Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 087 - The Ribbon Clues

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THE RIBBON CLUES
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. FROM THE WATERFRONT
? CHAPTER II. THE SECRET MEETING
? CHAPTER III. DEATH STRIKES TWICE
? CHAPTER IV. THE SHADOW'S FIND
? CHAPTER V. IN THE MORNING
? CHAPTER VI. IN THE EVENING
? CHAPTER VII. LINKS OF DEATH
? CHAPTER VIII. THE LAW'S SUMMARY
? CHAPTER IX. THE SHADOW'S PLAN
? CHAPTER X. THE FOCAL POINT
? CHAPTER XI. OUT OF THE DARK
? CHAPTER XII. FIGURES IN THE DARK
? CHAPTER XIII. THE NEW TRAIL
? CHAPTER XIV. THE LAW'S TURN
? CHAPTER XV. THE THIRD RIBBON
? CHAPTER XVI. THE VITAL SECRET
? CHAPTER XVII. THE YELLOW HORDE
? CHAPTER XVIII. THE GHOST FLEET
? CHAPTER XIX. ENEMIES MEET
? CHAPTER XX. STATED CRIME
? CHAPTER XXI. THE BATTLE BEGINS
? CHAPTER XXII. THE TRIUMPH
CHAPTER I. FROM THE WATERFRONT
MURKINESS lay thick above the river piers. Blanketing night, accompanied by a gathering fog, had
lowered a pall upon this portion of Manhattan. The lights of passing ships gleamed halolike from
blackened waters, while the still, chilled air quivered with the husky blares of steamboat whistles.
Two men were standing at the entrance of a decrepit pier. Overcoats muffled about their throats, they
were watching the grimy hulk of an old freighter as chugging tugboats warped the ship in beside the
dock.
The two men, themselves, were well obscured by darkness. They were close beside stacked boxes that
had been unloaded from a truck. They considered themselves unseen; were positive that they remained
unheard.
"Watch for the gangplank, Markham," spoke one, a stocky individual, whose growled voice sounded like
an echo from a deep-throated river whistle. "When it lowers, we move on."
"We're going aboard?" queried Markham.
"I am," informed the first speaker. "But you'll stay on the dock."
"All right, Joe."
A PAUSE followed; yet in their brief conversation, the two had given clues as to their respective
identities. The stocky man who had spoken first was Detective Joe Cardona, ace sleuth of the New
York force. At present, Cardona was serving as acting inspector; his companion was his most reliable
subordinate: Detective Sergeant Markham.
Dock hands were busy with hawsers. The freighter had been nosed well in beside the pier. Dull letters
against its scarred bow showed the name Tamalpais. Delays in the mooring held back the lowering of the
gangplank. Cardona delivered an impatient growl.
"A crack-pot idea in my opinion," expressed the ace detective. "Coming down here to quiz a mug who's
got no record. But you can't argue the commissioner out of anything. We're here to have a talk with this
fellow Dave Callard, whether it amounts to much or not."
"You said that Callard was pinched in China," reminded Markham. "Served time there, didn't he? That
gives him a record, doesn't it?"
"Not to my way of thinking," retorted Cardona. "If I was the commissioner, I'd concentrate on crooks
who'd done something in the U.S.A. But the commissioner has gone goofy over this international stuff,
ever since he came back from that trip to South America."
"It sounds sensible enough, Joe. There's some pretty smart eggs that come in on those boats."
"Sure they do. But this Dave Callard isn't in their class. It was adventure that got him into trouble; not
crime. He landed in a mess in China and got a one-year rap for it. The American consulate fixed it so he
was let loose at the end of about six months."
"Why didn't they get him off in the first place?"
"A lot of complications. He took a boat up the Yang-tse River and cleaned out a bunch of river pirates.
He must have done the job too strong; anyway, he pulled it in Chinese territory and they jugged him in
Canton. Grabbed his boat and all his property."
"Commissioner Weston had all the details, Joe?"
