Dead Men Live

Chapter VI — Two Men Plot

Doctor Gerald Savette was at home. Seated in an upstairs living room, the physician was smoking his pipe and reading the evening newspaper. His sallow face was placid, save for a slight smile that curled upon his lips. Evidently his reading was a source of pleasure.

A short, plainly dressed man stepped into the room. Doctor Savette turned toward him.

"What is it, Hughes?" he questioned.

"Mr. Tremont is here, sir."

"Very well. Ask him to come upstairs."

A few moments later, a gray-haired man entered. Savette rose to greet him. The two men were of about the same height. Tremont was the elder, but except for his grayish hair, he did not appear to be Savette's senior. Like Savette, Tremont was smiling. The two men clasped hands, then sat opposite each other. Savette picked up the newspaper and turned it so that his visitor could read the headlines.

"What do you think of it, Glade?" he asked.

"Very good, Gerald," replied Tremont approvingly. "Very, very good. Only it was pretty close."

"What of it?" queried Savette. "You were ready for it, weren't you?"

"Only because I happened to be with Orlinov," answered Glade Tremont. "As soon as he learned that Steffan had skipped, he told me about it. I sent a hurry call to Biff Towley."

"Yes," said Savette, "I received both his calls over at Murdock's. I had to alibi it by saying they were from my office. That is the advantage of the physician. Unexpected calls are unsuspected calls. The second one helped a lot, too. It gave me an excuse to say I was leaving early."

"The phony body worked well," observed Tremont.

"Of course," responded Savette. "That bum that Biff Towley picked for a subject was a lot like Murdock right from the start. It didn't take long for me to remedy the few facial defects. Plastic surgery is a quick matter with a corpse."

Tremont responded with a laugh. Savette smiled knowingly. Both men were meditative for a few minutes; then Savette asked a question.

"What about Louis Steffan?" he inquired. "Did he find out very much?"

"Too much," replied Tremont. "It was a mistake for Orlinov to have him up there. I knew that all along. Orlinov wanted him because he could speak Russian. That was unnecessary. Orlinov talks English well enough to get along with anyone, now."

"Yes," agreed Savette. "Still, he has to have someone intelligent enough to be his secretary. He can't use one of the mob. They are all right for the other jobs, but—"

He paused suddenly and stared past Tremont toward a side window of the room. The shade was drawn, but it appeared to be moving as though set in motion by a breeze from outside.

"What's the matter?" asked Tremont looking in the direction of his companion's stare.

"That window," said Savette. "It is always shut and locked. Now it appears to be open. Wait a moment."

He arose and went to the window. He raised the shade and revealed the sash open from the top. He stared at it in a puzzled manner; then raised both portions of the sash and put his head out into the dark. Satisfied with a brief inspection, he lowered the bottom sash and latched the window. He pulled down the shade, strode across the room, and pressed a buzzer.

Hughes responded half a minute later. The servant looked inquiringly at the physician.

"Did you open that window?" asked Doctor Savette.

"No, sir," replied Hughes. "It was locked when I lowered the shade."

"It was open a few minutes ago," declared Savette, in a reproving tone. "Be more careful after this, Hughes."

The servant left the room, shaking his head. He closed the door behind him. Savette looked at Tremont in a puzzled manner.

"I can't understand that," he said. "I have been in this room all evening. No one could have opened the window from in here. Someone from the outside — with the right kind of implement or—"

Glade Tremont laughed heartily.

"You want the explanation?" he asked. "I'll give it to you. Hughes lied. He forgot to close the window. That's all."

"I'm not so sure about that," declared Savette, in a thoughtful tone.

"You aren't?" queried Tremont. "Well, I am. You know who is outside, don't you?"

"Biff Towley?"

"Yes. Jake Bosch is with him. I don't take chances when I come to see you, Gerald. They are watching this house like a pair of hawks. They landed here half an hour before I came along.

"If anyone scaled that wall and opened the window, it happened some time ago, and the fellow is gone now. He couldn't get up or down without making a lot of noise about it. Biff and Jake would spot him sure."

Doctor Savette appeared reassured. He settled back in his chair, and lighted his pipe.

"Where were we?" he questioned.

"Talking about a secretary for Orlinov," replied Tremont. "I think we can handle that. Take Towley, for instance. He is smart enough to do Orlinov's work—"

"But Towley is needed here."

"Certainly, I am merely mentioning him as an example. There must be other gangsters of his mental caliber. I'll tell him what we want. He can get one, even though he may have to go outside of his own mob."

"Good idea," commended Savette. His tone changed suddenly. Once more he was staring beyond Tremont.

"That window again!" he said in a low voice. "I thought I saw the shade move!" Up on his feet, Savette strode across the room and raised the shade. The window sash was tightly locked. Savette shrugged his shoulders, and drew down the shade. He came back to his chair.

"Imagination, that time," he said. "I might as well forget it from now on. Tell me all that happened with Steffan."

"It was quite short and quite sweet," declared Tremont, with a smile. "Orlinov and I were talking yesterday afternoon. The fellow evidently overheard us. He disappeared right after dinner.

