Grant, Maxwell - The.Living.Shadow

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1
THE LIVING SHADOW
The coin that meant death -
or instant riches! Assisted by
the fast legwork of young
Harry Vincent and the efficient
brain of Claude Fellows, The
Shadow solves a series of
seemingly unrelated murders
and unmasks a ruthless arch
villain.
CHAPTER I
OUT OF THE MIST
The fog was thick at the cen
ter of the bridge where the
man stood leaning against the
rail. Although the streets of New York were
scarcely a hundred yards away, he might
have been in a little world of his own. For
the only light in the midst of that cloud of
black night fog came from an arc light on
the bridge.
A taxicab, carrying a late passenger
home, shot through the mist.
The man stepped away from the rail and
crouched beside a post. He saw a flash of
the red tail light on the cab; a moment later
it was lost in the fog.
As the noise of the motor died away,
the man stood up again and placed his
hands upon the rail.
He listened, as though afraid that an-
other cab might be coming across the
bridge; then, reassured, he leaned over the
rail and stared downward.
Mist; thick, black mist - nothing but
mist. It seemed to invite his plunge. Yet he
hesitated as many wait, when they are upon
THE LIVING SHADOW
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in “The Shadow Magazine,” April/June 1931.
2
THE LIVING SHADOW
the brink of death - until, with a mad im-
pulse, he swung his body across the rail
and loosened his hands.
Something clamped upon his shoulder.
An iron grip held him balanced between
life and death. Then, as though his body
possessed no weight whatever, the man felt
himself pulled around in a sweeping circle.
He staggered as his feet struck the side-
walk of the bridge.
He turned to confront the person who
had interfered. He swung his fist angrily,
but a hand caught his wrist and twisted it
behind his back with irresistible power.
It seemed as though the man’s strength
had been wrested from him as he faced a
tall, black-cloaked figure that might have
represented death itself. For he could not
have sworn that he was looking at a hu-
man being.
The stranger’s face was entirely ob-
scured by a broad-brimmed felt hat bent
downward over his features; and the long,
black coat looked almost like part of the
thickening fog.
The man who had attempted suicide was
too startled to speak. Fear had come upon
him, and his only desire was to shrink from
this grim and eerie master of the night. But
he felt himself pulled across the sidewalk,
and at the curb he stumbled through the
open door of a large limousine, which he
had not seen until that moment. His arm
was freed, and he shrank into the far cor-
ner of the car.
The door closed and the car moved on.
The grim stranger was in the seat beside
him, and fear still clutched the heart of the
man whose life had been saved against his
will.
A voice spoke through the darkness. It
was a weird, chilling voice - scarcely more
than a whisper, yet clear and penetrating.
“What is your name?”
It was not a question. Rather, it was a
command to speak.
“Harry Vincent,” replied the man who
had been deterred from self- destruction.
The words had come to his lips automati-
cally.
“Why did you try suicide?”
It was another command.
“Melancholy, I suppose,” said Vincent.
He was speaking of his own accord now;
somehow he wanted to talk.
“Go on,” came the voice.
“It’s not much of a story,” replied
Vincent. “Perhaps I was a fool. I’m all
alone here in New York. No job, no friends,
nothing to live for. My folks are all out in
the Middle West, and I haven’t seen them
for years. I don’t want to see them. I guess
they think I’m a success here, but I’m not.”
“You are well dressed,” the stranger’s
voice remarked.
Vincent laughed nervously. “Yes,” he
said, “I’m wearing a light overcoat, and the
weather hasn’t scarcely begun to be chilly.
But that’s only appearance. Everything else
is in hock. I have one dollar and thirteen
cents in actual cash.”
The mysterious stranger did not reply.
The car was rolling along a side street, the
bridge was now far behind. Vincent, his
3
THE LIVING SHADOW
nerves somewhat settled, stared into the
opposite corner of the limousine, vainly
seeking to observe his companion’s face.
But the shade was drawn and he could not
even detect a blotch of white amid the dark-
ness.
“What about the girl?” came the voice.
