar
bills.
With heart pumping, with lips barely uttering the added amounts, Andrew kept on with the count.
Another change in the design of the currency completely staggered him. The five-hundred-dollar bills
were finished. The ones that remained were of thousand-dollar denomination!
Bills crinkled between trembling hands. Numbed, faltering fingers dealt the remainder of the stack, while
awed lips counted to the final total. Andrew was a man in a trance, who acted like a human automaton.
His reflex mind was forcing his hands and lips to their task while his brain buzzed with confusion.
“Ninety-eight—ninety-nine—one hundred—”
The last thousand-dollar bill fluttered from Andrew's fingers, to fall with those that formed a spread-out
heap upon the ebony box. Again, Andrew's lips spoke, while his ears listened to his own voice, as if
hearing the words of another man.
“One hundred thousand dollars!”
GREEN paper outspread in the light. Staring numbers that seemed ready to leap from the surface of the
sheets that bore them. All was dreamlike, unbelievable; yet reason, returning to Andrew's mind, told him
that the sight was real.
Mardi Gras—the French Quarter—a masked girl—an ebony box—all formed a linking chain in a brain
that was coming back from bewilderment. Andrew's hands advanced. His fingers gathered the currency.
Numbed no longer, they began to stack the money. That task completed, Andrew placed the heaps in
the box. He closed the lid; then hastily opened it. The money was still there.
Andrew smiled. He closed the box and locked it. The linked chain of thought was complete in his mind.
His recollections puzzled him, but he no longer doubted their reality. Whatever the explanation of this
riddle, one fact at least was certain:
From poverty, Andrew Blouchet had leaped to wealth. Future circumstances might deprive him of his
gain, through charges of unlawful ownership. Yet nothing could destroy the marvel of the present
moment. He, Andrew Blouchet, was the sole possessor of one hundred thousand dollars!
CHAPTER II. ADVICE IS FOLLOWED
SEVERAL minutes had passed before Andrew Blouchet had recovered from the state of imagination
into which the wealth had thrust him. It was then that he realized how concentrated he had been. All this
while he had forgotten that he was in costume. He had not even removed the mask that he was wearing.
Doffing hat and wig, Andrew pulled away the domino. His right hand was holding the key all the while.
Once again, Andrew unlocked the box and looked at the money. Satisfied that it would not disappear, he
laughed and locked the box. He put the key on a mantelpiece, underneath a clock.
Unbuckling his rapier, Andrew placed the sword in a corner. He took off the heavy coat that he was
wearing and was about to place it in a wardrobe closet when he heard the sound of footsteps in the hall.
Hastily, Andrew bounded toward the safe and spread the coat over the black box. Some one was
opening the door of the apartment. With hands against the safe, Andrew stared breathless. His lips
formed a weak smile as a tall, dark-haired man entered.
“Hello, Carl,” Andrew greeted.
“Hello, Andy.” The newcomer grinned pleasantly. He was wearing a Mexican costume, with
wide-brimmed sombrero. “Boy! I'm glad to get rid of this hat!”
As he spoke. Carl tossed the sombrero to an armchair. He sat down and lighted a cigarette. Andrew's
smile broadened; he felt more at ease, since Carl had not noticed his tenseness. Carelessly, Andrew
lighted a cigarette of his own.
Among a great many acquaintances, Andrew Blouchet numbered only a few whom he regarded as real
friends. One of these was Carl Randon. Like Andrew, Carl was a native of New Orleans; but Carl's
family had been more prosperous than Andrews. Carl had studied law; but had not completed his
course. He had chosen real estate instead; had experienced a profitable period and was now indulging in
a life of leisure.
Carl traveled frequently and had friends in many cities. He had come back to New Orleans a month ago
and was sharing Andrew's apartment. Both had gone out tonight in costume; but each to a different
destination.
When they had left, Andrew had been in a dejected mood, while Carl had been in gay spirit. Now the
situation was reversed. Andrew, still smiling, looked happy; but Carl's grin had faded and his face was
troubled.
