The Killer

CHAPTER XIII THE MAN ON LONG ISLAND

SIDNEY COOPERDALE was seated in the living room of his Long Island bungalow home. A one-story building located near other houses of the same type, this formed a spot of seclusion for the man who had formerly spent time with archaeological expeditions in many parts of the world.

Cooperdale was a big, overbearing man with sharp eyes that peered from beneath bushy eyebrows. Although well along in the years of middle age, he showed a powerful physique and a determination that produced a perpetual scowl upon his face.

Cooperdale, although he had never been a full-fledged archaeologist, had managed to gain his share of spoils when on expeditions. He had shown a marked ability in accumulating objects of lesser value which he had sold to collectors. The result was that Cooperdale had retired while still in his prime.

It was dinner time. Cooperdale’s servant, a solemn-faced fellow, was entering the bungalow with a supply of groceries. Cooperdale glowered. The servant was tardy.

“What’s been keeping you, Lowder?” he demanded. “I expected to find you here when I came in.”

“Saturday, Mr. Cooperdale,” returned Lowder, in a placid tone. “Every one seems to be attending to their marketing.”

“All right,” growled Cooperdale. “Any telephone calls while I was out?”

“None, sir.”

“Anyone stop here?”

“No, sir — that is, none except a delivery man. He brought a package, sir.”

“A package? Where is it?”

“Over there in the corner, sir.”

Cooperdale saw a long package standing by the wall. From its shape, it might have contained a rifle or a shotgun. Cooperdale commented on that fact.

“I didn’t order any firearms from New York,” he said, as he picked up the package. “Wait a minute, Lowder! This can’t be a gun! It’s too light.”

“I noticed that, sir.”

“What in blazes is it?”

Cooperdale tore away the wrapping. He exposed a cardboard tube beneath. Ripping off the end, he produced a long, thick walking stick with a heavy, oval-knobbed end.

“Hm-m-m,” he mused. “I wonder who sent me this? Someone back from Asia — probably an old friend on one of the expeditions.”

“How do you know that, sir?” queried Lowder.

“This cane,” explained Cooperdale, “is a Penang lawyer. An odd name for a walking stick, eh, Lowder? In the city of Penang there is supposed to be one way to settle arguments. That is with the aid of a stick shaped like this. Every man carries his own lawyer. Hence the name: Penang lawyer.”

“Interesting, sir. Very interesting, indeed.”

“Quite light for its size,” added Cooperdale, weighing the cane with one hand. “Most of the Penang lawyers that I have examined were heavier than this. It’s an excellent specimen, however. It will look well in my curio room. Suppose you place it there, Lowder. In one of the racks.

“I am still wondering who sent it, however” — Cooperdale mused thoughtfully as he passed the cane to Lowder — “but I shall probably learn that later. Chances are one of my old acquaintances will call up and take credit for the gift. Hurry, Lowder. I am anxious for dinner.”

LOWDER went to the rear of the hallway. He stopped in front of two doors that were side by side. He opened the one on the left. He turned on a lamp to reveal a small room stocked with an assortment of curios. When Lowder came out of the room, he no longer carried the Penang lawyer.

Sidney Cooperdale remained in the living room while Lowder was preparing dinner. After a while in thoughtful silence, he went to the telephone. The number that he called was Gotham 9-7194. When a voice responded, Cooperdale spoke:

“Mr. Mullrick?… Good. Sidney Cooperdale calling… Your letter… Yes, I have received it. I have destroyed it. I should like to meet you, Mr. Mullrick… In New York? Well, hardly. I detest going to the city, Mr. Mullrick… Yes! Your letter stated that you would be willing to call on me… I should like to see you tonight… Unfortunately, Mr. Mullrick, tomorrow would not be suitable. I intend to take a trip far out on the island… Very well, then… I shall expect you. Kewson is about forty-five minutes from Manhattan.”

A short pause; then, in a decided tone, Sidney Cooperdale gave his final remarks.

“I can tell you much about Mexico,” he asserted. “Facts that may, perhaps, amaze you. Buried secrets of the Aztecs, if such matters interest you… Yes, tonight will be your one opportunity to see me, Mr. Mullrick.”

As Cooperdale hung up the telephone, he noticed Lowder standing in the doorway. The servant was there to announce that dinner was ready. Cooperdale went into the dinette.

White he ate, the bushy-browed man began to show traces of nervousness. He spoke to Lowder in a confiding tone; something which was unusual.

“Lowder,” he said, “I feel in a rather troubled mood. Matters which I cannot explain invariably disturb me.”

“You mean the matter of the cane, sir?”

“Perhaps that started it. There is another matter. A gentleman wrote me that he was anxious to see me. I invited him here tonight. He seemed a trifle reluctant, but finally consented to make the trip out here. From his tone, it is possible that he may not keep the appointment.”

“Odd, sir.”

“Yes. However, I shall have to remain hereabouts. I believe that I shall drop over and see the Westertons after I have finished dinner. If the gentleman arrives, Lowder, point out the curio room to him; then come over and summon me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Finishing dinner, Cooperdale arose and strolled about the hall. Lighting a pipe, he wandered into the curio room. He turned on a small lamp in the corner, that the room might be ready for his visitor.

Later, Cooperdale called to Lowder from his bedroom. The servant entered the door on the right, at the end of the hall. He found Cooperdale fuming because he could not find a clean shirt. Lowder dug the required garment from the bottom of a bureau drawer

Five minutes later, Cooperdale appeared in the hallway and beckoned to Lowder, who was beyond the open door of the kitchen.

“Be ready here in the living room,” ordered Cooperdale. “Be prompt when my guest arrives. Show him where the curio room is located, and hurry over to inform me that he is here. You are becoming sluggish, Lowder. Here, help yourself to one of these cigars. Act the part of master of the house while I am absent.”

