Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 230 - The Devil-Master

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THE DEVIL MASTER
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," September 15, 1941.
By pitting one man of evil against another, can The Shadow bring triumph
to the side of the right?
CHAPTER I
CHINATOWN TRAIL
THE doorman at the Cobalt Club wasn't prepared for the surprise that
popped from the limousine. He'd helped many people out of limousines:
crotchety
old club members, smiling debutantes, and even solemn-faced butlers bringing
luggage to their masters. But never before had the doorman helped a Chinese
out
of a limousine.
In fact, he didn't actually help this one.
As the door swung open, the Chinese took a long leap across the sidewalk.
Stumbling to hands and knees, he found his feet again; without bothering to
brush off the baggy American suit he was wearing, he scooted straight up the
steps and into the foyer of the swanky Cobalt Club as if a flock of Chinese
devils were after him.
The mad dash of the wild-eyed Chinaman surprised the attendants and
startled the members of the Cobalt Club who were clustered in the foyer - with
one exception. Languidly turning a page of the newspaper that he was reading,
Lamont Cranston eased farther down into his chair and stretched one leg out
toward the center of the narrow foyer.
Tripping over Cranston's extended foot, the frantic Chinaman took a long,
skiddy sprawl along the marble tiling. It was fortunate for him that he took
that spill, though only Cranston saw why.
Cranston's eyes, peering idly from a maskish face, had drifted toward the
door when the Chinaman made the noisy entry. Beyond the halted limousine,
Cranston saw another yellow-faced figure rising through the open top of a
passing taxicab.
It was the face of a vicious-looking Mongol, whose clawish hand, swinging
from his shoulder, provided a brighter flash than did his gleaming, grinning
teeth. There was a whir as a long-bladed knife scintillated in through the
doorway. Meant for the fleeing Chinaman, it would have found its target if
Cranston hadn't tripped the fugitive.
So sudden was it all, that the sluggish attendants and the stupefied club
members failed to see where the knife came from. Not even the doorman,
shouting
after the Chinaman who had so precipitously intruded upon the privacy of the
Cobalt Club, could realize that the speeding blade had been hurled from a
passing taxicab.
Skimming past the Chinaman's shoulders, the knife struck the floor and
clattered on ahead, as though the stumbling man himself had lost the weapon.
Cranston's preliminary part passed unnoticed. So did his next action.
While attendants, coming to life, were bounding after the Chinaman, who now
was
regarded as an armed invader, Cranston was rising from his chair, his right
hand
going beneath his evening jacket to a well-fitted holster.
He was reaching for an automatic, intending to spring to the doorway and
blaze shots after the departing Mongol. But the flood of excited attendants
blocked his way.
Relapsing into a leisurely pose, Cranston dropped his plan of overtaking
the unsuccessful assassin. He stepped over to the spot where attendants were
picking up the breathless Chinaman. The fellow showed fight, until Cranston,
with an effort so easy that its deftness passed unnoticed, took a neat grip on
the Celestial's wrist and twisted it behind the fellow.
It wasn't necessary for Cranston to wheel the Chinaman full about in
order
to hold him prisoner; but he did so, for another reason. Poking from the
Chinaman's pocket was the end of an envelope. With his other hand, Cranston
plucked the envelope and transferred it to his own inside pocket while the
Chinaman was twisted around.
His fighting spirit gone, the Chinaman subsided into the clutch of the
attendants, where Cranston thrust him. Attendants nodded when the hawk-faced
club member told them to take charge of the prisoner.
"I am expecting Commissioner Weston shortly," remarked Cranston. "I
suggest that you hold this fellow until he arrives. Don't treat him roughly;
the commissioner wouldn't approve."
Inasmuch as Cranston was taking charge of the knife, which all thought
belonged to the Chinaman, his order was heeded to the letter. A member of
long-standing at the Cobalt Club, as well as a close friend of the police
commissioner, Cranston's suggestions were usually respected upon occasions of
emergency. But the attendants found that their wait was not to be a long one.
A BURLY man came striding in from the street. His square face, crowned
with a derby hat, gave him the appearance of a headquarters man, and he
flashed
a badge for the benefit of Cranston and the club attendants.
"I'm Detective Grendy," he gruffed. "Chinatown squad. I was on this
fellow's trail. I'll take charge of him."
The captive Chinese gave a quick, close-slitted look at Grendy, and
tightened. Those slitted eyes turned to the attendants, as they told the burly
man that Commissioner Weston was soon to arrive.
