Spoils of the Shadow

CHAPTER VIII THE AFTERMATH

“THIS way, every one! We are going back too view the screens again!”

Rudolph Brockthorpe was calling to his guests. They were gathering in the living room; Mark Tyrell was accompanying Doris Munson and Lamont Cranston. As the group moved toward the library, Tyrell dropped behind to light his inevitable cigarette. He paused close by Chopper, who was waiting for the guests to complete their passage into the library.

“How about it?” questioned Tyrell, in an undertone.

“Slug pulled out half an hour ago,” whispered Chopper.

“From the side alley?”

“Yeah. With the swag.”

“Good. Be ready.”

Tyrell entered the library. He found the guests in a semicircle, watching Brockthorpe, who was standing by the door of the strongroom.

“There will be a loud clangor when I unlock this door,” explained Brockthorpe to his guests. “Detective Cardona wanted me to test the alarm; so I set it. Remain here while I enter. I can turn off the alarm from inside the strongroom.”

Brockthorpe inserted a key in the lock. As he turned it, bells began to ring throughout the house. Some were loud and drilling in tone; others sounded with a gonglike boom. Guests stood startled as Brockthorpe hastily opened the door and sprang into the darkened strongroom.

Brockthorpe pressed a switch that stopped the clangor. Then he found the light switch and gave illumination to the room. Standing within the door, he beckoned to his guests to enter. Before any one could follow the instruction, an interruption came.

Joe Cardona, leaping forward, stretched his arms across the doorway while he stared wild-eyed into the strongroom. Wheeling, he ordered the guests back. Gasps came as those closest saw the reason for the detective’s action. Cardona had again turned toward the strongroom. Rudolph Brockthorpe faced inward as the detective pointed.

“The screens!” gasped Brockthorpe. “The screens! They are gone!”

THE cry was true. Taborets, statues, vases were all in place. But the six-foot screens from the Forbidden Palace had vanished as mysteriously as if they had been swallowed into space!

While Brockthorpe rubbed his hands in nervous, bewildered fashion, Cardona took charge of the situation. He ordered the guests to seat themselves about the library. He picked Lamont Cranston to stand by the door to the living room, to see that no one left. Leaving Brockthorpe and Bexler in charge, Cardona strode to a side door of the library and shouted for the servants. Three men and one woman appeared in answer to his summons. Cardona lined them up in the library and requested Bexler to take charge.

Then he went into the strongroom, where Brockthorpe was rumbling nervous imprecations.

“How about the windows?” demanded Cardona.

“They’re closed,” rejoined Brockthorpe. “I haven’t examined them.”

“Let’s look.”

Cardona tested the bars at one window. He found them solid. He started to unfasten the outer shutter. Brockthorpe spoke a warning.

“Unless I turn off the alarm switch,” said the robbed collector, “the bells will ring—”

“Let them ring,” interrupted Joe. “I want to see if they’re working. Stand by the switch.”

As Brockthorpe moved to obey, Cardona released the inner bars of the shutter. The clangor or alarms began at once. Cardona motioned to Brockthorpe; the collector pressed the switch. Cardona closed the shutter.

“On again,” he ordered. “I’m trying the other window.”

The same result occurred there. Cardona found solid bars; the alarm rang when he worked on the shutter. The detective came to the door as Brockthorpe shut off the bells. There, Cardona made another inspection. The result was a definite decision. He gave it to Brockthorpe.

“Nobody could have come through the windows or the door,” affirmed Joe. “The alarms would have gone off. What’s more, those screens couldn’t have been taken out by the windows. The screens are too big. They couldn’t have gone out by the door; I was in and out of the library all during the last hour.”

“But the screens are gone!” mumbled Brockthorpe.

“Apparently,” remarked Cardona. He drew a stub-nosed revolver from his pocket. “Yes — I admit they’re gone from view. But that doesn’t mean they’re not here.”

“You mean the closets?” questioned Brockthorpe, pointing to closed doors that appeared in the walls of the strongroom.

“Yes,” said Cardona. “They could be hidden there — along with the person who took them. Some one got into this room, Brockthorpe. He may still be here.”

“But the room was empty when we left. We looked about. The closets are all locked.”

“Count noses out there in the library,” ordered Cardona, tersely. “I want to find out who’s in on this.”

Brockthorpe went into the library. He returned a few minutes later. He shook his head.

“Every guest is here,” he stated. “Also all four of the servants.”

