Dead Men Live

Chapter XV — After Midnight

An automobile pulled up to the door of Glade Tremont's home. A policeman stepped out to meet it. Doctor Gerald Savette, suave and questioning in glance, looked at the man in uniform.

"You are Doctor Savette?" asked the officer.

"Yes," replied the physician. "How is Mr. Tremont?"

"All right now, sir," said the officer. "He was lucky that he didn't get killed. He got caught in the middle of a mean gunfight. They were battling in and out of his car. Go right up, doctor." Savette went into the house and ascended the stairs. He arrived at Glade Tremont's bedroom, and entered to find the lawyer propped up on a stack of pillows.

No one else was in the room. A glass and bottle of medicine indicated that another physician had left. Quietly, Savette closed the door and sat down beside the bed.

"I received your message," he said, in a low voice. "They told me you wanted me here — as your physician. This is a professional call."

He smiled, then added reflectively:

"It is fortunate you managed to communicate with me before midnight."

"I am fortunate to be here myself," returned Tremont. "We struck a Tartar tonight, Gerald. We finished him, though. That's one satisfaction."

"Tell me about it."

Briefly, Tremont narrated the events up to the time of The Shadow's mad flight. That was the point at which the lawyer's observation had ceased. Skipping the story of the fight on the dock, Tremont came to what had happened afterward.

"When I came to," he said, "they were dragging me out of the coupe. I couldn't figure where I was at first — then I realized I was on the little dock at the end of the old lane. The policeman recognized me. He knew my car, too. It didn't take me long to think up the right sort of story."

"Which was—"

"That I had driven down to the dock to look at the Sound. Just as I was turning the coupe, two cars came swinging down the lane, one in pursuit of the other. Then the guns started.

Gangsters, battling. Two of them piled into the car. Something hit me on the head. I dropped — and that's the last I knew about it."

"A good alibi," declared Savette, nodding

"A perfect one," said Tremont. "Accepted without question."

"Why is the policeman here?"

"Just to see I'm all right," smiled Tremont. "He will be leaving soon. I called Biff Towley while you were on your way here."

"Yes?" Savette's eyebrows betrayed his eagerness to hear about the gang leader's report.

"He didn't talk long," declared Tremont, "but he told me all I want to know. One of his men nailed The Shadow. He was on top of my car.

"He smashed Biff in the face with his revolver. No shots left, evidently. Then one of Biff's mob fired pointblank, and The Shadow fell from the end of the dock."

"How did Biff's mob fare?"

"Badly. Jake Bosch was killed. Some others, too. Nearly all were wounded. That man was a fighter — but the odds were too great."

"Amazing — his scheme of posing as you. I don't think it could have deceived me, however."

"He entered through a cellar window," observed Tremont. "Captured one of Biff's men and tied him up. The fellow managed to get free, just about the time they were bringing me back from the dock.

"I'm glad about that; it wouldn't be well for him to be down there now — or even in this vicinity. He arrived at Biff's headquarters and told him all about it."

Doctor Savette became pensive. He seemed to be reviewing the scattered details of tonight's events. He was picturing the battle on the pier. He nodded slowly as though a definite thought was coming to him.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of raindrops that began to spatter on the sloping roof outside of Tremont's window. Savette noticed that the window was open slightly.

The noise of the rainfall became a heavy torrent. It had been cloudy ever since the afternoon; now a storm was breaking.

Savette gazed idly at the blackened window; then he resumed his meditation. Now, it was Tremont who interrupted. The lawyer emitted a low, gleeful chuckle.

"It worked out for the best," he declared. "It was a stalemate; now the game is ours. We can take our time. As for that fellow Marsland—"

Tremont made a gesture to indicate that Cliff would be obliterated from the horizon.

Savette shook his head.

"Don't act too quickly, Glade," he advised, in a crafty tone. "We can never be too sure. I agree with you that we can take our time. But I am not yet satisfied that The Shadow is dead."

"There's no doubt about it. Biff talked with the man who shot him."

"People do not always die when they are shot. If The Shadow is dead, I want to be sure of it. Wait until they find his body, drifting in the Sound."

