Spoils of the Shadow

CHAPTER VII THE SECOND CRIME

IT was three nights after the robbery at Dutton’s. Broadway was agleam. Amid the whirl of traffic, a taxicab was traveling north. There were two passengers in the vehicle: Mark Tyrell and Doris Munson.

“Rudolph Brockthorpe’s,” Tyrell was musing. “Another of the curio clique. I suppose that we shall have to listen to more talk of rare antiques.”

“I hope,” responded Doris, “that Mr. Brockthorpe will show us his Chinese screens. He says that they were brought to America from the Forbidden Palace in Peking—”

“—seized by soldiers during the Boer uprising,” Tyrell added. “I know the story, Doris. Why repeat it?”

“I think the screens must be wonderful.”

“Like Dutton’s Sicilian tapestry. Well, if Brockthorpe has any brains, he will keep his precious screens under cover. The police are still trying to figure out who stole Dutton’s tapestry.”

The statement brought a gasp of alarm from Doris. The girl had read the newspaper accounts of the mysterious theft which had occurred at Sebastian Dutton’s. She had not seen Tyrell since the night when both of them had attended Dutton’s soiree.

“Do you think the tapestry could have been stolen while we where there?” questioned Doris, in an anxious tone. “Wouldn’t it have been terrible — if thieves had been among those guests?”

“A ridiculous supposition, Doris,” returned Tyrell, in an easy tone. “Evidently you have read no further than the headlines. No suspicion is attached to any one who was at Dutton’s home three nights ago.”

“But the tapestry is gone—”

“It must have been stolen the next day,” interposed Tyrell. “Dutton and other persons were in and out of the hallway all during the evening of the party. Trusted servants were about. It would have been impossible for any one to manipulate the locks and enter the tapestry room that evening.

“On the next afternoon, however, Dutton and his wife went out and did not return until late in the evening. There were two servants in the house; they did not hear any one enter. However, when Dutton returned late, he decided to visit his tapestry room; that was when he found the treasure had been stolen.”

“Then you think that some one must have entered the house on the evening after our visit?”

“That is what the police believe. The locks were unbroken; apparently no one had tampered with them. Yet the sliding doors offered the only means of entry to the tapestry room. Presumably, some clever locksmith must have entered the house and spent a considerable time in making his entry to the windowless chamber that contained the tapestry.”

“I feel relieved,” sighed Doris. “It is good to know that the robbery did not take place while we were there. From what you say, it would have been impossible.”

“Quite,” remarked Tyrell. “Therefore, on second thought, we need not worry about Brockthorpe’s golden screens if he displays them to-night. A more important problem should concern you, Doris.”

“What should concern me?”

“Whether or not your new friend will be at Brockthorpe’s. You seemed to be quite favorably impressed with Lamont Cranston.”

The girl shot an indignant look toward Tyrell. The shrewd-faced man did not appear to notice the glance; he was lighting a cigarette. Apologetically, he offered his case to Doris. The girl took a cigarette herself. Her indignation still remained.

“One could hardly fail to be impressed by Cranston’s personality,” resumed Tyrell, in his suave tone. “The man is a cosmopolitan sort. I fancy that you found his conversation most interesting. I hope, Doris, that you will meet him again this evening.”

The girl made no reply. Once again, Tyrell was treating her in subtle fashion. He was planning to use Doris as a lure to Cranston; to draw away the visitor whom he was sure must be The Shadow. Tyrell smiled as he threw a sideward glance toward Doris. He knew that his plan would succeed should Cranston be at Brockthorpe’s.

THE cab pulled up in front of an old but well-kept residence. Tyrell and Doris alighted. They ascended the steps and were admitted. A servant announced them; they joined a small group of guests assembled in a front room.

Not more than a dozen persons were present at Rudolph Brockthorpe’s. The heavy-browed host was standing in a corner, talking to two friends. One was Hubert Bexler; the other was Lamont Cranston. With them was a stocky, swarthy-faced man whom Tyrell eyed with thoughtful gaze.

Sebastian Dutton was absent. That was not surprising. His Sicilian tapestry stolen, the host of three nights previous had evidently no desire for viewing treasures that belonged to others. While Tyrell stood looking toward the corner, he noticed that Doris Munson had left him. A moment later, he observed the girl going toward the talking group.

Tyrell smiled as he saw Doris speak to Cranston. Then she and the keen-eyed globetrotter left the group. Tyrell watched them stroll into another room. He sauntered over to the corner and shook hands with Brockthorpe and Bexler. He turned a quizzical gaze toward the stocky man who stood with the two collectors.

