Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 202 - Gems of Doom

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GEMS OF DOOM
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. EYES OF CRIME
? CHAPTER II. THE SINISTER SCHEME
? CHAPTER III. SHADOW - SHADOW
? CHAPTER IV. DEATH IN THE DARK
? CHAPTER V. THE MAN WHO KNEW
? CHAPTER VI. CRIME'S HEADQUARTERS
? CHAPTER VII. MOVES AT DUSK
? CHAPTER VIII. THE BLIND TRAIL
? CHAPTER IX. THE FIERY BARRIER
? CHAPTER X. THE DIAMOND SHOW
? CHAPTER XI. ABOVE AND BELOW
? CHAPTER XII. STRANGE STRATEGY
? CHAPTER XIII. CRIME'S TERMS
? CHAPTER XIV. CRANSTON'S APPOINTMENT
? CHAPTER XV. CROOKS FIND THE SHADOW
? CHAPTER XVI. OUT OF THE DARK
? CHAPTER XVII. LAST-MINUTE CRIME
? CHAPTER XVIII. FLIGHT REVERSED
? CHAPTER XIX. DEAD MAN'S STORY
? CHAPTER XX. CRIME'S PROOF
CHAPTER I. EYES OF CRIME
SHADOWY silence clutched the darkened street, and the portly man in the taxicab did not like it. His
pudgy face was nervous, as he glanced back at the fading lights of the avenue. His voice was gaspy as he
turned to his bland companion, to inquire:
"You're sure that Kreld expects us, Traal?"
"Of course," replied the bland man, coolly. "I called him this afternoon, Blendon."
The cab stopped under the looming bulk of a massive brownstone house, that seemed like a giant sphinx,
waiting to snatch wayfarers with its paw. Blendon was fumbly, when he tried to pay the cabby. Traal
gave a short laugh, and produced the needed fare.
Blendon was still nervous when the pair ascended the brownstone steps. He had a right to be.
As the head of the Gotham Jewelers' Association, Alfred Blendon regarded himself as a marked man.
Wherever he went, Blendon imagined that crooks trailed him, on the chance that he might be carrying
Jewels.
As a result, Blendon never did carry jewels. But this evening he was doing the equivalent. His
companion, Jan Traal, representative of a South African diamond syndicate, had brought along a mere
quarter million in uncut stones, for delivery to a wealthy purchaser, Donald Kreld.
While Traal kept tugging at the big doorbell, Blendon squinted across the street. The houses opposite
were old and somber; their deep doorways and heavy step rails struck Blendon as the very sort of
shelter that crooks would enjoy. Plucking Traal's sleeve, Blendon hoarsed:
"We're in danger here! In danger, I tell you -"
The door of the mansion opened so suddenly that Blendon's cringing weight carried him through into a
little vestibule. The portly jeweler would have sprawled, if Traal hadn't caught him.
As the door closed, Blendon turned to the man who had admitted them, expecting to see a servant.
Instead, he found a tall, gray-haired man, whose long, deep-lined face showed an expression of alarm.
"Kreld!" exclaimed Blendon. "It's quite all right. I was just a bit disturbed, outdoors. My imagination got
the better of me."
"Blendon was frightened by the shadows," remarked Traal, with a touch of sarcasm in his dry tone. "I
must agree that there were many of them, but none were real."
Both Blendon and Traal noted that Kreld had bolted the big front door. He did the same with the inner
door, and glanced doubtfully at its panel of plate glass. He led them across the hall, past an unlighted
living room, and up a stairway to the second floor.
The lights of a study greeted them. Once inside, Kreld closed the door and gave a sigh of relief. He
motioned his visitors to chairs, and took his seat behind a large desk in front of a good-sized safe that
was obviously of modern construction.
There were whiskey and soda on the desk, together with glasses and a dish of ice. In a steadied tone,
Kreld suggested that the visitors have a drink.
