Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 269 - The Golden Doom

VIP免费
2024-12-23 0 0 193.12KB 85 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
THE GOLDEN DOOM
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. HIDDEN EVIL
? CHAPTER II. HOSPITAL PHANTOM
? CHAPTER III. THE GOLDEN DROP
? CHAPTER IV. THE MAN IN WHITE
? CHAPTER V. TRIPLE DEATH
? CHAPTER VI. HELL BROTH
? CHAPTER VII. A CUNNING TRAP
? CHAPTER VIII. RIVER ROGUES
? CHAPTER IX. DEAD MAN'S SECRET
? CHAPTER X. A HUNDRED GRAND
? CHAPTER XI. UNDERGROUND TACTICS
? CHAPTER XII. KILLER'S DOOM
? CHAPTER XIII. CREATURES OF DARKNESS
? CHAPTER XIV. THE DEVIL'S OVEN
? CHAPTER XV. CRIME'S REWARD
CHAPTER I. HIDDEN EVIL
HANSON BARTLEY sat in his well-appointed apartment, smoking an excellent cigar. The aroma of the
cigar smoke made him smile with satisfaction. Then his smile faded. His thoughts had turned toward his
friend and protege, young Dr. Sutton.
Sutton's behavior had been a bit queer the past week or so, Bartley thought. He was spending a lot more
time than usual in his scientific laboratory. Sutton's specialty was cancer research. The last time Bartley
had mentioned the subject there had been an evasive look in Dr. Sutton's eyes. He had pleaded fatigue
and had left the apartment of his wealthy benefactor as soon as he could conveniently get away.
Bartley had a feeling something was wrong. Tonight the feeling was stronger than ever. He decided that
perhaps he ought to step across to Sutton's laboratory and ask him frankly about the cause of his strange
aloofness lately.
Sutton's laboratory was literally only a few steps away. It was on the top floor of Mercy Hospital.
Between the hospital proper and the apartment of Hanson Bartley was a short, private hall with a locked
door at its outer end. By using this passage, Bartley was able to gain access to the hospital whenever he
chose
There was an excellent reason for this unusual step. Wealthy men generally have some pet charity
project. Mercy Hospital was Hanson Bartley's.
Since his retirement from active business, the financial welfare of Mercy Hospital became Bartley's chief
concern in life. He pestered wealthy friends for donations. He did so well at it that Mercy Hospital was
now rated the most successful institution of its kind in New York.
It was natural for the trustees to be grateful. Bartley had been appointed honorary administrator. He had
been given this private apartment on one of its top-floor wings. An automatic elevator connected with a
street exit on the avenue side. The short corridor already mentioned was a convenient shortcut into the
hospital itself.
Bartley liked the set-up because it made it easy to have frequent conferences with his young friend, Dr.
Sutton.
Bartley had provided most of the funds to equip Sutton's cancer laboratory. Sutton's research work was
chemical rather than surgical. He didn't have much faith in either X-ray or the knife.
Few cancer specialists believed that a cure could be discovered from chemistry. But Sutton was brilliant,
and he had already made considerable progress. Only a month earlier he had hinted to Bartley that he
believed he was on the right track.
Bartley was the only person besides Dr. Sutton who had a key to the lab. A lot of the chemicals and
reagents used in Sutton's experiments were not the sort of stuff to be left unguarded.
Hanson Bartley mashed out his cigar and rose to his feet. But before he could leave the apartment, his
telephone bell rang. With a murmur of impatience he answered the call.
His momentary annoyance faded, however, when the faint voice on the wire identified itself.
"How are you, old man? This is Dwight Nugent."
Nugent's laugh was cheery.
"Listen, you old highbinder! I haven't forgotten about that donation for Mercy Hospital that you argued
me into promising. I thought, if you could come over to my home tonight, we could discuss it. Are you
busy?"
"I'm never too busy to accept a donation. Are you in town, Dwight? I thought you were permanently in
Washington on the war board."
"I am. I'm just in New York for a brief overnight stay. Can you come over?"
"Right away," Hanson Bartley said.
His uneasiness about Dr. Sutton faded from his mind. He rubbed his hands at the thought of Nugent's gift.
It would be a fat one, because Nugent was independently wealthy. And Mercy Hospital could use a
generous donation. The war had put a crimp in its financial budget.
