The Black Falcon

CHAPTER XIII THE FALCON SCHEMES

ROWLAND RANSDALE laughed harshly as he stared at his servant, Hazzlett. The valet’s countenance had whitened. Hazzlett slumped into a chair and stared at his employer. Even the contemptuous look of complete assurance that Ransdale wore was not sufficient to overcome the valet’s consternation.

“Take a drink, Hazzlett,” snarled Ransdale suddenly. “Brace up. I told you this would be coming.”

The servant nodded weakly. He arose and went to a small cabinet. He brought out a bottle, poured himself a long drink and downed the liquor. His face had lost some of its whiteness when Hazzlett again turned toward Ransdale.

“You don’t think” — Hazzlett was trying to be steady — “and he knows — that he knows about you—”

“That I am The Black Falcon?” Ransdale laughed scornfully. “Not a chance of it, Hazzlett. He’s fallen for the game, just like the rest of them. I knew that he would be here, two nights ago. That, Hazzlett, was why I made you play your part. I went through with everything, just as though we were being watched. You heard Terry Rukes scream when I dropped him.”

Hazzlett nodded.

“Terry saw The Shadow,” declared Ransdale. “In this room. I suspected that The Shadow might be here. The Shadow is clever, Hazzlett, but a nighttime prowler who trails crooks is no match for The Black Falcon.”

“But you always said” — Hazzlett was protesting as he sat down in a chair and unsteadily placed his glass upon a table beside him — “that if The Shadow would—”

“I always considered The Shadow to be a menace,” interposed Ransdale brusquely. “I said that we would have to watch out for him. I have done so all along. I never planned to bait him as I have the police commissioner. I wanted The Shadow to reveal himself — unwittingly — and he has.”

“But he may know—”

“He is ignorant, like the police. My game has been too well planned. Until now, Hazzlett, it has scarcely been interesting. The real game is just beginning. I want you to understand it perfectly, Hazzlett, because your aid will be important. Hence I shall trace the whole scheme from its inception.”

Hazzlett nodded. The valet was gaining confidence from his chief. His eyes were steady as they viewed Rowland Ransdale’s scoffing face. The expression on the mine owner’s lips was that contemptuous one that Elias Carthers had seen beneath the mask of The Black Falcon.

“Velvet Laffrey was a clever swindler,” began Ransdale, in a reminiscent tone. “He made his mistake, however, when he tried to fool me with a confidence game. You remember how I cornered him, Hazzlett. I knew him for a crook.”

The valet grinned at the recollection.

RANSDALE puffed his pipe and resumed his discourse.

“When Laffrey broke down and told me all about his past, I began to see how his connections with the underworld would serve me well. I can remember how pleased Velvet was when I began to unfold promises of great reward through supercrime.

“His part looked easy. He arranged the connection with Rowdy Kirshing and told the big shot of the funds that would come through The Black Falcon. Rowdy, in turn, lined up Terry Rukes and an undercover mob. That made the going easy.

“Then came our little episode with Velvet Laffrey,” Ransdale chuckled. “He was to be the goat, yet all the while the police would be looking for him, he would be out of the country. I offered him a hundred thousand dollars and told him that I would not start the kidnapping game until he was safely in South America.

“No wonder he gave me his finger prints! Those that we have on sheets of paper are valuable enough, for they can be used in letters and documents.

“But the doorknob impressions were the best. I dropped out to see Elias Carthers one night just to look that doorknob over. Carthers never suspected what I was doing, while I talked to him about my mining interests.”

“Velvet Laffrey didn’t suspect much either,” observed Hazzlett, grinning as he spoke. “He didn’t know where he was going after he put his prints on that doorknob. They showed up great in that lacquer stuff.”

“Velvet,” mused Ransdale, “was trusting enough to believe that he was actually going to South America. He planned to spend a last night with me in the Catskills. He never realized the danger in that lonely spot. He did not see me take the revolver from my desk drawer, when he was strolling toward the door. One shot in the back — that was all.”

“He looked funny when he dropped.”

“Yes, as you saw him, Hazzlett. You were standing by the door. I recall that you told me of the annoyed expression that seemed to come over his face.”

