Dead Men Live

Chapter X — The Shadow's Plan

A tiny spot of light was glowing in a darkened room. The shadow of a hand passed over the spot of illumination. A telephone clicked. The light went out. A low, whispered voice spoke through the darkness.

Low words came from the receiver:

"Burbank speaking."

"Report," said the voice of The Shadow.

Short, terse information was given. The conversation ended. The Shadow laughed.

Although it was pitch-black in this windowless room, daylight had not yet waned outside. The afternoon was just drawing to a close. Tonight was the time when Glade Tremont and Matt Hartley were to meet at the lawyer's Long Island home.

Through Burbank, the only man who contacted regularly with him by phone, The Shadow had learned that Matt Hartley was still in flight out of Mineola. The famous aviation expert had left at noon for a test of one of his new devices. He was not expected back until after dusk.

Now a light appeared in the corner of the room. It revealed a small table upon which rested various small articles of make-up. The Shadow seated himself before the table, but only his white hands appeared within the sphere of light. The hands appeared with what seemed to be a thin mask of wire gauze, no more than a skeleton framework filled with a few solid patches.

The object disappeared as it was raised into the dark.

The hands worked with other articles. Then the top of the table swung upward in the center, the various objects remaining at the sides. A mirror came into view, on the under surface, which was now vertical. On the horizontal portion of the table appeared a large picture of Glade Tremont. Into the range of the light came a head and a strange, weird reflection from the mirror.

It was the image of a man who seemed to have no face! Guised with the colorless surface of the thin mask, only The Shadow's eyes were visible as they glowed through a plastic mass of grayish blur!

The hands came into action. The long fingers moved here and there about the table, finding the objects that they needed. Upon the artificial base, the semblance of a human countenance was slowly forming. At last it resembled the features of the photograph.

Still, the work continued, the ever-active fingers plying at their task. Then came the final result. Staring from the mirror was the perfectly formed face of Glade Tremont!

The Shadow's laugh resounded. He had fitted himself with a perfect disguise — so deceptive that even the closest friends of Glade Tremont could not detect the imposture.

The mirror disappeared as the top of the table swung downward. On the vacant surface, The Shadow's hands placed a sheet of paper. It was the list of names that had been prepared before.

After the word "aeronautics," the hand of The Shadow inscribed the name of Matt Hartley. Then came a soft laugh. The light went out.

It was after dark when a figure appeared near the house where Glade Tremont lived. The lawyer's home was situated some distance from an avenue that ran near the shore of Long Island Sound. The house was surrounded by a high hedge.

The stranger who had arrived in this vicinity was scarcely more than a phantom shape.

Silently, almost invisibly, he glided along the street in front of the lawyer's home. Then his tall form merged with the blackness of the lawn. It paused beside a clump of shrubbery.

Two whispered voices were engaged in conversation. The speakers did not know that they were being overheard.

"What's the lay tonight, Biff?"

"There's a guy we've got to get, Jake. We're taking no chances on missing him. Your spot is right here. If you see anybody sneaking around, grab him."

"O.K. Who else is watching?"

"Plenty of others. They're all posted, like you. That's why I don't want any of you to leave your places. I'll be out front in the car."

"If anybody comes up the walk?"

"I'll take care of that. You're after snoopers. That's all. Grab them — and give them the rod if you have to."

"The coppers?"

Biff Towley laughed contemptuously at Jake Bosch's question.

"Not one within half a mile," he declared. "Forget about that. This is a big job tonight. Get anybody that tries to sneak in or to sneak out. If a car comes up the drive, or if anyone comes deliberately up the walk, leave them alone. That's my part."

With these closing words, Biff Towley emerged from the shrubbery, and made his way across the lawn, passing within a foot of the spot where The Shadow crouched.

Jake Bosch watched the house. The front walk was on this side; the driveway on the other. He did not know the reason in back of tonight's vigil, and he did not care. It was his job to be alert, and to obey orders.

There was a patch of light close by the side wall of the house. Watching it, Jake saw a streak of blackness flicker by. He drew his revolver. Then the dark shape disappeared. Jake decided that it was merely the moving shadow of a tree. He did not know that he had caught a fleeting glimpse of The Shadow!

A huddled gangster, crouching near the back porch, saw that same shape. His view was a closer one than Jake's. This toughened sentinel fancied that he had caught sight of a human form.

He rose beside the wall, staring into the darkness.

Then, out of the thick night came two sinister hands. One caught the gangster's wrist. The other, swinging sidewise, struck sharply against the mobsman's throat. With a gurgling gasp, the watcher collapsed. His gun dropped on the grass beside him.

There was a cellar window not four feet away. It opened inward under the pressure of an unseen hand. The body of the senseless gangster was forced through. It hung suspended; then slumped to the floor beneath.

Noiselessly, another form followed it. Then the window closed.

A tiny flashlight flickered, its rays submerged within the depths of the cellar. A soft laugh sounded. Hands in the dark bound and gagged the captured hoodlum. One of Biff Towley's trusted watchdogs had failed in his vigil!

There was a soft, swishing sound by the cellar stairs. The door at the top was locked; but its lock gave as an unseen hand applied a tiny metal instrument. The door opened. The Shadow advanced through the silent house.

There was a light in the front hall. Crouching low, The Shadow at last came into view, but he could not be seen from the outside. He was garbed in his cloak of black. Upon his head, he wore the slouch hat that obscured his features.

Looking right and left, The Shadow swung rapidly up the stairs. His cloak swished, and for an instant its crimson lining was revealed. Then the mysterious figure disappeared in the gloom of the second story, until he reached a room where a single light was burning. This was Glade Tremont's study. The room was empty.

Again, The Shadow moved in crouching fashion. He reached a corner of the room, by the door of a closet. A tall bookcase projected to the spot where the edge of the door would reach when opened. The Shadow's crouching form raised upward. It merged beside the end of the bookcase, until it became a motionless shape that no eye could have distinguished.

The Shadow had become a shadow!

Out of the night he had come. Silently he had passed through the outer group of watching gangsters. One man had fallen by his hand. Now, at the desired place, he was waiting, ready to frustrate the plans of Glade Tremont.

Tonight, he wore a remarkable disguise. His face was the face of the lawyer in whose home he now stood! But that duplicated countenance was hidden for the present.

The Shadow was dealing with supercrooks — men who left no traces of their evil deeds.

Beside them, Biff Towley and his mobsters were but children.

It would be a game of wits tonight — the brain of The Shadow pitting itself against the minds of master criminals. For the first time in this strange struggle, The Shadow would meet one of his enemies face to face.

Glade Tremont would soon be here. The crafty lawyer had arranged a conference with Matt Hartley — an intended victim of his plotting. Like Doctor Gerald Savette, he was bent on the perpetration of insidious crime.

What was his plan?

That was to be learned.

But tonight, Glade Tremont was to meet with the surprise of his life. Before this evening was ended, he would see his own face — worn by another man!

That was the plan of The Shadow!