"They may never find it," answered Tremont. "There are heavy currents along this part of the shore. You cannot count on that."

"I am not counting on anything," asserted Savette. "That is the very point I am trying to make you consider. You are right when you say the game is ours. We want to keep it ours."

"How?"

"By continuing to hold Marsland. We have him safe. You gave The Shadow your ultimatum. So long as Marsland lives, we are protected, even though The Shadow may have escaped."

"That is right," acquiesced Tremont. "Marsland can do no harm; he may be useful if we keep him. We have too much at stake to allow a single loophole. You took chances tonight. You are lucky to be alive. Be guided by my advice from now on."

Tremont realized the wisdom of Savette's remarks. He sensed that his colleague in crime was about to propose a definite plan. He listened intently.

"You need a vacation," declared Savette, assuming a professional air. "I suggest that you go away for a trip. Destination unannounced. Actually, it will be Glendale.

"Take Biff Towley with you. Put him in charge of forces up there. Forget New York for a while. Concentrate on getting results through Orlinov.

"We have accomplished what we set out to do. Our past is covered. There are only two who have ever tried to interfere — Sharrock and The Shadow. We drove the first away. We have apparently killed the second.

"I shall remain in New York. You will be with Orlinov, making sure that all goes well. With Towley in charge of the guards there can be no mutiny, nor easing of the watch. Then Orlinov can drive those slaves of his. Make them produce."

There was a steely glint in Savette's eyes as he concluded his statement. Tremont chuckled.

"Orlinov knows how to drive" declared the lawyer. "He is getting results as effectively as possible. He is handicapped by only one item. Money."

"I know that," said Savette thoughtfully. "I intend to rectify that situation. I can do it better alone, at present. Our real work is ended. It was difficult with the others, because we had set our minds on the ones we wanted. But money—"

He laughed knowingly. Tremont saw a new sparkle in the physician's eyes.

"Sharrock crossed us," added Savette. "Otherwise, we might not have started on our new venture. If we had him now, we would be all right. But it would be dangerous to go after him. There are easier ways; and I can find one."

"The need is imminent," declared Tremont.

"I understand that," said Savette. "Nevertheless, we must not be hasty. Give me three weeks — perhaps a month. By then I shall have a perfect plan. It may take me less time. When I need assistance, I shall communicate with you."

"Have you found any suitable persons as yet?"

"Several," said Savette, "but each one presents an obstacle. That is why I have been waiting. It would be a grave mistake to choose one, then find another who would prove more profitable. We want the one who will be easiest to work."

"That is up to you," said Tremont in a tired voice. "Do your best, and let me hear from you. I shall leave for Glendale tomorrow."

Savette arose and bade his companion good night. He went downstairs and donned his raincoat. He stepped from the door. The policeman, a poncho on his shoulders, was standing on the edge of the porch. He saluted the physician and Savette hastened through the pouring rain and reached his car. The policeman watched the physician's automobile drive away. The officer had been instructed to remain here during the night. Glade Tremont was an important resident in the locality. The head of the local police force regretted his neglect in leaving this section unguarded.

Up on the roof above the policeman's head, a shadowy shape appeared reflected in the light from Tremont's window. A dripping cloak glistened as the figure of The Shadow crept toward the edge of the roof.

Escaped from the waters of the Sound, the man of mystery had come to Tremont's home, to anticipate a visit from Doctor Gerald Savette. Outside the window, he had listened to every word that had been uttered by the two conspirators.

The Shadow reached the edge of the roof. His form became invisible. His long shape glided easily over the edge. It hung suspended amid the rain.

Had The Shadow dropped to the soft ground beneath, his fall would have attracted the attention of the policeman; but The Shadow did not resort to such an act.

He had chosen this spot with careful design. Lowering one hand, he encircled it about a pillar beneath the overhanging roof. The other arm followed. Clinging to the post, The Shadow moved downward inch by inch, until his feet touched the rail.

The officer was only a few feet away, on the other side of the post. He chanced to turn and look toward the railing of the porch. All that he saw was rain.

The Shadow's form was motionless. The projecting arms and shoulders were a black blot that to the officer's eyes were a portion of the night.

