Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 247 - Twins of Crime

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TWINS OF CRIME
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. BRAIN OF CRIME
? CHAPTER II. THE BROTHERS MEET
? CHAPTER III. MAN OF MURDER
? CHAPTER IV. MEN OF MURDER
? CHAPTER V. CRIME'S OTHER HALF
? CHAPTER VI. THE WAYS OF THE SHADOW
? CHAPTER VII. A QUESTION OF ALIBI
? CHAPTER VIII. MOVES BY NIGHT
? CHAPTER IX. PAYMENT FOR SERVICE
? CHAPTER X. THE DOUBLE VANISH
? CHAPTER XI. A QUESTION OF MURDER
? CHAPTER XII. THE DEADLOCK
? CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW'S CHOICE
? CHAPTER XIV. CRIME TURNED ABOUT
? CHAPTER XV. MASKED FLIGHT
? CHAPTER XVI. THE GAME THAT FAILED
? CHAPTER XVII. A BROTHER'S VERDICT
? CHAPTER XVIII. LIFE OR DEATH
? CHAPTER XIX. MURDERER'S CHANCE
? CHAPTER XX. THE DEATH THRUST
? CHAPTER XXI. CRIME'S CONSEQUENCE
CHAPTER I. BRAIN OF CRIME
FROM the window of his cab, Carlo Sarratin studied the rain-pelted street with a gaze as gloomy as the
day itself. At moments his face took on a touch of worry, the kind that a rat would show. For Carlo, with
his big-toothed mouth and pasty-yellow complexion, looked very much the rat.
When those fits of worry seized him, Carlo turned to his fellow passenger, Leon Grath, and, therewith,
his troubles eased.
Carlo Sarratin had confidence in Leon Grath, and with good reason. Of all men in New York, Leon was
most fitted to soothe the nerves of crooks like Carlo.
For Leon Grath was recognized as a brain of crime. Those whose side he took, as he had taken Carlo's,
could expect results - for a price, of course, but it was usually worth it. Particularly in Carlo's case,
because, for a mere pittance of a thousand dollars, Leon was arranging Carlo's departure from New
York, despite the contrary wishes of men who wanted Carlo to stay and pay them much more money.
There was much of the aristocrat, even more of the thinker, in the features of Leon Grath. His tapering
face was dominated by a high-bridged nose; beneath were lips that wore a constant down turn, even
when they smiled. It was difficult to tell when Leon was smiling or, for that matter, why he smiled.
Similarly, his eyes were creatures of his choice. They could harden like steel, or go soft with sympathy,
though, when they did the latter, it was often possible to trace a touch of their usual glint.
Leon's entire countenance was dominated by a wide forehead, which gave the impression that it bulged
with brains. His smooth black hair, slicked back from that same forehead, added something of the
debonair to his odd, but definitely handsome visage. When he spoke the effect was curious, for Leon's
voice carried silky smoothness along with its note of authority.
"You were new to things in New York, Carlo," spoke Leon in his patronizing way. "You were clever
enough, opening the Club Elite as a front for a gambling house. You should have foreseen, however, that
it would take a long while for your business to build up."
Carlo nodded; through his teeth, he muttered:
"Too long."
"Quite," agreed Leon, "considering you bought protection from a brace of gentlemen termed
'sharpshooters,' who would certainly furnish you with personal samples of their marksmanship, if they
caught up with you."
Before Leon had finished, Carlo was crouching deeper in the taxicab, as though it were a rat hole and he
the rat. Carlo's fright produced one of Leon's down-turned smiles. Looking from the cab window, Leon
surveyed the misty vista and shook his head.
"Nobody in sight," he declared. "That is, nobody like Crimp Gandley or Sheff Halbert. No need to
worry, Carlo. I wouldn't be in the same cab with you if I thought you were in danger."
The logic restored something of Carlo's composure. In his satin tone, Leon added:
"It is two o'clock, Carlo, and by four you will be in your cabin aboard the steamship Tropicola. At six
you will have dinner served there. By midnight the Tropicola will sail, and you will be in Havana in a few
days, while Crimp and Sheff are still hunting for you in New York."
