Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 131 - The Shadow Unmasks

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THE SHADOW UNMASKS
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. CROOKS MOVE OUT
? CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW VANISHES
? CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW'S SUBSTITUTE
? CHAPTER IV. DEATH'S SILENCE
? CHAPTER V. THE BROKEN TRAIL
? CHAPTER VI. SNARES REVERSED
? CHAPTER VII. WESTON WORRIES
? CHAPTER VIII. A FAIR EXCHANGE
? CHAPTER IX. THE FINGER POINTS
? CHAPTER X. WITHOUT THE SHADOW
? CHAPTER XI. CROSSED THRUSTS
? CHAPTER XII. THE THIRD WEEK
? CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW'S STORY
? CHAPTER XIV. CRIME'S NEXT STEP
? CHAPTER XV. CHANBURY DECIDES
? CHAPTER XVI. HENSHEW'S VISITOR
? CHAPTER XVII. VANISHED SPOILS
? CHAPTER XVIII. THE WRONG HUNT
? CHAPTER XIX. FACTS FOR THE LAW
? CHAPTER XX. MIDNIGHT MURDER
? CHAPTER XXI. MOVES AT DUSK
? CHAPTER XXII. THE TRAP SPRINGS
? CHAPTER XXIII. DEAD FACES
CHAPTER I. CROOKS MOVE OUT
"SHARK" MEGLO was staring coldly from his apartment window. His eyes carried a glint that matched
the glitter of the silver coin that Shark was impatiently tossing with his right hand.
Each click of Shark's thumb nail brought a ring from the half dollar. Spinning, the coin landed with a
thwack in the waiting palm, only to be started on another twirl.
Shark's hard, long-jawed face was known to the law. So was the fellow's coin-tossing habit. For months,
the police had been looking for Shark Meglo as the murderer behind the most serious wave of jewel
robberies that had ever startled New York.
The coin's spin ended with a final plop. Shark's thick lips framed an ugly smile. A man had stepped in
from the darkened street, to reach the lighted entry of the apartment house. Shark had recognized the
fellow's face, four floors below. The arrival was "Hood" Bleeth, Shark's lieutenant.
Soon, there was a rap on the apartment door. Shark admitted Hood and pointed to a small clock that
stood on a table. It showed the time as quarter of eight. Hood's puffy, pock-marked face showed
apology.
"I know I'm late," admitted Hood. "Only it was no cinch getting word to all the crew. Anyway, the guys
are all ready -"
"Then we're set," interrupted Shark, in a hard-snapped tone. "The chink slipped me the message when he
brought the wash. The job won't be until nine o'clock."
Hood looked relieved. He settled into the best chair that the furnished apartment boasted. Shark began
to spin the coin again. Hood looked anxious. He expected a further announcement. It came.
"There'll be another rub-out," grated Shark. "We can wise the crew when we get there."
Shark watched Hood coldly. He saw the lieutenant's worried air. After a few moments, Hood voiced a
hoarse objection.
"It's getting me jittery, Shark," declared Hood. "We've staged three jobs already - keeping 'em three or
four weeks apart. That's smart stuff; but bumping the guys ain't! Whatta you want to croak those stuffed
shirts for? It don't cover us. Instead of being a bunch of jewel snatchers, we're labeled as a gang of
masked killers. If it was covering us -"
Again, Shark's rasp interrupted.
"There's one guy it does cover," stated Shark. "The bird that sells the sparklers to begin with. It wouldn't
be much of a racket, if the bulls knew where those rocks were coming from."
Amazement spread over Hood's puffy face. Shark was juggling the half dollar as he watched his
lieutenant. The smirk that Shark displayed was one of evil relish.
"Cripes!" gulped Hood. "You told me there was a big-shot in the racket. I remember you saying we
didn't have to worry about fencing the sparklers after we grabbed 'em. Only -"
"Only you never figured we cashed in before we started," inserted Shark. "The cops haven't figured it
either; and that includes Joe Cardona, the wise bull that they call the ace police inspector. I've given you
the straight dope, Hood. Keep it under your hat."
HOOD nodded his intention of so doing. His knowledge of the game was complete at last. Some jewel
merchant of high repute was behind the whole racket. That hidden big-shot sold high priced gems to
dupes; then tipped off Shark Meglo where and when to get them.
Shark grabbed the swag; it went back to the big-shot. Again the reputable jeweler, that master-crook,
sold the same goods to a new victim.
