Spoils of the Shadow

CHAPTER II THE SHADOW’S FORAY

THE Paragon Hotel was a decrepit structure that rose gloomily from a side street in Manhattan. Decadent for several years, it had become a place of poor repute. Its rooms were sparsely occupied; little account was kept of the guests. Although the neighborhood was fairly respectable, the Paragon was a hotel that no longer catered to the elect.

Two hours after The Shadow had begun his air trip from Washington, a young man appeared in the dismal lobby of the Paragon Hotel. He entered the elevator in inconspicuous fashion and rode up to the eighth floor. Leaving the elevator, he moved to a gloomy corridor, cast a wary look and headed for a room halfway along the hall. The door, which bore the number 847, was unlocked. The young man entered a darkened room and closed the door behind him.

“Harry?” came a whispered question.

“Right,” was the young man’s response. “What’s new, Cliff?”

“Both in the room,” answered the first speaker. “The tough looking fellow is Pug Halfin, all right; but I don’t know the smooth chap that’s with him.”

“All right, Cliff. Slide out. I’ll keep watch.”

The man who had been in the room made for the door. His square-shouldered form showed as he opened the barrier. Then the door closed and the later arrival remained alone. The watch had been changed.

These two men were agents of The Shadow. Harry Vincent, an experienced operative, had just replaced Cliff Marsland. Harry had been longer in The Shadow’s service than had Cliff; the latter, however, had the advantage of being in close contact with the affairs of the underworld.

HARRY VINCENT, posted here to watch Room 850, had been the first to spy the occupants across the hall — one, a hard-faced fellow who had taken Room 850 under the name of Bates; the other, a suave individual who was not registered. It was Cliff Marsland, however, who had peered through the transom to identify “Bates” as “Pug” Halfin, a one-time mobleader well known in the badlands of New York.

These facts had been submitted in reports to Rutledge Mann. While awaiting The Shadow’s orders, Cliff and Harry had continued their relayed vigil. Both had worked from under cover; neither had been observed by either Pug Halfin or his unknown companion.

Seating himself in the corner of the darkened room, Harry put in a telephone call. This was to Burbank, The Shadow’s contact man. Harry was terse and non-committal in his statements. He was merely reporting that he was on duty; and doing it in a fashion that indicated nothing more than a call to a friend. It was Cliff, now outside the hotel, who would give Burbank a more detailed report.

The situation, however, presented nothing new. Harry and Cliff had been on watch for three nights; since Cliff’s early identification of Pug Halfin, nothing new had developed.

While Harry Vincent was engaged in his call to Burbank, a peculiar phenomenon took place. Without Harry noticing it, the door of the room opened inward. No light came from the corridor, for a blackened shape filled the opened portion of the doorway. It was not until he arose from his chair that Harry Vincent realized he was not alone. The token of another presence came in a whispered tone.

The Shadow!

Harry was startled by the unexpected arrival of his chief. He could see no one in the darkness. That, however, was not unusual. Enshrouded by gloom, The Shadow had a marked ability for rendering himself invisible.

“Remain on duty,” came the whispered order. “Timed report. Zero.”

Nodding in the darkness, Harry drew a watch from his pocket. He pressed the stem and held it in readiness, awaiting the next word.

“Set,” came The Shadow’s whisper.

A slight click from Harry’s hand was answered by a similar sound from the spot where The Shadow stood. Two stop-watches, set at the same beginning, were ticking off identical seconds.

Something swished softly in the darkness. Harry saw the door move inward. He noted blocking blackness; then the door was closed. The Shadow had started forth. Harry drew a chair to the door and stood upon it, keeping watch through the transom. There was no sign of The Shadow. Already, the master sleuth had passed along the corridor, beyond the door of Room 850.

THE corridor terminated in an exit to a fire escape. This was the course that The Shadow had taken. Room 850 was the last door on the left. Room 852 was one door inward; and it was catercornered to 847, from which Harry Vincent was spying.

The Shadow had passed both doors. A shrouded figure in the darkness of the fire exit, he was looking along the brick wall to the left. His keen eyes spied what he required — a cornice jotting from the bricks.

Such projections existed on each floor level. The space provided was no more than a few inches; to The Shadow, that was satisfactory.

A splotch of blackness moved from the dull illumination of the fire exit. A few moments later, a shady figure had pressed itself against the wall of the building.

Beetlelike, The Shadow was moving along the cornice. A journey of a dozen feet brought him to the window of Room 850. A heavy shade was drawn within the window; no light glimmered from its edges. The Shadow paused; then kept onward to the very corner of this wing of the hotel.

Like a clinging bat, the phantom investigator made the turn. He reached a second window of Room 850. Like the first, it showed a drawn shade. This time, a slight glimmer gave a clue. The Shadow proceeded along the cornice until he reached another window.

Here, The Shadow’s form huddled downward. Fingers clutched cracks between bricks as firm feet remained upon the cornice. The Shadow had reached an open window to a lighted room. His eyes, coming upward to the sill, observed two men within; they also saw a partly-opened door that obviously led to 850.