A big-toothed smile appeared between Carlo's rounded lips. It broadened as Leon added a final point.
"And now, Carlo," said Leon, "our task is to arrange the sale of the Club Elite. Let me see that letter
again - the one that you received from old Samuel Twildon."
Carlo produced the letter, and Leon studied it close to the cab window. Upon those ever-curving lips
appeared a different sort of smile than any that Carlo had previously noted. It was a smile that Carlo
couldn't quite understand; it carried a scheming touch, but what lay behind it was the question. The smile
worried Carlo Sarratin.
AS the cab pulled up beside an antiquated office building, Leon handed the letter back to Carlo. They
alighted, went into the building and took an elevator to the third floor.
Stepping into a sumptuous but old-fashioned office, Carlo started to approach a girl who was seated at a
reception desk, drawing the letter from his pocket in order to introduce himself.
Leon moved ahead and pressed Carlo back. With a bow and a half smile, Leon said:
"Kindly tell Mr. Twildon that Mr. Grath is here to see him."
The girl smiled in return. Making a note on a card, she beckoned to an office boy, handed him the card,
and added verbally:
"Mr. Noel Grath is calling -"
"Pardon me," interrupted Leon, "but there is a slight mistake. I am not Noel Grath. I am his brother, Leon
Grath. Kindly make that point clear to Mr. Twildon."
Carlo observed the stares that came from the receptionist and the office boy. When the correction had
been made and the proper word was on its way to Twildon, Carlo drew Leon aside.
"They mistook you for your brother!" exclaimed Carlo. "Do you mean that you look that much like him?"
"Noel and I are twins," replied Leon. "We look alike, talk alike, act alike, and even think alike. Except" -
Leon's smile was whimsical - "except that we disagree on matters of ethics. Where Noel gives financial
advice to men of wealth and respectability, I favor chaps like you, Carlo; men who have money at times,
but who lack that burden called 'respectability.'"
The boy was returning, to announce that Twildon would see Leon. So Leon entered the private office
and, as a matter of course, took his companion, Carlo, with him.
They found old Twildon, stoop-shouldered and gray-haired, looking up from behind a desk that was
many sizes too large for him. He had sharp little eyes, and they focused curiously on Leon. Then, with a
chuckle, Twildon arose and pushed a thin hand across the desk.
"Ah, the other half of the Grath family!" greeted Twildon. "I've heard your brother Noel speak about you,
often. Very often."
"No doubt," returned Leon in his satin tone. "Always something uncomplimentary, I presume."
"No, no!" objected Twildon. "Not always -"
"Then Noel's sarcasm must have eluded you," interposed Leon. "If Noel ever says anything nice about
me, there is always a catch to it. I'm his black sheep, you know."
Old Samuel Twildon smiled.
"Noel complimented your cleverness," he stated. "He said your genius at finance was equal to his own,
but that you made a great mistake in your choice of associates."
Leon gave a deprecating shrug, as though the statement, itself, proved his comments regarding his brother
Noel's caustic attitude. Then, taking Twildon's words as a reminder, Leon turned, gestured toward Carlo
and spoke smoothly:
"I almost forgot, Mr. Twildon. Allow me to introduce Carlo Sarratin, who would like to complete some
business with you."
THOSE beady eyes of Twildon's did not miss a trick. He recognized, both from Leon's words and
manner, that Sarratin must have some reason for not coming alone. Catching Twildon's gaze, Leon
explained that Carlo had asked him, as a patron of the Club Elite, if he knew Twildon, and that Leon,
replying in the affirmative, had agreed to introduce him to the wealthy man.
He intimated, Leon did, that Carlo had reasons for wishing to travel incognito; that certain pressing
matters made it urgent for him to leave New York.
All the while, as clearly as if in undertone, Leon was practically stating that Carlo would be willing to
sacrifice his property, the Club Elite, at a price which would add another bargain to Twildon's huge
real-estate collection.