The policeman's tread sounded on the wooden porch. The man went down the steps and peered along the drive. He came back to his position, and paused to light a cigarette by the very post where The Shadow had been standing.

The blue-tipped match threw a glare as the policeman scratched it on the pillar. The sudden blaze revealed nothing. Quietly, stealthily the man of night had glided away into the darkness. He was treading the drive now, but not even the gravel gave sign of his passing. Out to the street — then the only token of his presence was a drifting silhouette that moved along the sidewalk past a blurred street lamp.

With cloak and hat saturated by Sound and rain, The Shadow traveled on without the slightest swish to indicate his presence. Invisible, he stopped beside a driveway that led to an empty house. There he turned to approach a coupe parked off the edge of the drive.

The patter of the rain on the roof of the car drowned the noise of the opening door. The Shadow reached the wheel of his own car. The starter sounded; the motor throbbed. The lights came on as the car swung clear of the drive and headed toward New York. Soon it reached a broad boulevard, and was lost in the traffic of late-bound cars returning to the big city.

When next The Shadow appeared he was in a darkened room where only the spotlight of the green-shaded lamp reflected its rays from the burnished top of a broad table. His hands alone were visible — dry hands now. Those long, slender fingers had shown their mastery with the automatic; now they were engaged in opening an envelope.

The girasol glimmered above a typed report. The Shadow was reading word from Rutledge Mann — word that included a relayed message from Harry Vincent, the agent whom The Shadow had dispatched abroad:

The Shadow inscribed the translation of this condensed report, which conformed with a code given Vincent.

"Shark" meant Sharrock. "Nice" referred to the Mediterranean resort. "Paris" showed where Sharrock had gone. "Tally" was an abbreviation for steamship 'Talleyrand'. The Shadow wrote:

Evidently Vincent had lost the trail at Nice. Sharrock, travelling to Paris had continued from there to Cherbourg, to catch the steamer for America. The Shadow's hands were still, indicating that he was pondering over the message that lay before him.

Then the fingers found another item supplied by Rutledge Mann. It was the sailing schedule of The Franco Line. The 'Talleyrand' had left Cherbourg that day. It would not arrive in New York for a week. There was significance in the return of this man Sharrock. Savette had boasted that he and Tremont had driven him away. Why was he coming back? What would be the outcome when the plotters learned of his return?

Sharrock, stepbrother of Austin Bellamy, might prove a key to the situation that existed in Glendale. His return was evidently unknown to Savette. Would it aid or disturb The Shadow's plans?

Once again, The Shadow's prophetic list appeared. That piece of paper gave its column of words: Money — Television — Atomic Energy — Aeronautics — Money. The first four titles had the names of men attached. At the bottom of the column stood the single word: Money.

The list began with money; it ended with money. Whatever the purpose of the three statements in between, money was the dominating motive. Money was Doctor Savette's aim now. The hand of The Shadow paused beside that all-important word at the bottom of the list. It waited, lingering. Then came a laugh from the blackness of the room. It was a strange, sardonic laugh — a token of mirth that presaged the downfall of evildoers.

The hand wrote. Another name was inscribed to the list. For a brief instant the name stood plain, while the girasol on The Shadow's left hand threw forth its lustrous shafts of mystic light. Then all was darkness as the shaded lamp clicked off. From the stillness of a solid, tomblike room, The Shadow's sinister laugh flung a grim and muffled taunt.

Out of the dark, The Shadow had come tonight. Into the dark he had returned. Checked in his first attack, driven to bay by gangster hordes, The Shadow had fought against tremendous odds. His presence had been revealed. His stalwart hand was thwarted for the moment. But with uncanny cleverness, The Shadow had retired further from the light. His enemies believed he was defeated. They were almost convinced that he was dead. The one advantage he had gained tonight was obscurity.

Only through preserving the pretense of oblivion could The Shadow hope to withhold these scheming fiends. Yet how, from oblivion, could he hope to wage the combat?

In the face of this dilemma, The Shadow laughed! His brain had evolved some system whereby odds such as these could be met. What means could this hopeless situation afford?

Only The Shadow knew!

The Shadow always knows.