“WORRYING about something?” queried Andrew, cheerily. “You look like you were quite blue.”
I am,” returned Carl. “Yes. Andy, I'm worrying.”
“About what?”
“About you.”
Andrew leaned back and chuckled.
“Good old Carl,” he remarked. “You still think I ought to let you lend me some money, don't you?”
“I do,” replied Carl, “and with good reason. You're making a big mistake, borrowing from the Wide
World Loan Co. It's nothing but a gyp concern.”
“You're wrong there, Carl,” said Andrew, with a shake of his head. “The Wide World is not exorbitant in
its interest rates—considering that they accept personal endorsements, with no additional security. They
were very decent about giving me a renewal on the thousand dollars that I had borrowed.”
“They should have been!” snorted Carl. “One more sucker on the list. They like to keep their old
customers. It's profitable.”
“I know the president of the concern, Carl. Lester Hayd is a member of the Delta Club. He is a man of
high esteem.”
“He ought to be. He has money. He makes plenty—thanks to you and a lot of others who are on the
loan company's books.”
Andrew gazed steadily at his friend. He put a question in a puzzled tone.
“If you feel that way about the loan company,” remarked Andrew, “why were you willing to endorse my
note of renewal, Carl?”
“I'll tell you why, Andy.” Carl was on his feet. He clapped a hand upon Andrew's shoulder. “I endorsed
the renewal because you wouldn't let me lend you the money myself. It was the only way I could help
you.”
Andrew looked sober.
Carl continued:
“That renewal doesn't start for another ten days, Andy. Why don't you drop it? Let me lend you a
thousand dollars to pay it off. Five hundred more for yourself. I can spare it. I'm not hard up for dough.”
“I'd rather not, Carl,” returned Andrew. “If I have to borrow, it's bad enough to do it through a loan
company. But that's business, at least. It doesn't mean depriving a friend of money.”
“We've gone all over this before, Andy. Why start in again? Why not be reasonable? You can pay me
interest, if you want. But I'll make it a decent rate, just as a bank would. I have no sympathy for fellows
who do business like Hayd does.”
“Hayd is a good chap, Carl. It was fine of him to grant me an extension.”
“He insisted on a new endorser, though. That was why you talked to me. I had to answer a lot of
impudent questions on that sheet you gave me.”
“One of the other endorsers had gone away. That's why I needed a new one, Carl. Anyway, that form
you signed was nothing more than the usual one.”
Carl laughed, good-naturedly. He strolled back to his chair.
“All right, Andy,” he decided. “But remember, if you're up against it any time, you can count on me to
help you out. I'm going North tomorrow, though, and I may be away for a few months. I'd rather see
your troubles settled before I leave.”
“SUPPOSE they were settled, Carl,” rejoined Andrew, in a speculative tone. “Suppose I had more
money than I knew what to do with. What would be your reaction?”
“A man can't have more money than he knows what to do with,” objected Carl, with a dry chuckle.
“That's a false promise to begin with.”
“Wrong, Carl. A man can have money and wonder about it. Particularly in unusual circumstances.”
“What sort of circumstances?”
“Let me give an example,” suggested Andrew, lighting a fresh cigarette. “Suppose a man in
costume—like myself, tonight—should be walking along a street, with his face hidden by a mask.
Suppose a young lady—also masked—should thrust a box into his hands and then disappear into the
crowd. Suppose the man should find that the box contained money—”
“Is this a pipe dream?” quizzed Carl, suddenly. He was eyeing Andrew's expression. “Or did you run
into some experience like the yarn you are unrolling?”
“I am just stating an example, Carl, like—”
“You're too serious about it, Andy. Spill me the facts. Did you have some money handed to you
tonight?”
“Yes.” Andrew nodded slowly. “Under circumstances such as I have named. Outside of Gallion's. There
was some mistake about it, Carl.”