"You see, Mr. Twildon," completed Leon, "a good time is part of my philosophy of life, something which
poor Noel, stodgy and burdened with finance, cannot understand. Getting about as I do, I meet such
chaps as Carlo, and find them very good friends.
"Of course, Mr. Twildon, I should like to meet those men esteemed by Noel, such as yourself, and
conduct business in their behalf. It merely happens that I seldom have the opportunity."
Twildon's lips pursed in a smile. At present, Leon was conducting business in Twildon's behalf. He was
dropping Carlo's assets to the freezing mark, and Twildon, catching the theme, was quick enough to
cover his own reactions.
"Tell me, Mr. Sarratin," said Twildon. "How much do you want for the Club Elite?"
"Fifty thousand dollars," returned Carlo. "It's worth all that, and more."
"I was prepared to offer twenty-five."
Carlo started to snort at Twildon's offer. Then, in a sharp tone, he suggested:
"Split the difference. Thirty-seven thousand five hundred."
Solemnly, Twildon shook his head and kept shaking it when Carlo dropped to thirty-five. Beginning to
understand, Carlo shot an ugly glare at Leon, who accepted it blandly; then, to stop Twildon's negative
headshakes, Carlo went down by rapid steps to thirty thousand. There, Twildon stroked his chin and
looked toward Leon.
"I feel that twenty-five thousand is a fair offer," asserted Twildon. "What would you say, Mr. Grath?"
A smirk returned to Carlo's ratlike face, for this was Leon's cue to back the thirty-thousand price.
Indeed, Leon gave a preamble that pleased Carlo immensely, as it brought up a point quite as important
as price.
"Mr. Sarratin needs funds," began Leon. "If you are prepared to write out a check, which can be cashed
without delay" - he paused until he saw Twildon nod - "then I am sure that Mr. Sarratin would accept -"
Stopping short, Leon looked to Carlo, who gave a nod in his turn, and an eager one. Without an instant's
hesitation, Leon added the perfect bombshell:
"Twenty-five thousand dollars!"
Totally confounded, Carlo could not stop his nods. Leon turned and gestured toward Twildon's check
book, which was lying on the desk.
Gleefully, the old man wrote out a check for twenty-five thousand dollars, payable to Carlo Sarratin.
Then, with machinelike precision, Twildon was summoning secretaries and a notary, to draw up the
papers that completed the transaction.
CARLO still looked dazed when Leon guided him from the office. He didn't see the nod that Leon gave,
back in Twildon's direction. Instead of taking the elevator, Leon steered Carlo down the stairs. At the
second floor, Carlo became himself again.
"You double-crosser!" he snarled at Leon. "You played in with Old Million-bucks and did me out of five
grand, maybe more! You knew I was helpless; that's why you did it! Look at this check -"
Leon interrupted by brushing away the check that Carlo was flapping against his nose. Smoothly, he
said:
"Yes, Carlo, look at it. Read what it says."
"It says twenty-five thousand -"
"Read it again, and this time exert some imagination."
Squinting at the check, Carlo kept muttering to himself until suddenly he exclaimed aloud:
"Seventy-five thousand dollars!"
"Of course!" expressed Leon. "I knew it would look like that, from the moment you showed me the
signature of Samuel Twildon on his letter. Look at that curlicue 'S,' and that fancy script 'T.' You can
hardly tell them apart. If you read the 'T' in twenty-five as 'S,' the 'w' that follows becomes 'ev' in small
letters. What else would you ask, Carlo?"
"Only this." Carlo pointed to a corner of the check. "The figures are 25,000."
"They won't be," returned Leon, "if you cut off the tail from that blocky '2' and make it into a '7.' I'd
recommend a careful job, Carlo, with that sharp-pointed knife of yours. Just the easiest of touches. No
deep scratches -"
By then, the knife was out of Carlo's pocket. Stopped beside a window ledge, he was working on the
check, confining himself to the little line that formed the tail of the figure "2." He finished with a chuckle,
and Leon, watching the stairs, turned around to survey the work.
"Quite good, Carlo!" said Leon. Then, reaching in his pocket, he produced a styptic pencil. "Moisten the
tip of this and apply. Good for scratches, you know, but he careful not to let it touch the ink."