Both accepted, and Kreld joined them. After a long swallow, the gray-haired man put down his glass and
looked toward Traal.
"Did you bring the uncut diamonds?"
Traal nodded. He produced a chamois bag from his pocket, opened it, and poured a pile of glistening
pebbles on the desk. Kreld examined the diamonds with a practiced eye.
"There they are," announced Traal. "The profit from those gems should net you a tidy fortune, Mr. Kreld.
I wish I had a quarter million to spare. I couldn't ask for a better investment."
Kreld looked to Blendon, who nodded his approval. Still studying the stones, Kreld took another
swallow from his glass, then leaned back in his chair.
"The purchase is quite satisfactory," he declared. "I agree with you that New York will soon become the
diamond center of the world, in place of Amsterdam. With expert diamond cutters coming to America,
stones like these can be manufactured into salable jewelry. I shall want more of them later, Traal."
The promise pleased Traal. He leaned back in his own chair and finished his drink in satisfied style. Traal
had made his sale; it was Blendon's turn to make a proposition.
"WHY not deal through our association, Kreld?" questioned Blendon. "Our membership includes the
best jewelry manufacturers and merchants of high repute. We can market your gems."
Kreld smiled.
"Then why are you overstocked?" he queried. "I happen to know that you have the largest supply of
diamonds in years."
"Because the market is on the rise," insisted Blendon. "This is the time to buy."
"And there will be a time to sell. What then?"
Blendon hesitated at Kreld's question. Kreld smiled again at his visitor's dilemma.
"I am looking forward to that time," declared Kreld. "I intend to establish chain stores throughout the
country, to sell diamonds in the fashion of gilt-edged securities. How does that impress you, Blendon?"
"It is perfect!" enthused Blendon. "Buy all the stones you want from Traal, and take ours, too. We are
wholesalers, as well as retailers. I assure you, Kreld, that we can supply any market that you create."
Kreld stroked his long chin and gave Blendon a steady glance. Coolly, he questioned:
"Why should I create the market? Since it will mean profit to your manufacturers and wholesalers, would
I be unfair in expecting you to do your share?"
"We are ready," returned Blendon. "Our association has already agreed to create public interest in
diamonds, by displaying them at fashion shows and other events. With our present stock"—Blendon
spoke with emphasis—"we shall be able to begin at once. Something which you are not yet prepared to
do, Kreld."
Leaning forward, Kreld buried his chin in his hand and gave a smile which both Blendon and Traal
appreciated.
"I think that we three can do business," affirmed Kreld. "In fact, I have felt so all along. Something was
needed to start it, so I purchased these uncut stones from Traal. That is why I invited some investors to
come here later. Suppose we have our whole plan outlined by the time they arrive."
The plan was simple. Traal was to produce raw diamonds, through the South African syndicate, and
supply the expert diamond cutters. Blendon's association would handle the manufacture of the jewelry
and wholesale the gems to Kreld for his chain-store system.
But the crux, as Kreld emphasized and Blendon agreed, was to place diamonds before the public eye.
Again, Blendon declared that his association was equipped to go the limit in putting diamonds on display.
"We have millions in diamonds," assured Blendon. "Not uncut stones, like these, but magnificent finished
gems. We can arrange shows that will have all New York agog, merely through the value of the
diamonds that we display. We shall -"
Kreld interrupted. He rose from the desk and stepped to the window. Spreading the heavy curtains, he
looked out to the street, then returned, rubbing his chin.
"I thought I heard a car," said Kreld. "But it is too early yet. Tell me" —he turned suddenly to
Blendon—"did you actually see any lurkers outside?"
Blendon's response was a headshake, but he looked worried at Kreld's question.
"I did my best to keep this meeting secret," stated Kreld. "After paying a cold quarter million"—he was
thumbing the uncut diamonds, letting them trickle from his fingers to the desk—"I would not want to lose
it."
"You're afraid of robbery?" questioned Blendon, anxiously. "Perhaps you had better put the stones in the
safe."
