Cyro

CHAPTER XIX MEN MAKE MOVES

“CORAL specimens, Marr.”

“Worth their weight in gold, Danforth.”

Danforth Gaudrin chuckled at Marr’s reply. The two were in Gaudrin’s study. On the floor in the center of the room were nine square boxes that had been brought here from the Nautilus.

It was late the next afternoon. Already lights glowed in this study while the two men surveyed the heavy-crated treasure. Two others were with them. One was a pinch-faced, white-haired old man: Professor Pearson Babcock. The other was a squatty, rock-faced fellow in blue uniform: Captain Peters Emory.

“You mentioned weight, Marr,” observed Gaudrin. “Judging from what Captain Emory has told us, I should place the value of the treasure well in excess of one million.”

“But less than two million?”

“Yes. As owner of the Nautilus, I shall claim one half. That is the agreement. The other portion will be divided among Captain Emory and the crew.”

“They want me to take one third of our share,” put in Emory, gruffly. “I was willing to do with a quarter of it. They wouldn’t hear it. Well, they’ll all be rich, mighty rich to their way of life. They deserve it, faithful fellows, after serving with me for so many years.”

“They have all left the Nautilus?” inquired Marr.

“Yes,” replied Emory. “They are through with the sea. So am I. As the new owner, Mr. Marr, you will have to obtain a new crew. That should not be difficult here in New Orleans.”

“No one is aboard the yacht?” asked Gaudrin.

“No one,” replied Emory. “Nothing of value remains on board. We brought Professor Babcock’s coral in with these boxes. The boxes of coral are down in the cellar.”

“But is it wise?” asked Marr. “Having the crew ashore tonight?”

“Why not?” demanded Emory, gruffly. “Those chaps are not roustabouts. Picked men, all of them. They have homes here in New Orleans. Professor Babcock can testify to their faithfulness.”

“I can indeed,” put in the professor, in a crackly voice. He looked like an owl, blinking through his big spectacles. “There was no quibbling about the raising of this treasure. They did not even want a counting of the gold. It was poured into these boxes, so that it could be brought intact to Mr. Gaudrin.”

“They trust you, Mr. Gaudrin,” added Emory, “just as they trust me. When the diver put the old treasure boxes in the net, the crew heaved them aboard like they were weighing an anchor.”

“And I, as new owner, am to lose such a crew!” exclaimed Dunwood Marr.

“You’ll do better with a new crew,” assured Emory. “My men are old salts — past their prime. You will do better with younger blood.”

“Unless I search for sunken treasure.”

“In that case, call on me.”

DANFORTH GAUDRIN, reaching in his desk, brought out papers and passed them to Dunwood Marr. Seriously, Gaudrin added a statement.

“You may expect my check for twenty thousand dollars,” he declared. “The Nautilus is yours, Marr, as my gift—”

“Not at all,” broke in Marr. “The size of the treasure, by your estimate, will not warrant it.”

“I insist—”

“Wait a moment.” Marr saw that Gaudrin was determined. “Let us make a new arrangement, Danforth. To begin with, only part of the treasure belongs to you.”

“One half is mine.”

“And that should amount to something over half a million?”

“So I estimate. We shall know tonight.”

“Suppose then,” suggested Marr, “that you give me one per cent of your share. That amount can be determined easily when we weigh the treasure—”

“But it will be scarcely more than five thousand dollars!”

“Perhaps. But don’t forget our bargain. By rights, I am entitled to nothing. One per cent, Gaudrin, but let me take my pick of rare, old Spanish coins.”

“I promised you twenty thousand dollars—”

“And I refuse it. I want none of your treasure, Danforth. I am making my new acceptance only to please you. One per cent in coin. That is all that I shall be willing to accept.”

“Very well, Marr.”

Danforth Gaudrin was reluctant in his tone. Marr smiled and shook his head.

“You are overgenerous, Danforth,” he remarked.

“That’s what I have said, Mr. Marr,” put in Captain Emory. “Even as sole owner of the Nautilus, he was willing to do with only a third of the treasure when we found it; I talked him out of that, Mr. Marr.”

“As for me,” remarked Professor Babcock, “I have been forced to accept a promised refund of the money which I paid to charter the yacht for my coral cruise.”