"Pretty much. Some official down in the Canal Zone found out that Callard was aboard the Tamalpais
when it came through the locks. Sent word up to the commissioner. That's why we're here. Just to find
out what Dave Callard intends to do in New York."
As Cardona finished his statement, a clatter came from the side of the docked ship. The gangplank was
being lowered. Cardona nudged Markham. The two strolled forward. Their footsteps died upon the
timbers.
Up from behind stacked boxes popped a white, wizened face. Shrewd eyes watched the detectives; then
a stoop-shouldered figure moved from its hiding place. Cardona and Markham would have been
astonished had they realized that this listener had overheard their conversation.
Particularly so, because they would have recognized the face of the hidden spy. The stoop-shouldered
man with the crafty visage was known as Hawkeye. He was one of the smartest spotters who had ever
prowled the badlands of New York. Tonight, he had chanced to see Cardona and Markham heading for
the waterfront. Hawkeye had taken up their trail. Sneaking to the cover of the boxes, Hawkeye had
learned the mission that had brought the two detectives here.
UP by the side of the Tamalpais, Cardona and Markham had stationed themselves near the gangplank.
They were watching, ready to accost the first person who came from the freighter. Members of the crew
were in view; but they were busy and did not notice the two men on the pier.
The first man who walked down the gangplank was a rugged, square-shouldered fellow who looked like
anything but an ordinary crew member. On the hunch that this was Dave Callard, Cardona stepped up
and blocked the lower end of the gangplank.
"You're a passenger on this ship?" queried the detective, flashing his badge.
A hard smile showed on the man's rugged face. The expression was a sour one, followed by a chuckle
and a headshake. The man drew back his own coat to give a momentary flash of a badge that he himself
was wearing.
"Customs inspector," announced the man from the boat, identifying himself in a gruff tone. "You're from
headquarters?"
Cardona nodded.
"Who are you looking for?" questioned the man on the gangplank, speaking in a low tone.
"Fellow named Dave Callard," informed Cardona. "Thought maybe he was a passenger aboard."
"None on this ship. But I think I know the fellow you want. He shipped aboard as a crew member.
Listen" - the informant stepped from the gangplank and buzzed in Cardona's ear - "slide aboard and go
to the captain's cabin. Tell him you want to talk to Cady. Have him summon Cady from the forecastle."
Cardona nodded and stepped aside. The square-shouldered man strolled toward the shore end of the
pier. Apparently his duty on the Tamalpais was ended. Cardona told Markham to watch the gangplank.
That arrangement made, Joe went aboard to find the captain's cabin.
It was Hawkeye, crouched by his stack of boxes, who made the next observation.
Hawkeye saw the man slip one hand beneath his coat and pluck away a glittering object which he
dropped into his pocket. It was the customs inspector's badge. Hawkeye heard a harsh chuckle of
satisfaction as the man strode by the boxes. Hawkeye knew the answer.
This was Dave Callard. The man from China had pulled a bluff at the gangplank. He had been ready for
the watchful detectives. He was already increasing the speed of his pace.
Hawkeye waited, sure that Callard would glance back. The man did so; then kept on ahead. That was
Hawkeye's cue. The stoop shouldered spotter scudded out from behind the boxes and took up the trail.
CALLARD was heading for a street that led away from the waterfront. Hawkeye saw him edge rapidly
by a corner light. Quickly, the trailer made for that spot; paused there and waved an arm to signal
someone in the darkness. Lights clicked on from a taxicab parked against a building front. A starter
responded; the cab shot forward. Catching a new signal from Hawkeye, the driver swung up and
rounded the corner to follow Callard. Hawkeye slouched rapidly after the cab.
The move was too late. Halfway up the block, Callard was stepping aboard a cab that he had found
there. The door slammed; the farther cab pulled from the curb. The cab that Hawkeye had summoned
stopped short; the driver peered from the window. Hawkeye arrived on the run and clambered aboard.
His driver took up the trail.