Grendy decided to call the commissioner's office and find out if Weston
had actually started. As he passed a cluster of club members, he gave his
badge
another officious flash. The darty-eyed Chinaman watched Grendy enter a phone
booth.
Detaching himself from the group of talkative club members, Lamont
Cranston strolled over past the phone booths. From his angle, he could see the
Chinaman making quick glances in another direction. The prisoner was looking
for possible exits that might serve him if he tried a break. Ignoring the
Chinaman, Cranston stepped closer to the phone booths and sidled up to the one
Grendy was in.
The door of the booth was a trifle open, but Cranston overheard nothing,
for Grendy wasn't using the telephone. Instead, the burly man had his back
turned and was peering through the crack of the folding door at the hinged
side. He, too, was very much concerned with the Chinaman's intentions,
watching
for the quick break that the captured intruder seemed about to make.
Easing his hand through the open side of the door, Cranston coolly lifted
the hand telephone from its shelf and raised it higher. Timing his move to a
shift by Grendy, Cranston let the instrument sledge downward under its own
weight.
The blow landed squarely on the left side of Grendy's head, beneath the
uptilted brim of the canted derby.
Without a groan, Grendy sagged deep in the booth.
Replacing the telephone, Cranston swung into sight just as commotion
again
broke loose in the foyer. Once more, the Chinaman was providing the
excitement.
Breaking loose from the attendants, the slippery Celestial was making for a
rear door. He reached it ahead of his pursuers and slammed it in their faces.
The muffled clash of breaking glass told that he had dived through a window,
to
reach an alley outside.
Confusion was still rife when Commissioner Weston, a brisk man of
military
bearing, strode in from the street door. The commissioner was accompanied by a
stocky man with swarthy features: Inspector Joe Cardona.
Together, they heard the story of the mysterious Chinaman who had gone as
suddenly as he had come. What riled Weston most was the fact that a
headquarters detective had let the prisoner escape.
"Check with the Chinatown squad," snapped Weston to Cardona. "Tell them
to
put Detective Grendy back on a beat!"
"Why not handle that detail personally, commissioner?" queried Cranston,
who was standing by. "He is still in the telephone booth, calling your
office."
Angrily, the commissioner strode to the booth and yanked the door open.
Grendy came rolling out, and his flop to the floor awakened him sufficiently
for him to sit up and rub his head.
Cardona took a look at the burly man's face; then, with a quick move, the
swarthy inspector scooped up a revolver that was lying at the rear of the
booth. He used the gun to cover Grendy as he hauled the fellow to his feet.
"Take a look at this mug, commissioner," Cardona suggested. "He's a
phony,
even though his name is Grendy! Remember him? He's Bull Grendy, the guy that
was
sent up for pulling shakedowns by claiming he was a detective."
Grendy's coat lapel was twisted, showing the badge that the fake dick had
previously flashed. Fingering the badge, Cranston shook his head regretfully.
"I should have noticed this, commissioner," he said. "It's one of those
badges they sell in pawnshops."
NODDING, Weston didn't notice the slight smile that traced itself on
Cranston's lips, a proof that the leisurely clubman had spotted Grendy as a
fake the moment the crook had entered the Cobalt Club.
There was more, however, that Cranston knew: namely, that Grendy was a
killer, like the Mongol in the taxicab. But Cranston left that little detail
to
the quick mind of Inspector Cardona. Joe caught the idea from Grendy's gun.
"So you were going to plug the chink!" Cardona told Grendy. "The old
stuff, of letting a guy try to get away, then dosing him with bullets. Then
you'd have beat it, claiming you were going to call the wagon."
"O.K., copper," grumbled Grendy. "I'll come clean. Some bird called me up
at my hangout, and offered me half a grand if I'd knock off a Chinee who was
due here at the Cobalt Club. Don't ask me who called, because I don't know.
Only remember - I didn't croak the chink."
"Why didn't you?"
"Somebody put the slug on me when I was taking a bead out from the booth.
But don't ask me who. I don't know that, either."
Cardona slapped a pair of handcuffs on Bull Grendy and steered the sullen
man out of the Cobalt Club, leaving Commissioner Weston to quiz the witnesses
regarding the mysterious Chinaman. The commissioner began to hear a variety of
stories, all of them inaccurate. The one man he wanted to talk to, was gone -
his friend Lamont Cranston.
