The Third Skull

CHAPTER V. THE SHADOW CHOOSES

EARLY evening. Weldon Wingate’s penthouse office was dark. The lawyer was in his apartment quarters. Outside the doorway of the office was a small anteroom that opened on the elevators. This room was lighted, but empty.

Past the elevators was a steel door that led to a fire tower. Dull light showed the metal barrier moving. A figure edged through as the door opened. The Shadow had arrived at Wingate’s.

Coming into the anteroom, The Shadow passed a door that led directly into the apartment. He took the second door — the one to the office. It was locked, but that made but little difference to this cloaked intruder. The Shadow picked the lock with prompt and efficient skill.

Entering the darkened office, the cloaked investigator began an inspection with his tiny flashlight. He reached the safe and worked on the combination.

Keen ears listened for falling tumblers while uncanny fingers manipulated the dial. The safe opened.

With his flashlight, The Shadow discovered the box that Wingate had replaced in the safe. The Shadow removed the box and placed it on the desk. He went to a filing cabinet, made a search there and discovered a folio bearing the name of Hildrew Parchell. Moving over to the desk, The Shadow turned on a lamp. He began a study of the documents that he had uncovered.

WELDON WINGATE had spoken truthfully when he had said that Hildrew Parchell’s affairs were lacking in complexity. Actual papers and carbon copies corresponded. The old man’s assets consisted chiefly of cash and securities. Letters and replies showed that his correspondence had been brief and infrequent.

The Shadow discovered Hildrew Parchell’s will. Keenly, he read its terms. The will was a statement of his various assets; all these items of the known estate were bequeathed, separately, to Roger Parchell, the nephew.

In the files, The Shadow discovered brief correspondence between Hildrew Parchell and his nephew.

The caustic tone of old Parchell’s letters indicated the man’s miserly traits. Certain passages were reproving; others carried condemnation. Apparently, Hildrew Parchell had not been overfriendly with his nephew.

Roger’s letters, on the contrary, showed efforts to humor the old man. In one note, the nephew spoke frankly, stating that he needed money.

Hildrew Parchell’s answer denounced Roger as a gambler and spendthrift. The nephew, in his reply, denied the charges, added that he had gained money elsewhere and would not need financial aid from his uncle.

Outside of the letters between uncle and nephew, Hildrew Parchell’s correspondence was brief. Studying the names of various persons who were represented, The Shadow discovered only three that showed traces of frequent contact.

First was the correspondence between Hildrew Parchell and Thatcher Royce, Selwood’s father. It was plain that the elder Parchell and the elder Royce had been close friends.

Their letters spoke of visits that they had paid to each other; and of trips that they had taken together.

They had evidently been closely associated up until the time of Thatcher Royce’s death. In his last letter to Hildrew Parchell, Thatcher Royce had mentioned his son, Selwood, and had urged Hildrew to always regard Selwood as a friend.

Second were letters that had passed from Hildrew Parchell to Professor Tyson Morth. The Shadow had heard of Morth. The man was an anthropologist who had written several volumes on the history of the human race. Apparently, Hildrew Parchell had been interested in the same study.

In their correspondence, both Hildrew Parchell and Tyson Morth spoke of visits which the miser had made to the savant’s home.

Professor Morth was an extensive traveler, but he made his headquarters in New York. During his sojourns in Manhattan, he had evidently found Hildrew Parchell a welcome visitor.

Third was a small packet of letters that held unusual significance because of a document attached to them. These letters were between Hildrew Parchell and a pawnbroker named Channing Tobold. The paper with the letters was a pawn ticket that represented jewels which Hildrew Parchell had given as security for five thousand dollars.

The correspondence showed that the miser and the pawnbroker were friends. Channing Tobold had promised to keep the gems intact; he had added that he would not dispose of them even if interest payments were delayed. Moreover, the jewelry could be redeemed by Hildrew Parchell’s estate in case of the old man’s death.

It was specified, also, that the gems would be kept in a metal box, closed by a combination lock which Hildrew Parchell alone could open.

Tobold had seen the rings and other jewelry in the box; he had allowed Parchell to lock it. This made it positive that the pawnbroker would not dispose of the gems without recourse to Hildrew Parchell.

Attached to the correspondence was a small slip that bore a single word of five letters:

This, The Shadow knew, must be the key word. Hildrew Parchell had written it down in case of death.

Thus Weldon Wingate, in settling the estate, could, if he desired, redeem the pledged jewels for the sum of five thousand dollars.

THE SHADOW considered this correspondence as he viewed it beneath the desk lamp. Of all Hildrew Parchell’s affairs, this one, alone, showed signs of unusual circumstances.

It was not strange that the old man had pawned the jewels for ready cash. He could have decided that they were not safe in his own possession; and since he had no safe-deposit vault, it was not surprising that he had placed the gems with Tobold.

Nevertheless, this lot of jewelry represented a separate type of possession, differing from cash and securities.

A whispered laugh came from The Shadow’s lips. This was something that required investigation. The existence of these jewels was known to Weldon Wingate; probably to Homer Hothan also, for the original papers had come from Hildrew Parchell’s files.

Channing Tobold was not unknown to The Shadow. The pawnbroker was an old, conservative fellow, who still kept his business going in a district that had once been reputable but which had later turned into slums.