The penetrating whisper startled
Vincent. The single, and most important,
item that he had omitted from his brief story
had been fathomed by this stranger whose
cunning was the equal of his strength.
“The girl?” questioned Vincent. “The
girl? My - my girl out home?”
“Yes.”
“She married another man,” said
Vincent. “That was the reason I was on the
bridge tonight. I might have struggled on
for a while if I hadn’t been so hard up. But
when the letter came that told me she was
married - well, that ended it.”
He paused, and hearing no reply, added
to his confession.
“The letter came two days ago,” he said.
“I haven’t slept since. I was on the bridge
all last night, but I didn’t have nerve to
jump - then. I guess it was the fog that
helped me this time.”
“Your life,” said the stranger’s voice
slowly, “is no longer your own. It belongs
to me now. But you are still free to destroy
it. Shall we return to the bridge?”
“I don’t know,” blurted Vincent. “This
is all like a dream; I don’t understand it.
Perhaps I did fall from the bridge, and this
is death that I am now experiencing. Yet it
seems real, after all. What good is my life
to anyone? What will you do with it?”
“I shall improve it,” replied the voice
from the darkness. “I shall make it useful.
But I shall risk it, too. Perhaps I shall lose
it, for I have lost lives, just as I have saved
them. This is my promise: life, with en-
joyment, with danger, with excitement, and
with money. Life, above all, with honor.
But if I give it, I demand obedience. Abso-
lute obedience. You may accept my terms,
or you may refuse. I shall wait for you to
choose.”
The car rolled on comfortably through
the side streets of upper New York. The
motor seemed noiseless; Harry Vincent
began to understand how it had approached
him unheard upon the bridge.
He was wondering about his strange
companion; this man who had whirled him
away from his fatal plunge as though his
hundred and seventy pounds had been
nothing; this man who could read his
thoughts and whose questions were com-
mands.
He turned again toward the darkened
corner, and hope returned to him. After all,
he wanted life. He had come to New York
because he had desired to live and to suc-
ceed. This was his opportunity. He pictured
his lifeless body, beneath the bridge, and
he realized that he could make but one
choice.
“I accept,” he said.
“Remember then, obedience,” said the
voice. “That must come always. I do not
ask for cleverness, for strength or skill, al-
though I want them, and will expect them
to the best of your ability.”
There was a pause. The whispered voice
4
THE LIVING SHADOW
seemed to echo in Vincent’s ears. He real-
ized that there was neither approval nor
surprise in the stranger’s words. Simply
calmness. “You will be taken immediately
to a hotel,” resumed the voice. “You will
find a room reserved in your name. There
will be money there. Your requirements
will be filled. You will obtain everything
you want. Your bills will be paid.”
The point of a cane swung from the rear
seat and tapped twice against the window-
pane behind the chauffeur. It seemed to be
a signal, for the speed of the car increased
as it sharply swung a corner.
“But, remember, Harry Vincent,” said
the voice from the corner, “I must have your
promise. Shut your eyes for one full minute
while you think on it. Then promise, if you
wish. Promise your obedience.”
Vincent closed his eyes and thought. His
mind cleared and life seemed to brighten.
There was but one course; that was accep-
tance of the stranger’s terms.
He opened his eyes and again gazed at
that blackened corner.
“I promise,” he said. “I promise full
obedience.”
“Very well,” came the stranger’s whis-
per. “Go to your hotel. Tomorrow you will
receive a message. It will come from me,
and my messages are meaningless to those
who should not understand them. Listen
well when you receive your message. Re-
member only the words which are empha-
sized in pronouncing like this.”
There was a stressing of the last word.
It seemed almost a sentence in itself and
the hiss of the stranger’s whisper carried a
weird, unearthly sound.
The car swerved suddenly and stopped
with a jolt against the curb on the left. An
open car had forced it to the sidewalk; and
the headlights of the other automobile were
glaring through the window. A figure
opened the door on the right and Vincent
saw a man’s head and shoulders jutting up.
“Stick ‘em up!” came a rough voice.