Crouched at the front window, Hawkeye's hands were clamped just above a license holder that bore a
photograph of the driver and also listed the man's name: Moe Shrevnitz. Like Hawkeye, Moe was
determined to keep Callard's cab in sight.
As they sped along through twisting streets where traffic was light, Hawkeye gave the news that he had
heard pass between Cardona and Markham. Moe Shrevnitz nodded his understanding.
For these two men were yoked in a common cause. Hawkeye and Moe were agents of The Shadow,
that strange, mysterious fighter whose long, far-reaching fingers kept touch with every pulse beat of
impending crime.
Callard's cab had reached an elevated structure and was speeding northward beneath the pillars. Moe
was half a block behind, keeping hard on the trail.
Streets passed in rapid succession. Suddenly, the cab ahead swung to the right. Hawkeye, his face
almost in the front seat, uttered a sharp ejaculation to Moe.
"He's spotted us!" was Hawkeye's hoarse exclamation. "Must have seen us tailing him at the start. That's
why he's turning off!"
Moe had swung the corner while Hawkeye was speaking. They roared through a narrow street. Callard's
cab had increased speed; it was turning right again at the next avenue, doubling back beneath another
elevated railway.
Moe stuck to his task and kept up a threading trail as the cab ahead took to side streets.
It soon became apparent that Callard must have given his driver a new address. The fleeing cab was
keeping in and about a section near Twenty-third Street, twisting back to streets that it had traveled
before. Spurting to a lead of a full block, it rounded a corner. Moe Shrevnitz spied a motion of the door
as Callard's cab took the turn.
"He's dropping off," informed Moe. "That's what he's doing. Going to leave me an empty hack to follow
-"
"I'm dropping, too," broke in Hawkeye. "Hit the corner slow, Moe."
MOE complied. Hawkeye pushed open a door and sprang to the curb. Moe opened up around the
corner; Hawkeye reached the edge of a building and peered along the darkened side street.
He could see Callard's cab less than a block ahead, with Moe speeding after it. Hawkeye took to the
side street, ducking from doorway to doorway as he moved forward.
Suddenly the spotter stopped. A man was coming cautiously in his direction. Hawkeye waited a few
moments, then sneaked in pursuit. He saw Dave Callard come beneath the light of a corner street lamp.
The man turned to the right. Hawkeye trailed him, keeping up a crafty course for a full block. Callard
was reaching a lighted district. Hawkeye crouched by a large rubbish can as the man stopped and looked
about.
Lingering, Hawkeye saw Callard enter a lighted doorway. Hawkeye moved forward and reached the
spot himself. Looking up, he saw an electric sign and made out its name despite the fact that a third of the
incandescents were unlighted:
WUHU CAFE
Hawkeye slid across the street and observed the restaurant from that perspective. Chinese characters
showed against the dull light of grimy windows. The Wuhu Cafe was obviously a Chinese restaurant of
mediocre quality.
Hawkeye headed for a neighboring cigar store. He entered the place, found a telephone booth and dialed
a number. Across the wire came a quiet, steady voice:
"Burbank speaking."
Hawkeye was in communication with The Shadow's contact agent. Burbank, posted at a secluded spot,
was the man who kept in touch with active agents. Briefly, Hawkeye told of watching Cardona and
Markham; then added what had followed.
"We trailed Callard to a chop suey joint," concluded the wizened-faced spotter. "Place called the Wuhu
Cafe. Looks like he's in there now."
"Report received," came Burbank's calm reply. "Move farther away from the district. Call for instructions
in ten minutes."
Hawkeye hung up and left the cigar store. He shuffled along for two blocks; then loitered as he neared a
drug store. He had picked the drug store as the place from which he could make his next call. Idling,
Hawkeye moved away from a street lamp and lighted a cigarette.
The flicker of the match showed a pleased smile on the crafty lips of the little spotter.
From now on, the watching of Dave Callard would be continued by one far more proficient than
Hawkeye. The Shadow would soon assume the duty that his agent had begun.