Danforth Gaudrin smiled as he arose from his desk. He walked about the room and tried the door that led to the passage toward the front parlor. It was locked. He went to another door at the far side of the room.

That door, strangely, had been half an inch ajar. It closed mysteriously as Danforth Gaudrin approached. The elderly man did not observe the motion. He opened the door and revealed a darkened, porchlike room. It was on the east side of the house. Fading sunlight had allowed a heavy gloom to settle here. Gaudrin looked across to dim windows. The others peered from behind him.

Gaudrin closed the door. In the gloomy room, something moved. A vague figure stepped from an obscure corner and returned to the door. A gloved hand turned the knob. Imperceptibly, the silent watcher opened the door to the space of half an inch.

THE SHADOW had been listening in on the discussion. Cloaked in black, he had come to Gaudrin’s, after the delivery of the treasure. The boxes had been brought by truck from the canal where the Nautilus had openly unloaded the supposed coral. The Shadow had been waiting near the mansion.

“Since we must leave the treasure here,” remarked Danforth Gaudrin, as The Shadow resumed his unseen listening post, “I want to be sure about the safety of this room. The door that I just opened leads into the enclosed porch. I shall lock that door later.

“Yonder door” — he pointed frontward — “leads through to the front parlor. It is always locked. Over here” — he turned to his right — “is the usual entrance from the hall. It is the only one that we shall use.”

Seated at his desk, Danforth Gaudrin pondered as he looked at the big boxes on the floor. They were clamped tight with heavy padlocks.

“Tonight,” mused Gaudrin, “Alicia is giving a dinner party for some guests. Marr and I discussed the matter and decided that the dinner should not be postponed. All the guests are reliable people.

“If we called off the party, they might suspect something wrong. Furthermore, it seems desirable to have everything seem quite normal in the house. Nevertheless, we must think of the treasure. These boxes would be difficult to open or to remove; but they must be watched.”

“I’ll look out for them,” put in Captain Emory. “I’ll stay here while you folks are at dinner.”

“But you will miss your meal—”

“I’ll eat beforehand. How about this plan, Mr. Gaudrin: Just about dinner time, a couple of men from my crew will drop in here. I’ll have to talk to them. We’ll come in here.”

“A good suggestion,” declared Gaudrin.

“Then they’ll leave when you folks are ready to come in,” continued Emory. “That will be about half past eight, won’t it?”

Gaudrin nodded.

“I can come in here first,” remarked Professor Babcock, “to arrange some of my coral specimens — before the others have left the dinner table.”

“And my men will go when the professor arrives,” added Emory.

“How about ourselves?” inquired Marr, dubiously, as he turned to Gaudrin. “What pretext can we make to the guests?”

“Simply that we have business with Emory regarding the transfer of the yacht,” replied Gaudrin. “No one will know that the transaction has been completed. Emory will be in here, checking the coral specimens with Professor Babcock. We will have to see Emory — on business.”

THE plans were completed. Danforth Gaudrin arose and went to the door that led out through the enclosed porch. He turned a key that was in the door; then put the key in his pocket. As before, the door closed imperceptibly as Gaudrin approached.

“From now on,” decided Danforth Gaudrin, “there will always be two of us in this room. At least two of us. You can leave and dress for dinner, professor. Marr and I shall remain with Captain Emory. Return here when you are dressed. You can stay until the men from the crew arrive. During that interim, Marr and I shall be dressing for dinner.”

Professor Babcock bowed solemnly as he arose. He went from the room.

Captain Emory picked up the telephone and put in the required calls that would bring the members of the crew. He boomed into the mouthpiece as if he were giving orders from the bridge.

PROFESSOR BABCOCK had left by the usual door — the one that led into the rear hall of the mansion. Behind the other barriers, listeners were on hand. Luke Gaudrin, crouching in the passage from the parlor, did a sneak to the front after Babcock left.

Past the door to the enclosed porch, The Shadow was at work. Silently, he was probing the lock with a strange key. He drew this device from the door. Moving to the window, he examined it by the fading light.

The key was made of a soft, puttylike metal. Carefully, The Shadow scraped away portions of frayed chunks. He drew a pouch from his pocket. Opening it, he pressed the key against a saturated sponge.