Bartley descended in his private elevator to the street. He drove across town to Dwight Nugent's home.
It was located on upper Central Park West, one of the few old-fashioned mansions left in a
neighborhood of swank hotels and ritzy apartment buildings.
Bartley went up a broad, brownstone stoop, rang the bell. He was admitted at once by Nugent's butler.
Bishop apologized for the fact that the vestibule was dark. His voice seemed husky. He kept his face
averted.
Bartley was puzzled by the butler's odd behavior. Then, suddenly, his puzzlement changed to alarm. This
fellow wasn't Bishop. He couldn't be Bishop! Bartley remembered, now, that when Dwight Nugent had
closed up his home to go to Washington, he had dismissed all his servants, including the butler!
Before Bartley could turn to scrutinize the face of this husky-voiced stranger who had moved so nimbly
behind him, he was given a violent push. The shove sent him plunging forward from the dark vestibule
into a darkened entry hall.
He tumbled flat on his face. Instantly, his assailant flung himself fiercely on top of him.
Bartley tried vainly to squirm away. A blow on the back of his skull filled his brain with a dazzle of flame.
With a groan, Hanson Bartley lost consciousness.
WHEN he recovered, he found himself sitting immovably in an armchair. Tight bands fettered his ankles
and his wrists. It was impossible for him to stir. The room in which he sat was pitch dark. He was unable
to see anything in that total blackness.
He moaned.
The sound was a signal to hidden enemies. A bright light appeared in the darkness. It was a beam from a
powerful spotlight. It focused on Bartley's face. Its brilliance kept him from seeing clearly the two men
beyond the light.
He knew there were two men because he could hear them whispering together. The whispering was
followed by a calm chuckle.
"There is no need to worry, Mr. Bartley," a voice said. "My associate struck you with a padded weapon.
You will find - after we release you - that you have suffered no fracture."
The voice was muffled. It was impossible for Bartley to recognize it.
"Your friend, Dwight Nugent, is still in Washington. I used his voice because it was the simplest way to
lure you. I'm using his house for this interview because I happen to know that there isn't one chance in ten
million for Nugent or anyone else to interrupt the important demand I am now going to make."
"Demand?" Bartley faltered.
"Listen carefully! You are the honorary administrator of Mercy Hospital. You have complete charge of all
gifts and donations that come in from men like Dwight Nugent and other wealthy patrons. I have made it
my business to find out about this. Mercy Hospital takes in more than a million dollars in gifts annually.
Am I correct?"
"What of it?" Bartley gasped.
"Just this! For every dollar you take in, you are going to pay me half! It will be very easy for you to obey.
As a public-spirited friend of the hospital, serving without pay, you will never be suspected of fraud. You
will receive instructions later on when and where to turn over my share. Do you agree?"
"No!"
Mercy Hospital was dear to Hanson Bartley's heart. Under his benevolent control its finances had
prospered. Its medical staff and its technical equipment were famous. To betray it, even under the threat
of death, was unthinkable to Bartley.
"I'll never do it!" he cried. "I'd rather be killed!"
"All very noble," the muffled voice said. "But I haven't the faintest intent of killing you. I need you alive so
you can continue to collect endowment funds. If you refuse, I won't kill you. I will kill Mercy Hospital!"
There was menace in the voice that rasped from the darkness beyond the beam of light that bathed
Bartley's sweating face.
"What do you mean?" Bartley whispered.
"Just this. Things are going to happen at Mercy Hospital that will end its existence - unless you play ball.
There will be a reign of terror there, my friend! Patients will be afraid to enter. Doctors will resign. I will
drive Mercy Hospital to bankruptcy and ruin."
"You're mad!" Bartley cried.
"Not at all. I'm sane. I know the name of every wealthy man who has pledged money to Mercy Hospital.
Dwight Nugent isn't the only patron. There is Henry Kirkland and Lamont Cranston and Peter Verne and
- Shall I go on?"
"Let me think," Bartley whispered.
"No need to think," the hidden voice snarled. "Tonight I'm going to give you a little proof of what I can
do. I will exert some slight pressure on your young friend, Dr. Sutton."
