The Black Hush

CHAPTER XI. THE HUSH LIFTS

“ONE minute longer.”

The voice of Hector Fawcett was speaking in the corner office of the suite in the Judruth Tower.

Ninety-three stories above the street, the president of the Climax Corp. was staring from the opened window.

The room was dark, save for the slight glimmer of chromium-plated apparatus close beside him. The strange machine from the storeroom was in use. A breathing sound denoted the presence of another man at the control switch.

The lamp-like portion of the odd mechanism was turned at a downward angle. From it extended a conical widening beam like the ray of a powerful searchlight. But this shaft was different from any projected illumination.

Instead of light, the machine was focusing blackness downward toward the city! Through the dim glow that showed from the lights of Manhattan, a shaft of complete darkness was spreading its mysterious ray!

Just as the glare of a searchlight might carve through the night and spread a circle of bright illumination upon its objective, so did this amazing beam do its work in direct opposition. The lights of buildings were glimmering below, but the spot where the black ray ended was totally dark.

Differing from among neighboring structures, the entire surface of the apartment house beside the old Windsor Theater was blotted out from view!

Focused darkness — a beam of night — black light! This was the power that was in operation tonight. It was the force that had laid the strange lull of the black hush throughout Thaddeus Harmon’s penthouse!

“Good work — Hobbs—”

Hector Fawcett chuckled as he paused upon the name by which he had addressed his companion. There was significance in Fawcett’s tone. It indicated understanding.

Only these two men were witnessing the distant effect of the strange demonstration of new science. From their towering vantage point, they were creating a mysterious result.

One edifice in Manhattan was blackened; not only was it in total darkness, but the tremendous force of this gloom-projecting beam had also wreaked temporary havoc with all electrical equipment in its path.

Hector Fawcett consulted the luminous dial of his wrist watch. Time was up. The man lingered, however, to enjoy a few more seconds of this sight which intrigued him. Fawcett’s eye followed the spreading wedge of darkness; it dwelt approvingly on the splotch of blackness that indicated the position of the hushed apartment house. Then, in a regretful tone, the corporation president gave the final order to the man at the controls.

“Time’s up.”

The man by the machine pressed a lever.

The effect was magical. The black beam disappeared. Where complete obliteration had marked the presence of a building, a host of twinkling lights sprang into being.

BELOW the indirect glow of the great city, the outline of Thaddeus Harmon’s penthouse showed atop the apartment building. Windows shone, indicating the position of the living room. Hector Fawcett chuckled.

He had seen this phenomenon before. With his same companion, the man whom he addressed as Hobbs, he had observed the effect of the black beam upon the Olympia Hotel. Once again, a barrage of darkness had been laid and lifted so that a time space for swift and effective crime might be created!

There was confidence in Hector Fawcett’s chuckle. It was answered by a pleased mumble from Hobbs.

Both men knew the all-pervading force of the power that they had loosed. Projected on a perfectly arranged schedule, the black hush had given full opportunity to men of crime.

Gleeful thoughts were humming through Hector Fawcett’s cunning brain. He was inspired by the surety of evil now accomplished; he was considering the confusion that must surely reign in the place from which gems valued at half a million had been stolen.

THE scene in the penthouse was, however, quite different from the mental picture which Hector Fawcett had created. The restoration of the lights came with amazing suddenness. Blackness; then dazzling illumination.

Blinking, wondering eyes of frightened guests were staring at the strange results which had occurred in Thaddeus Harmon’s penthouse.

People were spread all about; in corners, behind chairs, in other spots of safety. But the guests paid no attention to each other. The place of interest was the corridor outside the living room. There lay the results of unwanted crime.

The bodies of two gunmen were huddled upon the floor. Both men were dead. The Shadow’s bullets had brought them down amid the darkness. The detectives, fearing that the men were still in ambush, had riddled them with shots.

Two sleuths were still pounding at the closed door of the fire tower. The other two were crouched upon the floor, grasping the bag which had fallen from the hand of the robber who had held it.

Thaddeus Harmon sprang forward with a cry of delight. He knew that his precious jewels had been saved. The other guests, relieved in turn, were crowding close behind him.

The telephone began to ring. The pulled alarm switch was functioning now. Tiny lights flickered by the elevator shaft. The stalled car had resumed its progress. The metal door opened, and the delayed guests surged forth, pleased at their release from bondage.

Amid the chaos, a tall, dignified gentleman stepped calmly across the corridor and joined the cluster of people who had come from the elevator. Thaddeus Harmon, guiding the detectives back into the living room, jostled against his new group of guests. Turning, he spied Lamont Cranston; for it was he who had just joined the others from the elevator.

Singling Cranston as the most important of the newcomers, Harmon extended a hand in greeting and began a series of explanations. Cranston and the others who had been in the elevator listened with intense interest.

“Burglars!” exclaimed Harmon. “They must have done something to the electrical equipment. They threw out everything — lights, telephone, alarm!

“They were getting away with my collection of gems! Fortunately, I had detectives on hand. My men were afraid to fire, for fear of bringing a reprisal. But when the burglars started to shoot of their own accord, our detectives entered into it.

“We landed two of the crooks. The rest managed to escape. It was wonderful work! Wonderful! The criminals were forced to drop the bag in which they had the jewels. The ones that eluded us fled down the fire tower.”

“CONGRATULATIONS, Mr. Harmon,” remarked Lamont Cranston, in a quiet tone. “Your detectives are to be commended. We were unfortunately unable to assist. We were stranded in the elevator a few floors below—”

“It is well that you were not here,” observed Harmon seriously. “The situation was very dangerous. You were fortunate not to be present, Mr. Cranston.”