Carlo smoothed the job with the styptic pencil, folded the check and put it in a thickly filled wallet.
Before Carlo could stow the wallet back in his pocket, Leon stopped him.
"I've added fifty thousand to Twildon's payment," reminded Leon. "I think ten thousand, cash, would be
about right for the idea. I guess you begin to see why I pulled the sale down to twenty-five, don't you,
Carlo?"
Carlo certainly saw. Without a word he made up ten thousand from his own cash and handed it to Leon,
who gestured him down the stairs.
"Take that cab we left outside," said Leon. "Get to the bank, cash your check, and then hop over to the
boat. I'll stay around here and see that everything is all right at this end."
Standing on the stairs, Leon watched Carlo's departure. Then, his lips set in an inverted smile, Leon
turned about and started up to Twildon's office.
As a master of finance, Leon Grath considered himself quite the equal of his twin brother, Noel. With this
difference: Leon's brain was crooked, whereas Noel's mind ran to the legitimate.
And in that brain of his, Leon was quite sure that, contrary to all the arguments of his twin, Noel, he,
Leon Grath, could continue to make crime pay!
CHAPTER II. THE BROTHERS MEET
NOT until late that afternoon did Leon Grath leave old Twildon's office. When he left, Leon went arm in
arm with Samuel Twildon, out to the old man's limousine.
All the way uptown Twildon kept repeating that he would pay fair commissions for Leon's style of work.
Any good buy in real estate that Leon could further to Twildon's advantage would be profitable to Leon,
too.
Finishing his twentieth handshake with Twildon, Leon stopped off at his hotel, strolled through the lobby
and stopped at the desk to ask for the key to his room. The hotel was a side-street establishment that
could hardly be called fashionable, a reason why Leon liked it, because his off-trail friends were more at
home in a place like this.
Of course, there were often curious characters around the lobby, and they usually eyed Leon - as they
did tonight. They were the sort who might be spotters, working for fellows like Crimp Gandley and Sheff
Halbert, which didn't bother Leon in the least. Such spies hadn't been trailing Leon today, and that was
all that counted.
With Carlo Sarratin safe on the steamship Tropicola, Leon could give anyone the run-around just as long
as he wanted. He'd bought Carlo's ticket to Havana, Leon had, and now he was free to write his own
ticket.
In his room, Leon ordered dinner sent up, and ate while attired in a lavish dressing gown. After the meal
he attired himself immaculately in a tuxedo, added a dressy black-and-white scarf, an expensive topcoat
and a derby hat. He remembered a silver-headed walking stick, a gift from his father.
Thus equipped, Leon went out, took a cab and drove directly to an old brownstone house that stood on
a side street in a very respectable but old-fashioned neighborhood well south of Times Square.
Paying the cabby, Leon tipped him a dollar and suggested that he stay around as he would be needed
later. The cabby agreed to stay, and Leon went into the house, which happened to be his brother Noel's.
One advantage that Leon had over Noel: when he wanted a cab in this forgotten neighborhood, he
usually managed to have one available. The front door was open and Leon entered as though he had a
half share in the house, which was no longer the case, since he had long ago sold his interest in the family
homestead to his brother.
But Noel, always the generous brother, had told Leon to treat the home as his own. It wasn't to Leon's
credit that he had not abused the privilege. His visits here were comparatively rare only because he had
no love for the house.
All that Leon wanted, this evening, was to play chess, and, much though he detested Noel, his twin was
the only chess player of Leon's acquaintance who could match his giant intellect at their favorite game. In
the lower hall, Leon saw the counterpart of his own hat, coat, and scarf, for Noel's tastes were identical
with his own. The twin on the silver-headed cane was standing in the corner, which produced another
smile from Leon.
Instead of leaving his own attire downstairs, Leon wore them up to Noel's study, just so his brother could
again be reminded how much they looked alike.
NOEL was in the large, well-decorated study, seated at a chess-board working out a problem. Noting
that Noel was also wearing a tuxedo, Leon threw back his topcoat and strolled over. Noel heard him
and looked up.