“Then we’ve got a stranger to deal with,” announced Cardona, as he stood grimly in the center of the strongroom, drawn revolver in hand. “Got any guns, Mr. Brockthorpe?”

“Two revolvers—”

“Bring them.”

Brockthorpe went to a desk in the corner of the library. He unlocked a drawer and produced two revolvers. He showed the guns to Cardona. They were of .32 caliber.

“Give one to Mr. Cranston,” ordered Joe. “Bring the other here yourself. We’ll smoke out the rat that’s hiding in one of these closets. Call in two of your servants.”

Brockthorpe passed a revolver to Cranston, whose duty was to watch the front exit of the library. Then he ordered two servants to follow him. One whom he chose was Chopper Hoban.

THE liveried men shuffled into the strongroom.

“Carry out those vases,” ordered Cardona. “We don’t want them to be smashed. Move those taborets to the corner, Mr. Brockthorpe. Let’s see now—”

He paused as the servants were returning. He pointed to the big chair. It was blocking one of the closet doors. Chopper and the other menial lifted the arms. Cardona was looking at the chair itself; Chopper kept his face turned so the detective did not see it clearly.

“Move that chair out,” ordered Joe. “It doesn’t belong in here. Clear the way to the closet.”

Chopper urged his companion to carry the chair clear over to the side of the library. They set it near the doorway. When they returned to the door of the strongroom, Cardona told them to remain outside.

“Your keys?” he asked of Brockthorpe.

The collector produced a well-cluttered key-ring. Cardona had intended to open the closet doors himself. He decided that Brockthorpe was the one to do it.

“They’re thick doors,” muttered the detective. “No guy’s going to fire from inside until they’re opened. You unlock them, Mr. Brockthorpe, while I cover.”

The millionaire went to the first door. He carefully unlocked it and leaped away as he swung the door open. Cardona, revolver in readiness, saw the interior of an empty closet. The second door produced practically the same result. A few odd vases alone showed on the closet floor.

There was a third door; the one that the large chair had obscured. Cardona was tense as Brockthorpe unlocked this barrier and stepped aside. Cardona, watching the door swing, saw that the closet was empty save for two Oriental robes that hung from hooks in the center.

With a daring plunge, the detective leaped forward and pounced upon the robes. He swung as he gripped them, expecting to find a figure underneath. He came swinging from the closet, the robes loose in his grasp. The last closet, like the others, was empty.

Cardona stared all about him. The floor of the room was solid. So were the walls. Yet there was no sign either of the screens or any living person who might have remained here in search of concealment.

“We’ll lock up,” decided the detective. “Set the alarms, Mr. Brockthorpe. We’ll go through this place later, after I’ve questioned the guests and the servants.”

Cardona and Brockthorpe left the strongroom. Windows and doors were tight as before. Passing from person to person, Cardona put brief questions, inquiring if they had seen any one in the neighborhood of the strongroom.

Every response was negative. Cardona eyed some persons carefully; among them, Chopper Hoban. This fellow chanced to be an underworld character whom Cardona had never seen before. That was one reason why he had been chosen for his job. Chopper passed inspection.

After a conference with Rudolph Brockthorpe and Hubert Bexler, Cardona decided that guests and servants could not be held under suspicion. Cross-checking of testimony indicated that fact. He ordered the guests into the living room; the servants to their duties.

IT was in the living room that Mark Tyrell strolled toward Harry Vincent. He chose a time when Lamont Cranston and Doris Munson were engaged in conversation at the front end of the room.

“Stay by the door to the library,” whispered Tyrell, to Harry. “Have a cigarette ready. Strike a match to light it if one heads into the library.”

Harry strolled over toward the door that Tyrell indicated. The schemer walked away and joined Cranston and Doris. The girl was thanking Cranston for the aid that he had rendered during her fainting spell. Tyrell joined the conversation. He wanted to hold the attention of this keen-eyed guest whom he had identified as The Shadow.

Joe Cardona and Rudolph Brockthorpe had departed from the living room. The only man close to where Harry Vincent stood was Hubert Bexler. The gray-haired collector was smoking a cigar. His face seemed serious. Bexler had sobered considerably since the discovery that Brockthorpe’s screens were stolen. Harry fancied that the man might be thinking of the safety of his own treasures.

Bexler’s reverie, however, was advantageous. At present, it was Harry’s duty to play in with Mark Tyrell’s schemes. As yet, Harry could not fathom how the Chinese screens had been stolen. He was puzzling over the problem as he threw a sidelong glance into the library.

