Grant, Maxwell - The.Third.Shadow

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1
The Third Shadow
THE THIRD SHADOW
As originally published in “The Shadow Magazine,” March 15, 1936
CHAPTER I
THE MAN IN THE CAB
TRAFFIC was jammed about Times
Square. The rush hour was on; a heavy
drizzle added its impeding influence. Um-
brella-laden pedestrians were blundering
across crowded sidewalks; while taxicabs
and other vehicles were skidding to sud-
den stops along the slippery paving.
A sallow, long-faced taxi driver was peer-
ing from the wheel of his parked cab. He
was stationed on an eastbound street, fifty
yards east of Broadway. Though his spot
was a gloomy one, the cabby had high
hopes of a passenger. On nights like this,
wise persons who were seeking cabs in-
variably picked those that were parked
away from heavy traffic.
Looking backward along the street, the
cab driver was watching pedestrians on
the other side. He was ready to hail any
prospective customer who might be walk-
ing eastward. The cabby was counting
upon a lucky break. He gained one unex-
pectedly. A man stepped up suddenly from
the sidewalk on the right side of the cab,
opened the door and clambered aboard.
The taxi driver heard the door slam. He
swung about and looked through the par-
tition to see a muffled man, whose over-
coat collar was high above his chin. The
driver spied the outline of a whitish face
beneath a derby. He inquired:
“What address, sir?”
Huskily, the passenger gave an address
near Park Avenue, on a side street. His
voice choked as he completed the state-
ment; and he followed with a spasm of
heavy coughing. The driver started the taxi
forward. The coughing ended; the passen-
ger leaned forward and put a wheezy ques-
tion:
“What time is it?”
The taxi driver pulled a cheap watch
from his pocket and consulted it as he
guided the cab toward Sixth Avenue. The
light from a small hotel front enabled him
to note the time.
“Quarter of six,” said the driver. “I’ll get
you there in ten minutes, sir.”
Swinging left on Sixth Avenue, the driver
by Maxwell Grant
2
The Third Shadow
encountered trouble beneath the pillars of
the elevated. Traffic was badly jammed;
the cause was visible after the cab had
managed to proceed one block. Smoke was
pouring from the front of a little Chinese
laundry; three fire trucks were on hand,
dealing with the blaze.
A hoarse ejaculation of impatience came
from the passenger in the cab. The driver
responded. Without waiting for traffic to
unsplice, he swung across to the left of the
avenue; bucked oncoming cars, then
thrust the cab between the “el” pillars to-
ward his right. Skidding across the path
of a southbound trolley car, he gained the
slippery northbound tracks.
Safe from disaster, the driver regained
control and spun for a right turn at the
next eastbound street. An arm-waving
traffic cop certified the driver’s action.
Away from the jam, the cab sped eastward.
THE cabby was still grinning over his
smartness when he pulled up at the desti-
nation. He had made the trip in the ten
minutes that he had estimated. A grunt of
approval came from the muffled passen-
ger. Then an inquiry:
“Do you have change for a large bill?”
The driver fished in his pocket.
“For five bucks,” he stated. “Wait -
maybe I’ve got enough change for a ten-
ner -”
“A twenty is my smallest,” interposed
the passenger, huskily. “Here. Take this
to the drug store.” He thrust a twenty-
dollar bill from a gloved hand. “Tell them
it’s change for Mr. Yorne. Bring the change
to my house. The name is on the door-
plate: ‘Lucian Yorne’.”
3
The Third Shadow
The passenger stooped his head. The
driver knew that he was reading the reg-
istration card, whereon the driver’s own
name - Luke Ronig - appeared with his
photograph. A natural precaution, since the
passenger was risking twenty dollars on
Ronig’s honesty. The driver saw his fare
alight; he watched the muffled man as-
cend the brownstone steps of an old house.
Stepping from the cab, Ronig went to
the drug store, which was at the corner,
forty paces distant. The clerks were busy;
it was a few minutes before one of them
received Ronig’s request to change a
twenty. The clerk looked dubious, until he
heard that the change was for Mr. Lucian
Yorne. Then he changed the bill immedi-
ately.