Claiming that he had another appointment, Cranston had left word at the
desk that he couldn't dine with the commissioner that evening.
Outside the club, Cranston was stepping into the very limousine that had
brought the Chinaman earlier! That, in itself, was singular, but more was to
follow. As the chauffeur piloted the big car away, at Cranston's order, the
hawk-faced passenger reached into his pocket and drew out the envelope he had
plucked from the frightened Chinaman.
The envelope was addressed to Lamont Cranston!
Opening it, Cranston scanned the note that it contained. A whispered
laugh
came from his lips, a tone quite different from Cranston's own. It was the
mirth
of The Shadow, master fighter who tracked down men of crime.
Pocketing the note, Cranston slid a drawer from beneath the rear seat of
the limousine. Out of it he took a slouch hat, a cloak, and a pair of thin
gloves, all garments of black.
Cranston's figure blotted itself within the car as he donned the garb of
black. Seemingly, the limousine was empty, but it still had a passenger in the
person of The Shadow. But The Shadow's tone was Cranston's, as he reached for
the speaking tube and spoke two words to the chauffeur:
"Chinatown, Stanley!"
CHAPTER II
THE SHADOW SEEKS TROUBLE
DR. ROY TAM lived in Chinatown, and, at present, he regretted it.
The fact was strange, considering that Tam had been born and bred in that
quarter, and had won much esteem among Americanized Chinese. But Dr. Tam, of
late, had met with a most difficult problem.
He could see the problem from the windows of his upstairs office and the
apartment which adjoined it. Keeping the lights dim, Tam glanced out at
intervals. Always, he spied lurking figures along the streets and in alleyways
below. Tam knew what those figures signified.
Seated at his office desk, Tam perched his chin in his hand. The
lamplight
showed his solemn, rounded face, with eyes that were troubled as they stared
through glasses toward the telephone. Tam shook his head; the telephone was
useless. Even worse, it was dangerous.
One of the office windows opened on a low, dark roof. While Tam was
blinking solemnly through his glasses, the window began to open upward as of
its own accord. The thing that attracted Tam's attention was the faint breeze
that drifted his way. He blinked toward the window, and watched its motion in
a
fascinated manner.
Seemingly, a man in deep difficulty should have been worried further at
sight of that phenomenon. Not so with Dr. Tam. His rounded face expressed joy,
which increased as the blackness from without the window began to penetrate
inward.
Uncannily, it became a solid form; that gradually developed into a
cloaked
figure, entering with absolute silence. The visitor paused to lower the
window;
then turned and approached the desk.
"Ying Ko!" exclaimed Tam in lowered tone. "You received the message that
I
sent you. I had to use Lee Lum, a man that you had never met. Is he safe?"
The Shadow took a chair opposite Tam. He removed his slouch hat and
placed
it on the desk; then dropped his cloak collar, to reveal Cranston's features.
Dr. Tam smiled anew, for he knew that Ying Ko, as the Chinese termed The
Shadow, often used the guise of Lamont Cranston.
"Lee Lum is safe," informed The Shadow. "Fortunately, he escaped two
assassins who dogged him to the Cobalt Club. He delivered the message, and
went
his way."
"Two assassins," mused Tam, seriously. "I am not surprised. Professor Su
Yeng would use a multitude, if necessary. Look from my windows, Ying Ko, and
view the constant parade of Su Yeng's men."
"I saw a portion of it when I entered," returned The Shadow. "Tell me
more
about Su Yeng. I take it that this professor, as you term him, has recently
arrived from China."
Dr. Tam gave a sober nod.
"Professor Su Yeng is very wise," said Tam. "So wise that he plays with
dolls."
To an ordinary hearer, Tam's words would have indicated that worry had
caused his mind to crack. But to The Shadow, familiar with Chinese terms, the
statement was more than plain. Su Yeng had recently arrived from China, and
the
"dolls" of that country were the puppet rulers, installed in occupied
provinces
by the conquering Japanese.
From that preface, Dr. Tam went on.
Professor Su Yeng, he explained, was a man with a vast idea, that he was
broaching to the Chinese in America. It was Su Yeng's plan to stir up
insurrections in Manchukuo and other puppet states. Once under way, such
revolts would drive the Japanese from occupied soil and restore the land to
China.
"A remarkable scheme," expressed The Shadow, "provided it would work."
"It will work," returned Tam. "Too well!"