CHAPTER II. THE SECRET MEETING
FIFTEEN minutes after Hawkeye had put in his first call to Burbank, a blackened shape emerged from
the darkness just below the street entrance of the Wuhu Cafe. There was something sinister in that
shrouded pall that glided from obscurity. Phantomlike, it clung close to a wall, avoiding the revealing glow
of the nearest street lamp.
The Shadow had arrived at the point where Hawkeye had last seen Dave Callard. Promptly informed by
Burbank, the master sleuth had taken up a new quest.
The splotchy light of the restaurant entrance was the one barrier that remained to The Shadow's
immediate progress. That was why he peered so keenly through the night, ready to detect hidden
watchers should they be present. One figure alone attracted The Shadow's gaze.
It was Hawkeye. He had made his second call to Burbank; he had been instructed to post himself in this
terrain. Keenly, The Shadow watched his agent shift from one doorway to another. Swishing from the
darkness, The Shadow swung swiftly into the street door of the upstairs restaurant. His figure showed in
spectral outline as he passed a single light and moved upward on the gloomy stairs.
So well timed had The Shadow's action been that Hawkeye did not catch a glimpse of his chief's quick
entry into the watched doorway.
Gaining a new post, Hawkeye was about to resume his duty when he spied the glimmering lights of a
taxicab stopping half a block away. Hawkeye caught a quick blink as the lights were extinguished. It was
a signal meant for him. He knew that the cab was Moe's.
Hawkeye edged up to the cab. He spoke cautiously; a low reply came from the driver's seat. Briefly,
Moe explained how he had come here.
"Trailed the empty," stated the cabby. "Stuck close to it for twenty blocks. Got up alongside at a red
light. Asked the hackie what was his big idea."
"Did he spill anything?" queried Hawkeye.
"Sure, he did," returned Moe, with a grin in the darkness. "I told him I'd had a dick riding with me. Said
I'd come along to tip him off so he could lay low in case of trouble."
"You ask him about Callard?"
"Sure. The guy was going to a house in Talleyrand Place. Number twenty-eight. Changed his mind when
he spotted us following. Told the hackie to forget it and drop him off near here. He slipped the hackie a
fin and said for him to keep going."
"Where's Talleyrand Place?"
"Uptown. Swell sort of a layout over by the East River. I put in a report about five minutes ago. Burbank
told me to join you here."
Hawkeye grunted his understanding. The Shadow must already be on his way to the Wuhu Cafe.
Hawkeye had a hunch that The Shadow might by now have entered the gloomy portals of the Chinese
restaurant.
This guess of Hawkeye's was more than correct. The Shadow had ventured far in his progress. Arriving
at the head of the stairs, he had found a little entry that afforded a view of the restaurant's interior.
Just beyond, The Shadow had spied the opened front of an unused cloakroom. He had moved forward
to that vantage point. Hidden in a blackened look-out post, he was studying the limited scene that the
Wuhu Cafe afforded.
There were only three patrons in the restaurant. They were seated at different tables, busy with chop
suey and chow mein. A solitary waiter was in view; he was an aproned Celestial who stood by a
doorway to the kitchen, keeping an eye upon the wants of the diners.
The Shadow watched this Chinaman. The Celestial's face was expressionless. One minute passed; then
the waiter edged toward the kitchen door. Watching, The Shadow saw him dart one quick glance
toward a row of curtained booths that began just beyond the cloakroom. Then the waiter went into the
kitchen.
The Chinaman's instinctive glance had been a give-away. The man with the apron had glanced toward the
booth that was nearest to The Shadow's present look-out spot.
Emerging from his hiding spot, The Shadow glided swiftly to the nearest booth. He spread the curtains
and made out the surface of a door against the inner wall. The Shadow entered the booth and closed the
curtains behind him.