"I want the investors to see them," said Kreld. "Come, gentlemen, let us forget our qualms. Finish your
drinks, and I shall bring up another siphon of soda. At least, I took one wise precaution." He was smiling
in reassured fashion. "I told all the servants to take the night off."
"A good idea," declared Traal. "Do you know, Kreld, I was a bit suspicious of that snoopy fellow that I
saw here the other night."
"You must mean Jaffrey," mused Kreld. "The man with the sharp nose and the big lower lip."
"That's the fellow."
"Jaffrey is new. But he came here with a good recommendation. Yet sometimes"—Kreld pondered—"I
wonder about Jaffrey. It was really on account of Jaffrey that I sent all the servants out. I did not want to
single him from the lot."
KRELD was picking up the siphon. His back was turned toward the door. In their turn, Traal and
Blendon were looking at their host. None saw the motion at the door of the room; it was far enough
away to be unnoticed.
The door was ajar, and peering through its crack was a face that answered the description that Kreld
had just given. From the hallway, Jaffrey, the doubtful servant, was making the most of his night off by
peering in upon the conference.
There was eagerness upon Jaffrey's big-lipped face; his eyes had a glitter as they stared at the uncut
diamonds. Jaffrey had listened long enough to hear mention of their value. He had listened long enough,
too, to know what to do about it.
Carefully closing the door, he sidled through the hall with sneaky tread.
Reaching the stairway, the servant hurried down. There was a telephone in the narrow rear hall that ran
along beside the staircase. Hurriedly, Jaffrey dialed a number, then opened the door of a closet and slid
his stooped form inside, taking the telephone with him.
A gleam came into Jaffrey's eyes. They were ugly eyes, and eager. Eyes of crime, that had spied upon a
scene where profit waited. A tool of evil, Jaffrey was forwarding word to someone who would listen to
the servant's tale!
CHAPTER II. THE SINISTER SCHEME
"ANSWER it, Ape."
The man who spoke was blunt-faced, hard of eye and jaw. He was lounging in an easy-chair, wearing a
garish smoking jacket. His apartment was lavish, a massy glitter of chromium-plated furniture.
Only one man in New York could have lived in such a place and liked it. That man was Curly Regal,
ex-gambler who had once operated in Miami.
"I said, answer the telephone!" snarled Curly, half lifting from his chair. "Hop to it, Ape!"
When it came to nicknames, "Ape" Bundy's fell short. Most members of the monkey tribe were
handsome compared to Curly's lumbering bodyguard, whose squinty eyes and grinning mass of ill-formed
teeth would have shocked the customers in a dime museum.
The human gorilla tossed down the comic page that he was reading and lumbered across the big living
room. He picked up the telephone and mouthed something that a person with imagination might take to
mean "Hello."
Evidently the man at the other end had heard Ape's voice before, for there was a reply. Ape held the
telephone in Curly's direction.
"It's Jaffrey."
Curly popped from his chair, a gleam on his flattish face.
In another corner, a slim, well-groomed man stopped pacing and reached to a pocket of his Tuxedo to
obtain a platinum cigarette case. While Curly talked to Jaffrey, the Tuxedoed man lighted his cigarette,
after inserting it in a long holder.
Many persons knew the handsome face above the Tuxedo collar. It belonged to Jack Emble, who rated
tops in New York's high society circles. Why Emble happened to be visiting Curly, was a question that
only they could answer. But it was plain that Emble was interested in the call from Jaffrey.
As Emble listened, his overhandsome features lost much of their gloss. His eyes took on a shrewd glint,
that showed the nature of a scheming crook behind the outward pose of the society man.
Finished with the telephone call, Curly Regal slapped the receiver on the hook and turned to Jack Emble
in satisfied style.
"It's a set-up," announced Curly. "Blendon and Traal showed up to see Kreld, like Jaffrey expected.