Their faces looked as if they were mirroring each other. For in every feature - high nose, down-curved
lips, bulging forehead and slick black hair - Noel Grath was the counterpart of his wayward twin, Leon.
Indeed, Noel reacted to Leon's display of duplicate attire exactly as Leon himself would have. There was
no true way of tracing whether Noel smiled, or why. Even when Leon doffed his coat and paraded the
tuxedo beneath it, Noel's expression was indefinable.
There was only one factor of difference between the twins, and it in a sense, was trivial. Noel was
phlegmatic, lacking Leon's gusto. Instead of rising from the chess table in the hail-fellow fashion that Leon
cultivated, Noel gestured in tired fashion, inviting his brother to sit down.
Without a word, they set up the chessmen, Leon doing most of the work. In choice, Leon won the white,
and began the game with his favorite opening, the Ruy Lopez.
They were well into the play when Leon sacrificed a bishop for a knight, at which the down turn of
Noel's lips became actually droll.
"My knights have been troubling you recently, Leon," remarked Noel. "I expected that you would soon
decide that an exchange of pieces regarded as equal would be to your advantage."
"I've applied it to more than chess," returned Leon. "I made a swap this afternoon - one of my friends for
one of yours."
The faces of the brothers showed an instant variance, not through any physical difference, but because
their expressions were motivated by opposing thoughts. Noel's eyes were the ones that showed the glint,
while his tone went to the extreme of smoothness as he demanded:
"Who was the friend, Leon?"
"Old Samuel Twildon," returned Leon. "I helped him make a bargain."
Noel's eyes still carried demand, so Leon smoothly gave the superficial details of Twildon's "trade" with
Carlo Sarratin. But Noel wasn't satisfied. He put the question:
"What then, Leon?"
"A peculiar thing, Noel," replied Leon. "Carlo is very sharp, and very crooked. He noticed an odd thing
in Twildon's curly writing, a similarity between the letters 'T' and 'S.'"
If Leon had mentioned the letters in the other order, Noel might have had to think a few minutes for the
answer. As it was, Noel had it in a flash. He could visualize twenty-five changed to seventy-five, with a
similar raise in the figures in terms of thousands.
"You let Sarratin pull that swindle -"
"Easy, Noel," broke in Leon. "You are drifting into the vernacular. If you mean that Carlo raised the
check and cashed it, with a fifty-thousand-dollar profit - well, that was Carlo's business, not mine."
"And your business?"
"Was with Twildon. He gave me this." Leon brought a check from his pocket. "A ten-percent
commission on the sale, exactly twenty-five hundred dollars. Please observe, Noel, that this check has
not been raised, nor will it be, though I could pick up a neat five thousand from the process."
Noel forgot the chess game and leaned back in his armchair. His face showed anger, something that
neither of the twins was apt to register.
"Carlo must have handed you ten thousand, at least," came Noel's tone, lacking most of its velvet. "With
twenty-five hundred from Twildon to boot, you would naturally be satisfied. Particularly as Carlo's check
will show him to be a crook, while yours, untempered, will, by false logic, give you the sham of honesty. I
recognize your shrewdness, Leon, though I despise it!"
LEON wasn't ruffled in the least. He took the attitude that Noel was as shrewd as he, their methods of
application being the only difference. He sat back, watched Noel's anger fade, and took delight in
watching his respectable twin analyze other features of the situation.
Noel soon struck home. He decided that Carlo must be leaving the country in order to be safe when the
Twildon swindle was detected. Analyzing further, Noel decided that Carlo was probably on the
steamship Tropicola, which was due to sail at midnight for Havana.
At that point, Leon gave an approving nod.
"You've guessed it, Noel," said Leon. "But you're not going to do anything about it. You know, quite
well, that Twildon can throw away fifty thousand like seeds from grapes! Whereas, if you expose Carlo's
present whereabouts, you will make him liable to murder."
A trace of horror came to Noel's eyes.
"His enemies would really kill him, Leon?"
