Chain Of Death

CHAPTER XII THE CREEPING SHADOW

“HERE’S your mail, professor.”

“Ah, yes. Place it here on the desk, Rupert.”

Professor Langwood Devine leaned back in his chair as a hunch-shouldered serving man put three envelopes on the desk by the window.

“Your appointment, sir,” reminded Rupert.

“That’s right.” Devine nodded. “I had almost forgotten it. How soon is Detective Cardona due to arrive, Rupert?”

“In fifteen minutes, sir.”

The old professor leaned forward. He rested his elbow on the desk and placed his chin in his withered hand. He stared toward his servant; Rupert waited.

“Matters were bad, three nights ago,” observed Devine. “They were most annoying to me, Rupert, particularly because I had given you the evening off. Murder is very trying to one’s nerves, Rupert, when it occurs at close range.”

“So I can imagine, sir.”

“Think of it, Rupert!” Devine paused to picture the events of which he was speaking. “While I was seated in bed, placidly studying theorems in Calloway’s admirable volume on non-Euclidian geometry, there was a frightful tumult at the door of my suite.”

“The police, sir?”

“Yes. In fact, the very detective who is coming here to-night. He was searching for a murderer.”

“They have not found the man yet, sir.”

“So I have noticed by the newspapers. Well, Rupert, it was a most horrible experience. I was forced to leave my suite on the twenty-fourth floor. I am thankful that I did not have to return there.”

“This new suite is a better one, sir.”

“Yes.” Professor Devine nodded in studied agreement. “You are right, Rupert. This is a superior suite; better than my old quarters. Of course, it is only on the eighteenth floor; but with this northern exposure” — he waved his hand toward the window, where the glittering lamps of Central Park showed as tiny sparkles in the distance — “I command an excellent view. Furthermore, this suite is more spacious than the one which I formerly occupied.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the furnishings are more luxurious. I must commend the management, Rupert. They made up for my troublesome experience by offering me a selection of any quarters that I might choose.”

The old professor turned about in his chair. He gazed with approval as he surveyed the living room. There were three doors in view. One led to a spacious anteroom; the second to the professor’s bedroom; the third, located almost at the professor’s shoulder, opened into an extra bedroom which was unoccupied.

The furniture was of more expensive design than that of the suite on the twenty-fourth floor. Moreover, the living room had the appearance of a large study, for each doorway was curtained with thick draperies of dark green velvet.

“Within a few days, Rupert,” remarked Professor Devine, in a pleased tone, “I shall have you move into this unoccupied bedroom. Previously, you have had your quarters elsewhere. In the future — since no extra expense is involved — you may as well live here.”

“Thank you, professor,” returned the servant. “I can arrange to move at the end of the present week.”

THE professor stooped forward and reached for his mail. That was a sign that he was through with Rupert. The serving man went out into the anteroom.

As soon as Rupert had passed the curtains, Professor Devine glanced shrewdly upward. Satisfied that Rupert was in the anteroom, the old man selected an envelope that bore no return address. He opened it.

Two folded sheets of paper slid upon the desk. The professor spread them. Each bore a cryptic code; but the two sheets differed in appearance. One was marked with circled characters.

Professor Devine placed this sheet aside. Carefully, he began to study the second, which he obviously regarded as of more importance. It contained a succession of blocks, which bore the message.

Drawing forth two sheets of paper, the old professor picked up a quill pen and began to copy the codes. He worked rapidly; his own inscriptions, while accurate, differed from the originals as one person’s handwriting might vary from another’s.

The work required only a few minutes. Professor Devine covered the original sheets with a large book. He folded his copies, placed them in an envelope and addressed the wrapper in cramped style.

As the professor was completing his action, the curtains behind him moved. There was no sound to their motion; they parted almost as though governed by some mechanical force. Burning eyes appeared between the hangings. Along the floor, a strange patch of blackness crept forward, forming a hawklike silhouette.

“Rupert!”

As Professor Devine uttered the crisp call, the creeping shadow paused. The prompt appearance of the servant brought about an instant withdrawal of the blackness on the floor. The curtains wavered by the anteroom; as Rupert stepped into view, those behind the professor closed.

“Mail this letter,” ordered Devine. “At once, Rupert. Then return.”