4
The Third Shadow
“Talking to Mr. Yorne, were you?” he
inquired.
Ronig nodded.
“How was his cold?”
“Sounded pretty bad. His voice was
husky; he coughed like he was goin’ to
crack apart.”
“Too bad. He’s been that way for a week.
Only yesterday, I told him he ought to stay
indoors. Said he was too busy - didn’t even
have time to see a physician.”
Carrying the change in his fist, Ronig
left the drug store and went back to Yorne’s
house. He noted the name-plate as he rang
the bell. A minute passed; then the door
was opened by a tall, weary-faced servant
whom Ronig took for an Englishman.
“Change for Mr. Yorne,” he informed.
“He told me to bring it to him.”
“You may deliver the money to me,” in-
formed the servant, dryly. “I am
Parlington, Mr. Yorne’s butler. Kindly wait
here a few moments, please.”
The change amounted to nineteen dol-
lars and forty cents. Parlington was count-
ing it as Ronig watched him cross a gloomy
hall and enter the distant door of a lighted
room, which, from its location, might have
been a study.
Ronig waited; the hall was silent except
for the ticking of an old-fashioned
grandfather’s clock that registered a few
minutes past six. The taxi driver com-
pared the time with his watch. While he
was doing this, he heard the sound of
Yorne’s hacking cough, coming from the
open door of the distant study.
Half a minute later, Parlington re-
turned. Eyeing the taxi driver rather
dourly, the butler inquired:
“Your name is Luke Ronig?”
Ronig nodded.
“Mr. Yorne wanted to be sure,” informed
Parlington. “He does not trust cab driv-
ers, as a rule. He saw your name on the
card; so he told me to make positive that
you were the right man.”
“What’s that got to do with it?” de-
manded Ronig. “I showed up with the
dough, didn’t I? Say -”
“Here is your tip,” interrupted
Parlington, frigidly. He handed Ronig forty
cents. “Good evening.”
RONIG pocketed the change. Parlington
opened the door; the cabby went out and
boarded his taxi. He headed for an avenue,
swung southward and kept on until he
reached a westbound street. Turning into
that thoroughfare, Ronig looked over the
pedestrians whom he passed. He pulled up
to the curb and hailed a shabbily dressed
man who was shambling through the
drizzle.
“Hey, fellow!” greeted Ronig. “You
walkin’ over to Broadway?”
The shabby man nodded.
“Hop aboard,” invited the cab driver. “I’ll
give you a lift; and a dime besides, for a
cup of Java.”
The shambler grinned as be climbed into
the back of the cab.
“I get the idea,” he chuckled. “Them cop-
pers on Sixth Avenue won’t let you jam
into Broadway with an empty cab.”
“You hit it, buddy,” returned Ronig. “Half
the cabs in town are over around Times
Square, grabbing fares. The traffic cops
keep us out until the lines get short. But
they can’t stop me if I’ve got a passenger.”
Ronig was right. He crossed Sixth Av-
enue past the inspecting eye of a watchful
traffic officer. When he neared the Times
Square area, he spotted an opening and
5
The Third Shadow
pulled up to the curb. The shabby man
alighted and the taxi driver handed his
fake passenger a dime.
“Here’s your change,” he said with a
grin.
“And here’s something for you, hackie,”
returned the shabby man. He held up an
expensive umbrella with a gold handle.
“Just found it on the floor when I was get-
ting out. Guess your last passenger must
have left it.”
Ronig looked at the umbrella. Its handle
bore the initials “L. Y.” The cabby grunted
and handed the shabby finder a quarter.
“I’ll get a tip for takin’ this where it be-
longs,” said Ronig, “so the two-bits is
yours, buddy. L. Y. - those initials mean
Lucian Yorne. That was the name of the
guy I just dropped.”
“Better charge him for the full distance
on the meter.”
“Naw! That won’t matter. I’m not takin’
it back there now. Too much business
around here; and there’ll be plenty clear
through until after the show-break. Plenty
of fares from the theater crowds on a night
like this.
