Dead Men Live

Chapter XII — Tremont's Visitor

It was nearly ten o'clock when a trim coupe swung up the driveway by Glade Tremont's home. The lights of the car went out. Glade Tremont stepped to the ground, and entered the side door of the house. The lawyer had arrived before the hour of his appointment with Matt Hartley.

When Tremont reached his upstairs study, he turned on a light by the desk. He looked about the room. Though his glance was keen, it did not detect that shadowy shape that stood beyond the bookcase. The lawyer walked over to the closet and opened the door. In so doing, he passed within two feet of The Shadow; yet he did not see the form of the man in black.

The closet door, swinging wide, formed a barrier between Tremont and The Shadow. The lawyer left the door half open, and returned to his desk. He sat there, meditative.

Slow minutes went by. Glade Tremont was apparently waiting for the arrival of a visitor.

Ten o'clock came. The telephone on Tremont's desk began to ring. The lawyer raised the receiver.

"Hello?" he questioned. "Yes. This is Mr. Tremont… Ah — Matt Hartley?… I've been expecting you… Fifteen minutes? Yes, indeed. I shall be here… You have your car? Come right up the drive by the house. Look out for my car. You can park in back of it… Good… Yes, I am alone…" The lawyer's voice dwindled. He replaced the receiver on the hook, and his cold, stern features took on a malicious look.

Resting back in his chair, Tremont half closed his eyes and folded his hands across his chest. He seemed to be enjoying the thought of Matt Hartley's coming visit.

Thus unobservant, the lawyer did not notice a long shadow that stretched across the floor toward the outer edge of the desk. A form followed that streak of black. The Shadow glided from his hiding place. Tall and silent, he stood before the desk — a figure of doom.

Glade Tremont opened his eyes. He looked upward and blinked. Before him stood the man in black, a fantastic being conjured from nothingness. The flowing cloak, the broad-brimmed hat — these formed the figure of the mysterious personage who had come unseen.

Tremont saw the glow of two menacing eyes. He observed the muzzle of a powerful automatic, poised in a black-clad hand.

Fiends of crime had quailed before that figure. The Shadow, mysterious avenger, had brought shudders to the stoutest frames. Yet Glade Tremont gave no sign of a perturbed spirit.

Instead, he stared boldly at The Shadow.

"Good evening," remarked the lawyer quietly. "I have been anticipating your arrival here." The Shadow made no response. Glade Tremont, despite his quiet assurance, knew that a false move would mean his doom. The lawyer remained in his posture of affected calm, leaning back in his swivel chair, a forced smile upon his parched lips.

He had spoken the truth. He had expected The Shadow here. But, though prepared for the meeting, though emboldened by a sense of bravado, Tremont was finding The Shadow a more menacing personage than he had supposed.

It was with an effort that the lawyer preserved his pretended ease. His words, intended to nonplus The Shadow, were spoken in a raspy tone that clearly indicated his trepidation.

"Yes," declared Tremont, "I have expected you. I have heard of you, and I decided that you might come here tonight. You have come to protect Matt Hartley. In that, I assure you, you have failed." The sound of his own voice gave Glade Tremont a feeling of reassurance. His forced smile became a genuine one. Although he feared The Shadow, he knew that the man in black would hear him out — so long as he did not make a false move.

"You have sought to pry into my affairs," announced Glade Tremont. "You have succeeded — to a degree. Beyond that, you have failed. If you wish, I shall be specific." The lawyer stared into the glowing eyes. They were focused directly toward him. Tremont knew that those burning optics were keen enough to ferret out a falsehood. But tonight, Tremont with malicious shrewdness, was relying on the truth. He met the fiery stare and continued his speech in a low tone.

"I prepared a trap for you," declared the lawyer. "How you eluded it is more than I can understand. But it is a trap that works two ways. Had you fallen into it when you came here, you would now be in my power.

"I suspected that you might pass my sentinels. I doubt that you can escape them again. You cannot leave this house without my willingness. So it will be wise for you to hear me."

Subtly, the lawyer was endeavoring to bait The Shadow. His tone was convincing. Although his mind was disturbed by vague qualms, Tremont managed to assure himself that he actually held The Shadow within his control.

Right now, the situation lay in the balance. Tremont, with his artificial smile, felt sure that it would turn to his advantage as he proceeded.

"Two nights ago," the lawyer said. "I announced my plan to effect the capture of a man named Matt Hartley. I told that plan to one person only — a man named Ivan Orlinov, at Glendale in the Catskills.

"With Orlinov is a man who calls himself Cliff Marsland. Today, Orlinov discovered a mysterious object in Marsland's possession — a fountain pen filled with ink that vanished after it was used for writing.

"Orlinov did not know the significance of that fluid. Nevertheless, he called me at my office. I understood. I have heard of the mysterious messages of The Shadow. My contact with the underworld is not a slight one."

Tremont paused and moistened his parched lips. He continued with his careful story, watching The Shadow intently as he spoke.

"I suspected," said Tremont, "that Marsland might have overheard what was said at Glendale. So I made new plans. This afternoon, Matt Hartley took off on a testing flight. In response to my suggestion, he landed, alone, at an obscure field in the Catskills. There he expected to meet me. He encountered certain others, instead.

"Tomorrow, the world will know that Matt Hartley is dead. His plane has been blown to atoms on that landing field. Foolishly — so the world will believe — he carried a loaded torpedo to make a test. It loosened from his plane when he was forced to make his landing."

