Murder Trail

CHAPTER II THE SHADOW OBSERVES

THE dirigible Munchen was nearing the last leg of its westward flight. Its huge bulk gliding onward, the mammoth airship rode with marvelous stability. Purring motors kept up their constant rhythm. The passengers in the forward salon smiled and chatted as the Zeppelin whirred through the night.

Dawn would arrive within a few hours. Gleaming rays of sunlight would show the silver queen of the air entering the fringe of the Middle West. The Atlantic had been conquered; the rest of the voyage offered no obstacles.

Captain Heinrich von Werndorff entered the salon. His arrival brought words of commendation from the group of men who saw him. The commander bowed at the congratulations.

“We are experiencing great success,” he declared. “This voyage, gentlemen, is a triumph for the dirigible as a means of transportation. With our destination an inland city, instead of a seaport, we are proving the advantages of air liners over ocean liners.”

He caught the eye of a gentleman seated in a corner of the salon, and smiled as though in mutual congratulation.

“You were fortunate, Herr Arnaud,” said the captain. “Your last-minute arrival at Friedrichshafen enabled you to join us on this memorable voyage. You came as a good omen.”

All turned toward the man to whom the commander had spoken. Henry Arnaud had been regarded as an unusual passenger on this flight. He had made reservation by wire from Moscow, and had reached the Friedrichshafen hangar just as the Munchen was about to sail.

There was something about Henry Arnaud’s appearance that commanded both respect and interest. Although an American, he spoke fluently in French, German, and Russian, and had thus made an acquaintance with passengers of those nationalities.

Captain von Werndorff was speaking in German as he addressed Arnaud; and the American replied in the same language.

“The good omen on the Munchen,” he said, in a quiet tone, “is the presence of our commander, Captain von Werndorff.”

A buzz of approval was the response to the compliment. Henry Arnaud, calm-faced and impassive in demeanor, was a man who spoke with profound sincerity. His eyes, sharp and piercing, were gazing toward Von Werndorff, and the commander noted the strange sparkle that came from them. Somehow, he felt that those eyes had stared at him before.

THE passengers, now that the United States had been reached, were preparing to retire. They were leaving the salon one by one; and Henry Arnaud was among the last to go. His eyes gave a parting glance toward Von Werndorff; the commander, acting under impulse, reached forward and plucked the American’s sleeve.

“Herr Arnaud,” he said, in German, “I do not recall having met you in the past; yet there is something in your manner that indicates you have seen me before.”

A slight smile played upon Arnaud’s thin lips. The man’s expression was sphinxlike. His burning eyes gleamed upon Von Werndorff. The commander was amazed when Arnaud spoke.

“This is not my first voyage with you, captain,” he said in a low voice. “I have seen you before; and then, as now, I was aboard a ship of yours.”

“You mean—”

“During the War, Herr Captain. You will recall” — Arnaud’s eyes were sparkling — “a dirigible flight across the North Sea, when a storm drove you back to Germany. That storm proved fortunate, Herr Captain; fortunate for both of us. My mission was to see that the Zeppelin did not reach England.”

“You were aboard the L-43!”

“Yes.”

“As a member of the crew?”

“As a stowaway.”

“As a stowaway!”

When he repeated Arnaud’s words, Captain von Werndorff’s face became momentarily pale. Perhaps it was the memory of that eventful war flight over the North Sea; or was there another reason for the commander’s loss of color?

Henry Arnaud noted the captain’s change of expression, and added a brief statement that might have ordinarily been a simple explanation. As chance had it, the words brought a new and more singular turn to Von Werndorff’s complexion.

“Your superior came aboard the L-43,” reminded Arnaud. “An aid accompanied him. The aid did not leave. He became a stowaway. A simple ruse, Herr Captain, but it worked. It deceived both you and your superior — Baron Hugo von Tollsburg.”

It was the mention of this name that made Von Werndorff repress a gasp. Out of the past had come a series of coincidences. This man had been a stowaway on the L-43. He had come aboard that ship with Von Tollsburg.