There, Harry saw Chopper Hoban entering stealthily from the side door. The fake servant glanced in Harry’s direction. Seeing no signal, Chopper stopped beside the heavy chair that had been carried from the strongroom. Harry saw him raise the covering. Muffled clicks followed. Harry caught a glimpse of the seat moving upward in side-hinged sections. He saw the back of the chair open like a double door.

Then a figure squirmed in view. In the gloom of the library, Harry caught a glimpse of a wicked, yellow face as a limber form unfolded its legs and arms. A curious, spiderlike man reached the floor. The portions of the chair clicked shut. Chopper dropped the covering into place.

As Chopper made a gesture, the figure — which Harry took for that of a dwarfish Chinaman — went scampering through the side door of the library. The man was crouching as he ran. Chopper followed into the side hallway.

As the two figures went out of sight, Harry looked about the living room.

Joe Cardona was returning with Rudolph Brockthorpe. The two were joining Hubert Bexler. Harry caught Cardona’s suggestion that the guests be urged to leave. As the trio stepped toward the door to the library, Harry moved aside and idly lighted his cigarette.

Mark Tyrell caught the signal from the other end of the room. The schemer smiled in satisfaction. He was sure that Chopper and the Chinaman had gained ample time. Harry’s signal convinced him that this new henchman was alert.

Cardona and the two collectors found nothing suspicious in the library. The detective’s suggestion was followed. The guests were invited to leave. Lamont Cranston was one of the first to depart. Mark Tyrell and Doris Munson followed. Harry Vincent went afterward.

IN his room at the Hotel Metropole, Harry Vincent began to make a written report. He had scarcely started before the telephone rang. He answered the call. It was Mark Tyrell.

“Hello, Vincent,” came the suave voice of the smooth crook. “I just wanted to extend my compliments. Very good, old chap.”

“Thanks,” responded Harry.

“I shall need you later,” purred Tyrell, over the wire. “Within the week. Stay around your hotel and wait for a call.”

“All right.”

When he had hung up the receiver, Harry went back to his report. In coded writing, inscribed in bluish ink, he detailed his action of the evening. As he made the report, Harry added a definite theory regarding the robbery. The appearance of the Chinaman had told him all he needed to know. He wrote:

Elsewhere in Manhattan another man was writing a report. Cliff Marsland, seated in a grimy room of a cheap hotel, was telling of his own activities. He was reporting how he had gone to cover up for “Slug” Bracken; how he had remained near the entrance of a passage outside of Rudolph Brockthorpe’s home.

He had seen Slug and a henchman appear with one screen and then the other. They had driven away in an old touring car, carrying their burdens with them. Cliff and other guards had left in a sedan.

This report, like Harry’s, was going to Rutledge Mann. Through the investment broker, both stories would reach The Shadow. Mark Tyrell had succeeded in crime. Joe Cardona was baffled. But The Shadow’s agents had spotted the inside tale.

MEANWHILE, a light was glimmering above a polished table in a black-walled room. White hands were on the woodwork; one holding a sheet of paper while the other wrote. The Shadow was in his sanctum, preparing his own notes concerning this night’s work.

Neither agent knew that his master had been at Rudolph Brockthorpe’s. Mark Tyrell was sure that The Shadow had been there, in the guise of Lamont Cranston. He, like Harry and Cliff, believed that The Shadow had been thwarted.

Yet the laugh that sounded through the sanctum would have startled Mark Tyrell had he been there to hear it. The burst of mockery came with surprising suddenness, just as the click of the lamp switch brought Stygian darkness to the black-walled room.

Taunting tones reached a weird crescendo. Sardonic mirth broke with a ghoulish shudder. Quivering echoes followed. Lisping taunts spoke back from the inky walls. When the creepy reverberations had ended their dying gibes, profound silence persisted throughout the sable-walled sanctum.

The Shadow had been present at Mark Tyrell’s second crime, as he had been present at the first. He had divined the crafty method by which the crook had gained the Persian tapestry from underneath the door at Sebastian Dutton’s. He knew the truth of to-night’s episode.

A doped cigarette to Doris Munson; a chair introduced with a living being inside it. Screens through the window, as Harry had supposed; the escape of the hidden worker who had aided Tyrell’s scheme. All these factors were apparent to The Shadow.

The master sleuth knew what his agents would report. The Shadow had studied Tyrell’s actions almost step by step. Yet The Shadow had laughed. There had been foreboding tokens in his chilling mirth. That fading merriment had indicated that when the last laugh came, it, too, would be The Shadow’s!