The faint trace of a smile appeared upon Lamont Cranston’s thin lips as Thaddeus Harmon moved away.

Little did Harmon realize that he had been talking to the one person whose timely stroke had saved a fortune.

Well had The Shadow concealed his hand tonight. As for the detectives, their presence was a matter of regret. Without their interference, The Shadow might have gained a complete triumph over Ping Slatterly and his mobsmen.

The Shadow, master of darkness, had used the black hush to his own advantage. It had been the covering shroud from which he had brought down two desperate crooks — one of them the jewel carrier.

Now, as Lamont Cranston, The Shadow strolled to the spot where the bodies lay.

He studied the faces of the dead gangsters. He recognized immediately that neither was Ping Slatterly.

The leader was among those who had escaped.

The menace of new crime still loomed in full intensity, for Ping Slatterly was unquestionably the only one of tonight’s invaders who could be regarded as a cogwheel in the schemes of those who controlled the weird black hush.

LAMONT CRANSTON joined the people in the living room. The jewels were back in their cabinet.

Guests, still quivering from excitement, were gradually regaining their composure. Lamont Cranston idled while the confusion died away.

Time drifted by; at last, the door of an elevator opened and a stocky, swarthy-faced man stepped forth.

One of the private detectives noticed him and went to greet him. He brought the arrival to Thaddeus Harmon.

“Detective Cardona, from headquarters,” was the announcement.

Thaddeus Harmon shook hands with the star sleuth. Cardona began a questioning. He turned to men who were with him and sent them to investigate the fire tower. He called downstairs and ordered the manager of the apartment up to the penthouse.

Only a few guests still remained when Cardona had completed his investigation. The star detective, about to leave, paused to speak with Thaddeus Harmon.

“This shows you how crooks work,” vouchsafed Cardona. “A couple of nights ago, some gangsters tried to put Goldy Tancred on the spot. They managed to get at the main switch in the Olympia Hotel. Then they bungled by killing the wrong men.

“Now here comes another gang that’s out for burglary. They heard about the stunt at the Olympia. They knew we hadn’t spotted anybody monkeying with the switch. So they tried the same gag when they came after your jewels.”

“But the telephone — the alarm” — Harmon’s reply was insistent. “They managed to eliminate those, also—”

“They were just more thorough, that’s all,” interposed Cardona. “We’ve gone over the whole works; we’re going to make another electrical inspection. We’ll find out—”

A puzzled frown appeared upon the detective’s brow. To Cardona’s ears had come a strange, mysterious sound — a whispered echo from the past. The sibilant note of a faint laugh — a mirthful tone that the detective recognized.

The laugh of The Shadow!

What did it mean? Cardona knew that laugh. He had heard it under strange circumstances. He knew that it meant doom to crooks; that it had intervened more than once in his own behalf. Whence had the laugh come?

Cardona turned quickly. He half expected to see the sinister shape of a tall, black-garbed being. He stared at the walls — at the floor — almost believing that The Shadow would materialize from nowhere.

But the only person whom Cardona noted was a dignified man who was standing a few paces away.

Cardona glanced at this person’s face. The detective had never seen the visage of The Shadow, but he did know the power of The Shadow’s eyes.

No, this man could not be The Shadow. Cranston’s gaze was mild, despite its steadiness. Cardona shrugged his shoulders as he turned away and headed toward the elevator. The detective tried to convince himself that he had imagined those faint echoes of a laugh.

The effort was difficult, for as Cardona strode along, he fancied that hidden eyes were watching him. The detective did not turn; instead, he tried to forget this new effect that was disturbing him.

HAD Cardona turned; had he again studied Lamont Cranston’s face, then would he have known that facts, not fancy, were at work. An amazing change had come into Lamont Cranston’s eyes. Those mild orbs were burning with a weird, uncanny light.

The elevator door clanged behind Joe Cardona. Lamont Cranston stood alone by the door of Thaddeus Harmon’s living room. A soft laugh came from thin, unmoving lips. Its whispered echoes were an eerie aftermath to that stirring hush which had so recently pervaded his penthouse.

There was knowledge in The Shadow’s laugh. The strange mockery that had derided Cardona’s decision was something that spoke of higher deduction. By hand, The Shadow had thwarted crime; by brain, he was seeking an explanation of the protection which had so effectively aided the burglars up to the time of his arrival.

Where Cardona had overlooked the minor facts, The Shadow, in the guise of Lamont Cranston, had studied clues. He had heard one of the private detectives commenting upon the fact that his flashlight had failed to function in the darkness.

The sleuth, however, had forgotten the matter as promptly as Cardona had disregarded the insufficiency of his own flashlight on the night at the Olympia Hotel.

To The Shadow, this was an important clue. It brought him the knowledge that he needed. The finger of The Shadow was on the throbbing pulse of mystery. Inspections of the electrical equipment in the apartment building would be useless.

The Shadow knew that some blanketing force had counteracted all electric devices during the invasion of crime. He had felt the lull of the black hush; he had detected in it a strange significance of the unknown.

To find the mysterious, scientific power that had produced the unaccountable phenomenon was the mission that lay ahead. The Shadow knew that the source of crime must lie in the secret of the black hush!

That weird force had lifted, but it was due to fall again. Not here, where crime had failed, but at a new spot where its menacing power would cover the perpetration of another lawless outrage.

Wherever the black hush might strike next, there must The Shadow be to meet it.

The Shadow knew!