Now, by a curious reversal of circumstances, Baron von Tollsburg was a stowaway on the Munchen, while Henry Arnaud was the passenger!

Was there a connection here? Was Henry Arnaud a man whom Baron von Tollsburg sought to avoid? Perplexities swept through the commander’s brain; then he regained his poise as Henry Arnaud made a quiet parting remark.

“I am glad to travel with you again, Herr Captain,” said the American. “It is a pleasure to be a passenger aboard your dirigible. Stowaways aboard Zeppelins once could have expected death if discovered. In these times of peace, they receive reasonable treatment. It is preferable, however, to be a listed passenger.”

Arnaud extended his hand to Von Werndorff, and the dirigible commander received it. The American turned and left the salon.

Von Werndorff remained thoughtful. With chin in hand, he did not realize that Arnaud’s sharp gaze had caught his immediate reaction.

IT was coincidence, Von Werndorff felt sure, that had brought this man aboard the Munchen as a passenger. Arnaud’s remarks could have been nothing more than a friendly revelation of the past. In this surmise, the commander was correct.

But Von Werndorff made the mistake of discounting his own reactions. He did not realize that his stern face, by its betrayal of emotions, had spoken to Henry Arnaud as effectively as if words had been uttered. Here, above the United States, speeding toward the end of the oceanic flight, Henry Arnaud had gained the remarkable suspicion that there was a mystery aboard this airship!

After he left the main salon, the commander of the Munchen still felt a trace of uneasiness. He went into his cabin and consulted a passenger list. He learned the number of Henry Arnaud’s cabin — 28. Passing along the narrow central corridor, Von Werndorff paused at the door which bore that number.

He satisfied himself that all was quiet within. Henry Arnaud had evidently retired.

With only a slight apprehension remaining, Von Werndorff continued along the corridor.

As he walked toward the rear of the great gondola, something happened behind him. The door of Henry Arnaud’s cabin opened, and a pair of gleaming eyes watched the commander’s course.

Those eyes saw Captain von Werndorff pause beside a bulkhead on the left, and listen there intently. When the commander came back along the corridor, Henry Arnaud was no longer watching him.

Smoothly, the Munchen plowed on through the night. Within Cabin 28, Henry Arnaud stood by the door, listening. The cabin light clicked on; the American stooped above his berth. His form was suddenly lost amid a shrouding robe of black. A few moments later, Henry Arnaud was gone; and in his place stood a strange and fantastic being.

A tall, mysterious figure, garbed in black; this was the personage into which Henry Arnaud had transformed himself. The folds of a sable-hued cloak enveloped his body; the broad brim of a dark slouch hat obscured his visage. Henry Arnaud had become The Shadow!

A soft laugh that came from unseen lips announced the identity of the mysterious figure. The low tones of that sinister mockery were inimitable. No other living person could have uttered them.

The Shadow, who hounded criminals of every land, had booked passage aboard the Munchen in his adopted guise of Henry Arnaud. By chance, he had learned that Captain von Werndorff was harboring a secret. He had divined the presence of a stowaway aboard this dirigible. He had aroused the commander’s apprehensions, and had caused Von Werndorff to visit the secret spot where the stowaway was hidden.

Now, as a phantom shape, The Shadow was about to investigate the situation. With his penchant for unraveling meshes of mystery, he intended to learn more of the matter which now concerned him. The actions of the captain needed much explanation.

THE door of Cabin 28 began to open. Sharp eyes gleamed along the corridor. A black-gloved hand appeared at the edge of the door. Then, the moving figure stopped, while the gleaming eyes remained focused upon the distant bulkhead.

A metal panel was opening slowly outward. The Shadow watched the figure of a man step from the secret cabin. The open panel obscured most of the man’s body, and hid his face. His back turned as he closed the panel behind him.

The man was carrying a compact package. He did not turn his face toward the spot where The Shadow stood. Instead, he headed toward the rear of the corridor, only a few yards away, and, with a swift stride, made a dash in that direction.

Scarcely had the man gone before The Shadow emerged from Cabin 28. With gliding motion he set forth in pursuit of the fleeing man.