Traal delivered the uncuts that Kreld bought from the syndicate. They're worth two hundred and fifty
grand, Jaffrey says."
Emble didn't seem impressed. He let a puff of cigarette smoke stream from the long holder and waited
for Curly to say more. Curly said it.
"I told Jaffrey to leave the way open," declared the ex-gambler. "I'm sending Ape over to pick up those
rocks. Kreld's expecting some other people; he'll think that Ape is one of them. That is, until Ape puts on
the heat."
Emble stared fixedly at a cloud of cigarette smoke, then shook his head.
"I don't like it."
"Why not?" demanded Curly. Then, with a sneer, he queried: "Getting cold feet, Jack? Afraid they'll trace
you through Jaffrey?"
"Not at all," returned Emble. "I'm merely thinking of the future. You know why Blendon is with Traal. He
wants to make a deal with Kreld, to turn those uncut stones into finished gems for the market. They're
going to boost diamonds in a big way, Curly. We'll have bigger game ahead."
Curly didn't agree.
"Suppose the deal flukes," he argued. "What then? We'll have passed up our only chance."
"It can't fluke," declared Emble. "Kreld is handcuffed, though he doesn't know it. The South African
diamond syndicate is a closed corporation that controls everything. It won't let one customer buck
another. Blendon is an old customer and Kreld a new one. They won't supply Kreld if Blendon objects."
"But Traal has already made a sale to Kreld -"
"Of course," interposed Emble. "He took a risk, though, when he did it. He wanted to get Kreld started
in the diamond business. He's hoping that Kreld will make terms with Blendon, without pressure being
needed.
"It's bound to work out the way we want it, Curly. Don't forget that I move around with the right people,
and I hear a lot. Blendon and the other jewelers are going to stage the diamond shows that they've talked
about. Then we can clean up right."
To emphasize his argument, Emble produced a list that Curly had given him. It contained the names of
slick confidence men that Curly had met in Miami. Every name on the list was a safe one. None of the
chosen men was wanted by the law.
"When I line up these sharpshooters," reasoned Emble, tapping the list, "I can pass them as blue bloods
at any function from a dinner dance to a horse show. We'll go after millions, not fractions -"
Curly interrupted with an impatient gesture. He snatched the list from Emble's hand, crumpled it, and
thrust it into a pocket of Emble's Tuxedo jacket.
"Keep the list," snapped Curly, "and use it later. I'm not passing up something that's right under my nose!
You say that Jaffrey is safe. All right, I'll have Ape go ahead with the job tonight."
Curly beckoned and Ape approached. Curly drew a rough diagram of Kreld's mansion, from information
supplied by Jaffrey. He told Ape exactly how to enter and leave, adding that he would have a mobbie
crew waiting outside to cover the ugly crook's departure.
"And remember, Ape," added Curly, "these rocks you are going after are uncut diamonds. They don't
look like regular sparklers. They look like pebbles. Like these."
Opening a table drawer Curly brought out a cardboard box and showed Ape a collection of beach
pebbles and tiny periwinkles that one of Curly's girl friends had gathered at Miami Beach. Ape mouthed
an understanding grunt.
By that time, Jack Emble seemed reconciled to the job that Curly Regal intended; perhaps because no
argument could persuade the ex-gambler otherwise.
As a big-shot, Curly had the contacts, from con men to thugs, and he had made it plain that Emble would
have to take orders. Nevertheless, Curly considered it good policy to mollify his fancy lieutenant,
particularly when he remembered that Emble had one connection that would prove important.
Turning from Ape, Curly slapped Emble on the back and said:
"This is a sure thing, Jack! It won't hurt those other jobs that you've been waiting for. Besides, we can
peddle these uncuts easy. You were telling me you knew a Dutchman who can cut sparklers, and will
play ball. What was the guy's name?"
"Isak Droot," replied Emble. "He came over from Amsterdam along with the rest of the experts."