Eying his visitor, Tam observed something quite rare, a quizzical
expression on the features of Cranston.
"Through such a stroke, delivered at the most opportune time," declared
Tam, "Professor Su Yeng can make himself master of all China. He is of the old
regime. He wishes to restore the empire, with himself as its imperial head."
THERE was no need for Tam to say more. The Shadow could completely grasp
the magnitude of Su Yeng's scheme. Closely familiar with conditions in the
Orient, The Shadow recognized, despite reports to the contrary, that long
years
of war between Japan and China were resulting in an absolute deadlock that
meant
the exhaustion of both sides.
Meanwhile, the puppet states were fattening, remote from the scene of
war.
Japan was depending upon the proxy rulers to keep the people inactive. China
was
hoping that the populace would overthrow those heads of the local governments.
The thing was in the balance, and outwardly seemed destined to remain so.
Roy Tam, in his mention of a wise conniver called Professor Su Yeng, had
touched a vital point.
"It could happen, Tam," The Shadow agreed. "Yes, if a new hand pulled the
string, those puppets would begin a different dance. They could not desert
Japan and serve the present Chinese government. But they might advocate the
old
rule."
"Exactly," returned Tam. "Because the restoration of imperial ideas was
the pretext that Japan used to install the puppet rulers. All they need is an
overlord in the person of Professor Su Yeng. He will raise the flag of the old
Chinese Empire.
"You remember that flag, Ying Ko - the banner of the dragon swallowing
the
rising sun. The prophetic standard that signified the final conquest of Japan
by
China. If Su Yeng becomes the leader of the northern provinces, his fame will
sweep through China. The present government will weaken. Su Yeng's call for
conquest will make him China's strong man."
Well could The Shadow understand how popular Emperor Su Yeng would
become.
Even his hope of conquering Japan would not be entirely fantastic. But the
restoration of the Empire would turn China into a world-wide menace, defeating
every principle for which the modern Chinese stood. It was something to be
dreaded, not commended.
"Su Yeng has already gathered forces in Northern China," declared Dr.
Tam.
"Mongol hordes are at his command. He brought some of his followers to America
with him. From his headquarters, which, so far, I have been unable to locate,
he intends to enlist adventurers and take them back to China with him."
The Shadow had seen a Mongol killer in the cab that passed the Cobalt
Club. The later arrival of Bull Grendy fitted with Tam's claim that Su Yeng
intended to add Americans to his murderous fold. But The Shadow, at present,
was more interested in the plight of Dr. Roy Tam, who had evidently incurred
the displeasure of Professor Su Yeng. Knowing this, Tam gave the details.
"Su Yeng seeks money, first," Tam explained. "Soon will come the great
New
Year parade through Chinatown, when the lions will dance and the great banner
will be carried through the streets. Thousands upon thousands of dollars will
be tossed upon that banner, all meant to go for war supplies to help China.
"It is Su Yeng's intent to devote those funds to his cause of revolt. He
has told no one of his greater scheme to become emperor. Too many of my
friends" - Tam shook his head, sadly - "have listened to the wily
half-promises
of Su Yeng. I fear that the committee will turn over all the funds to Su
Yeng."
There was something in Tam's tone that told more. The Shadow caught it,
and took up the theme.
"Those of your friends who did not listen -" put The Shadow. "Tell me,
Tam, what has become of them?"
"I do not know, Ying Ko. They have disappeared, I know not where. Su Yeng
is too wise to touch me. Instead, he has decreed oblivion for those who come
to
see me, or even speak to me. Those men outside are waiting to spirit away
anyone
who visits these premises.
"As for the telephone" - Tam gave a despairing gesture - "its wires have
been tapped. Learning of my friends through my conversations, Su Yeng has not
only seized them, but has spread the rumor that I am responsible for their
disappearance. The rumor adds that they had begun to disagree with me, which
is
why they vanished."
The Shadow arose as Tam finished. Drawing off his black gloves, he tossed
them on the desk. He slid his cloak from his shoulders, bundled it and added
it
to the gloves and hat. Tam blinked in amazed style as he saw his visitor, now
in
the guise of Cranston, step toward the door of the office.
"What do you intend, Ying Ko?" exclaimed Tam. "Surely you will be seen if
you venture forth without the attire that makes you as invisible as night
itself?"
"Quite right, Tam." The Shadow's tone had become Cranston's casual drawl.