“Yorne will have to wait until midnight
for his umbrella. If he’s asleep when I stop
by there, I’ll keep ringin’ until I wake up
his funny-faced flunky. Well - so long,
buddy.”
RONIG stood the gold-handled umbrella
beside the driver’s seat. The shabby man
strolled away; a minute later, the cabby
opened the door for two passengers who
had spied his waiting taxi. Soon, Ronig was
on his way again, wangling through traf-
fic, making the most of the rainy weather
that every alert taxi driver welcomes as a
boon.
The umbrella was jogging by the cabby’s
elbow, its gold head catching the colored
glimmer of passing neon lights. It would
serve as a reminder of Ronig’s later mis-
sion. As he drove along, the taxi man was
repeating the names of Yorne and
Parlington. He was wondering, too, how
much of a reward he might expect when
he returned the expensive umbrella to its
owner.
Had Ronig been able to foresee the fu-
ture, he would not have looked forward to
it with pleasure. For that umbrella was
due to cost him much in time and trouble.
By the time Luke Ronig returned it, the
law would be investigating the affairs of
Lucian Yorne. For crime was abroad upon
this drizzly night.
CHAPTER II
DEATH AFTER DUSK
A DOZEN MINUTES AFTER Luke
Ronig had driven from Lucian
Yorne’s, two other cabs pulled up in front
of the old house near Park Avenue. Two
couples alighted from each taxi. Prompt
greetings were exchanged in the rain; then
the four - two men and two women - as-
cended the steps of the house. Parlington
admitted them.
Gravely, the butler greeted the arrivals
by name. One was a middle-aged man,
whom Parlington addressed as Mr.
Elward; the lady with him was Mrs.
Elward. The other man was younger.
Parlington spoke to him as Mr. Renwood.
The lady with Renwood was Miss Arthur.
Parlington ushered the guests into
Yorne’s study. Elward spoke in surprise
when he saw that the room was empty.
“Where is Mr. Yorne?” he inquired. “Ah
6
The Third Shadow
- I see that he is somewhere about. His
coat and hat are hanging here.”
“Mr. Yorne has gone out, sir,” put in
Parlington.
“But his coat and hat!” repeated Elward.
“They are here, Parlington -”
“Only because I insisted that he don
fresh garments, sir. His cold is quite se-
vere; it would have been a great mistake
for him to venture forth in a soaked over-
coat.”
“Yorne is making a mistake to go out at
all,” interposed Renwood. “You should take
better care of him, Parlington.”
“What can I do, sir?” pleaded the butler.
“It was six o’clock when Mr. Yorne arrived
home. I had been awaiting his arrival
since five. I thought surely that he would
stay; instead, he spent only a few minutes
here. He went out, despite my protests.”
“Quarter past six,” remarked Elward,
as the big clock chimed from the hallway.
“Mr. Yorne told us that dinner would be at
half past.”
“He told me to postpone dinner, sir,”
stated Parlington. “It will not be served
until seven o’clock.”
“Then Mr. Yorne will be back by that
time?”
“I hope so, sir; but I am not positive.
Mr. Yorne said that his guests should be-
gin dinner even if he had not arrived.”
WITH that Parlington left the study and
crossed the hall to a kitchen. While the
guests chatted among themselves, the
butler brought drinks. After that, they
could hear him busied in the kitchen.
Parlington was a capable servant. Despite
the fact that he was cook as well as but-
ler, he kept paying frequent visits to the
study to make sure that the guests were
constantly supplied with preliminary re-
freshments.
Conversation was flowing well between
the guests. Elward and Renwood were
friends of some standing, although their
talk showed that they had not met recently.
“It’s good to see you again, Jerry,” re-
marked Elward to Renwood. “I hope busi-
ness has been picking up with you.”
“Not much, Kent,” returned Renwood,
with a shake of his head. “Some broker-
age offices have been doing fairly well; but
ours has been practically at a standstill.
How is the advertising game?”
Kent Elward considered the question, as
he puffed at his cigar. He nodded slowly.