The thought of peril to Dr. Sutton's highly important cancer research made Bartley desperate.
"I agree!" he lied. "I'll do whatever you say."
There was a cold chuckle.
"You are not fooling me, Mr. Bartley. Right now you are lying! You hope to be able to trick me
somehow; perhaps to notify the police. It will do you no good - and it will do Mercy Hospital deadly
harm. You will receive proof of that very soon."
The voice continued sardonically.
"And now you'll have to excuse me, since I will be very busy for a while."
There was a click. The brilliant spotlight on Bartley's face went out.
A heavy odor drifted into Bartley's nostrils. Vainly, he tried to jerk his head aside. Tight hands held him
immovable.
For the second time, Hanson Bartley became unconscious.
WHEN he recovered he was still tied in the armchair in Nugent's living room. Ceiling lights were lighted
now. He was able to see clearly. The room was empty except for the shroudlike covers on all the rest of
the chairs and furniture.
Bartley saw that his bonds had been loosened slightly. In his lap lay a sharp-bladed knife, left there by
two unknown captors.
He was able to free himself fairly quickly. He glanced at his watch. He had been unconscious about an
hour.
A quick tour through Nugent's house showed it to be empty of any sign of a clue to the identity of the
unknown extortioner or his assistant.
Bartley walked dazedly down the front stoop to Central Park West. His car was still at the curb where
he had parked it.
The threat against Dr. Sutton frightened him. But the thought of notifying the police frightened him even
more. He could almost see the black headlines in the newspapers. The hospital would swarm with cops
and reporters. Perhaps Lamont Cranston and Peter Verne and Dwight Nugent would cancel their
promised donations.
Bartley groaned. He drove slowly back toward the hospital.
THE two men in the dark sedan talked in low tones - as if they were afraid the man in the back might
overhear them.
There was small chance of that. The man in the back was unconscious. He had been given a dose of
knockout drops.
"Are you sure this is the spot to dump him?"
"Yes. The areaway is not too dark. Somebody is sure to discover him in the next few minutes. And then"
- there was a brief chuckle - "an ambulance will arrive from Mercy Hospital to pick up our drugged
friend."
"Just so long as it's Mercy Hospital!" the other man said.
His hat was pulled low on his forehead. He was the fake butler who had slugged Hanson Bartley. The
icy-voiced man was his boss.
"The ambulance will have to come from Mercy Hospital," the boss continued. "I took the trouble to map
the entire district served by the hospital. The ambulance call will make things simpler for me to get back."
Both men laughed. The boss had sneaked out of the hospital by sliding down a rope from an unwatched
window. The return by rope would be too tough a climb. The ambulance call would take care of that. It
would permit a cunning criminal to reenter the hospital through the deserted ambulance courtyard.
It was vital for him to do this unseen. He was known at the hospital. He was supposed to be at the
hospital now. Anyone who saw him sneaking in would be sure to recognize him.
His henchman was still worried.
"What about the drugged guy?" he whispered. "He'll remember me the minute he comes to. He'll tell the
cops that I was the one who gave him the knockout drops."
"I'll take care of him as soon as I get into Mercy Hospital. What I do to him will show Hanson Bartley I
mean business. It will bring police in a hurry. And it will get rid of them just as quickly. Because this is
one murder that will be impossible for anyone on earth to prove!"
"Just a natural death, huh?"
"They won't even be able to prove that," the boss said. "All they'll ever know is that the man is dead. I'm
going to hand the medical examiner a crime impossible to solve."
There was a vicious conceit in his voice. "You know exactly what to do?"
"Yeah. I wait for a phone call."
"Very well."
He left the sedan and faded through the darkness. His henchman waited awhile. As soon as the street
was temporarily deserted, he carried the drugged victim swiftly across the dark sidewalk. He dumped the
man into an areaway.
A moment later he was behind the wheel of his car.
He didn't try to make speed. The boss had warned him about that. The boss thought of everything. He
grinned.
Then, suddenly, the grin wiped from his lips. Another car had drawn abreast of his. It was a police car! A