"I wish to be seen."
"By those who represent Su Yeng? They will seize you and carry you to
their master. Perhaps" - Tam brightened - "you wish to go there as a prisoner,
Ying Ko!"
As he finished, Tam lost his eagerness and shook his head warningly. He
feared that such a process would be too dangerous, even for The Shadow.
"Have no fear, Tam," spoke The Shadow coolly. "It is I who shall do the
seizing. One of Su Yeng's men will be enough. I shall bring the prisoner here,
later, and we can quiz him. Between us, I am sure that we can make him speak."
STEPPING through the door, The Shadow closed it after him. Tam's smile
returned as he noticed the quick fade of Cranston's footfalls on the stairs.
Though garbed as Cranston, The Shadow was employing some of his usual stealth.
It was well. In fact, Tam would have been more pleased had he seen his visitor
leaving the door below.
Coat collar folded to cover the white of his evening shirt, The Shadow
was
practically garbed in black as he glided out through a narrow passage. He
didn't
want to run into a crew of Su Yeng's men. His game was to acquire a single
trailer.
Working toward the rear street, The Shadow paused while two patrollers
passed. With a quick stride, he crossed the street and slid into an alleyway
on
the other side. There, he let his coat collar drop. His footfalls became
evident.
Halfway through the alley, The Shadow knew that the bait had worked. He
could hear creeping sounds behind him. Near the outlet at the next street, a
deft glance rearward gave him sight of a huddly follower. Calmly pausing to
light a cigarette and let his Cranston visage show, The Shadow flicked the
match away and turned, as if to stroll along.
He glimpsed the huddly man springing from the alley's mouth. Despite the
darkness, The Shadow caught the impression of a yellowish Oriental face. The
attacker's hands were buried close to his body, but The Shadow did not expect
him to draw a gun. A knife would be more probable, considering that the Mongol
at the Cobalt Club had thrown one.
No sort of weapon could matter to The Shadow in a case like this.
Spinning
with his glimpse, he no longer had the sauntery poise of Cranston. He was a
human arrow, unleashed straight for the crouching man at the alley's entrance.
His opponent hadn't a chance to dodge away; The Shadow's hands were
plucking the fellow's wrists, sweeping them together for a single clamp, so
that The Shadow's other hand would be free to clutch his adversary's throat.
This swift style of overpowering an enemy was The Shadow's specialty.
It was in the moment when he actually gained the double grip that The
Shadow caught a better look at his opponent's face, as it bobbed back into the
glow of a nearby street lamp. Instantly, The Shadow tried to change his style
of attack; but it was too late.
Yielding like a dummy figure, the man from the alley went tumbling
backward, but his hand, too, had clamped one of The Shadow's wrists. Carrying
the tall fighter with him, the tumbler drove a foot straight upward from the
midst of a back somersault.
Planted squarely in The Shadow's stomach, that foot propelled him on a
long lurch, so swift and hard that his hands, though shooting ahead of him,
could not break the fall. Cranston's flying figure struck the sidewalk,
described a somersault of its own, and brought up with a hard impact against a
wall.
The tricky tumbler came bounding to his feet. Grinning, he beckoned as he
hopped over to inspect the limp and senseless form of Cranston. A car wheeled
up from the corner; other crouched men slid from it to give their comrade a
hand. Three in all, they bundled the unconscious Mr. Cranston into their car
and drove away.
In seeking a trail to Professor Su Yeng, Chinatown's new man of mystery,
The Shadow had deliberately looked for trouble.
The Shadow had found it!
CHAPTER III
THE OTHER CAMP
THE big easy-chair was very comfortable, its cushions deep. The lights
were soothing, much like those in the lounge of the Cobalt Club, where The
Shadow thought he was, as his senses gradually returned. He was reaching for
an
imaginary cigarette on an ash tray that wasn't there; while his other hand,
fingering the lapel of his evening jacket, added to the illusion that he still
was Cranston and in his favorite habitat, the Cobalt Club.
Something jarred those recollections.
It was the mental picture of chaos in the Cobalt Club - excitement raised
by a racing Chinaman who had escaped a Mongol's knife and a fake detective's
bullet. As The Shadow recalled it, those events had caused him to discard the
role of Cranston and become a rover in black.
He had gone to see Dr. Roy Tam.