“Quite good,” he stated, “so far as cer-
tain types of accounts are concerned. Jerry,
if there happened to be a way of promot-
ing advertising with certain untouched
industries, there would be a fortune in it!”
“You mean that certain businesses do
not advertise in proportion to their earn-
ings?”
“Yes. That is when compared with busi-
nesses that do advertise. Take Lucian
Yorne’s business, for example. He sells jew-
elry. Does he advertise it?”
“I don’t think he does.”
“I know that he doesn’t. He is connected
with the Allied Jewelry Company. Not a
line of advertising comes from their offices.
Those offices, by the way, are important
enough to occupy a full floor of the Tower
Building, on Thirty-fourth Street.”
“But they are wholesalers -”
“Granted. Yet wholesalers advertise in
other lines of business. But let us take a
more specific case. Lucian Yorne handles
retail accounts. He does not advertise.”
“Yorne handles retail? Does he have a
store?”
7
The Third Shadow
“No. He has a little office on West Forty-
third Street. He meets special customers
there. That is the only way he does busi-
ness. I have known him to carry jewels
valued at more than a hundred thousand
dollars, just to display them to special cus-
tomers.”
“Where does he keep all those gems?”
“In the vaults of the Allied Jewelry Com-
pany. Of course, I can see why Lucian
should preserve secrecy regarding his
present transactions. I find no fault with
that procedure. But what I can not under-
stand is why he does not open a store of
his own and keep his jewels there.”
“You are right. His special customers
could come to the store. He would gain
other trade besides.”
“Particularly if he advertised. We are
back to the original premise, Jerry. If
Lucian Yorne -”
Kent Elward paused as Parlington en-
tered. The butler had come to announce
that dinner was ready. The company went
to the dining room and began their repast.
They dined from seven until eight. Lucian
Yorne did not return.
AFTER dinner, the four guests went
back to the study. Jerry Renwood re-
marked that Lucian Yorne must have met
some special customers. Kent Elward
looked worried.
“I doubt that Lucian would have forgot-
ten us,” he stated. “He should have called
by telephone, to tell us that he would be
delayed. Unless he forgot the time.”
Renwood pointed to the desk, where a
large gold watch was lying. He turned to
Parlington, who had entered with a tray
of cordials.
“Is that Mr. Yorne’s watch?” inquired
Renwood.
“Yes, sir,” answered the butler. “Mr.
Yorne forgot the watch two times today.
When he went out at noon; and when he
went out just after six.”
“That is why Yorne has forgotten the
time,” said Renwood to Elward. “Don’t
worry about him, Kent.”
An hour passed. It was after nine when
the doorbell rang. Parlington answered;
the guests expected to see Lucian Yorne.
Renwood remarked, chuckling, that their
host must have forgotten his key as well
as his watch. But it was not Yorne who
entered the study. The man who came
with Parlington was a tall, bald-headed
individual, whose face was serious.
“My name is Loftus,” he announced.
“Clark Loftus, from Detroit. Two friends
and myself had an appointment with Mr.
Yorne, at his Forty-third Street office. We
8
The Third Shadow
were to meet him there at half past eight.
He did not arrive. His office is locked.”
“Mr. Yorne left here a few minutes after
six,” declared Elward. “We arrived about
six-fifteen. We came to have dinner with
him -”
“So the servant tells me,” interposed
Loftus. “Frankly, gentlemen, it worries
me. Mr. Yorne has jewels of mine, along
with others that I had not yet purchased.
That is why I came here personally, to talk
to him. My friends are still outside his of-
fice.”
No one had a suggestion. Loftus went to
the telephone.
“Does anyone object to my calling the
police?”
There were no objections. Loftus made
the call. He turned to the solemn-faced
guests.
“Detectives are to meet me outside the
office,” he stated. “Do any of you wish to
come along?”
Elward hesitated; then shook his head.
“No,” he decided. “It would be best for
us to remain here, in case Lucian arrives.
We shall have him call his office as soon
as he comes in.”
Clark Loftus bowed, and donned his
drizzle-soaked hat. Elward and Renwood
followed him to the door. They saw the
stranger enter a waiting taxi cab.