His action was none too soon. At that very moment, the waiter emerged from the kitchen. As before, the
Chinaman's first thought concerned the very booth which The Shadow had just entered. The waiter
peered stolidly; the glint of his eyes detected that he had seen the rustle of the closing curtains. After a
short period of steady staring. the Chinaman went back into the kitchen.
INSIDE the booth, The Shadow had found the door unlocked. Opening it, he had discovered a
darkened passage. Creeping forward through blackness, he had discerned a thin line of light along the
floor, at the right. It was a space beneath a closed door.
A tiny flashlight glimmered. Its rays focused upon the blackened keyhole of the door. The Shadow thrust
a gloved fist into the flashlight's glare. His hand turned the knob and pressed; every motion slow and
calculated. The door was locked.
Long, oddly shaped tweezers came into the light. The Shadow probed the keyhole with this instrument.
A gloved hand twisted in darkness. Again he turned the knob; this time, the door opened inward.
The singsong tone of voices came to his ears; his peering eye perceived the interior of a lighted office, a
windowless room with paneled walls. The Shadow saw the speakers: two men seated on opposite sides
of an oak desk. The door stood half open.
One answered Hawkeye's description of Dave Callard. The adventurer from China was sitting with
folded arms. His rugged face showed a sophisticated smile as he nodded while watching the man across
the desk.
Callard's companion was a Chinaman. Squatty, with bespectacled eyes and an owlish face. The Oriental
was talking to his visitor in Cantonese dialect. The conversation concerned money.
As the Chinaman's singsong speech ended, Callard made reply in the same tongue. The American's
statement was simply one of agreement; but The Shadow caught the mention of a name and saw the
Chinaman bow. The name was Leng Doy; it was obviously that of the Celestial to whom Callard was
speaking.
Solemnly, Leng Doy shifted his squatly body and produced a bulging wallet from his pocket. The
Shadow saw the Chinaman extract a stack of American money and count off approximately five hundred
dollars, which he passed to Callard. Leng Doy began to speak again.
Suddenly The Shadow whirled in the darkness. As he did, a flashlight glimmered, its rays blazing squarely
upon the cloaked figure as The Shadow swung about in the hall. Into the path of light hurtled two huge
Chinamen. Long knife blades glittered in their claw-nailed fists.
THE SHADOW acted with split-second swiftness. He chose the one course that gave him opportunity.
Fading suddenly to the right, he whipped his shoulder clear of one descending knife blade, escaping the
stroke of his nearer adversary.
The twist brought him directly beneath the arm of the second Chinaman. As that attacker's hand drove
downward, The Shadow's fist shot upward.
Black-gloved fingers stopped a yellow wrist. The Shadow's hand was like a trip hammer; his fist
delivered a viselike grip. He had plucked the Chinaman's blow in mid-air. The point of the Mongol's dirk
halted but an inch above The Shadow's neck.
Snapping forward, The Shadow sped his free hand beneath the Chinaman's arm. He could have twisted
away the would-be assassin's knife; but there was no time for such action. The first Chinaman was
swinging back, rising high to plunge his blade downward with another murderous stroke.
From a half crouch, The Shadow shot upward, swinging with a powerful twist of his limber form. His
pistonlike arms hoisted the body of the Mongol whom he had gripped.
With a terrific sidewise snap, The Shadow hurtled the fellow headlong, squarely upon the free Chinaman
whose glittering dagger was already beginning its descent.
Knives clattered as the Chinamen sprawled. Over the floundering bodies of his foemen went The
Shadow, plunging headforemost from the power of his own attack. A cloaked shoulder struck the
half-opened door.
The barrier swung wide as The Shadow precipitated himself into the lighted office. It was chance that had
caused The Shadow to strike the doorway; it was design that made him keep on. For danger still existed
from those adversaries in the hall.
Revolver shots barked as The Shadow finished his sudden plunge. There was a third Chinaman; the one
with the flashlight. It was the guardian waiter who had opened fire as The Shadow dived from the hall;
but his bullets came too late to stop the cloaked battler.