That point cleared the rest. It brought back the name of Professor Su
Yeng, future emperor of China, lord-to-be of the entire Orient. Su Yeng, at
present a hidden dweller in New York's chinatown, whose secret abode The
Shadow
had sought to uncover by resuming the appearance of Cranston and going out to
capture one of the secretive professor's men.
The Shadow had found a lurker whose face, glimpsed in the gloom, appeared
to be Chinese. But that assumption had been a bad mistake. The Shadow could
recall the error, very clearly. Before his slowly opening eyes rose the
closer,
clearer image of the antagonist near the lamplight.
The face of a Japanese!
Too late had The Shadow recognized the fellow's true nationality. By
then,
the Jap had been in action, but not with a weapon as The Shadow had expected.
The Jap had used jujitsu tactics, applied in skillful style, which The Shadow
couldn't offset at such short notice. The incongruous thing was that Su Yeng,
whose ambitions, though shady, were purely Chinese, should have been employing
Japanese to aid him.
Wide open, The Shadow's eyes were viewing the very face that his
recollection pictured. Grinning from the doorway of the room was the Japanese
jujitsu expert. He was studying the slumped form of Cranston rather
contemptuously, as though considering any future set-to with the clubman as
something too trifling to be worthy of his expert effort.
Letting his eyes rove in Cranston's idle way, The Shadow surveyed the
remainder of the room. It was the living room of an apartment, filled with
elegant furniture that appeared to be of light construction.
The master of the place was seated behind a flimsy writing desk. Like the
guard at the door, the man behind the desk was a Japanese, but his features
showed no grin.
Thin features, withery of complexion, looked very solemn above a
wing-tipped collar. The Japanese at the desk had a dignity that marked him as
a
man of importance. He was watching The Shadow's gradual awakening. When it was
complete, the seated Japanese spoke.
"Good evening, Mr. Cranston." The tone came in a short-clipped fashion
that seemed to leave each sentence unfinished. "I am Prince Fuji Yeddo. Very
sorry about my servant, Ishi." A slow motion of Yeddo's hand ended with a
finger pointing toward the guard at the door. "He was told to bring anyone who
came from Dr. Tam's. You were the person who came."
Like each sentence, Prince Yeddo's entire statement had an unfinished
touch. The Shadow waited, as if expecting to hear more. Prince Yeddo obliged.
"I presume that you expected to meet Professor Su Yeng," declared the
Japanese. "Of course, Dr. Tam would have told you of Su Yeng. A very ambitious
man, Su Yeng. He hopes to be Emperor of China. I am ambitious, also, Mr.
Cranston. Some day, I shall be Shogun of Japan!"
IT was evident that Prince Fuji Yeddo was drawing a very fine distinction
between his own ambition and that of Professor Su Yeng. His eyes fixed on the
impassive face of Cranston, the Japanese was seeking to catch his guest's
reaction; but The Shadow gave no clue to it.
Other things were concerning The Shadow at that moment. Foremost was the
matter of his automatics. They were gone from the holsters beneath his evening
jacket, as he could tell by imperceptible nudges with his elbows.
"A wrong ambition, to be Emperor of China," explained Prince Yeddo. "One
that might cause difficulty for your country, Mr. Cranston. I am not like Su
Yeng. My ambition is legitimate. As shogun, I would be much like prime
minister. I could control the policy of Japan.
"Perhaps I would be very friendly. Especially, Mr. Cranston, if some
American should help me with the problem of Su Yeng. I have come here because
he is a menace to your country and mine. Let our relations be friendly, Mr.
Cranston. Tell me, first, why Dr. Tam sent a messenger to you this evening."
The words were simply put, but, with them, Prince Yeddo gave himself
away.
The Shadow caught the answer to the matter of two killers at the Cobalt Club.
Only one had come from Su Yeng: namely, the Mongol in the passing cab. The
other, Bull Grendy, had been bribed for murder by Fuji Yeddo!
No need for Su Yeng to use American crooks. Chinatown was full of duped
Chinese who would do anything that the future emperor requested. But Fuji
Yeddo
wouldn't care to send his Japanese servants far afield.
Yes, it was he who had used Bull Grendy, and the fact tarred the smug
Japanese with the same brush as Su Yeng. Unquestionably, Prince Fuji Yeddo was
in America for some purpose deeper than the one he stated.
His ambition to become Shogun, or real ruler, of Japan hinged on more
than
the trapping of Su Yeng. To indicate knowledge of that fact could prove
disastrous. Even now, in those gimlet eyes of Fuji Yeddo, The Shadow could
discern a marked suspicion.