"We called in the man at the gate, and he said that Steffan had gone out in a car, saying that Orlinov had sent him to the village — something which Orlinov had done on a few occasions.

We sent a man down to the station, and he found the car parked there.

"I figured that Steffan had just had time enough to catch the express for New York. So I called Towley, and then I called you. Towley and Bosch were waiting for him."

"Where?"

"At the Weehawken Terminal. Steffan tried to call Murdock's place, but Towley beat him to it. He dialed the number from another booth."

"Ah! That's why he talked so long and so vaguely, when he made the first call. He asked me to keep speaking, but he didn't say why."

"You know the reason now. Well, Steffan gave it up as a bad job, and headed for Murdock's. Jake went along in another cab. Biff had two men on the job. Jake nudged Steffan into the car, and he wound up in the Bronx."

"Very, very nice," said Doctor Savette. "Well, it's all done now. You told me over the phone that you heard from Orlinov this afternoon."

"Yes," declared Tremont. "I came down on the late train, as you know. I received Orlinov's wire about two o'clock this afternoon. Here it is."

He drew a yellow slip from his pocket, and handed it to the physician. Savette smiled as he read it. He laid the telegram on a table beside him.

"Now about the next job," he suggested.

"I'll take care of that," responded Tremont. "That is, the first part of it. You know my general plan. There are advantages in being an attorney, just as there are advantages to the physician."

"Together," observed Savette, "we make an excellent team."

"Yes, but you are handicapped."

"I haven't shown it."

"I am speaking comparatively, Gerald. First of all, I contact well with Orlinov. He appears as an inventor, and I represent him. Besides that, there is nothing out of the way for me to meet Biff Towley in my office. That is, as long as Biff keeps away from crime that looks too big. All racketeers have their lawyers. It's quite legitimate to represent one."

"You have a variety of clients," said Savette, with a smile. "The best contrast was between Bellamy and Sharrock—"

"Let's not talk about Sharrock," said Tremont testily. "We slipped up with him. We had him where we wanted him, and we let him get away. If it hadn't been for that, we could have closed up long ago."

"Perhaps," responded Savette, in a reminiscent tone. "But why? Circumstances have put us in line for a much greater opportunity. You know how we stand now, Glade."

"Yes. All right, if we take our time. But I'm wondering about the capital."

"Leave that to me. I'll find a way to handle it. You brought in the first. I'll bring in the last." Glade Tremont arose. He walked toward the door, and Gerald Savette followed him.

Lawyer and physician, they appeared a pair of reputable men.

"How is Orlinov making out?" questioned Savette, as they stood within the door. "As well as he claimed he would?"

"Yes," Tremont answered him. "He speaks French very fluently. It has served well." With this remark, the lawyer opened the door. The physician accompanied his guest downstairs. The living room was deserted.

The shade of the side window trembled slightly. It pressed slowly inward until it formed a bulge. From beneath it came a mass of black, which developed into a crouching form. The huddled shape arose and became a tall, imposing figure — a man garbed in a black cloak, whose features were obscured by an upturned collar and the brim of a broad slouch hat. With gliding, silent stride, The Shadow swept across the room. He stood beside the chairs where the two men had discussed their affairs. His keen eyes spotted the telegram that lay upon the table. A black-gloved hand reached forward and picked up the paper.

The message was from Glendale, New York. It was addressed to Glade Tremont, Waverly Building, New York City. It was signed Ivan Orlinov. Its capitalized letters formed this statement:

The gloved hand replaced the paper on the table. Swiftly, The Shadow swept across the room and moved upward beneath the window shade. Thus concealed from view, he drew his form over the sashes, which were at the bottom of the large window.

Clinging, invisible, to the narrow ledge, he pushed the top sash upward. It glided noiselessly into place. There was a scratching sound — scarcely audible — as a thin strip of metal was wedged between the two sections. Under pressure from the unseen hand, the latch on the lower sash closed tightly. The metal implement was withdrawn leaving the window dark.

Batlike, the tall form moved along the wall, clinging to the uneven stone surface. It was totally invisible in the darkness as it began a careful descent.

Then The Shadow stopped his progress and remained suspended ten feet from the ground as stealthy footsteps came along the cement walk beside the house.

"Jake," came a low whisper.

"All right, Biff," was the response short distance away.

"Come on. We're scramming. His nibs has left. All been O.K. in back?"

"Not a ripple anywhere."

The two men sauntered away in the dark. Then the clinging form of The Shadow was again in action. Noiselessly, the man of the dark reached the walk and made his way to the street.

He was a being of silence as he merged into the darkness. Tonight, The Shadow had been a man of stealth. Not even a whispered laugh indicated his departure.

Two men had plotted while their henchmen were on guard. They were supermen of crime, and their underlings were shrewd and watchful.

Yet not one of the four had detected the presence of The Shadow. Silently and invisibly, he had come from the dark to learn the ways of these men of crime. Tonight, The Shadow had withheld his hand. Two men, possessors of tremendous resources, were using their guise of high respectability to further a gigantic scheme of evil. The Shadow, alone, had gained a knowledge of their malefactions. Secretly, working from the dark, he must sap their power until it was no more than an empty shell. Then would The Shadow strike!