Murder was necessary; if a victim survived, he might name the man who had sold him gems valued at a
quarter million. Those transactions were confidential ones. Death could keep them quiet later.
"There's only one guy who could queer this racket," announced Shark. "That's The Shadow! It's on
account of him that I've been dodging from one hide-out to another."
Hood's pleased leer ended. Hood never liked to hear mention of The Shadow. Shark was right, The
Shadow could finish any game that left crime in its wake. Particularly, when men of high social status
were concerned.
Crimeland knew The Shadow as a cloaked avenger who appeared from nowhere, to strike down
murderous underworld denizens. Though The Shadow's identity was unknown, it was conceded that he
was a personage of distinction, who would know people of wealth.
That was why the murders of jewel-buying millionaires had carried more than usual risk. Hood knew that
it was sheer luck that had so far enabled Shark to evade The Shadow.
"Snap out of it, Hood," growled Shark. "Here, take this change the Chinaman gave me, and get me some
cigarettes up at the corner store. I'll be packing while you're gone. Take a gander at the lookout in the
lobby. Make sure he's on the job."
Shark gave Hood the shiny half dollar. Leaving the apartment, Hood descended by the automatic
elevator. In the lobby, he nodded to a long-limbed fellow who sat in a little office. Hood knew the fellow;
his name was "Pinkey" Borton, a rowdy who could put up a presentable appearance.
Whenever Shark took a new hideaway, he always posted Pinkey at lookout. Pinkey had wangled a
clerk's job at this shoddy apartment house before Shark had become a tenant.
The street was deserted, and that pleased Hood. The underling stopped outside the corner drug store
and cast a suspicious eye at a streamlined taxi that was stopping there. The cab looked empty, so Hood
went into the drug store. The cab driver alighted and entered while Hood was buying the cigarettes.
Just as Hood stepped away, the cabby asked the druggist to change a dollar bill. The man behind the
counter handed over Shark's half dollar along with some smaller change.
Returning to his cab, the driver took a sly glance at Hood, who was on his way back to the apartment
house. Once behind the wheel, the cabby reached to the connecting window. Holding the change that he
had received, he gave the information:
"It was Hood Bleeth!"
A whispered voice responded. A black-gloved hand came through the window and took the change.
Half a minute later, the cab rolled slowly along the narrow street that Hood had taken.
As the taxi neared a darkened street outside the apartment house, the door opened noiselessly. An
unseen passenger stepped from the moving cab into the blackness of the sidewalk.
Hood had gone up in the automatic elevator. Pinkey was behind the office counter, eyeing the front door.
He let his gaze shift toward the elevator. Pinkey indulged in a wan smile; a swish, close beside him,
changed his expression to alarm.
Pinkey swung face to face with a surging, black-cloaked invader who had sprung in from the entry. He
saw burning eyes sheltered beneath the brim of a slouch hat. Long arms were stretching forward, driving
gloved hands for the lookout's throat.
Pinkey recognized The Shadow.
WITH a snarl, the lookout tried to reach the inner end of the office, by the switchboard. He was pulling a
revolver as he sprang away; Pinkey thought that he could gain a shot before The Shadow produced an
automatic.
The Shadow did not need a gun.
With one long drive, the cloaked invader leaped the low counter. The Shadow's jabbing hands found
their target, Pinkey's neck. The lookout flattened beneath his cloaked opponent. As Pinkey's eyes bulged
upward, The Shadow's powerful fingers choked words from the lookout's lips.
"Shark Meglo!" gasped Pinkey. "He - he's up on the fourth floor - 4 B! Hood - Hood Bleeth's with him!
That's all - all I know -"
A buzz from the switchboard was interrupting Pinkey's blurts. The Shadow's fingers pressed beneath
Pinkey's chin, found the spot they wanted. The lookout slumped; his eyes shut as his body became limp.
That skillful treatment settled him into temporary unconsciousness, as effectively as if he had received a
knockout punch.
The buzz from the switchboard ended before The Shadow could pick up the earphones and fake
Pinkey's voice.
Without delay, The Shadow cleared the counter and took to the stairway. He did not have to halt to pick
up Pinkey's pass-keys. They were dangling from the senseless lookout's pocket. The Shadow carried
them along as he went past.
The stairs offered a more rapid route than the elevator, which The Shadow would have had to bring
down from the fourth floor. When he reached 4 B, The Shadow unlocked the door and shoved it inward.