Encouraged by the shrewdness of his remarks, Tremont grinned derisively. The silence of The Shadow indicated that the man in black was perplexed.

"I have just come from my office," added Tremont. "There I received a long-distance call from Ivan Orlinov. Your agent — the man called Marsland — is in his power. To all intents, Marsland is dead. He will continue dead — forever — unless you listen to my terms."

The Shadow's long, dark cloak moved slightly. It was the first indication of action that the man of mystery had given. Tremont decided that The Shadow was perturbed.

"Why try to thwart our plans?" questioned Tremont. "I am not alone. We have power which you cannot afford to combat. I offer you fair terms. We have preserved the lives of certain men, because we have found it advantageous to do so. Your man — Marsland — is of no use to us. Nor will the others be of use, if we are forced to take the defensive.

"While you remain inactive, those men will live — your man among them. But should you move so much as a finger against us. Marsland will die — and the others with him.

"I have heard it said" — Tremont laughed huskily — "that the agents of The Shadow bear charmed lives, like their master. This time, one is virtually dead. He can come to life, at my order. It is for you to decide."

The lawyer waited for The Shadow to speak. The man in the cloak seemed to be considering the matter.

"Should I die," added Tremont, as an afterthought, "you will defeat your own aim. My life is on one side of the scales. Marsland's life and the lives of the other men — there is the counterbalance!

"I can assure you that all are watchful; both here in New York and at Glendale. It is impossible for you to divine the extent of our preparations

"Orlinov is a man of steel. He is a spark, ready to ignite a magazine. Puff! All could be gone — lives, evidence, everything.

"Should you or any of your emissaries dare to approach the place from now on, Orlinov will not hesitate to strike. Our plans are nearing their culmination. Let them proceed, and your man Marsland will be restored to you, alive. Try to frustrate our methods, and he will die. Perhaps you, too, will perish."

Thus did Glade Tremont conclude his oration. As spokesmen for two other villains, Ivan Orlinov and Doctor Gerald Savette, he had done his work well. His proposal was one that The Shadow could hardly fail to accept.

Tremont felt that he had taken the measure of The Shadow. He knew that the man of the dark was not an agent of the law. He was dealing with a man who had freedom to act or to stand by, as he might prefer.

"One point more," added Tremont, as a quiet afterthought. "Perhaps you may have a wild dream of killing me and making a mad escape through the human wall that protects this house. That would be futile.

"Unless my chief companion sees me tonight, Orlinov will be told to strike. I must leave this house. I must be alive. I must keep a definite appointment. When I receive the phone call for the meeting I shall set the time."

The Shadow offered no response. He stood unmoving, waiting as the minutes went by.

Tremont wondered for a while then realized that The Shadow was testing the truth of his statement. The Shadow was waiting for that call!

Let him wait, thought Tremont. The minutes no longer seemed anxious. When the phone bell would sound, the tension would be ended. The Shadow would be forced to agree. The bell tinkled. With a quiet glance at The Shadow, Tremont reached forward and lifted the receiver. He recognized the voice of Doctor Savette.

"Yes, this is Glade," said the lawyer. "He is here… The man I expected… All will be well… Yes, he has listened to my terms… I shall see you before midnight… At your home… Be careful and ready. You know the plan."

Tremont hung up the telephone and looked at The Shadow. He was positive that his enemy did not know who had called.

Tremont had weighed the situation carefully. He knew that he was covered; that Orlinov had been watched. But Savette, he felt sure, was too well secluded to be suspected of complicity by The Shadow.

"You have heard," declared Tremont boldly. "Now let me hear your answer."

A soft, shuddering laugh came from the man in black. More terrifying than his presence alone, the mockery of The Shadow broke Glade Tremont's nerve. The lawyer sensed that he had overplayed his hand.

"I know your ways," came a whispered, sinister voice. "I have dealt with crooks like you before." Instinctively, Tremont quailed as The Shadow spoke. He saw his plans fading away.

"I know who called you," continued The Shadow. "Savette is your accomplice. In all probability, he has a coded dispatch to send to Orlinov, in case you do not appear at his home."

The Shadow laughed again, and his tone, though louder, did not emanate from that room. It caught the echoes of the wall. It reverberated, and Tremont's eardrums throbbed with the ghostly sound.

"Tonight," declared The Shadow, "Glade Tremont will appear at the home of Doctor Savette. Later, Glade Tremont will go to Glendale and order the release of Clifford Marsland.

There, in addition, Glade Tremont will end the schemes of terror that now exist.

"You doubt my statement? That is because you do not understand my methods. Look!"

With his left hand. The Shadow swept away his slouch hat and brought down the collar of his cloak. His head was fully revealed.

Staring at the disclosed face, Glade Tremont gasped. He was looking at himself — his own features as clearly portrayed as though he had been staring in a mirror.

The lips of the false Glade Tremont moved. The Shadow was speaking again but his voice was a perfect imitation of the lawyer's tones.

"I am Glade Tremont!" declared The Shadow. "I am the man who will act tonight!" As he heard that voice, the real Glade Tremont wilted in his chair. He had sought to combat The Shadow. He had planned, but he had failed.

The master crook slumped helplessly. He saw death now — death that he could not escape.

With keenness that out-rivaled all the schemes of Tremont, and his companions, The Shadow had found a certain way to foil the methods of the band of fiends.

Savette would be duped! Orlinov would be duped! The game was ended! But Tremont, cowering, thought only of himself. The Shadow's eyes were flaring through his masklike face.

They boded no good for Glade Tremont.