cop jerked his finger toward the curb in an ominous gesture. The man was forced to halt.
The two prowl-car policemen frisked their captive expertly, seeking a concealed weapon. They found
none.
"What's the idea?" the man snarled. "You got nothing on me!"
"Sam Romine, eh?" one of the cops said. "What are you doing back in town? Where were you going?"
"Just taking a little ride."
"Let's see your license and car registration."
They were in order. The cops looked disappointed. Sam Romine plucked up courage.
"You boys are just kidding yourselves trying to pin something on me. Didn't you hear the news? I'm going
straight these days."
The cops looked irresolutely at each other. They had hoped to pick Romine up on a gun charge or a
stolen-car rap.
"Go ahead and pinch me," Sam Romine told them out of thin lips. "I'll be free in five minutes! You can't
even hold me for vagrancy. I can even prove I've got a steady job."
The cops scowled. They had nothing against Romine, and they knew it. They hadn't even been looking
for him. They had noticed him purely by chance.
"Beat it!" one of the cops growled. "But remember one thing! Watch your step - or we'll put you where
you belong!"
"Where's that? The mayor's office?"
Sam Romine gave them the "bird." He drove away with a ratlike grin of triumph.
CHAPTER II. HOSPITAL PHANTOM
SAM ROMINE'S easy brush-off of the cops in the prowl car filled him with elation. To Sam, the word
"police" was a synonym for the word "dumb." He figured they had proved their dumbness by not taking a
sniff at the rumpled lap robe in the rear of the sedan.
His cocky grin returned. A perfect shakedown was under way. It was a shakedown that would net
Romine a juicy cut. All he had to do was to keep his mouth shut and obey orders.
Romine was so pleased that he failed to notice a simple fact.
He was being followed!
Behind his car was a rather battered-looking taxicab. It kept at a sufficient distance to prevent Romine
from noticing its presence. It was driven by the cleverest hacker in New York.
The name of that cabbie was Moe Shrevnitz. Shrevvy owned his own taxi. He knew all the tricks of the
trade, and a lot more than the average cab jockey suspected.
But Shrevvy's biggest secret was something unguessed by either the police or the underworld.
He was an agent of The Shadow!
Luck had been with Moe Shrevnitz tonight. Cruising through Manhattan, he had caught a glimpse of a
police prowl car halting a motorist. Shrevvy had slowed up, had taken a shrewd look.
He had recognized the sneering motorist as Sam Romine.
The Shadow was interested in Romine. Reports had come into his sanctum that Romine, a successful,
free-lance crook who had faded from New York some months before, was now back in town. The
Shadow had learned other facts. Romine was well-heeled. Furthermore, he was avoiding all his usual
underworld pals.
The Shadow had passed the word along to his agents to keep a sharp eye out for Romine, to report
promptly any additional news concerning his movements.
So Moe Shrevnitz was cautious in the way he trailed Romine. He stayed well in the rear.
But he managed to hang on like a leech.
Presently, he saw Romine's car halt. Romine got out, went into a grill. It was a cheap, unsavory place.
The barman in the joint had once done time. Moe began to feel a grim tug of excitement. He had a hunch
that crime of some sort was hatching.
He left his cab and slouched close to the grill's dusty window. He could see Romine, but the crook
couldn't see him. Romine's attention seemed to be centered on the telephone back of the bar.
He was evidently waiting for a call.
SHREVVY faded to another telephone. He called a number unlisted in any New York directory. He
was answered almost instantly. A voice said crisply:
"Burbank speaking."
Burbank was The Shadow's contact man. Through him, orders concerning The Shadow and his agents
were received and transmitted. To Burbank went a swift report concerning Sam Romine.
Shrevvy waited without breaking the connection. After a minute or so he heard again the voice of
Burbank. The relayed order of The Shadow was succinct:
"Stand by!"
Moe went back to his cab. He began to read a newspaper. From where he sat he had a sidelong view of
the interior of the grill where Romine sat.
Presently, Shrevvy heard a sibilant whisper of laughter. It came from directly behind him. The Shadow
had noiselessly entered the taxi of his agent.