Lowder smiled after Cooperdale had strolled out. He lighted his cigar, took a chair in the living room, and began to read. This was an old habit of Cooperdale’s, giving Lowder a treat which the servant enjoyed. Puffing his cigar, Lowder opened a book and began to read.

NOT more than twenty minutes after Cooperdale’s departure, there was a rap at the door. Lowder was rather surprised that the expected guest should have arrived so soon. When he reached the front door, the servant found a man standing on the gravel walk. He noticed a tanned face beneath a gray fedora hat, which was tilted at an angle.

“Good evening, sir,” said Lowder.

“Good evening,” answered the visitor, in a brusque tone. “I want to see Mr. Cooperdale. He is expecting me.”

“You are the gentleman from New York?”

“Yes.”

“Step right in, sir.”

As the visitor showed no immediate response to the invitation, Lowder stepped out upon the walk beside him. The servant pointed into the hallway.

“Would you mind waiting in the curio room, sir?” he asked. “It is the far door — on the left.”

“On the left?”

“Yes, sir. The other is Mr. Cooperdale’s bedroom, which adjoins the curio room. Mr. Cooperdale is over at the Westertons. A short piece from here, sir. They have no telephone. I shall run over there promptly and inform Mr. Cooperdale that you are here.”

The visitor entered. Lowder watched him for a moment; he noticed the man’s stooped shoulders, and the angled position of his expensive gray hat. Lowder went down the walk and hurried off toward the Westerton bungalow.

As he reached the house toward which he was going, Lowder glanced back. He fancied, for a moment, that he had caught a glimpse of the gray hat outside Cooperdale’s bungalow. He wondered if the visitor had decided to leave. Then Lowder, catching no further glimpse of gray, figured that he was wrong.

THE servant found his master at the Westertons. Cooperdale, in the midst of a discussion with his friends, seemed rather annoyed at Lowder’s early appearance. However, he excused himself and announced that he might return later in the evening.

“Take along your fizz bottles,” Mrs. Westerton suggested.

“That’s right,” recalled Cooperdale. “I left some here, didn’t I? You bring them, Lowder.”

While the servant was gathering the empty bottles, Cooperdale left the Westerton bungalow and walked across the lawn to his own home. He entered the hallway of the bungalow, and went to the rear. He stopped a moment at the door on the left; then, as an afterthought, decided to enter his bedroom. He opened the door on the right.

As he closed the door behind him, Cooperdale, in the darkness of the room, noted a ray of light from the door that connected the bedroom with the curio room. He stopped dead still. In sudden alarm, he made a grab for the knob of the door to the hall. A choking scream came from his lips. He sank writhing on the floor.

“Lowder! Lowder!” Cooperdale’s screams were gasps. They turned to mere motions of the lips as the man twisted in agony. “Lowder — Lowder — Low—”

The servant, coming with the bottles, did not hear the call. He was strolling toward the door of the bungalow. His destination was the kitchen, which he intended to enter through the front hall.

Lowder was not the only figure upon the darkened lawn. Momentarily obscured by the shelter of a bush, so motionless that it seemed nothing more than a shade of night, a blackened form was waiting. As Lowder entered by the front door, this figure came to life. Moving swiftly, it circled to the rear of the bungalow.

The Shadow was here. Stealthily, the black-clad master paused phantomlike outside the window of Sidney Cooperdale’s bedroom. Noiselessly, The Shadow raised the sash. His tall figure reached the sill.

A soft sound came to The Shadow’s keen ears. It was a hiss from the darkness. The Shadow’s arm stretched forth and pushed the door to the curio room until it opened fully. On the floor lay the Penang lawyer. The head of the clublike cane was loose from the stick itself!

The Shadow sprang from the sill. As his feet struck the floor, his body stopped, and his right hand, gloved, grasped the walking stick just below the spot from which the head had been removed.

Then, with a sweep, The Shadow turned toward Cooperdale’s bedroom. In response to a new hissing sound, The Shadow, with his left hand, flicked his flashlight on the floor.

THE rays revealed a snake, some five feet long. The serpent’s head was rising from the floor. Its neck was spread, like a hood. Its wicked, forklike tongue was threatening. The snake was about to strike.

It was the sudden appearance of the light that momentarily delayed the reptile’s thrust. The beady eyes flashed as the head wavered. With a hiss, the snake snapped forward, just as a swish came through the air.

The Shadow had swung the walking stick. Like a whip through the darkness, the long cane lashed the snake at the beginning of the strike. The serpent missed. Again the stick whistled. The snake’s body writhed hideously on the floor.

Two more fierce strokes, and The Shadow’s work was done. The snake still twisted, but its malignant life was ended. The Shadow stepped by the spot. His light revealed Sidney Cooperdale’s agonized form. Cooperdale was dead.

There was a knock at the door. Lowder, coming from the kitchen, had heard the vicious swishes of The Shadow’s effective weapon. The servant had located the sounds as coming from his master’s room.

“Mr. Cooperdale!” called Lowder, beyond the closed door. “Mr. Cooperdale!”

The Shadow let the cane fall to the floor. As it clattered there, the black-clad visitor whirled to the window. His lithe body glided above the sill. The sash descended silently, as Lowder opened the door to Cooperdale’s room.

Lost in enshrouding darkness, The Shadow was an invisible creature. Yet there was a token of his presence; a whispered laugh that sounded grimly in the night.

The Shadow had arrived at the window of the room too late to prevent the poisonous snake from striking Sidney Cooperdale. Another man had died; the third on Harland Mullrick’s list had felt the stroke of doom!