It wasn't odd, from Yeddo's viewpoint, that Cranston should be a friend
of
Dr. Tam; but it was peculiar that a New York clubman should pack a brace of
automatics when he traveled around town.
Probably Prince Yeddo had heard of The Shadow. If he identified Cranston
as the human scourge of crime, he might fear for the success of his secret
mission to America. In that case, his guest would become a full-fledged
prisoner, condemned to prompt death.
For such a link would prove to Yeddo that his presence in New York had
escaped The Shadow's notice until tonight, and by that token, Yeddo would know
that such knowledge could not have reached the law.
Tired of fishing for an imaginary cigarette, The Shadow brought a real
one
from his cigarette case, which was still in his pocket. This situation rather
intrigued him, and he intended to make the most of it by playing the Cranston
part to perfection. He was every inch the leisurely clubman as he gave an
approving nod that seemed to accept all of Yeddo's statements.
"Tam and I are old friends," The Shadow stated. "He did mention Su Yeng,
in much the same terms that you have. He wanted me to pass the facts along to
my friend, the police commissioner.
"You see" - Cranston's smile was indulgent - "Commissioner Weston is
chary
about accepting rumors from Chinatown. Tam believed that if I assured him -"
Politely, The Shadow broke off his speech. The telephone bell was ringing
an interruption. The telephone was on Yeddo's desk. With a bow that
acknowledged Cranston's courtesy, the smug prince reached for the instrument.
When he spoke, it was in Japanese.
Fortunately, The Shadow understood that language. If he hadn't, his
remaining life span would have proven brief.
It was immediately evident from Yeddo's haughty tone that the prince was
speaking to another underling like Ishi. His words, likewise, indicated that
the man in question had also been on watch outside of Tam's.
"We have captured the man who came out by the back," Yeddo was saying in
his native tongue. "He was not seen to go in that way. Therefore, he must have
used the front, where you were on duty. You should have reported when he
entered."
BEFORE Yeddo's statement was finished, The Shadow knew that the man at
the
other end would swear that no one had entered Tam's. If Yeddo believed him, as
was more than likely, he would link the facts too well. He would know that
only
The Shadow could have entered, unseen, through the cordon of Su Yeng's
patrollers and his own watchers.
From that, Prince Yeddo would establish the fact that he already
suspected. He would know that Cranston was The Shadow, too formidable a
personage to be duped into an alliance.
Prince Yeddo wasn't yet sure. Even more important at the moment was the
fact that Ishi hadn't a glimmer of the truth. The Shadow's weakness of awhile
before, the ease with which he had succumbed to the jujitsu tactics, was his
present strength. Thinking that Cranston could be simply handled by Ishi,
Prince Yeddo was relying solely on that expert guard to keep his guest a
prisoner.
With a quick spring from his chair, The Shadow dived for the door. Ishi
sprang to meet him, pleased by Cranston's foolhardy effort at flight.
Wheeling from the telephone, Prince Yeddo had neither time to draw a gun
nor voice a warning to his servitor before the antagonists locked. This time,
the combat took a swift reverse twist.
Ishi was the one who made first clutch, intending to send Cranston on an
overhead circle throw. The Shadow broke that hold with an outward wrist twist.
As Ishi lunged in to gain a different hold, The Shadow showed that he really
knew jujitsu, by driving his knuckles into the Jap's ribs and forcing an
immediate release.
Then, before Ishi could recover, The Shadow hooked him with an arm,
levered a foot against the fellow's knee and sent him away with a swift hip
spin.
Whirling headlong, Ishi bowled straight against Prince Yeddo who was
coming from the writing desk, hoping to get in a gunshot when the grapplers
untangled. He was taken off his feet by Ishi's sprawl.
Hitting on hands and knees, Yeddo bounded up with the alacrity of a
rubber
ball, to aim for Cranston. By then, The Shadow was through the doorway, and
摘要：

THEDEVILMASTERbyMaxwellGrantAsoriginallypublishedin"TheShadowMagazine,"September15,1941.Bypittingonemanofevilagainstanother,canTheShadowbringtriumphtothesideoftheright?CHAPTERICHINATOWNTRAILTHEdoormanattheCobaltClubwasn'tpreparedforthesurprisethatpoppedfromthelimousine.He'dhelpedmanypeopleoutoflimou...

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