"They would," returned Leon. "Crimp Gandley and Sheff Halbert; either or both. They're taking turns
casing the office of the Club Elite. By 'casing,' I mean watching; pardon the slip, Noel.
"What's more, they have their strong-arm crew - parcel of ruffians, to you - right handy to help them as
soon as they locate Carlo Sarratin. Suppose I call up the Club Elite, Noel, and see which of the unsavory
gentry answers: Crimp or Sheff."
Leon leaned to reach for the telephone, and Noel promptly drew it closer to himself. But he didn't take it
from its hook, as he might have. Leon smiled, quite right in his conclusion that Noel wouldn't deliver
Carlo into the hands of known murderers. Noel did not even intend to call the police.
"You see, Noel?" queried Leon mockingly. "Crime does pay, when properly managed. It paid me, and it
paid Carlo. It would pay anyone who killed Carlo, considering that he has at least seventy-five thousand
dollars, cash, in his wallet. But he's perfectly safe in Stateroom D-12 on the Tropicola, provided those
chaps or their snoopers haven't sighted him.
"Of course, Noel, it is my status that really worries you. I think you would sacrifice Carlo, or others like
him, if it would end what you term my criminal career. But I'm covered perfectly, and you know it.
Actually, I'm making as much money as a brain of crime as you are by being a financial wizard who helps
out old skinflints like Twildon. And I'm having fun in life -"
The telephone bell interrupted. Noel answered, and his tone took on its kindliest note. Leon knew right
away that Mona Brenton was on the wire. She was Noel's fiancee, and though Leon had never met her,
he had seen her often, for Mona had a spirit of gaiety that Noel lacked and was wont to frequent the
night clubs that he abhorred.
"Yes, Mona" - Noel's tone had an indulgence that made Leon sneer - "I should like to go to the theater,
particularly since you have chosen the one play that I wish to see... Yes, it is the same trouble as before -
those figures that I must complete for Allied Electric...
"Get away from them for tonight?" Noel looked across the room at a desk cluttered with papers. "I might
try, Mona... A very good idea, and very helpful." Noel paused to glance at his watch. "If I can make it I
shall meet you right outside of your apartment house... Yes. Wait until eight thirty; no longer..."
As Noel finished the call he found Leon staring at him with a gaze of contempt.
"So, my fine brother" - there was a sneer in Leon's glossed tone - "you let a girl pick a play that you want
to see, and then suggest she wait around while you decide whether or not you will go. If you want my
advice -"
"I don't want it, Leon! You never take mine on questions of honesty. I can do without yours on other
subjects."
"My advice is this," continued Leon serenely. "Meet Mona and take her to a night club instead of that
show. To a first-class place, where you can dance with her, if you haven't forgotten how. Be somebody
other than your stodgy self just for once!"
Noel tightened his lips and gave an annoyed gesture to show that he could no longer think of chess. Leon
put on his hat and coat, adjusted the fancy scarf and gave the silver-headed cane a twirl. With a mock
bow to his brother Noel, the renegade of the Grath family stalked from the room and out of the house to
where the cab was waiting.
As he entered the cab, Leon smiled. A new idea had struck him, something that appealed to his conniving
mind. Chats with Noel always helped Leon, though he never admitted so to his hidebound brother.
Tonight, Leon had gained a thought as novel as it was daring.
UP in the study, Noel, too, was showing a peculiar inspiration. Though Leon didn't know it, his brother
Noel tolerated the renegade's visits because they stirred his mental processes. Noel was willing to grant
that he had become stodgy, and more.
It was odd, indeed, that these men of extremes should mingle their minds without admitting it; yet not
odd, considering that they were of identical mold.
Instead of bothering with his papers, Noel was stepping across the floor much in the manner of a dancer.
He was limber, and it pleased him. He changed the dance step into the quick footwork that he
remembered from fencing lessons, years ago, when the instructor had paired him off with Leon.
Noel's face took on a new expression that showed he was no longer surprised at finding himself so agile.
His smile was one of anticipation. He was picturing the things that he could accomplish by a return to a
more vigorous life, wherein he could outmatch the best efforts of his brother Leon.