As he passed the envelope to Rupert, the professor held it so the address was turned downward. Eyes that were peering through the tiniest slit of the closed curtains could not observe the writing. The Shadow, hidden in the unoccupied room, was balked in his attempt to learn where the letter was going.

Rupert departed. Professor Devine referred to the coded sheets upon the desk, he chuckled. He picked up a newspaper that lay beside him. He turned the pages until he came to the announcements of steamship sailings.

THE SHADOW’S eyes were at the curtain. The drapery had spread. Again, the sinister patch of blackness was creeping forward. The Shadow could not see the codes; the professor’s newspaper obscured them. But the master sleuth’s keen optics spotted the name upon which Devine’s bony forefinger stopped as it ran through the list of ocean liners. The name of the boat which the professor marked was the Steamship Mauritius.

Devine dropped the newspaper. He reached for the codes. The phantom stretch of blackness was almost to the desk. Then came footsteps. Rupert was returning. The professor slipped the codes beneath the book. The Shadow’s form faded behind the curtains.

“I mailed your letter, sir,” announced Rupert, from the door of the anteroom. “There will be a mail collection within five minutes.”

“Excellent,” responded the professor.

“The telephone was buzzing when I returned, sir,” added Rupert. “It was Detective Cardona. He is in the lobby, sir. I told him I would notify him as soon as you would be ready to receive him.”

“Very good, Rupert. I am pleased that Detective Cardona is prompt. Do you know, Rupert” — the professor paused in meditative fashion — “I have been quite worried ever since Gaston Ferrar was murdered. I told Detective Cardona of my qualms, for he seemed to be a capable chap in his own profession.

“I have valuables here in this suite. They are considerable enough to attract a robber. So I decided to post Detective Cardona regarding them. I felt that I should seek his advice as to the protection of my possessions. That is why he is coming here to-night.”

“A very good idea, sir.”

“I want him to see you, Rupert,” spoke Devine. “I would like his opinion concerning your potential ability as my sole attendant. I shall tell him that I intend to have you reside in the extra bedroom.

“Of course, if Detective Cardona decides that I need more protection, your situation will not be jeopardized. I shall simply employ another man to serve with you.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Call the lobby, Rupert. Then go directly to the elevators, to meet Detective Cardona when he reaches this floor.”

Rupert turned and walked toward the anteroom. Hardly had the servant passed the curtains before Professor Devine lifted the book and seized the coded papers. He was about to tear them, when he desisted. Knowing that he had a few minutes ahead, the professor leaned back in his chair to chuckle over the messages.

IT was then that the curtains behind Devine moved with greater swiftness. As they spread, a tall form moved slowly forward. Before it, a patch of blackness crept with steady swiftness. The silhouette reached the table; it seemed to spring upward. The creeping shade covered Professor Devine’s white hair. It cast an umbra upon the papers which the old man held.

The Shadow was seeking a long glimpse of the coded messages. His new opportunity ended as suddenly as it had arrived. There was a reason for the professor’s conclusion of his reading — a reason which The Shadow could not observe, for he was in back of the old man.

Devine’s sharp eyes happened to note the top of one sheet. There, upon the whitened paper, he saw the edge of the creeping profile. Staring warily beyond the coded sheet, the old man observed the remainder of the silhouette.

Whatever his emotions might have been, the crafty professor did not betray them. He pressed the coded sheets together. He folded them in a casual manner, as though they were of little consequence. He laid them on the desk and arose, apparently preparing to leave for the anteroom.

The creeping silhouette glided backward. Blackness faded from the floor. Professor Devine began his hobble from the desk; as an afterthought, he stepped back and leaned heavily upon the woodwork as he opened a desk drawer.

The old man’s hand was momentarily out of sight. As it withdrew from the drawer, his body covered it. Again, the professor shifted away from the desk; then, with a quick wheeling motion, he turned squarely toward the curtains that covered the entrance to the unoccupied room.

A flash from Devine’s hand. Metal sparkled in the light; a bony finger made a snapping motion. The professor had clutched a revolver from the desk drawer. Spurting flame came belching from the mouth of the .32 as the crafty crook loosed his sudden fire.

The professor had recognized the token of The Shadow. He had prepared his answer to that unseen presence. Decisive in his action, he had loosed a murderous bullet straight for the spot where the eyes of The Shadow had peered between the velvet curtains!