“Not much of a mistake if money came to a chap who needs it as badly as you do. What did the girl say
when she gave you the box?”
“She said that I would understand when I saw the contents of the box.”
“And what was in it besides money?”
“Nothing else.”
“Then the money is yours. Probably someone caught the spirit of Mardi Gras and decided to pass out a
few hundred dollars in anonymous fashion.”
“It was more than a few hundred dollars, Carl.”
“A few thousand then. What's the difference? There are people who can afford it. Maybe the girl picked
you as the masquerader with the best costume. Sort of a prize contest.”
“It was a hundred thousand dollars, Carl.”
Andrew's tone was solemn. Carl caught the note and stared. His face showed disbelief; yet with it, he
was impressed. The staggering sum had rendered him speechless.
“Here is the box.” Quietly, Andrew lifted the coat. He picked up the box, took the key from the mantel
and handed both to Carl. “Open it and see.”
CARL unlocked the box. The moment he raised the lid, his eyes popped. Andrew had left the
thousand-dollar bills on top. His friend did not have to count the stacks to know that the claim was true.
“You say that the money is mine,” declared Andrew. “And yet, Carl, the very amount is what troubles
me. Where did the money come from? For whom was it intended?”
“The girl had it,” replied Carl, “and it was meant for you. Otherwise, why did you receive it?”
“I was masked. She did not know who I was. She must have mistaken me for someone who wore a
similar costume.”
“Were there others about, dressed like yourself?”
“Not here in Frenchtown. There were others at the tableaux, where I had been.”
“You told the girl it was a mistake?”
“Yes. But she said that she understood. She insisted that I keep the box.”
Carl pondered. He closed the box and placed it on a table. He shook his head.
“It can't be stolen money,” he decided. “There have been no large bank robberies for many months.
None that I have read about. The stuff doesn't look like counterfeit. That's easy enough to find out,
though. Just take one of the bills to a bank cashier and ask him.”
“Then where did the money come from? What kind of money is it?” Andrew's questions were impetuous.
“What should I do with it, Carl?”
Carl Randon rubbed his chin. A slow smile appeared upon his lips. He began a wise nod.
“I have a hunch,” he remarked. “A good one, Andy. It could be bribe money. Hush money. You know
enough about Mardi Gras Day to catch the idea. This is the time when anybody, from anywhere, can find
an excuse to be in New Orleans.”
“Quite true,” agreed Andrew.
“What is more,” added Carl, “it is a time when persons can lose their identities. Through the natural
pretext of joining in the spirit of Carnival, a clever visitor could don a costume and lose himself without
producing suspicion on the part of persons with him.”
“And make it difficult for them to trace him. Until he himself should find them.”
“Exactly! Or with the aid of a planted double, a person could slide out of sight and keep his friends
thinking that he was close by all the while. We are finding the answer, Andy.”
Carl paused speculatively. He was picturing a probability that fitted with his theory.
“Two persons come to New Orleans,” he conjectured. “One a grafter who has made plenty. The other,
a person who secretly aided him, and who is due to receive a cut. The first man had the box. In costume,
he passed it along to someone else. An intermediary.”
“The girl?”
“Yes; the girl. She, in turn, passed it to the man supposed to receive it. At least she thought she did. But
you gained it instead.”
“Then the money belongs to someone else.”
“Why? The very circumstances of its transfer show that it was not a legal transaction. That money
belonged to whomever held it. It belongs to the person who is wise enough to keep it.”
“Meaning myself?”
“Exactly! You are free to do with it as you choose.”
ANDREW smiled. His doubt, however, had not fully faded. He still saw possibilities of misfortune.
“If you are right, Carl,” he remarked, “two men of questionable character have simply failed to conclude
a shady deal. One may think that the other double-crossed him.”
“Both will think that,” returned Carl. “and neither will deserve sympathy.”
“But what about the girl? Is it fair that she should suffer?”
“She is probably as bad as either of them. If not, she is a person whom both trusted. In the latter case,
neither one will accuse her. They will take it out on each other.”