"Lammed out of Holland, didn't he?"
"Yes. He was in some trouble over there. They didn't find it out until after he arrived here. He's been
keeping himself quite scarce, ever since.
"But you know where to reach him?"
Emble gave a nod to Curly's final question. Quite at ease again, Emble was lighting another cigarette and
showed no resentment toward Curly. The big-shot was pleased.
"We'll let Droot shape the uncuts," decided Curly. "I'm glad you see things the way I do, Jack, about
tonight's job. Leave it to Ape; he'll come through."
Emble looked at Ape, studying the man's grotesque features. Then, turning to Curly, the society man said
coolly:
"Ape will need a mask."
Tilting his head back, Curly laughed. The suggestion was so obvious that it struck Curly as funny.
Facially, Ape Bundy was unique. No one who once saw his gorilla features could ever forget them. What
was more, the police knew that Ape worked for Curly Regal and no one else.
They termed Ape the "Big Baboon," and were constantly hoping that they could catch him in some crime,
in order that they might pin it on Curly Regal, whose unblemished record annoyed the law. Curly
wouldn't think of sending Ape on a job unmasked. But that was not the only reason for Curly's laugh.
The big-shot had something else up the sleeve of his garish smoking jacket —a stunt that he knew would
impress Jack Emble. Stepping to a closet, Curly opened the door, then questioned:
"Did you ever hear of The Shadow?"
Emble gave an unperturbed nod.
"Do you know who he is?"
"Nobody does," returned Emble, "except The Shadow himself. The only way he has ever been identified
is by the black cloak and slouch hat that he wears when he goes after crooks."
"Yeah," agreed Curly, "and The Shadow does things his own way, don't he?"
Emble nodded. Ape shifted uneasily. The Big Baboon didn't like to hear The Shadow mentioned. The
very name distressed crooks of his ilk. But Curly didn't notice Ape; while reaching into the closet, the
big-shot was still addressing Emble.
"The way The Shadow does things," repeated Curly, "has made a lot of people think that he might go
crooked some day, if it meant enough. Two hundred and fifty grand of easy pickings ought to mean
enough— even for The Shadow!"
WITH that, Curly produced a black cloak and a slouch hat from the closet. He tossed the garments to
Ape, who dodged them; then stooped sheepishly to pick them up, as Curly guffawed and Emble smiled
at the human gorilla's fright.
"Climb into those, Ape," ordered Curly. "Then, bringing a pair of black gloves from the closet shelf."
"Shove these over those hairy mitts of yours. When it comes to heaters"— Curly was unlocking a table
drawer—"they say The Shadow always lugs a pair of .45 automatics. Here you are!"
Producing the required guns, Curly waited until Ape had put on the gloves; then he handed him the
weapons. He reminded Ape that he was to put one automatic beneath his cloak, when he picked up the
diamonds, not to forget himself and lay the unneeded gun on Kreld's desk.
"Tighten that collar," ordered Curly, finally, "and pull down the front of the hat. Nobody's to see that mug
of yours, Ape, and when you talk, use a whisper."
Ape had left by the rear exit, when Emble strolled from the front. Entering a cab, Emble told the driver to
take him to Number Ninety-nine, one of Manhattan's swankiest night clubs, which was well patronized
by the elite.
There, among the best of New York society, Emble would have a perfect alibi for the evening, though he
was quite sure that he would not need one.
As he rode, Jack Emble wore the same shrewd expression that he had flashed in the presence of Curly
Regal. Far from being ruffled over Curly's plan for a premature robbery, Emble relished it. The idea of
blaming it on The Shadow appealed to Emble.
The thing was a sinister scheme; a credit to Curly Regal. From it, Jack Emble saw success to evil; not
merely upon this evening, but in many crimes to come!
CHAPTER III. SHADOW—SHADOW
SOON after Jack Emble's departure from Curly Regal's apartment, a big limousine left the door of the
exclusive Cobalt Club, the conservative gathering place of Manhattan millionaires.