Perhaps old Tobold was one of those persons with whom Weldon Wingate intended to communicate. If so, The Shadow could see good reason for visiting Tobold beforehand. More than that, The Shadow saw menace hovering over the old pawnbroker.

Hildrew Parchell’s death had not been accidental. The old man had been murdered; the killer had fled without disturbing any of the victim’s possessions. That had been a good policy; not an indication, however, that the murderer was through so far as Hildrew Parchell’s affairs were concerned.

If a follow-up should be intended, it would strike first at Tobold’s. Of all persons with whom Parchell had held personal dealings, Tobold was the only one who had received valuables and had given money in return.

There was a telephone on Wingate’s desk; an outside line that the lawyer used for business calls. The Shadow knew that it was separate from the apartment telephone; reference to the telephone book, before his call at Wingate’s, had given him that information.

Picking up the telephone, The Shadow put in a call to Burbank. In a low whisper, he issued instructions to certain agents. That done, The Shadow hung up; he replaced the papers in the filing cabinet and put the box back in the safe.

Scarcely had The Shadow’s gloved fingers turned the dial of the safe before a sound attracted his attention. The door from the apartment was opening. Some one must have noticed the glow of the desk lamp, shining through the key hole.

The Shadow was too far from the desk. He had not opportunity to return; instead, he performed a fading twist and blended partially with the blackness just beyond the safe.

An instant later, the door came completely open; Braddock appeared upon the threshold.

WINGATE’S secretary was carrying a revolver. Pausing, the man glanced sharply about the room. He did not see The Shadow; but Braddock, himself, was viewed plainly by the cloaked invader who stood beside the safe.

Braddock’s expression told The Shadow much. The tenseness of the secretary’s face was proof that the man was alone. Wingate must have gone out; Braddock, chancing to see the light from the office, had decided to investigate alone.

The Shadow waited. Braddock entered the office. There was something in the man’s tenseness that showed him to be dangerous. That glowing lamp on the desk was proof to Braddock that an intruder lurked within the office.

Braddock swung toward the safe. He advanced step by step, until he was no more than eight paces distant. All the while, The Shadow remained motionless, crouching. He wanted Braddock to come closer. He was waiting for the final instant.

It came. A swift change appeared on Braddock’s features as the secretary spied the dim outline of the cloaked shape. A gasp from the man’s lips became a sharp, triumphant cry. The revolver swung; a finger started to press the trigger.

But Braddock was too late. Split-seconds had separated his successive actions. To The Shadow, a split-second was an opportunity. Coincident with Braddock’s gasping cry, The Shadow was in motion.

An avalanche in black, he came diving forward in a mammoth spring.

Braddock dropped back instinctively as he sought to fire. That action was his final undoing. The Shadow struck him before he could press the trigger. As the hurtling blackness bowled the secretary to the floor, a piston-like arm swung upward.

A gloved fist dealt a powerful blow to Braddock’s wrist. The revolver flew from the secretary’s hand and skidded along the floor.

Swept from his feet, Braddock went rolling over and over with whirlwind speed. The impetus carried him to the wall, where he stopped short with a thud.

Dazed and limp, the secretary remained motionless. His head turned upward; his blurred gaze saw a mass of blackness, swinging toward the desk. The light went out.

A swish sounded in the darkness. The office door opened. Then Braddock heard the clicking sound of the intruder’s departure.

With a mad gasp, the secretary came to his feet. He stumbled to the desk and turned on the lamp. He saw his gun upon the floor. He regained it.

Braddock dashed to the door that led into the anteroom. It was locked. The Shadow had taken the key from the inside and had used it on the outside.

Revolver in hand, Braddock dashed back to the desk and grabbed the telephone. Then he realized that it was an outside wire.

The secretary ran through to the apartment. He reached the telephone in the living room and put in a call to the lobby. He asked for Hastings, who was always there in Wingate’s service. To Hastings, Braddock poured forth details.

Hastings announced that he would send help up while he searched below. Pale faced, Braddock slumped into a chair, hoping that the intruder would be stopped before he escaped from the building. But this was not to be.

ALREADY, The Shadow had reached the outside darkness. Moving away from the apartment house, he was approaching a limousine that was parked in the blackness of a rear street.

The Shadow had timed Braddock’s recovery. He had allowed a sufficient period for unmolested departure.

The Shadow had no quarrel with Braddock. His aim had been to prevent the secretary’s interference.

The fact that Wingate was out; the importance of getting to Tobold’s — these were the elements that had caused The Shadow to make all speed.

A soft laugh was The Shadow’s recollection of that swift fracas. Braddock’s only remembrance would be of a shapeless form that had hurled him weaponless; the departure of a phantom figure that might have been a ghost for all that Braddock knew.

The Shadow had reached the limousine. Entering it noiselessly, he spoke through the speaking tube, giving directions in the quiet tones of Lamont Cranston.

The uniformed chauffeur nodded. He drove away in the direction that The Shadow had ordered.

The destination was in the vicinity of Channing Tobold’s pawnshop. There, The Shadow would dismiss the limousine and fare forth through the darkness. He was on his way to a spot where danger might well be due.