Leaving the study, Noel went downstairs, put on his coat, and adjusted his hat at a rakish tilt. He fixed his
scarf to make it appear fancy, and tossed his silver-headed cane under his arm.
Surveying himself in a mirror, Noel saw his brother Leon, and actually laughed as he thought of the
impression that he could make if he adopted a swaggering style for benefit of Mona Brenton. Too much
of it wouldn't do, as a first venture, at least not with Mona, though there were others who might
appreciate a strong change of style in Noel Grath.
There was one thing, however, that the world would have to remember, and with the thought, Noel
sobered his expression. He, Noel, was still the respectable half of the Grath combination; his brother
Leon the evil genius. So the world understood them, and so they should remain.
Returning upstairs to the study, Noel placed his cane in the corner and sat down at his desk, still wearing
hat and coat, while he debated his course for the evening to come.
CHAPTER III. MAN OF MURDER
LEON had given Noel an excellent picture of the Club Elite, the fancy spot that Carlo Sarratin had
founded, only to abandon.
The Elite was still doing business on its downstairs floor, even though the gambling casino, one flight up,
was closed. In fact, the room above lacked everything in the way of gambling equipment. Only bare
tables and chairs remained of its former furniture.
Four men were seated about the place. One was Crimp Gandley, tall, sallow, with a sharp-pointed face
and hands that moved restlessly. A former faro dealer, Crimp had been a good hand with a pack of
cards until he had learned that he could handle a revolver quite as readily. Therewith, he had graduated.
Teaming with Sheff Halbert, a former lookout in a fancy gambling den, Crimp had gone into the business
of protective service. Their partnership had proven profitable and they had raised the rates until only
strangers like Carlo were foolish enough to buy. Crimp was voicing that very fact to his squad of
strong-arm men.
"Twenty grand is what Carlo owes us," Crimp was saying, "and why not? He thought he could bring
business into this joint. Our part was to see that the coppers stayed out. It was Carlo's fault the thing
folded, so he hadn't any right to rat. Just let him walk into that office" - Crimp thumbed across the room -
"and he'll find what a rat-trap is!"
His stride carrying him in the direction of the office, Crimp halted to gesture at the door in question. It
was at the head of the stairway, an excellent location, since it enabled Carlo, when present, to flag any
unwelcome arrivals from the floor below. But Carlo was no longer occupying his office; in fact, it was
supposed to be quite empty.
That was why Crimp ended his gesture and stared.
Crimp Gandley was positive that he saw the door move. His hand went to his gun pocket, but before he
could draw his revolver, the illusion faded. The door hadn't moved; instead, blackness had simply edged
away from it, creating a curious optical effect. In turn, however, Crimp was confronted with another
mystery.
Why had blackness faded from the door, to be engulfed by the thicker darkness within the empty office?
Abruptly, Crimp drew his gun and shouldered against the door. Being ajar, the door slammed inward,
and Crimp, snarling epithets meant for Carlo, began fumbling for the light switch, finally to find it.
Lights blazed, to show - an empty office!
By then Crimp's three followers were thronging the doorway, staring at their leader, whose sharp pointed
face was poking like a ferret's. Crimp stared suspiciously at a big metal desk and a filing cabinet in the
corner beyond it. Then, spying a closet door that was slightly open, Crimp strode over, wrenched it wide
and aimed his gun into the closet, only to be greeted by emptiness again.
Turning with a glower, Crimp surveyed his men, and their expressions didn't please him. Those huskies
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TWINSOFCRIMEMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.BRAINOFCRIME?CHAPTERII.THEBROTHERSMEET?CHAPTERIII.MANOFMURDER?CHAPTERIV.MENOFMURDER?CHAPTERV.CRIME'SOTHERHALF?CHAPTERVI.THEWAYSOFTHESHADOW?CHAPTERVII.AQUESTIONOFALIBI?CHAPTERVIII.MOVESBYNIGHT?CHAPTERIX.PA...

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Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 247 - Twins of Crime.pdf

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