IT was fifteen minutes later when Clark
Loftus arrived at a small office building
on West Forty-third Street. A police car
was already there; a man in plain clothes
stopped the arrival. Loftus identified him-
self. The dick nodded.
“Thought it was you,” he stated. “Come
on up. We’ve broken into Yorne’s office.
Inspector Cardona wants to see you.”
Yorne’s office was on the second floor.
Arriving there, Loftus saw his two friends
standing by the door, a detective beside
them. One started to speak; the dick or-
dered quiet. Loftus stepped into the office.
His path was blocked by a swarthy, stocky
man, whom Loftus guessed to be Acting
Inspector Cardona.
“What about Yorne?” queried Loftus,
anxiously. “Have you found him?”
In reply, Cardona stepped aside. Loftus
stared aghast at the sight across the room.
There, sprawled in a swivel chair, lay a
man whose outstretched arms hung
limply toward the floor. Loftus saw a blood-
stained shirt front; above it, a face that
was rigid in death. He recognized the coun-
tenance.
“Lucian Yorne!” gasped Loftus. “He - he
is dead -”
“Murdered!” added Cardona. “Shot
through the heart.”
Loftus choked; his words were inarticu-
late. At last, he managed to gasp:
“But - but we have been here - since half
past eight. I heard no shots. Did - did my
friends -”
Cardona spoke to a police surgeon who
was standing beside the desk. The physi-
cian responded.
“This man was slain before half past
eight,” he stated. “He has been dead at
least three hours.”
“It is nine-thirty, right now,” added
Cardona. “That puts the murder at six-
thirty or earlier.”
“Six-thirty!” exclaimed Loftus. “That is
just about the time when Yorne should
have arrived here. He left his residence
shortly after six. It’s only a dozen min-
utes or so, by cab.”
“A good point,” decided Cardona. “We’ll
9
The Third Shadow
go up to the house. I’ve already ordered
two men to be there. But before we start,
there are some questions I’d like you to
answer, Mr. Loftus.”
IT was nearly eleven when Cardona and
Loftus arrived at Yorne’s residence. An
hour and a half had cemented their rela-
tionship.
Joe Cardona had long been recognized
as the ace detective on the New York po-
lice force. In the capacity of acting inspec-
tor, he had enlarged his fame. There were
times when Cardona was quick to recog-
nize persons who were free from blame in
crime. Tonight was one of them; for Joe’s
initial suspicion of Loftus had ended by
the time they reached Yorne’s.
At the old mansion, Cardona found four
very impatient people awaiting him. They
were the guests, all detained by the po-
lice.
Cardona listened to Kent Elward and
Jerry Renwood. He believed their state-
ment that they had arrived at six-fifteen.
More than that, Elward and his wife both
established the fact that they had come
directly from their home; while Renwood
proved that he and Miss Arthur had been
with friends at a tea dance in the Hotel
Goliath.
“None of you could have been at Yorne’s
office,” stated Cardona, “but that’s not the
point we’re after. What I want to know is,
when and where Lucian Yorne was last
seen alive.”
“According to Parlington,” declared
Elward, “he was here between six and six-
ten. Long enough to put on another coat
and hat.”
“So I’ve been told.” Cardona studied the
hat and coat that were hanging in the
study. “An old coat and an old derby just
about like the ones that Yorne was wear-
ing when we found his body. What about
these?” Joe turned to Parlington. “Did
Yorne generally wear them?”
“No, sir,” replied the butler. “He wore
them this afternoon because the weather
was inclement. I insisted that he change
to his new hat and overcoat, despite the
drizzle. He was almost drenched, sir, when
he arrived at six o’clock.”
“You’re sure it was at six o’clock?”
“Positive, sir! He sent the taxi driver to
the drug store to change a twenty-dollar
bill. I received the cab man when he came
to the front door.”
“A twenty-dollar bill, eh?” queried
Cardona. “How many of them did he have?”
“I don’t know, sir. Mr. Yorne usually
carried at least a hundred dollars.”