“He looked like a kid that had just found out Santa Claus wasn’t real!”

“So much for Velvet Laffrey,” resumed Ransdale. “The torn paper that I placed in the hand of Apprison’s secretary, Blossom, had Velvet’s finger impressions on it. That was an easy matter. The doorknob, when I captured Carthers, was ticklish, however. I had to shoot that fool Wistar. I had to stay around long enough to take our doorknob from its velvet bag and affix it to the door instead of the one that belonged there.”

“You worked cool enough.”

“It was ticklish, Hazzlett, but not difficult. It allowed time, though, for Commissioner Weston to circle the house. I was wise in wearing my mask.

“My get-away, too, was somewhat fortunate. I was careful enough to smudge the knob a bit without touching Velvet’s well-planted impressions. Then that smart detective, Joe Cardona, proved as wise as I had hoped. He found the impressions on the knob. That, with the paper from Apprison’s, clinched the deal. Velvet Laffrey is established as The Black Falcon.”

“And Velvet Laffrey is dead!”

RANSDALE chuckled as he nodded in response to Hazzlett’s exclamation. Then the millionaire mine owner became solemn. His lips twisted and the snarl of The Black Falcon issued from between them as he spoke.

“The Shadow!” exclaimed Ransdale. “There was the uncertain quantity, Hazzlett! The police have been mere dupes; but The Shadow has been a possible menace all along. I suspected that The Shadow was the one who killed Rowdy Kirshing after word came out in the newspapers that the big shot had been put on the spot.

“Rowdy’s death was lost in the shuffle with the disappearance of Elias Carthers. But I tell you, Hazzlett, that I was glad Rowdy was dead. He may have known too much about what Velvet Laffrey had been doing.”

“Maybe,” agreed Hazzlett, “but Terry Rukes didn’t know much, did he? He may have thought you were Velvet Laffrey—”

“He probably did,” interposed Ransdale. “But Terry constituted a danger. He and his mob met me twice and aided me with the abductions. Each time, I left their car taking my prisoner with me and marched my victim to the spot where you were waiting in the plane. All that Terry could say — if quizzed — was that he had helped me; and he could have given the approximate locality of each place where he and his mob had taken me.

“With Rowdy Kirshing dead, however, Terry Rukes became the next link. I foresaw that; I began to doubt the value of keeping Terry. I realized that The Shadow, if in the game, would possibly be on Terry’s trail. So when I called Terry, two nights ago, I was prepared.

“Best of all, Terry told me over the wire that he had heard who killed Rowdy Kirshing. Terry named The Shadow. That meant that Terry must be put away. Whom could I entrust to do it satisfactorily? No one but myself. How could I reach Terry Rukes? By bringing him here. That was perfect, Hazzlett. It gave me opportunity to cover my own traces. What an alibi for The Black Falcon — to be his own prospective victim!”

“You did it great, chief,” agreed Hazzlett.

“I did,” admitted Ransdale. “But I saw further ahead, Hazzlett. I saw that where Terry Rukes went, I might expect The Shadow also. Terry Rukes walked into my trap. I called the police commissioner. Our explanation of overhearing the mobsters talking was a perfect one. I wanted the police here — and I had an idea that The Shadow would be here also.”

“It was neat the way you gave the signal. In there by the window. It sounded like it might have come from anywhere. Terry and his crew heard it right enough.”

“But they didn’t talk about it afterward. We had them in our power as soon as they entered. I aimed to kill Terry first of all. The others were not so important. But we bagged them all, Hazzlett. Meanwhile, the police were coming in to aid us.”

“Great stuff, chief, the way you brought in the police.”

“Not only the police. The Shadow also. He was there to stop them. There in the den, Hazzlett, waiting to protect me from The Black Falcon. That is why I drew you out into the corridor after we had dispatched Terry Rukes and his crowd.”

“So The Shadow could get away?” Hazzlett’s tone was puzzled. “That was something I didn’t quite figure out. It would have been better if the police had thought The Shadow was The Black Falcon.”