The destination was obvious. At the rear of the corridor was a stairway that led upward into the envelope above the gondola. There were passages up there, beneath the balloonets; and among those passages, The Shadow might trace the course that the man had taken.

It was chance that interfered. Before The Shadow had moved a dozen feet, the door of a cabin farther down the corridor opened, and two officers of the Munchen came into view. Coming forward along the narrow way, they would surely have encountered The Shadow, but for the quick action of the black-clad figure.

With a turning sweep, The Shadow regained his cabin. The door closed as the officers tramped by. It reopened, and even while the men were still walking forward in the corridor, The Shadow’s amazing form was sweeping toward the companionway at the rear, taking up the delayed pursuit.

A spectral mass of black, The Shadow arrived at the top of the companionway. Straight ahead lay the walk that led to the rear of the dirigible. The interior of the tremendous envelope was a heavy bulk above, with this passage, illuminated only by safety lights, running beneath.

The keen mind of The Shadow was at work. That brain had trained itself to measure time in split seconds to gauge each passing event with absolute precision. The length of the passage within the envelope proved clearly that the man who had emerged from the panel could not have gained its end in the short time allowed him between his departure and The Shadow’s swift pursuit.

A tiny light gleamed in a blackened fist. The Shadow was moving along the passage in the envelope, his flashlight pointing out spots on either side. Here were hatchways in the lower surface of the dirigible — places where goods could be taken in or unloaded. The Shadow’s light stopped on the hatch nearest to him.

The fastening of this opening was loose. Some one had opened the hinged door and left it loose after it had swung shut. The Shadow’s hands opened the light barrier. The blackened head and shoulders thrust themselves through the opening.

The ground was more than a mile below. Tiny glimmering lights indicated the countryside. The flashing of an air beacon showed the airway which the dirigible was following. The Shadow’s keen eyes spotted that intermittent signal.

Through those eyes, The Shadow gained a photographic impression of the ground beneath. In daytime, the observation would have been difficult enough; at night, it was far more so. Yet, with the air beacon as his guide, this strange observer was able to gain the exact location of the dirigible. The Shadow was taking the position.

TOO late to overtake the man who had fled, The Shadow had gained full knowledge of the man’s purpose and action. Somewhere, now miles behind the dirigible, and thousands of feet below, a human form was dropping to safety from the Munchen, with the broad surface of a parachute spread out above him!

The Shadow’s quarry had made a remarkable and well-planned escape from the moving dirigible. Of passengers and crew, there was only one who had discovered the deed. That one was The Shadow!

No thought of pursuit engaged The Shadow as he made his way back along the passage toward the huge main gondola. There was another task before him. The black-garbed shape flitted down the companionway and entered the corridor of the gondola. It stopped before the secret panel.

Gloved fingers were at work, prying along the narrow crevice that marked the edge of the secret door. It required less than a minute for The Shadow to discover the hidden mechanism. A click resounded as a piece of metal entered the crack. The panel opened, and The Shadow stepped within. The door closed, barely a second before footsteps came down the corridor. The officers were coming back along the passage.

Half an hour passed. The first shafts of dawn, appearing over the horizon, brought a brilliant glint to the silvery surface of the mighty German airship. Those first rays of daylight did not reach the windowless central corridor. That passage was dependent upon the lights that glowed along its low ceiling. They were the lights that showed the panel of the secret room reopening.

The form of The Shadow appeared in the corridor. The panel closed. The spectral shape was ghostly as it made its rapid, silent way to the door of Cabin 28. The door of the cabin opened. The Shadow merged with the gray dawn of the room within.

Tonight, within the last hour of darkness, a murderer had left the Munchen to gain the safety of the ground below. The dirigible had hours ahead before it reached Chicago. A thousand miles between the Atlantic seaboard and the great metropolis of the Middle West! Somewhere, in that tremendous range, the escaping man had dropped by parachute!

Well could that unknown man suppose that his flight would never be detected. No one could suspect the time and place that he had chosen by random. Yet the fleeing man of crime had not reckoned with The Shadow.

The Shadow knew!