“No money in his pockets when we found
him. Whoever took the jewels must have
lifted his cash, too. Suppose we find out
who changed that money down at the drug
store.”
CARDONA eyed Parlington as if he
doubted the servant’s story. Parlington
noted it and looked troubled. He began to
protest, swearing that his account was a
true one. Cardona silenced him.
“Yorne was murdered before six-thirty,”
emphasized Joe. “He could have left here
at six-ten and gone directly to his office.
But we only have one man’s statement -
yours, Parlington - that Yorne was here.
We need more than that -”
An interruption. An officer had arrived
from the front door, bringing a man with
him. The fellow was a taxi driver; he was
carrying a gold-headed umbrella.
Parlington uttered an ejaculation of happy
10
The Third Shadow
relief.
“This is the man!” exclaimed the butler.
“He brought Mr. Yorne home at six o’clock!
He is the taxi driver who changed the
twenty-dollar bill! His name is Ronig -”
“How do you know that?” snapped
Cardona.
“His boss told him,” put in Ronig. “He
took a squint at my license card. Wanted
to lamp my mug and my moniker, in case
I didn’t show up with the change for his
twenty. Then he was dumb enough to
leave his umbrella in my hack. I didn’t
have a chance to bring it back here until
after the show-break.”
Another policeman was arriving with
the clerk from the corner drug store. This
fellow recognized Ronig and nodded to the
taxi driver. Cardona began to quiz the
hackie.
Ronig’s account was concise. He gave
every detail from the moment when his
muffled passenger had entered the cab
near Times Square. He gave an imitation
of Yorne’s husky voice. It was corroborated
by the drug clerk; also by Elward and
Renwood.
Parlington identified the umbrella. The
initials on the handle supported the
butler’s testimony. Cardona took final
notes; then announced that his quiz was
finished. He departed with Clark Loftus.
On the way to the Detroiter’s hotel
Cardona delivered an opinion.
“We’ve established the time of the mur-
der,” decided the acting inspector. “Accord-
ing to the facts at hand, it was between
six-twenty and six-thirty. We knew that
Yorne was killed before six-thirty; now
we’ve found out just how long before.
What’s more, that time element has elimi-
nated three persons who were pretty close
to Yorne.
“Elward - Renwood - Parlington. Those
three have a clean bill. The job is to find
out who else could have known Yorne well
enough to guess that he had jewels on him.
I’ve got a hunch that the murderer won’t
be far away. It won’t be long before I pick
him out.”
Though often blind ones, Cardona’s
hunches were usually correct. Such was
the case with this one. Joe Cardona might
have picked out the murderer tonight, had
he used deduction with his hunch. That
task, however, happened to be beyond
Cardona’s limit.
The murder of Lucian Yorne had been a
clever crime; more than the direct killing
which Joe Cardona supposed it to be. The
ace detective had failed to guess the flaws.
So far as Cardona was concerned, the
crime would remain an unsolved one. Until
some keener brain intervened, the mur-
derer of Lucian Yorne would remain un-
punished.
SUCH a brain would soon enter the case.
For in New York was a master sleuth,
whose specialty lay in solving crimes like
this one. That being was The Shadow,
mysterious avenger who dealt with men
of evil. Perhaps Joe Cardona’s confidence
was due to the fact that the ace knew of
The Shadow’s presence.
It was The Shadow, not Joe Cardona,
who would pick out the murderer of Lucian
Yorne. Yet oddly, his detection of that crime
when it came, would start a chain of other,
unexpected circumstances. The Shadow,
from the moment when he concentrated
on this case, would be upon the threshold
of criss-crossed adventures that would ri-
val any that even he had previously expe-
摘要：

1TheThirdShadowTHETHIRDSHADOWAsoriginallypublishedin“TheShadowMagazine,”March15,1936CHAPTERITHEMANINTHECABTRAFFICwasjammedaboutTimesSquare.Therushhourwason;aheavydrizzleaddeditsimpedinginfluence.Um-brella-ladenpedestrianswereblunderingacrosscrowdedsidewalks;whiletaxicabsandothervehicleswereskiddingt...

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