He twisted back across the hall, aiming an automatic for the center of the lighted room.
There was no sign of Shark and Hood. A stir of wind through an opened window showed the route that
they had taken. They had called Pinkey to learn if the route was clear. Receiving no reply, the two had
cleared through the window, to the roof of an adjoining building, then down a fire escape.
When The Shadow reached the window, he heard the snort of a starting motor in an alleyway below. A
high wall made it impossible to stop, in time, the get-away that Shark and Hood were making.
They had taken most of Shark's luggage with them; but in their haste they had left a few items. There was
an unopened package of laundry in the corner. The table drawer revealed odds and ends that Shark had
not waited to junk.
His gloves removed, The Shadow picked through an assortment of pencils, paperclips, paper and
envelopes.
With those items was a small microscope. The Shadow held the tiny magnifying glass beneath the light. It
was powerful, despite its miniature size; the sort of glass that a watchmaker would use.
The laundry package in the corner gave The Shadow a connecting clue. From his pocket The Shadow
produced the change that the cab driver had brought him from the drug store.
There was a whispered laugh from hidden lips as The Shadow's forefinger rubbed the surface of the new
half dollar and detected a slight roughness. It was on the tail side of the coin just beneath the eagle's
beak; a marking that to the eye was no more than a scratch.
Using the powerful lens, The Shadow enlarged the view. The message appeared in letters that had been
engraved beneath a microscope by an expert hand:
SILSAM
9 p. m.
3-6-6-3-7
PRESSING the wall switch, The Shadow extinguished the lights. A sibilant laugh whispered through the
darkened apartment. The Shadow chose the window as his exit. He reached the fire escape of the
adjacent building and descended by the route that crooks had taken.
It was just eight o'clock. The Shadow had one hour in which to anticipate new crime. Shark Meglo
would be due for a surprise when he attempted to deliver robbery and death. The Shadow no longer had
need to seek Shark's trail. He could arrive ahead of Shark tonight.
The Shadow had waited for an opportunity like this one. His plans were made; nothing, apparently, could
interfere with them. The Shadow had made due allowance for the unexpected.
So The Shadow believed. Yet, within the next half hour, freakish chance was to produce a dilemma of a
sort that The Shadow had never before encountered.
CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW VANISHES
TEN minutes after his departure from Shark's apartment, The Shadow was riding in the same cab that
had brought him to the killer's hide-out. That cab was The Shadow's own possession; its driver, Moe
Shrevnitz, was an agent who served The Shadow.
The Shadow was no longer an invisible passenger. His cloak and hat were packed away beneath the rear
seat. The lights of an avenue showed a calm-faced rider who wore evening attire. The Shadow had taken
on the character of a man named Lamont Cranston, a millionaire globe-trotter. He was on his way to the
exclusive Cobalt Club.
The Shadow had long guarded the fact that he used the identity of Cranston. It was not a fictitious
personality; there was a real Lamont Cranston, for whom The Shadow doubled. Cranston spent most of
his time abroad and kept his whereabouts unknown, so that The Shadow could appear in his stead.
Posing as Cranston, The Shadow had access to many important places. That helped him immensely in his
battles against crime. It kept The Shadow's real identity a complete mystery, even to his own associates.
No one had ever guessed who The Shadow actually was.
Tonight was to produce a chain of circumstances that would change all that. Though The Shadow did not
foresee it, he would soon have to adopt his own identity to best continue his incessant warfare against
crime.
Riding to the Cobalt Club, The Shadow was thinking only of the message on Shark's half dollar. The
Shadow had suspected that a big-shot lay behind Shark's crimes. Some one who visited wealthy gem
owners and picked certain ones as victims. That big-shot, a man of supposed good standing, had given
Shark orders for tonight.
The victim was to be a millionaire named Silsam. There was only one possible choice: Hugo Silsam, the
copper king. As Cranston, The Shadow had met Silsam; but had not known that the millionaire owned
many valuable gems. That, however, had been the case with all of the recent gem robberies.
The victims had been persons who had recently purchased rare jewels without making the fact public.
Each robbery and its attendant murder had revealed that the dead men were collectors. If Silsam ran true
to form, his gems must be worth at least a quarter million.
Nine o'clock.
The Shadow knew the reason for that hour. Silsam was entertaining friends tonight, at his old brownstone
home on Madison Avenue. The affair was simply a dinner party; the guests would be gone by nine, thus
giving crooks the chance to tackle Silsam alone.