As he rolled upon the floor of the little office, The Shadow performed two prompt actions. Flattened face
downward, he rolled backward.
His left hand caught the opened door and slammed it shut. As he precipitated his body back against the
barrier, his right hand yanked an automatic from beneath his cloak and swung the muzzle of the weapon
in the direction of the desk.
The Shadow had not forgotten Dave Callard and Leng Doy. They, potentially, were new antagonists;
The Shadow had taken a long chance with his sudden invasion of their meeting place. His hope lay in the
surprise of his entry. But it was The Shadow who was due for the surprise, even though it proved a
welcome one.
Back against the door, his fist clenching its .45, The Shadow stared at vacancy. Where American and
Chinaman had been in conference, there was no one.
THE door quivered under the pound of a powerful attacker from the hall. The Shadow's body jolted
upward; he came to his feet as the door swung inward.
With a fierce drive of his shoulder, The Shadow sent the barrier shut, blocking out the yellow face of the
big Chinaman. Quickly, The Shadow turned the key; hard upon that action came new smashes from
beyond the door.
The knife-armed Chinamen were starting a new attack. From the hubbub that he heard, The Shadow
knew that reinforcements had arrived. To depart through that hallway, The Shadow would have to blaze
his way through half a dozen Mongols, fighters aroused to a furious pitch; men whose elimination would
be valueless to The Shadow.
There was a better course; one in keeping with The Shadow's purpose here. That was to follow Dave
Callard and Leng Doy. But when The Shadow stared about the paneled room, he discovered a new
mystery.
There was no door other than the one by which he had entered. Callard and Leng Doy had vanished
from within the windowless, unbroken walls.
Crash! The door from the hall was a stout one; but its panels were yielding to the sledgelike blows of
infuriated Mongols. Leng Doy's guardians were bringing the fight to The Shadow.
Swiftly, The Shadow moved along the paneled walls. His automatic clicked with sharp taps as he struck
it lightly against the woodwork, seeking evidence of a secret exit.
He was rewarded when he reached a spot beyond the desk. There, the tapping of his .45 brought back a
hollow echo. This was the secret panel. The Shadow sought some hidden catch by which to open it. He
found none on the wall.
Still covering the door, The Shadow ran his free hand along the ledge of the desk beside Leng Doy's
chair. His fingers struck a button. The Shadow pressed. A dull click sounded from the wall behind him.
The Shadow turned to spy the secret panel sliding open. From his lips came a weird, defiant laugh, a
mockery of those Mongols who had battered at the door. Whirling to the wall, The Shadow reached the
secret exit.
A yellow face bobbed back into view beyond the broken door. A knife flashed; the blade whirled,
glittering through the air and drove point foremost into a panel beside the opening.
The Shadow had already gained the blackness of a passage just beyond the exit. His laugh sounded a
final taunt as the foiled knife thrower dropped away from the break in the door.
The secret panel slid shut automatically. Another slant-eyed hostile Celestial peered from the hall to see
the exit close. Singsong voices babbled en masse. The Chinaman battered at the door and rammed it
from its hinges.
A thwarted horde surged into the empty room. A big Chinaman reopened the secret panel so that his
companions could give pursuit to the cloaked warrior who had eluded them.
THE chase was too late. Already The Shadow had found a lower exit. The next manifestation of his
presence came when Moe and Hawkeye heard a whispered voice beside the parked cab. "Report,"
came The Shadow's intoned order.
Hawkeye had already given his information through Burbank. It was Moe who spoke while Hawkeye
stared across the street to view two patrolmen who were entering the Chinese restaurant.
Faint sounds of revolver shots had reached the street at the beginning of the fray. Hawkeye heard Moe
state that Dave Callard's original destination as the address in Talleyrand Place.
A radio-patrol car was whining from two blocks away. That siren meant the advent of more police. The
Shadow gave an order; Moe pressed the starter; the cab shot away from the curb. Agents were
departing at The Shadow's bidding. A guarded laugh sounded as a cloaked form melted into darkness.