The limousine had turned the corner, when an attendant dashed out from the club and spoke to the
doorman. Returning, the attendant stopped at a telephone in the foyer.
"I'm very sorry," he said, "but Mr. Lamont Cranston has just left. If you will leave your name, sir -"
The only answer was an abrupt click of a telephone receiver. The attendant made a notation of the
unknown call and its time and placed the slip in Cranston's box.
Five minutes later, the same attendant answered another call. This one was for the police commissioner,
Ralph Weston, who was a member of the Cobalt Club and spent most of his spare time there.
The attendant said that Weston was in the grillroom; but before he could start to summon the
commissioner, the speaker gave a message.
This call, like the other, had an abrupt finish. The attendant hurried down to the grillroom, found Weston
concluding a late dinner. The commissioner was a brusque man, who became much annoyed when
interrupted while eating. But the message was important.
"I don't know who it was, sir," said the attendant, "but he said it was urgent. He said that there was
danger of a robbery at the home of a man named Donald Kreld."
"Donald Kreld!" exclaimed Weston, bounding up from the table. "Why, he's the man that Cranston was
going to see this evening! But Cranston said nothing of danger. I wonder -" Pausing, Weston suddenly
snapped, "Was it Cranston who called?"
The attendant didn't think so. There had been a similar call for Cranston, earlier, but with no message. He
wasn't sure that the voices were the same. Perplexed, he admitted that the second caller could have been
Cranston. By then, Weston had heard enough.
"Either a friend of Cranston's," decided the commissioner, "or a servant at Kreld's. Obviously, the fellow
tried to talk to Cranston first; then decided to call me. I'll take care of the matter, right away."
Weston took care of the matter by going upstairs and putting in a call to headquarters. He spoke to his
ace inspector, Joe Cardona, and ordered him to Kreld's, with a picked squad. Cardona was to wait near
the mansion until the commissioner arrived in his official car.
There was a chance that the thing was a hoax; in that case, the laugh would be on Weston, if he sent a
flock of police trooping into Kreld's.
So Weston decided that the best policy was to drop in alone, making the visit seem quite casual, but with
Cardona and the squad in reserve, should they be needed.
MEANWHILE, Cranston's limousine was rolling on its way to Kreld's. Stanley, the stolid chauffeur, was
driving at moderate speed. In the rear seat, Lamont Cranston was smoking a cigar and glancing idly from
the window.
This evening's schedule seemed a drab one, from Cranston's point of view. He knew that Kreld wanted
to interest him in investing in a chain of jewelry stores that would retail expensive diamonds. But Kreld
had not mentioned his preliminary purchase of a quarter million dollars' worth of uncut stones from Jan
Traal.
In fact, for the very reasons that Jack Emble had given Curly Regal, Cranston supposed that Kreld
would be unable to purchase diamonds until he had closed a deal with Blendon's association.
Lamont Cranston was quite familiar with the operations of the South African diamond syndicate, and
knew the tight grip that it held upon the entire trade, from brokers to cutters.
Like his manner, Cranston's face was calm. It was a hawk-featured countenance, masklike, in the
passing lights of the avenue. Those lights faded as the big car turned into Kreld's street. The very gloom
of that forgotten thoroughfare impressed Cranston. He had a peculiar interest in all places of darkness.
Cranston's sharp eyes saw lurkers. They were in doorways across from Kreld's. There were cars parked
in the gloom, with figures crouched behind the wheels; rakish cars, not of the sort that Kreld's visitors
would bring. By the time that Cranston had taken in the scene, the limousine came to a halt in front of
Kreld's.
There was a brief case in the limousine. Cranston decided to take it with him. It contained papers relative
to the chain-store transaction; though Cranston did not actually need the brief case, it was natural enough
for him to bring it along. He had another purpose, however, in carrying the brief case.