The figures that had accompanied the coin message obviously represented the combination of the safe at
Silsam's home.
THE cab reached the Cobalt Club. The uniformed doorman bowed as he recognized Lamont Cranston.
The tall, leisurely club member frequently used taxis around town, and kept his big limousine across the
street from the Cobalt Club. Cranston used the big car when he rode home to his New Jersey estate, late
at night.
While the doorman was pointing out a parking space for the cab, The Shadow strolled into the club. The
attendant was busy at the desk and did not notice Cranston pass. With a slight smile on the lips of his
masklike face, The Shadow entered a telephone booth. He called the home of Hugo Silsam, and asked
to speak with the copper king.
The name of Cranston worked like a charm. In a few minutes, Silsam was on the wire. In a quiet even
tone, The Shadow asked if Silsam would be at home, later in the evening. Silsam's dryish cackle
delivered a pleased affirmative. Cranston would be welcome at any time.
A slight murmur over the wire informed The Shadow that Silsam's guests were still present. Hanging up
the receiver, The Shadow left the telephone booth. Maintaining Cranston's unhurried style, he strolled out
to the street noting the clock above the desk.
Twenty-five minutes past eight. Plenty of time to reach Silsam's before nine o'clock and stay there until
crooks arrived. The presence of one guest would not cause Shark Meglo to postpone his thrust. Crooks
would never suppose that Cranston, the chance visitor, was The Shadow.
The attendant was still busy at the desk, and The Shadow observed the fact. The fellow happened to
look up, just as Cranston went through the door; but he caught only a fleeting glimpse of the tall stroller's
head and shoulders.
Before the doorman could learn whether Cranston wanted his limousine or a taxi, a big official car pulled
up in front of the club. From it stepped a pompous man of military manner, whose broad features wore a
shortclipped mustache.
The arrival was Ralph Weston, New York's police commissioner.
"HELLO, Cranston!"
Weston ejaculated the brisk greeting before The Shadow could move away. Showing Cranston's slight
smile, The Shadow waited. A few minutes was all he needed to get rid of the police commissioner.
The time would be well spent, since the friendship between Cranston and Weston was one upon which
The Shadow frequently capitalized when he wanted information regarding the law's angle on recent
crime.
"Come into the club," invited Weston. "We can have dinner in the grillroom."
"I have dined, thank you," smiled The Shadow. "I am on my way to keep an appointment. Suppose I
meet you later, commissioner."
"Very well." Weston showed a flicker of disappointment. "I wanted to talk to you about those jewel
murders."
"Has there been another?"
Weston purpled as he heard the question; then realized that it carried no sarcasm. Seriously, the
commissioner shook his head.
"No new robbery," he declared. "But I am worried, Cranston. Those crimes have occurred at intervals of
approximately three weeks. It is almost time that another might arrive."
"That is why I asked my question, commissioner. Well, I hope to see you later -"
A shout from the corner interrupted The Shadow's quiet statement. A newsboy came into view,
flourishing early editions of the morning newspapers. Approaching, the newsie repeated his
leather-lunged cry:
"Read about th' big plane crash! T'ree Americans injured! Big Croydon plane wreck! T'ree Americans
-"
Weston interrupted by buying two newspapers. He passed one to The Shadow. Spreading his own
newspaper, Weston read the huge headline that announced the wreck of an airliner leaving England for
the Orient. A pilot had been killed; seven passengers injured. Among the latter were three Americans.
Weston saw a heading over a row of photographs. It bore the words: "Americans hurt in Crash."
Weston's eyes went to the pictures. It stopped on the central one.
There, staring from the page was the face of Lamont Cranston; below it, the name of the very man for
whom Weston had purchased a duplicate newspaper, only half a minute before!
Spluttering his amazement, Weston turned to speak to The Shadow, saying as he did:
"My word, Cranston! Look at this photo -"
WESTON cut himself short. He no longer saw his friend Cranston beside him. It never occurred to the
commissioner that his companion had noticed the photograph in the other newspaper. Nor did Weston
realize that half a minute had passed.
To Weston, the effect was that Lamont Cranston had vanished into thin air. Then the commissioner's
startlement ended. He decided suddenly that something was seriously amiss. He looked for the club
doorman, saw the fellow standing with a taxi driver, a short way down the street. With a bound, Weston
went in that direction.