Too late to take up the pursuit of Dave Callard and Leng Doy, The Shadow had found a new goal. He
was on his way to that uptown house that Dave Callard had first intended to visit after his arrival in
Manhattan.
CHAPTER III. DEATH STRIKES TWICE
TALLEYRAND PLACE was far from the neighborhood of the Wuhu Cafe. Situated close to the East
River, it constituted one of Manhattan's most exclusive districts. Here houses formed a miniature block
about an inner courtyard. Lights above doorways threw a soft glow upon a tinkling fountain that gave the
place an atmosphere of an Italian garden.
Only a few of these close-walled houses were occupied. The others had not been completed; and
number twenty-eight stood in semi-isolation at a deep corner of the court. A light was burning above the
front door; the house seemed to extend a welcome to some expected visitor.
Inside the house, an elderly man was seated in a comfortable living room. The antiquated furniture was of
one design. Obviously it had been brought here from some older residence. Serene in his surroundings,
the old gentleman was thumbing through typewritten pages. He looked up as a tall, pasty-faced man
entered the room.
"Who was on the telephone, Basslett?" questioned the elderly man. "Was it David Callard?"
"Yes, sir," responded Basslett, with a nod. "He was detained, sir. I - I think we can expect him shortly.
Very shortly, Mr. Ralgood."
"You are nervous, Basslett," remarked Ralgood, eyeing the pale-faced fellow sharply. "Come, come, my
man. Why should you be so troubled? You have shown signs of nervousness ever since I told you that I
expected young Callard this evening."
"It's made me think of the old master, sir," explained Basslett. The man's pale lips twitched as he spoke.
"You see, sir, old Mr. Callard was none too friendly with his nephew. I have dreaded this meeting a bit -
this meeting with young Mr. David, sir."
"That is odd, Basslett. All was well between Milton Callard and his nephew when the young man
departed for China a few years ago. That was the time when you last saw David."
"I know, sir. But old Mr. Callard was quite incensed when David encountered that trouble in the Orient.
He spoke harshly about David, sir; and wrote him a very indignant letter, sir."
"You saw the letter, Basslett?"
"No, sir. But old Mr. Callard told me that he had reprimanded his nephew."
RALGOOD nodded thoughtfully. He pointed Basslett to a chair. The tall man sat down and shifted
uneasily. Slowly, Ralgood dipped his left hand into his coat pocket; he brought forth a folded letter.
Carefully, he produced a pair of spectacles, opened his eyes and adjusted the glasses to his nose.
"Basslett," stated Ralgood, "when my friend, Milton Callard, died a few months ago, no one was
surprised at his demise. All of us who knew him were convinced that his death was near. He was
suffering from an incurable ailment. But I, for one, was astonished when I received this letter."
"I understand, sir," nodded Basslett.
"You should," declared Ralgood, with a dry smile. "You were Milton Callard's secretary. This letter was
in your handwriting; for Milton Callard dictated it to you."
Basslett nodded. Ralgood was glancing at the letter. Suddenly, the gray-haired man thrust the paper
across to Basslett. The secretary received it with puzzled stare.
"Read it aloud," suggested Ralgood. "Refresh your memory, Basslett."
"'Dear Luther,'" began Basslett, his voice quavering slightly. "'Knowing that I am on my death bed, I am
entrusting a mission of importance to you. Within this letter I am enclosing a bit of ribbon. I shall ask you
to guard it from all eyes.'"
摘要：

THERIBBONCLUESMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.FROMTHEWATERFRONT?CHAPTERII.THESECRETMEETING?CHAPTERIII.DEATHSTRIKESTWICE?CHAPTERIV.THESHADOW'SFIND?CHAPTERV.INTHEMORNING?CHAPTERVI.INTHEEVENING?CHAPTERVII.LINKSOFDEATH?CHAPTERVIII.THELAW'SSUMMARY?CHAPT...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：89 页 大小：219.17KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-23

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