“This is Detective Cardona,” said Brockthorpe, by way of introduction. “He is investigating the robbery at Dutton’s. He came to see me this evening. I invited him to remain.”

“On account of the golden screens,” added Bexler. “Our friend Brockthorpe insists on showing them to-night. He refuses to follow my advice. I have told him that he should keep them in a vault.”

“Like the boy king’s throne,” chuckled Brockthorpe. “Worry about your own treasure, Bexler — not mine. Wait until you see my strongroom. I want Detective Cardona to see it also.”

“You are Joe Cardona?” inquired Tyrell, turning to the stocky detective. The man nodded.

“I have heard of you,” said Tyrell, in a complimentary tone. “They say that you are the ace of the New York force. You are fortunate, Brockthorpe” — Tyrell turned to his host — “in having this man here. If your strongroom has a weakness, he should certainly discover it.”

“Detective Cardona has already—”

Brockthorpe broke off his statement as a servant approached, followed by a young man in evening clothes. Brockthorpe stared quizzically toward the new guest. Then he heard the servant’s announcement:

“This is Mr. Vincent, sir.”

“Ah, yes!” exclaimed Brockthorpe. “Meet Mr. Vincent, gentlemen. He arrived in New York yesterday, from Michigan. I invited him here to meet you. Mr. Vincent was a friend of Stephen Carruthers.”

“So you knew poor Carruthers?” clucked Hubert Bexler, as he shook hands with the new arrival. “Well, well. He was a great chap. When did you last see him, Mr. Vincent?”

“Shortly before his unfortunate death,” returned Harry Vincent, in a sober tone. “In fact, I had intended to accompany him by plane to California. I failed to reach Chicago in time. Hence I escaped the crash over Oklahoma — the crash in which Carruthers was killed.”

Bexler continued to converse with Harry. Tyrell, standing by, was a listener to the talk. The two were discussing Stephen Carruthers. Tyrell was also watching Brockthorpe and Cardona. He saw the detective turn to the heavy-browed host.

“Are the guests all here?” questioned Cardona, in a low tone.

“I think so,” responded Brockthorpe.

“Show them the screens,” suggested Cardona. “Get it over with. I want to make sure just how strong the room is.”

“Very well.”

Brockthorpe called to his guests. Tyrell turned around to notice that Lamont Cranston and Doris Munson were close by. He wondered if Cranston had observed Harry Vincent’s arrival. Brockthorpe led the way into an adjoining room. Tyrell watched the others follow. He came along at the rear of the throng.

A SERVANT was standing by the broad doorway between the rooms. It was Chopper Hoban, in a different livery. Tyrell paused to light a cigarette. He spoke in an undertone.

“Got it ready?” he inquired.

“By the door to the strongroom,” whispered Chopper.

“Anybody seem wise?”

“No. I landed the job yesterday. Muff and Tony made the delivery when I was alone here at seven o’clock.”

“Good. Be alert when I call.”

Tyrell continued onward. The room into which he passed was furnished with heavy, massive furniture. Covered chairs and couches seemed musty among bookcases that lined the walls. This was Brockthorpe’s library. At the opposite end was the door to his strongroom.

Brockthorpe opened that door before Tyrell arrived with the group of guests. People entered. Tyrell followed, in time to hear admiring gasps. As he stepped through the portal, he saw the reason for the pleased expressions.

The place was a curio room, filled with huge vases, squatty taborets and pieces of Oriental statuary. Centrally located were the golden screens that Brockthorpe had gained from the Forbidden Temple in Peking.

Each screen was six feet tall. It consisted of three folding panels, two feet in width. The panels were of thin, dull gold; upon each panel, glistening in bas-relief, was a polished dragon of the same precious metal.

As the guests strolled about, Brockthorpe rumbled the history of the screens. He also stated their value: one hundred thousand dollars each and added that as a pair they would bring a quarter million should he choose to offer them for sale.

There was one person present, however, who was more interested in the strongroom than in the screens. This was Detective Joe Cardona; he was examining the windows, one on each side of the room, which formed an extension of the house.

Each window was furnished with horizontal bars. These were five in number. They were three feet long; the space between them was less than one foot. The bars were made of heavy steel. Cardona nodded as he tested their strength. He tapped steel shutters that were closed outside the bars.

“Set with an electric alarm,” explained Brockthorpe. “If any one tries to pry the shutters loose, bells will ring throughout the house. That would give us plenty of time before any one could saw away at the bars.”

“It looks good,” admitted Cardona.

“All my treasures are bulky,” declared Brockthorpe, pointing about the room. “Look at the size of those vases — those taborets — those golden screens. Burglars would have to saw off all the bars before they could remove anything.”

“The door?”