“Then what would you advise me to do? You say keep the money. Can I use it?”
“Yes. With discretion. It would not be wise for you to blossom out and start a huge bank account. Nor
would I advise you to buy stocks and bonds. Tuck that money in that old safe of yours. Spend it as you
need it.”
“Suppose I am some day called to reckoning?”
“You won't be, Andy. But suppose you were. If anyone should claim the money, he would do so very
soon; for the only clue would be if the girl followed you here.”
“She did not follow me. She went in the opposite direction.”
“All the better, Andy. But if a claimant should show up, and convince you that the cash belonged to him,
he would be glad enough to get the bulk of it back. A few thousand lost would be chicken feed.”
“I see. Then if I spend it judiciously, I may consider myself safe.”
“Absolutely! I studied law, Andy. I know that your position is secure. Just keep the facts to yourself; and
get rid of that fancy costume that you wore tonight.”
“That's a good suggestion, Carl. I'll follow it. But it makes me feel almost guilty.”
Carl Randon shook his head emphatically.
“A criminal,” he defined,” is a man who commits an illegal act. You have done nothing unlawful. You
accepted a gift, under protest. You gave no receipt for it. The fact that a hundred thousand dollars is
involved has no bearing on the case. You have done no more than the person who accepts a package of
free chewing gum when girls are handing it from baskets, as samples.
“Theft of a few pennies is unlawful, just as is the theft of many dollars. Conversely, the acceptance of a
valuable souvenir is as legal as the acceptance of a trivial one. I know the law, Andy. You have struck
the luck of a lifetime. Make the most of it.”
CARL'S assurance was convincing. Andrew knew that his friend had not finished law school;
nevertheless, the logic of his statements seemed conclusive. As he considered his situation, Andrew saw
where he would place himself in greater difficulties by trying to return the money than he would by
keeping it.
“All right, Carl,” he decided. “You seem to have summed it properly. Somehow, I'd like to bury this pile;
but I can't afford to do it. I'm pretty short on ready cash. So I'm going to use the money. But if it brings
me trouble—”
“Just call on me, old-timer. I'll back your story. What do you say we duck these costumes and go out for
a final farewell to old King Momus?”
Andrew grinned his agreement. He opened the old safe and put the ebony box away. From a pigeonhole,
he drew a small roll of other bills, the last remnants of the cash that he had been conserving. This money
would last him for a few days longer. It came to nearly fifty dollars.
The sum made Andrew Blouchet smile as he closed the safe. Nearly fifty dollars: a smaller total than that
of the smallest bank note in his newfound wealth. Carl was sure that the new money was genuine; and
Andrew felt the same. He had cause to celebrate; and Carl had exhibited the same mood.
Mardi Gras had ended with great fortune for Andrew Blouchet. A new era was beginning for this young
man of New Orleans. But had Andrew been able to glimpse into the near future, his enthusiasm would
have waned; and so would that of Carl Randon.
This batch of new-found wealth was destined to bring troublous episodes to its recipient; as well as to the
friend who had advised him to make use of it.
CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW BEFORE
THREE days had passed since Mardi Gras. New Orleans lay beneath a dreary afternoon haze that
rendered the city almost invisible to the passengers aboard an arriving airplane. This ship was coming
from the northeast and its destination was a spot just short of the city limits —namely, Menefee Airport.
The swift plane was nosing downward as it flew above the airport. It crossed the Mississippi, the great
摘要：

MARDIGRASMYSTERYbyMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2002BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.THEEBONYBOX?CHAPTERII.ADVICEISFOLLOWED?CHAPTERIII.THESHADOWBEFORE?CHAPTERIV.THENODISGIVEN?CHAPTERV.ASPYBYDAY?CHAPTERVI.THECHANCEMEETING?CHAPTERVII.CROOKSPREPARE?CHAPTERVIII.THEOPENEDBOX?CHAPTERIX.WI...

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