Quick though he was, the commissioner did not hear the quiet words that came from the interior of the
cab. Only the doorman caught those instructions from the pretended Cranston. Nor did Weston see
Moe's action at the curb.
The Shadow's taxi driver displayed a cupped hand that held some folded bills. The doorman nodded.
"Where is Cranston?" bawled Weston. "What's become of him?"
"Mr. Cranston?" queried the doorman. "Mr. Lamont Cranston? I don't recall seeing him, commissioner."
"What? Didn't you see me talking to him?"
"I recall that you were talking to some one, sir -"
"Bah! Is this a jest?"
Weston pushed the doorman aside. He wanted to look into the cab, but Moe happened to be blocking
the way.
"Where's the tall man who was here a minute ago?" demanded Weston, as he faced Moe. "He must have
gotten into this cab."
"Nobody in this cab," assured Moe. With a shrug, he shifted aside. "Take a look if you want."
Weston yanked open the cab door. Looking for Cranston, he did not notice that the handle of the far
door was turning shut. Moe was right, the cab was empty. That was because The Shadow, donning
cloak and hat, had made a quick departure to the street.
Staring streetward, Weston saw the limousine across the way. Triumphantly, he shouted:
"There's Cranston's car! That's where I'll find him!"
Starting across the street, Weston could not see Moe slip a pair of twenty dollar bills to the doorman,
who nodded his full understanding. Weston's eyes were on Cranston's chauffeur, Stanley, who sat at the
wheel of the big limousine.
Weston was coming from the street side. Stanley's head was inclined in the opposite direction. As
Weston arrived a black shape glided from the curb side of the car. Thrusting his face through the open
window of the front door, Weston shouted at Stanley:
"Where is Cranston?"
"Mr. Cranston?" Stanley gaped. "Why, he's in Europe, sir!"
Weston's anger was intense. He roared at Stanley, demanding to know why the limousine was at the club
if Cranston happened to be in Europe. Stanley informed him that Cranston's nephew was living at the
New Jersey mansion and had come into town this evening. Stanley had parked opposite the club
because he could always find space there.
Weston did not believe the chauffeur. Enraged, the commissioner yanked open the rear door of the
limousine and stared inside. Seeing that the car was empty he slammed the door and strode across the
street.
Moe's cab was gone; Weston glared at the doorman as he went past. Stormily, the commissioner
entered the Cobalt Club.
AROUND the corner, Moe was picking up a cloaked passenger. The taxi driver nodded as he heard
new instructions. The Shadow's plans were changed: he could no longer afford to go to Silsam's as
Cranston. There was time, however to use an alternate method that could block Shark Meglo's coming
crime.
That was why The Shadow's lips delivered a whispered laugh for the benefit of Commissioner Weston.
The Shadow's ruse had been a necessary one. He had met an emergency with the utmost speed: and in
so doing had kept himself clear to battle crime.
The fact that there were two Cranstons was something that The Shadow intended never to reveal.
CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW'S SUBSTITUTE
FIVE minutes after The Shadow had again become a passenger in Moe's cab, a young man received a
telephone call in his room at the Hotel Metrolite. The young man's name was Harry Vincent; most of his
acquaintances regarded him as a pleasant, keen-mannered chap who had a comfortable income and
therefore preferred to live in New York.
In fact, Harry was frequently seen at some of the bright spots in Manhattan. That simply served to cover
his real activities. Privately, Harry Vincent was an agent of The Shadow.
The call that came tonight was from The Shadow. It was relayed to Harry by Burbank, the contact agent
through whom The Shadow usually sent emergency instructions. Burbank's news was brief. Harry hung
up and looked at his watch.
Twenty-five minutes of nine. Harry could get to Silsam's Madison Avenue home in ten minutes by cab.
Without bothering to change attire, Harry made a prompt departure from the hotel.
During the ride, Harry smiled at one fact he had learned. In service, Harry was the oldest of all The
Shadow's agents, with the possible exception of Burbank. Harry had long connected The Shadow with
Lamont Cranston, and had suspected that the two were sometimes one. At last, in this emergency, Harry
had been informed of the actual circumstances.
Harry's smile ended as he reviewed the circumstances that had produced tonight's mission.
The previous year had marked a large number of jewel robberies in New York. The police had slipped
badly in certain cases; it was The Shadow who had finally brought criminals to justice. Meanwhile,
wealthy persons had adopted the practice of keeping silent regarding any gems they owned.