This was Room 852; it was the inner room of a suite for it connected with 850. It also had a door to the corridor. The Shadow observed these facts in the gloomy light of a single floor lamp. He also studied the faces of the two men who were in the room; and his keen ears caught their low conversation.

One man, stocky of build, sullen of expression, was standing near the door that led to 850. His face was a hardened one. The Shadow knew him for the mobleader, Pug Halfin. The other was a man of suave and shrewd appearance. He was seated, smoking a cigarette, and his lips wore a wise, satisfied smile.

“Getting nervous, Pug?” this man was questioning, in a smooth, purring tone.

“Yeah,” growled Pug. “This is tricky business, Tyrell. I don’t like it.”

“No?” There was sarcasm in Tyrell’s suave tone. “Why should you be worried, Pug? The real game is mine; and I am unconcerned.”

“Maybe you don’t know much about The Shadow.”

“On the contrary, I do. The fact that he communicated with me is sufficient proof.”

“Don’t it give you the jitters? Knowin’ that he’s comin’ here to talk to you—”

“Why should it?”

“He’s death on crooks—”

“Do not include me in that category. My business with The Shadow concerns the future, not the past.”

THERE was a pause. Tyrell continued to smile calmly while he smoked the cigarette. Pug’s face still wore its troubled look. At last, Tyrell arose from his chair. Turning toward the window, he flicked his cigarette out into darkness. The glowing object shot above The Shadow’s head. The peering intruder had crouched out of sight as Tyrell had turned in his direction.

“At six thirty” — Tyrell was talking suavely to Pug — “The Shadow called here from Washington. He stated that he would arrive before midnight. He could do so by taking the limited that left at six forty-five. That would bring him here almost at the hour of twelve.

“However, if he chose to come by scheduled plane, he could arrive shortly after ten o’clock. It is nearly half-past nine. That, Pug, will allow me to take a short trip to the lobby.”

“Leavin’ me here alone?”

“Of course. I shall return before The Shadow gets here. Since you seem to be annoyed by the interval that yet remains, I think it would be best for you to make yourself comfortable before I depart. Come, Pug.”

Peering through the window, The Shadow saw the two men move through the door into Room 850. Tyrell left the barrier partly open. A slight click sounded outside the window. Brief minutes passed. Neither Tyrell nor Pug returned. The Shadow began his return trip along the cornice.

It was a slow, precarious journey. More minutes passed before The Shadow reached his goal, the fire exit.

From the darkness of the fire escape he peered into the gloomy corridor. It was empty. In ghostlike fashion, The Shadow moved from the fire exit and glided swiftly to the door of Harry Vincent’s room. He entered in noiseless fashion.

Harry had removed the chair from within the door. Standing a short space away, he sensed The Shadow’s return. He heard the whispered order:

“Report.”

“Pug’s companion left,” returned Harry, in a low tone. “Went toward the elevator.”

“Time.”

“Registered.”

“Leave. Report from outside.”

Harry Vincent strolled from the room. The Shadow moved toward the table. A tiny flashlight glimmered in his gloved hand. It showed Harry’s stop watch lying on the table. The Shadow placed his own timepiece beside it.

Both watches had been set at zero. Yet The Shadow’s had stopped three minutes before Harry’s. The significance was apparent. From the time that he had moved from 852 into 850, Tyrell had lingered for three minutes before beginning his trip to the lobby. Harry had timed the man’s exit.

The flashlight glimmered toward a closet. Opening the door, The Shadow threw rays toward a high shelf. He drew forth a large, flat suitcase. He carried it to the bed and opened it. A soft laugh crept from The Shadow’s lips as his eyes spied various articles within. This special bag had been brought here by Harry Vincent. It was to prove useful to The Shadow.

THE flashlight glimmered upon a polished mirror set in the top of the bag. Setting the little light so that it projected from the open cover of the bag, The Shadow pushed back the brim of his slouch hat and dropped away the folds of his cloak collar to reveal the masklike visage of Lamont Cranston. Gloves came from white hands; long, tapering fingers began to press against the face above.

A buzz from near the table in the corner. It was the telephone. Harry and Cliff had kept the bell well muffled. The Shadow answered. He spoke in a quiet voice. A reply came over the wire.

“I saw my friend.” The announcement was in Harry Vincent’s voice. “I found him where I expected. He seemed to be in no hurry to leave.”

“Never mind then,” replied The Shadow, in an easy tone. “I won’t have to see you to-night.”

The receiver clicked, following the statement that meant Harry was off duty. The Shadow turned back toward the suitcase on the bed. A soft whisper came from his lips. Its repressed tones were a mockery.

While Tyrell remained in the lobby, The Shadow was making ready for the appointment that was to come. His own plane had brought him to New York much sooner than Tyrell had anticipated. The Shadow had viewed and studied the man he was to meet.

Whatever Tyrell’s schemes might be, whatever his purpose in requesting an interview with The Shadow, one fact was sure. The suave individual who had issued his cunning summons would be due for a surprise before this evening ended.