Stepping from the car, Cranston quietly told Stanley to return to the Cobalt Club and wait there until
called. Then, with a careless saunter, Cranston strolled up the brownstone steps, reaching the top just as
the limousine pulled away.
To lurkers across the street, Cranston was simply an expected visitor at Kreld's. Nevertheless, figures
shifted in the gloom, and Cranston noticed them.
He suspected that they were uneasy, that part of their duty was to take care of troublesome strangers. A
false move at that time could have proven quite disastrous for Cranston. But he had a way of doing the
right thing.
The watchers saw Cranston's tall form turn toward the door; his hand lifted and gave a pull at the
doorbell. Turning slightly, Cranston stood as if waiting for someone to answer.
The move was a good one. If intruders were in the house, the ringing of the doorbell would give them
warning that someone else had arrived. Across the street, shifting men eased back to cover, waiting to
see what happened next.
They had been deceived by Cranston's move. Actually, he hadn't tugged the bell at all. Holding the brief
case in one hand, he slid his other hand behind him to try the doorknob. He wanted to find out how
strong the lock was.
Unless it proved formidable, the tall visitor intended to work on the lock, while faking another ring of the
bell. Locks frequently yielded under the persuasive methods of the leisurely Mr. Cranston.
More pleased than surprised, Cranston found that the knob turned. The door was not locked. To enter
abruptly would have been a bad mistake.
Resting the brief case on the top step, Cranston freed his hand to fake another tug at the bell. At the
same time, his hidden hand turned the knob and gave the door an inward swing.
What followed was a bit of perfect acting. Turning, as if surprised, Cranston gathered up the brief case
with his left hand and thrust his right in through the door, as though returning a welcome.
As he stepped into the vestibule, his foot deftly hooked the door and swung it shut. Thanks to the
semidarkness, the lurkers across the way were completely deceived.
Of that huddled band, every man was ready to swear that some person - probably Donald Kreld—had
opened the door to admit Lamont Cranston, and had closed it after the visitor entered.
IN the vestibule, Cranston quickly inverted the brief case and pulled a hidden zipper that ran along the
bottom. The brief case spread, showing a V-shaped pocket between its two sections.
From that compact space, Cranston produced a slouch hat, a black cloak, and a pair of gloves. Closing
the brief case, he placed it behind an umbrella stand in the vestibule.
The speed with which Cranston put on those garments showed that they were a habitual garb. The
lurkers who had let him pass as a harmless visitor would have regretted their oversight, had they
witnessed the transformation in the vestibule.
From the top of his slouch hat to the hem of his black cloak, Lamont Cranston looked the part of the
personage that he had become: The Shadow.
During his quick change, The Shadow peered through the inner door of the vestibule. Past the glass
panel, he saw the lower hall, gloomy and deserted. Beyond was the stairway, dark up to a little landing
where the steps turned to reach the second floor. The Shadow was turning the handle of the inner door,
when a slight stir made him pause.
There was blackness on the stairway; it was creeping into the light at the landing. As The Shadow
watched, he observed a singular occurrence; one with which he was quite familiar, though he had never
witnessed.
A cloaked shape was materializing from darkness in a most uncanny fashion. It became a living figure, a
slouch hat above the cloak. Gloved hands showed in the light; each fist held a heavy automatic.
It actually seemed as though The Shadow had arrived here ahead of himself!
For the moment the sight amused The Shadow more than it amazed him. Then the whispered laugh that
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GEMSOFDOOMMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2002BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.EYESOFCRIME?CHAPTERII.THESINISTERSCHEME?CHAPTERIII.SHADOW-SHADOW?CHAPTERIV.DEATHINTHEDARK?CHAPTERV.THEMANWHOKNEW?CHAPTERVI.CRIME'SHEADQUARTERS?CHAPTERVII.MOVESATDUSK?CHAPTERVIII.THEBLINDTRAIL?CHAPTERIX.THEF...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：74 页 大小：476.7KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-23

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