They thought that was why crimes had lessened. From that belief had come new crime. A new group of
thieves had teamed murder with robbery. The secretive methods of jewel owners had made it almost
impossible for The Shadow to learn where crime was due to strike.
Three deaths in three months, each coupled with a huge robbery. The police blamed Shark Meglo. So
did The Shadow; but Shark was slippery. It had taken The Shadow a long while to trace him. Tonight
was The Shadow's opportunity to end the murderer's evil career.
Police interference would bungle it. Shark knew how to dodge the law. The Shadow's one chance was
to stop Shark at the spot where crime was intended: the home of Hugo Silsam. Everything had been
ready when The Shadow found it necessary to abandon his role of Cranston.
That was why Harry was going as The Shadow's substitute, to watch events in Silsam's home. That did
not mean that The Shadow would be absent. On the contrary, he would be close at hand to stop the
criminal's thrust. Harry's part was to size the situation and give The Shadow word, when and where to
enter.
GUESTS were coming from Silsam's when Harry arrived there; but the dinner party had not entirely
ended. It was quarter of nine; and Harry saw immediately that the house had not cleared sufficiently for
Shark Meglo to begin operations.
Harry gave his name to the servant who admitted him. The man was evidently Silsam's butler, for his
dryish face showed an air of authority as he craned his long neck forward.
"I do not think that Mr. Silsam is expecting you, Mr. Vincent -"
"That's all right," assured Harry. "I called him an hour ago, and told him that I was a friend of Mr.
Cranston. Mr. Silsam said to be here before nine."
"You called Mr. Silsam? I thought it was Mr. Cranston who called."
Harry laughed indulgently. He told the butler that Lamont Cranston was in Europe. As the man's face
began to show enlightenment, Harry added:
"You must have misunderstood me over the telephone."
The butler decided that it would be best to usher the visitor into Silsam. The fellow led the way, and
Harry followed. During his talk with the butler, he had learned facts that he wanted, regarding the layout
of the ground floor.
The hallway was a long one. On the right, a broad doorway showed the living room, its deserted table
illuminated by candles that had burned down to small stumps. On the left was a living room, from which
Harry could hear voices.
Through the living room doorway, Harry saw the rear wall of the room itself. There was a closed door at
the back, and Harry was sure that it led into Silsam's study.
That was where the safe would be; the strategic spot where The Shadow could await the murderous
masked crooks.
A glance to the rear of the hallway gave Harry a view of a short passage that turned left. It certainly led
to an outside door at the side of the house; a perfect mode of entry for The Shadow; once he was
informed of the interior arrangement. Harry intended to supply that information in prompt order.
THERE were three men in the living room, all making ready for departure; but none answered the
description of Silsam.
As Harry looked about, puzzled, the door opened from the study, proving the room to be as Harry
pictured it. A stoopish, testy-faced man came into the living room. He was Hugo Silsam.
The butler spoke to Silsam in an undertone. The elderly copper king scowled for a moment as he looked
at Harry. Then Silsam gave a dry chuckle. He nodded to the butler and said:
"Very well, Wintham."
With an expression that he meant for a smile, Silsam shook hands with Harry. He introduced him to the
other guests; two of them departed immediately. While Wintham was showing them out, Silsam
restrained the last man.
That guest was a tall, heavily built man, blunt-featured and keen-eyed. His name was Michael Chanbury,
and Harry had heard of him.
Chanbury was a wealthy art collector; and Harry knew that he must be close to sixty years of age. In
appearance, however, Chanbury looked scarcely more than forty-five. He had an active manner; his hair,
though grizzled, showed no trend toward complete grayness.
"I want you to remain, Chanbury," chuckled Silsam. "We are due to have another visitor."
"You mean Mr. Cranston?" queried Chanbury. "I understood you to say that he would be here."
"No, no," Silsam shook his bead. "Cranston will not be here at all. It was Mr. Vincent who called me, a
摘要：

THESHADOWUNMASKSMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.CROOKSMOVEOUT?CHAPTERII.THESHADOWVANISHES?CHAPTERIII.THESHADOW'SSUBSTITUTE?CHAPTERIV.DEATH'SSILENCE?CHAPTERV.THEBROKENTRAIL?CHAPTERVI.SNARESREVERSED?CHAPTERVII.WESTONWORRIES?CHAPTERVIII.AFAIREXCHANGE?...

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