“Not a bit of it, Hazzlett,” remonstrated Ransdale. “The Black Falcon is a masked criminal. The Shadow is known as a being who battles crime. Had The Shadow been trapped, the consequences would have been unfortunate.

“If The Shadow had fought his way out; if he had been captured or killed and thus identified as some one other than Velvet Laffrey, for whom the police were searching, the issue would have been clouded. This was to appear as a regular raid by The Black Falcon; to keep him as the criminal personality, with the issue unclouded. It was my chance to establish a perfect alibi; to make myself a public hero.

“The game succeeded. The Shadow, it proved, was actually here; and the chance he had to get away turned to our advantage. The police did catch sight of The Shadow escaping. That proved to them that The Black Falcon had been here. They mistook The Shadow for The Black Falcon.”

“But what about The Shadow? What did he think about it?”

“He figured that The Black Falcon fled when the first shots were fired. After that, he was too busy with his own escape. He is worried now, Hazzlett. He is worried because he has learned of a clever personage who is quite as elusive as himself!”

HAZZLETT pondered. He saw the logic of Ransdale’s remarks. The valet stared in awed fashion at his master. Here was one who had duped The Shadow as well as the law!

“Since night before last,” observed Ransdale, slowly puffing smoke rings from his pipe, “I have been studying The Shadow’s plight. His trails are ended. Hubert Apprison and Elias Carthers are prisoners. Rowdy Kirshing is dead; so is Terry Rukes and all his mob. I saw clearly that The Shadow would have to search for new clews.”

“Where?”

“Here. This is the scene of The Black Falcon’s last attempt. I am one man of wealth who managed to save myself from being kidnapped. The Shadow, to gain further leads, would have to come to me. I have been expecting him.

“I have supposed, all along, that The Shadow might be a man of wealth. He has terrorized the underworld for years; yet he has never profited by his work. He is not an agent of the law. Therefore, being a person of wealth, it would be natural for The Shadow to visit me — another man of means — in his undisguised personality.

“He came tonight. Lamont Cranston is The Shadow. He talked with me about his friends, Hubert Apprison and Elias Carthers. He gave himself away without knowing it, for he had no idea that I might be The Black Falcon.

“A friend of the police commissioner! Certainly, The Shadow should be such, to keep his finger on the pulse of crime. A man who prefers automatics of large caliber. Those are the guns for which The Shadow is famous.

“Tonight, Hazzlett, I have chatted with The Shadow. Lamont Cranston and Rowland Ransdale are friends. The Shadow and The Black Falcon are enemies. Through the friendship of Ransdale and Cranston, The Black Falcon will move to thwart The Shadow.”

Rowland Ransdale’s face was glowing. The master crook paused to stare at Hazzlett with a knowing gaze. The servant realized that some daring scheme was brewing.

“Rowland Ransdale,” declared the mine owner, pronouncing his own name with emphasis, “is regarded as a potential victim of The Black Falcon. Since, however, The Black Falcon failed in his attempt to capture Ransdale, it is logical that he would choose a new victim for his next attempt. Am I clear, Hazzlett?”

“Yes,” responded the valet.

“Another man of wealth,” continued Ransdale. “One whose abduction would create a great sensation; one whose abduction would strike close to Commissioner Ralph Weston. Does that sound logical?”

“It does.”

“More desirable still, one whose abduction would remove the real obstacle in The Black Falcon’s path: namely, The Shadow. The way, Hazzlett, must be cleared for The Black Falcon to continue with his plans of wholesale kidnapping, to be followed by vast ransoms when the victims are released.”

“It sounds good, chief,” stated Hazzlett, “but you’ve got two jobs ahead of you. One is to get rid of The Shadow; the other is to snag another victim—”

“Both will be performed at once,” broke in Ransdale, with an evil leer. “Before this week is ended, Hazzlett, The Black Falcon will swoop down again. His next victim will be—”

“Who?” questioned Hazzlett, as Ransdale paused.

“Lamont Cranston,” announced the supercrook.

With that decision, Rowland Ransdale chuckled. His lips, as they formed the dry, insidious sound, were the twisted lips of The Black Falcon!