Eyes like reddish flame stared at Moe from beneath the brim of a black slouch hat. The Shadow's cloak
merged with the darkness of the cab's rear seat. His eyes and his strongly beaked face were the only
indications of his presence.
A whisper ordered Moe to remain where he was. Silence filled the rear of the parked taxi.
The rear seat was now empty. The Shadow had left the cab as deftly as he had entered. Protected by
darkness, he moved to another spot. This time he vanished inside the unlocked sedan of Sam Romine.
His inspection was more thorough than that of the two cops in the prowl car. He bent over the rumpled
lap robe in the rear. His nostrils sniffed a faint odor.
He recognized that odor. His lips formed two silent words: "Chloral hydrate."
They didn't call it that in the underworld. "Knockout drops" was the term commonly used. But the
purpose of such a drug was unmistakable. Someone had been doped and transported in this car very
recently.
The Shadow returned unseen to the taxi of Moe Shrevnitz. He began a patient vigil.
Sam Romine was still watching the bar telephone. He seemed very nervous. Each time the phone rang,
Romine started uneasily. But each time the barkeep answered the call, his face turned slightly. His head
shook a warning "No" to Romine.
Grimly, The Shadow waited.
MEANWHILE, in the rear courtyard at Mercy Hospital, things were not so quiet.
The rear courtyard was the ambulance entrance. It was paved with smooth cobbles. A wide gateway
permitted the ambulance access to the street.
A small office faced the courtyard. This was the office of the intern who was on duty. His name was Dr.
Hugh Riker.
Murphy wondered what in hell was the matter with the doc tonight. Murphy was the ambulance driver. A
call had just come in.
Ordinarily, Dr. Riker swung aboard the rear of the ambulance almost before Murphy could start the
motor. But tonight he was oddly late. In fact there was no sign of him!
Murphy glanced at his watch and swore. A full minute had passed. The hospital code of conduct was
strict. In the ambulance department, time was especially precious. Delay might mean the difference
between life and death for some poor devil lying on a cold sidewalk.
Murphy hurried toward the outer door of Dr. Riker's small courtyard office.
Unseen by the worried ambulance driver, Riker was also hurrying! He was trying to reach his office from
the interior of the hospital.
Dr. Riker had left his duty post without permission. He had slipped silently up to the top floor of one of
the hospital wings. He had taken extraordinary care that no other doctor or nurse saw him.
The floor to which Riker had sneaked so stealthily was the one on which was located the locked
research laboratory of Dr. Sutton!
Now he was back again, in a short hallway just beyond the inner door of his office, trying to regain his
breath.
His hand jerked from his pocket. It held a queer object. A woman's lipstick! Quickly, he dabbed the
lipstick against the corner of his mouth. It made a small, scarlet smear.
He could hear Murphy's voice calling in a worried tone from the outer door of his office.
"Hey, doc! Doc Riker!"
He took a deep breath. The taut expression of his mouth changed to an embarrassed smile. He was still
wearing that foolish smile when he opened his inner office door and confronted the puzzled Murphy.
"Sorry," he said. "I... I just stepped into the corridor for a moment."
Murphy's annoyance faded as he saw the telltale "kiss" mark on the intern's face. He began to grin.
He figured what Riker intended him to - that the good-looking young intern had been flirting with a pretty
nurse in a dark hallway. He was sure of it when Riker hastily wiped away the lipstick smear.
"Be a good guy, Murphy," Riker said hastily. "After all, doctors are human. Promise me you won't tell
anyone that you caught me off my duty post?"
"O.K.," Murphy said. "Only, for Pete's sake, let's get going! We've lost nearly three minutes."
Riker raced with him to the ambulance. The motor roared. The ambulance sped from the wide, paved
courtyard to the street.
There was a thin, satisfied grin on the lips of Dr. Riker as he balanced himself on the rear seat.
It was like a smirk of triumph.
ABOUT five minutes after the ambulance had vanished up the street behind the crimson glow of its
headlights, a figure appeared in the paved courtyard.
It slipped quietly through the courtyard gate from the dark sidewalk. Skirting the black edge of the