The pouch went beneath The Shadow’s cloak. A cigar lighter came in view. It ignited, and hissed faintly like a Bunsen burner as the flame issued forth. The Shadow passed the key back and forth through the torchlike blaze.

Out went the light. The fitted key had hardened. Returning to the door, The Shadow inserted it. Noiselessly, he unlocked the door; then relocked it. He left the key in the door.

The Shadow had heard Danforth Gaudrin turn and remove the original key. The Shadow had inserted a new key in its place, but from the porch side of the door.

Going to a window, The Shadow opened it softly and edged outward. Clinging to a ledge, he closed the window behind him. He dropped to the ground. He was totally obscured by the darkness that clung to this wall of the mansion. Moving, The Shadow became a ghostly shape as he followed the long stretch of blackness laid by a huge oak tree. He departed past a line of palms.

DOWN in the French Quarter, Raoul Brilliard and Tracy Lence were chatting in the artist’s studio. Both were attired in evening clothes, preparing for their trip to the Gaudrin home.

“I saw Larribez this afternoon,” remarked Brilliard, in a tone of finality. “He met his friends — the old pals of the Porto — and they performed missionary work along the water front. The new crew is ready.”

“You can rely upon them?”

“Certainly. Larribez prefers them to the old. They are tough; they know nothing. Tabac will be with them. He knows but little. Larribez will be in direct charge. His crew will cover the left side of the grounds.”

“And Link Ruckert will be at the right, with the gorillas. I contacted with him today.”

“Good! Well, Lence, it is time for you to leave. Start for Gaudrin’s at once. I shall follow shortly. There we will meet and be introduced, presumably for the first time.”

“And Cyro? Will he be there?”

“He should be. But we will not know him. You know his methods, Lence. He will not appear as a member of the game. Unless—”

“Unless an emergency arises. Then we can count on him.”

Tracy Lence strolled from the studio. Raoul Brilliard started shortly afterward. Men of crime had moved at the order of the relentless Cyro.

IN a room at the Hotel Douran, Joe Cardona was pacing restlessly while Lieutenant Wayson, calm-faced, watched him from a chair. They were preparing for another trip to the Vieux Carre.

“Your lead, Cardona,” remarked Wayson, bluntly. “Say the word and we start for another round. I’ll find the places where your man might be.”

“It seems hopeless, Wayson,” returned Cardona. “If it weren’t for orders from the commissioner, I’d call the game quits. I told him I’d be after a needle in a haystack.”

“I’m on special duty,” reminded Wayson. “No reports necessary. Orders straight from you. That’s the ticket the chief gave me. If you want to try the water front, where they had that battle last night—”

“It doesn’t sound like a Cyro proposition,”’ interposed Joe. “Still, those thugs at Debeq’s didn’t fit either—”

He broke off as the telephone rang. Joe picked up the instrument. Wayson saw a strange fixed gaze come into Cardona’s eyes. The detective’s voice became mechanical as he uttered short responses.

Joe Cardona was listening to a weird voice that he recognized. It was the whisper of The Shadow! Orders were coming over the wire, fierce-toned instructions that Cardona could not fathom, yet which he instinctively promised to obey.

“Yes… “Cardona spoke mechanically. “Yes… One moment… Yes, I’ll make sure…”

The detective turned to Wayson and spoke in a steady tone.

“You are game for anything?” questioned Joe. “You are with me, wherever I lead?”

“Absolutely!” responded the lieutenant, a bit puzzled. “Wherever you lead, Cardona.”

Joe babbled the assurance into the telephone. He heard a whispered laugh; then the click of the receiver at the other end. For a moment, Cardona stared straight ahead; then he hung up and again turned to Wayson.

“You remember?” questioned the detective, slowly. “You remember how we were helped at Debeq’s? By — by some rescuer?”

Wayson nodded.

“I thought I knew him,” continued Cardona. “Now I am sure of it. I have heard from him. He told me — gave me orders — about tonight. We are starting, Wayson” — Cardona paused for emphasis — “and at the end of the trail, we shall find—”

“Cyro?” questioned Wayson.

“Cyro!” replied Cardona.

There was positive assurance in Cardona’s tone. It came with a note of prophecy. For that was the promise that the ace detective had received from The Shadow!