“When I lock it, the alarm sets automatically. I haven’t been using it while I am at home, because it would ring whenever I opened the door. But from now on, I shall set it on the door as well as the windows.”

Tyrell was drawing a cigarette case from his pocket. Turning, he saw Lamont Cranston talking with Doris Munson. He nodded affably as he approached. He extended the cigarette case.

“Smoke, Doris?” inquired Tyrell.

“Yes,” replied the girl.

Tyrell drew a cigarette from the case and let Doris take it. He offered another cigarette to Cranston; the globetrotter drew one forth himself. Tyrell extracted a third cigarette. He flicked a lighter and extended it toward Doris.

As he turned toward Cranston with the light, Tyrell saw that the hawkfaced guest was using a match of his own. Tyrell caught the burning glare of eyes above the aquiline nose. He turned away as he lighted his own cigarette. As he flicked out the flame of the lighter, Tyrell heard Doris begin a new conversation with Cranston. Tyrell strolled away.

He encountered Harry Vincent near the door. He nodded; then spoke in an undertone. He was giving instructions which Harry had expected but had not yet received.

“Do what I tell you,” whispered Tyrell. “Stay at this spot until I give the word—”

A gasp sounded in the room. Doris Munson’s cigarette had dropped from her fingers. The girl had placed her hand to her forehead. She was dropping toward the floor. Lamont Cranston caught her elbows and steadied her.

“Stand back,” he ordered quietly. “The girl has fainted. This room is stuffy. Don’t crowd close.”

As guests drew away, Mark Tyrell swung to the doorway. Chopper Hoban was standing at the portal. Tyrell snapped an order to the fake servant.

“Some water!” he exclaimed. “Bring it at once!”

Chopper nodded. He turned and passed the word along to another servant who was at the front door of the library.

“Hurry some water!” he bawled. “Somebody has fainted!”

TYRELL was gripping Harry Vincent by the arm. The two men were nearest to the door. Tyrell pointed toward the library and gave another order.

“Bring a chair!” he told Harry. “From the other room — that servant will help you carry it.”

As Harry turned to obey, Tyrell sprang to aid Cranston who was supporting Doris. Cranston was about to carry the girl from the strongroom; Tyrell, in offering aid, held back the action. As he pretended to help, he stamped out the cigarette that Doris had dropped to the floor.

Just outside the door of the strongroom, Harry Vincent found Chopper Hoban beckoning. He did not know that the servant was one of Tyrell’s underlings. However, Chopper was lifting one arm of a heavy covered chair that stood by the door. Tyrell had ordered a chair; Harry gripped the other arm.

The two carried their burden into the strongroom. A servant arrived a moment later with a glass of water. Cranston, at Tyrell’s suggestion, eased the unconscious girl into the big chair as Harry and Chopper set it near a taboret. He took the glass of water and placed it to Doris Munson’s lips.

Rudolph Brockthorpe was urging the guests out of the room. He herded them through the door like a lot of sheep. Harry and Chopper followed with the throng. Tyrell remained by Cranston, while Brockthorpe and Cardona stood in front of the golden screens.

Reaching in his vest pocket, Cranston produced a tiny phial. He poured a purplish liquid into the glass of water. As a faint color permeated the water. Cranston made Doris take another sip. A moment later, the girl’s eyes opened.

“What — what has happened?” questioned Doris, weakly. “I–I am faint—”

Cranston gave her another sip. The girl revived more rapidly. It was Tyrell who made the next suggestion.

“Let’s get her out into the air,” he said.

Cranston nodded. He carried the glass of liquid in one hand while he and Tyrell aided the girl into the library. They continued on to the living room; by the time they had reached the door, Doris was walking of her own accord.

“I shall take care of her,” stated Cranston. “I shall take her to the porch. Open air will end her dizziness.”

Tyrell watched Cranston and Doris walk away. He drew another cigarette from his case and lighted it. While he stood with a thoughtful smile upon his lips, Rudolph Brockthorpe and Joe Cardona entered from the library.

“We will go back to the strongroom later,” Brockthorpe was saying. “Really, Cardona, it was quite unnecessary to set the alarm on the door. When I unlock it, the bells will ring—”

“I want to hear them work,” interposed Cardona. “You can turn off the bells, can’t you?”

“Of course.”

Hubert Bexler had joined the host and the detective. Brockthorpe was explaining that they would go back to the strongroom within an hour. He was telling Bexler that Joe Cardona had approved the place as burglar proof.

Mark Tyrell smiled as he strolled away. He chatted in a pleasant fashion with the guests that he encountered. So far as his second crime was concerned, Tyrell was satisfied. The schemer’s plan for theft had again succeeded, despite the presence of The Shadow!