Death Clew

CHAPTER XVIII. THE RETURN

“THE street is blocked, Mr. Cranston.”

The statement came from the uniformed chauffeur in the front seat of Lamont Cranston’s limousine. The man was speaking through the lowered window between the front and the back.

“All right, Stanley.” The words were in Cranston’s quiet tone. “I shall leave you here. Go up to the next street and turn down the further avenue. Wait for me at the corner of this street and the avenue.”

“Very well, sir.”

As Stanley spoke, the door opened and Lamont Cranston stepped to the street. The action was performed before the chauffeur could alight. As Stanley began to back the limousine, he looked in vain for signs of his master. Lamont Cranston had disappeared upon the darkened sidewalk.

There was a reason for his remarkable departure. A small bag lay in the back seat of the limousine. It was a bag that Cranston always carried in the car. The bag was empty. Entering the limousine as Lamont Cranston, The Shadow had taken cloak and hat from within that bag. In his black garb, he had alighted.

The street was under repair. An unexpected barrier had caused The Shadow to disembark a half block from his goal. This was the street in back of Tewksbury Court. The Shadow had chosen to make his entrance from this direction.

IN the lobby of Tewksbury Court, a young man was seated by a potted rubber plant. This was Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow. Harry’s eyes were roving constantly between two spots; a pigeonhole behind the clerk’s desk; the clock above the desk itself.

The pigeonhole bore the number 18 M. That was the number of Dudley Arment’s apartment. Mail showed in the pigeonhole, along with a key. That was the sign that Arment had not returned.

The long hand of the clock had reached its lowest point. Half past nine had arrived. Harry’s vigil was ended. Rising, The Shadow’s agent strolled from the lobby. He had called Burbank fifteen minutes before. He was following new instructions. Harry was to join Cliff Marsland.

Harry had not seen Shakes Niefan enter. He had not been looking for the killer. Harry had been appointed to cover Dudley Arment should the man return. Harry had fulfilled that duty.

The Shadow had arranged a clockwork schedule tonight. Two unforeseen factors had interfered. One was the closed street behind the large apartment house. That had delayed The Shadow, withholding his arrival to the final minute.

The other factor was the clock above the lobby desk. It was nearly five minutes fast. Harry Vincent had neglected to check the time. Hence an interval occurred between the departure of Harry Vincent and the arrival of The Shadow.

At the very beginning of that interim, a middle-aged man walked into the lobby of Tewksbury Court. He approached the desk. The clerk nodded in greeting.

“Good evening, Mr. Arment,” he said. “A pleasant trip?”

“Yes.” Arment shifted a suitcase to the floor. “My key, please, and my mail.”

Receiving these, Arment picked up the bag and entered a waiting elevator. He was whisked to the eighteenth floor. He walked down a hallway, past the shaft of the service elevator and unlocked the door of his apartment. He entered and turned on the living room light.

The room seemed stuffy. Arment opened a window to an inner courtyard. He recrossed the room and opened his suitcase. He brought out a small packet of folded papers, which he laid upon a table.

Next he unlocked a table drawer, using an oddly-shaped key from a ring which he brought from his pocket. He took more papers from the drawer, added them to those on the table and delivered a satisfied smile.

Arment went through the letters that he had received from the clerk. One impressed him. He tore open the envelope and unfolded a sheet of paper. His mouth opened as his eyes stared.

Dropping the letter to the table, Dudley Arment reached for the telephone. His hand stopped before it had gained the instrument. A snarling voice brought the interruption. Arment looked up.

STANDING at the door of an inner room was a man in hat and overcoat. His eyes were shifting; his lips had a twitch. His right hand, shaking with a peculiar wobble, held a stub-nosed revolver.

The intruder had evidently entered before Arment had arrived. The sight of the revolver was disconcerting; the shake of the hand momentarily nullified Arment’s qualms. Another glance at the man’s face, however, convinced Dudley Arment that he faced a real menace.

“Don’t mind these shakes,” sneered the intruder. “That’s what they call me — Shakes. Shakes Niefan. I don’t mind telling you the name. You’ll never spill it.”

The killer was moving toward the table. Arment, his hands half-raised, was staring. Shakes changed to a circling course. Constantly facing his intended victim, the murderer gained the window and placed his gloved left hand upon the raised sash.

From where he stood, Dudley Arment could view both door and window. He was at one point of an imaginary triangle; Shakes Niefan was at the second; the door marked the third. Instinctively, Arment gazed toward the door.

“Stand where you are,” growled Shakes. “There’s nobody coming in that door. You latched it when you shut it. You aren’t going out that way, either — not until they carry you out.”

“What do you mean?” blurted Arment. “Do you intend to kill me?”

“I do,” retorted Shakes, with an ugly grin. “With this window down, nobody’s going to hear the shot. I’m leaving with those papers of yours — and you’ll never tell anybody what they were about.”

Shakes had paused in the delivery of this challenge. Again his gloved hand gripped the sash. Arment, in desperation, stared toward the door. A gasp of a different tone came from his lips.

The glass knob of the door was turning. Silently and almost imperceptibly, a motion was in progress.

Some one on the other side had inserted key or pick into the lock; the latch was yielding and the knob was acting with it!

INSTANTLY, Dudley Arment realized his error. His gasp had been a tip-off to Shakes Niefan. Had Arment kept silent, all would have been well. The time that Shakes was taking to lower the window might have allowed the door to open.

Now, however, as Arment glanced again at Shakes, the killer was alert. He was staring at the doorknob.

His left hand rested motionless upon the sash; his right hand was unconsciously turning its weapon toward the direction of the door. Forgetting Arment, Shakes was preparing for an unknown enemy.

Desperation brought action. With a wild effort, Dudley Arment sought to make up for his mistake.

Shakes Niefan was momentarily off guard. That gave the opportunity. With a ferocious leap, Dudley Arment hurled himself across the room to grapple with Shakes Niefan.

The killer turned to meet the onslaught. Arment caught his wrist and thrust it upward. Swinging downward, Shakes delivered a vicious blow to Arment’s head. The force of the stroke was hampered by the brakelike pressure of Arment’s arm; but the metal of the gun, as it glanced from Arment’s temple, had a stunning power.

Dudley Arment slumped. Shakes Niefan threw his left arm about the stunned man’s body. Holding the helpless form as a shield, Shakes swung again to meet the menace from the door.

His action was not an instant too soon. The door had opened. Upon the threshold stood an avenging form in black. The Shadow, automatic in his gloved fist, had arrived to thwart the killer!