Vincent raised his hands as he saw the glint
of a revolver barrel. It was a holdup - a
daring crime on this side street of Manhat-
tan!
Then something emerged from the dark-
ened corner. It spread like a huge monster
of the night, a black shape that swept for-
ward and enveloped the gangster in its
folds. There was a muffled cry, then a pis-
tol shot, and the car suddenly darted for-
ward.
The door closed with a crash. Through
the rear window of the limousine, Vincent
saw a man sprawled in the street. Evidently
it was the fellow who had attempted the
holdup.
Then the car burst into the glare of lights
on Fifth Avenue. Vincent turned quickly
to the corner where his strange companion
sat. Now he would see his mysterious com-
panion face to face!
But, except for himself, the car was
empty. He was alone in the limousine. A
dark splotch showed on the inside of the
door; he touched it and found blood on his
hand.
Who had been wounded the shadowy
stranger or the assailant who had tried to
enter the limousine? Vincent could not
5
THE LIVING SHADOW
of the limousine and accosted the Negro
chauffeur.
“Was this where you were told to bring
me?” he asked.
“Yes, sah,” replied the chauffeur.
“Whah’s de uddah man?”
“He left the car when the taxi nearly
bumped us.”
The chauffeur’s eyes opened widely.
“Lawdy, sah, Ah didn’t even stop at dat
time.”
Vincent looked at the man intently. He
could see that the chauffeur was actually
astonished. He put another question.
“Whose car is this?”
“Don’t say nuthin’, boss,” pleaded the
chauffeur. “Dis am Mr. van Dyke’s cah, an’
Ah hadn’t no right to take you men along.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was dis way, boss. Ah was keepin’
the cah in town tonight an’ de man in de
black hat come up to me when Ah was
startin’ for de garage. He come up jus’ like
a ghost. Yas, he did, sah.”
“He says to me: ‘Boy, Ah wants a ride.
It’s all right; Ah know who you is, an’ Ah
knows Mr. van Dyke, an’ here’s one hun-
dred dollahs. Ah must find a friend o’
mine.’
“So Ah drives him all ovah, an’ as we
crosses the bridge, he says, ‘Stop,’ an’ the
nex’ Ah knows he has you-all in de cah
with him. An’ he had said befo’ dat when
he gets his friend, Ah was to drive aroun’
little streets until he taps the window - den
Ah was to come heah. Dat’s all Ah knows,
boss, ‘deed it is.”
Vincent could see the truth in the man’s
guess; he only knew that in the brief
struggle the man who had found him on
the bridge had left the automobile - unseen
and unheard - and the door had closed be-
hind him.
The mysterious stranger had vanished
like a shadow!
CHAPTER II
THE FIRST MESSAGE
Harry Vincent was annoyed as the big
limousine sped along Fifth Avenue.
The promise he had made to the stranger
was still uppermost in his mind, and he in-
tended fully to keep his word. But his mind
was busy ferreting out the strange things
that had happened since the episode on the
bridge.
Alone, now, with thoughts of suicide
gone, he began to wonder what coincidence
had brought the stranger out of the night,
and by what strange trick he had managed
to disappear so completely.
He found the light switch in the auto-
mobile and turned it on to examine the rich
upholstery, which bore the stain of blood.
The car was an imported Supra; that, at
least, was tangible evidence. It would not
be difficult to learn the name of the man
who owned it.
The car turned from Fifth Avenue and
pulled up in front of the Metrolite, one of
New York’s newest hotels. The attendant
opened the door and Vincent stepped to the
sidewalk. Then he opened the front door
摘要：

1THELIVINGSHADOWThecointhatmeantdeath-orinstantriches!AssistedbythefastlegworkofyoungHarryVincentandtheefficientbrainofClaudeFellows,TheShadowsolvesaseriesofseeminglyunrelatedmurdersandunmasksaruthlessarchvillain.CHAPTERIOUTOFTHEMISTThefogwasthickatthecenterofthebridgewherethemanstoodleaningagainstt...

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