Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 335 - Riddle of the Rangoon Ruby

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THE RIDDLE OF THE RANGOON RUBY

by Walter B. Gibson

As originally published in "The Shadow Scrapbook," 1979.

Characters

CARTER MYCROFT, who lives on a large estate, three hours by car from New

York City. Owner of the fabulous Rangoon Ruby, he is murdered by one of the

following suspects:

COBLEY, a clerk in a jewelry store, who sold a replica of the ruby to an

anonymous buyer without telling the owner of the store, JON TOLLIVER...

ZELDA MYCROFT, Carter's niece, who lives at his mansion...

TILSON, the chauffeur, who drives into New York and back, also around the

estate and its environs...

BRENT HULING, old friend of Carter Mycroft's and a steady houseguest at

the estate...

PAULINE DOTHA, the housekeeper at Mycroft Manor...

RAY CRAGMORE, Mycroft's secretary who is always about...

PETER DARCY, owner of a neighboring dude ranch, who has had some

unpleasant dealings with Mycroft..

DONALD KESWICK, who is acting as intermediary in a right-of-way dispute

between Mycroft and Darcy..

THE SHADOW, who also appears in the guise of...

LAMONT CRANSTON, aided by...

MARGO LANE, his friend and companion, and also by...

HARRY VINCENT, one of The Shadow's most trusted agents.

Two other agents, BURBANK and SHREVVY, are included in the story, and the

law is represented by POLICE COMMISSIONER RALPH WESTON and SHERIFF

BLASSINGAME.

CHAPTER I

A bluish light shone down upon the surface of a polished table, amid

surrounding blackness. Two long-fingered hands moved into the glow like living

things. One hand drew a pad and pen from the darkness; the other stretched

into

the gloom and pressed an unseen switch that gave an audible click. A tiny

yellow

light glimmered in the dark beyond the bluish ray. A quiet voice came over an

amplifier: "Burbank speaking."

The response was whispered: "Report."

"Final report on Rangoon Ruby. Revised list of probable or potential

purchasers..."

As Burbank recited the names, the long-fingered hand wrote them deftly,

swiftly on the pad. This black-walled room was the secret sanctum of The

Shadow, master of darkness, who used reports that came through Burbank to plan

campaigns against coming crimes. When Burbank finished, The Shadow again

responded:

"Report received. Await instructions."

This time, the whisper had a sibilant, almost sinister touch. The bluish

light clicked off. A cloaked figure stirred amid the thickened gloom; then all

lay silent within the blacked-out sanctum.

When The Shadow next appeared, it was in the broad daylight of high noon

on an obscure side street in Manhattan. No longer a cloaked figure, he was in

his favorite guise of Lamont Cranston, a casual, well-attired man-about-town

who sauntered up to a parked cab topped by a sign that said "OFF DUTY."

Cranston entered the cab and roused the dozing driver with the order, "Club

Piazza, Shrevvy."

"OK, boss." A dozen minutes later, Shrevvy pulled up beside an East Side

cafe, where Cranston went through the pretense of paying the fare, which

wasn't

really necessary, since he owned the cab and kept Shrevvy on a full-time

salary.

Inside the Club Piazza, an attractive, keen-eyed brunette greeted Cranston

with

a smile, and he joined Margo Lane at her corner table, carefully leaving space

for another guest. That action brought a quizzical look from Margo, and noting

it, Cranston asked smilingly:

"How would you like to meet the unluckiest man in the world?"

"You certainly can't mean yourself, Lamont -"

"Naturally, not. Just run your eye down this column" - Cranston handed

Margo the list from Burbank - "and tell me if you recognize any names."

Near the bottom of the list, Margo looked up suddenly.

"Carter Mycroft!" she exclaimed. "Why, I know his niece Zelda very well.

I've promised to visit her at her uncle's estate, but it's a good three hours'

drive from here, maybe more." With a side glance, Margo added the query, "You

mean Carter Mycroft is joining us here for lunch?"

"No, no. I just left space for Police Commissioner Weston and here he is

now. We'll get back to that list during lunch."

Commissioner Ralph Weston, middle-aged and self-important, even to his

close-clipped military mustache, had just entered the cafe; now, spying

Cranston's table, he came over and sat down, giving Margo an affable nod,

which

he followed with the brisk demand:

"Now, tell me, Cranston. What's this you've learned about the Rangoon

Ruby

that brings bad luck to anyone who owns it? I thought it was safely put away

the International Museum."

"So it was," returned Cranston, "but it brought them bad luck, too. So

they sold it for six hundred thousand dollars to the highest bidder on this

list, only they won't say which was the unlucky buyer."

Avidly, Weston checked the list, then commented:

"More than half of these men live here in New York City, so I can

understand your worry, Cranston. If one of those becomes known as the buyer,

will automatically be a target for robbery - or perhaps kidnapping - or even

murder! It is my duty to alert every one of these estimable citizens" - Weston

was checking the New Yorkers - "in order to protect them. To be forewarned is

to be forearmed."

Weston read the names aloud after he had checked them, which gave

Cranston

the opportunity to sidetone to Margo:

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