courtyard, the man hurried toward a small door.
He ducked swiftly into the darkened office that Dr. Riker had quit so ostentatiously only a few minutes
earlier. Passing through the inner door, he moved along the short hallway where Riker had halted to
smear his lips with the phony alibi of a "kiss."
This hallway connected with a larger corridor. It was a rear corridor, used chiefly by hospital employees.
Nearby was the receiving room, where emergency patients brought in by the ambulance were given a
thorough examination before they were transferred to a ward bed.
The man opened the door of the receiving room briefly and peeped inside. But he didn't delay more than
a second. His first goal was an upper floor of the hospital. He headed swiftly toward a flight of service
stairs.
No one in the well-lighted rotunda of the hospital caught a glimpse of this flitting figure. His sly method of
entrance had placed him well beyond the range of vision of the uniformed attendant at the information
desk.
He raced silently up the service stairs to the top floor. This top floor area contained the operating theater,
and various technical and X-ray laboratories.
No one saw the stealthy intruder dart toward a locked door at one end of the hall.
It was the entrance to the cancer-research laboratory of Dr. Sutton.
The ground-glass panel in the door was dark, indicating that the laboratory was empty. This was exactly
what the intruder had expected.
He had no trouble with the lock. He used a key. Closing the door swiftly behind him, he vanished inside.
He was inside no longer than two minutes. He reappeared as silently as he had vanished, careful to lock
the door again.
Gloved fingers left no trace of revealing prints.
Once more he hurried along the corridor. This time his swift pace took him downstairs. Only, he used a
different route from the one that had brought him aloft.
He used a staircase that led downward through the public section of the hospital. Here were located the
private and semiprivate rooms occupied by hospital patients.
It took cleverness to avoid the attention of the elevator operator and the various nurses and attendants
who were on duty on these lower floors. But one vital fact was in the intruder's favor. The ceiling lights
were dimmed for the night. Only one light burned in each section of the corridor.
It helped the prowler to sneak silently from the staircase toward the spot had in mind.
He faded into the room of a sleeping patient. He didn't enter until he had made sure that the patient was
asleep. Then, quietly, he pressed the call button at the side of the patient's bed.
A BUZZER sounded at the desk of a nurse on duty at the other end of the hall. She rose, went to the
distant room from which the signal had been sent.
She was surprised and annoyed to find that the patient was sound asleep!
While she stood there, wondering who could have played such a silly joke on her, the man who had lured
the nurse away from her hallway post was again on the move!
He raced on tiptoe to the door of Room 317.
This was a private room. The patient who occupied it was wealthy. His name was Peter Verne.
Once a year Peter Verne came to Mercy Hospital for an annual checkup. He came to this particular
hospital because it was one of his pet projects. Verne was a trustee of Mercy Hospital. He was one of
the men who had promised Hanson Bartley a sizable donation for the endowment fund.
The intruder opened the closed door stealthily. His whispered mirth indicated satisfaction when he saw
that the room was empty.
He entered Verne's room for just a few seconds. A slight clink of glass was the only indication of what he
摘要：

THEGOLDENDOOMMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.HIDDENEVIL?CHAPTERII.HOSPITALPHANTOM?CHAPTERIII.THEGOLDENDROP?CHAPTERIV.THEMANINWHITE?CHAPTERV.TRIPLEDEATH?CHAPTERVI.HELLBROTH?CHAPTERVII.ACUNNINGTRAP?CHAPTERVIII.RIVERROGUES?CHAPTERIX.DEADMAN'SSECRET?CH...

展开>> 收起<<
Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 269 - The Golden Doom.pdf

共85页,预览17页

还剩页未读， 继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

相关推荐

更多
立即下载
分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：85 页 大小：193.12KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-23

开通VIP享超值会员特权

  • 多端同步记录
  • 高速下载文档
  • 免费文档工具
  • 分享文档赚钱
  • 每日登录抽奖
  • 优质衍生服务

作者详情

相关内容

更多

热门标签

人际关系 配电装置 动力学连接体 力的合成 高考理综 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 85
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注