The Condor

CHAPTER XI. CLIFF REPORTS

WHILE The Shadow was engaged in his inspection of the sloping hillside, Cliff Marsland was comfortably ensconced in the great room of Mountview Lodge. He was one of a group who lounged before an open fireplace. These were the brood of The Condor.

Cliff had dined with men of crime. He had met them as a fellow member in a company of evil. He had learned their names — their right ones — and they had welcomed him as one who had a right to be here.

The Condor was master of this throng. Griscom Treft sat in the center of the semicircle; Cliff at the edge, could see his profile. Viewed from this perspective, Treft’s nose showed a pronounced hook. It was the ugly, savage-looking beak of a vulture. Another good reason for The Condor’s choice of title.

“The thirteenth has nearly arrived,” Treft was announcing to his listeners. “After that date, our plans will involve action. We shall be ready for great undertakings. Our field will be the world.”

Treft chuckled harshly. His bird-like eyes turned toward Cliff; The Shadow’s agent caught The Condor’s stare. He knew that these statements were for his benefit. The others had already listened to The Condor’s promises.

“Each of you has shown his ability.” The Condor made this pronouncement as he arose. “You, Jengley” — he clapped his hand upon the shoulder of a long-faced rogue who sat beside him — “came here before all others. The swag that you brought was cash.”

“Fifty grand,” acknowledged Jengley, with a reminiscent chuckle. “I ran wild, chief, when I forged those checks on the account of Isaac Blodgett. It was kind of nice the old boy died soon after. His estate never wised to the swindle.”

“And your token of identity,” chuckled The Condor, “was Blodgett’s signature, the one you knew so well. Remember how you came into my study? You saw the silver bird; you produced a sheet of paper and wrote Blodgett’s name as if it had been your own.”

“I remember you comparing it,” laughed Jengley. “Well, chief, when the works gets going, I’ll be on hand to sign any monickers you pick for me.”

The Condor nodded, satisfied. He stared toward a husky, hard-faced man who was seated opposite Cliff.

“You were second, Jake,” recalled The Condor. “Yes, I remember that pleasant evening when Jake Lussig entered my study and presented the Florentine medallion as proof that he had robbed the Memorial Museum. You brought heavy swag, Jake.”

“Three trunk loads, chief,” laughed Jake, gruffly. “The gold in that bunch of coins and medals ought to be worth plenty nowadays.”

“It is,” agreed The Condor. “But I shall arrange to dispose of those curios without melting them. When we begin new operations, we shall have contacts in many lands.”

TREFT was standing while he spoke. His gleaming eyes looked about from man to man. His chuckle resumed.

“Corey and Trossler,” he recalled. “Servants of different masters whom they robbed. Their trails have been covered. Like yours, Delland.”

Strolling over, The Condor clamped his claw upon the shoulder of a pale-faced individual who was staring at the embers of the fire. Delland showed a twisted smile on his pallid lips.

“Confidential secretary of Simon Featherstone,” proclaimed The Condor. “You departed from Featherstone’s employ with securities worth one hundred and twenty-thousand dollars. Most of them are negotiable.”

“Not the one I brought here as a means of identification,” rejoined Delland. “It wasn’t worth a nickel, that Southwestern Copper stock. It was a dud; old Featherstone himself had only faint hope that it would stage a comeback.”

“But it served as your identification Delland,” reminded The Condor. “By the way, Thuler” — this was to a dark-faced, black-haired man who was near the fireplace — “when you arrived six months ago, we had a chat about certain stocks. Do you recall it?”

Thuler nodded. Treft was about to speak again when Delland interrupted. The pale-faced man pointed to the door. Corey was standing there; apparently the chauffeur wanted to speak to his chief.

Treft arose and walked out into the hall. Delland followed; he served as The Condor’s secretary. The three crossed the hall and went into the study.

Men began to chat. Cliff Marsland listened. He was considering facts that he had learned. The Condor’s brood numbered seven, not counting himself. Jengley and Thuler played the part of guests at the lodge, along with Lussig, the hard-faced fellow whom all called Jake.

Delland was The Condor’s secretary; Corey his chauffeur; Trossler acted as house servant, to give the place a front. There was one other: a Chinaman who served as cook and also waited on the table. The Condor had addressed him as Goon Loy.

Cliff knew that Goon Loy was also crooked. Otherwise, he would not have been admitted to the company. The Condor had provided this habitat for men of crime alone.

Jengley’s voice ended Cliff’s reverie. The long-faced forger was saying something to the new member; Cliff had been too deep in thought to catch the words. He looked quizzically toward Jengley; but before the man could speak again, Delland entered.

“The chief wants to see you, Marsland,” he stated. “In the study.”

CLIFF left the great room. He went to The Condor’s study. The door was open; Cliff entered to find Treft at his desk. Corey was standing near, ready to leave.

“That is all,” said Treft to the chauffeur. “Forget the matter, Corey.”

“You’re sending word to Zegler?” inquired Corey, anxiously.

“Yes,” replied Treft, “tonight. I shall arrange a time of contact. You will see him then.”

“All right, chief. I was just worried on account of Clint Spadling. When I talked with Clint downtown, I told him that his best bet was to slide out—”

“I know, Corey. And Spadling is gone. If any one comes to find him, no difficulty will result. Spadling never came here to the lodge. He was even cautious about being seen in Paulington.”

“That’s true, chief. But Spadling and I were pals once. I go down to town every day—”

“Enough, Corey. No one will connect you with Spadling. You and he had not worked together for years. When you and he talked together in town, your meetings were secret. No one could have observed them.

“You will still act as chauffeur, Corey. To make a change would be a mistake. That is the type of move that would attract attention to affairs here at the lodge.”

Corey nodded; then went out. Cliff remained. He met Treft’s beady gaze. Cliff acted as if disinterested in the discussion that he had heard.

“Marsland,” stated The Condor, “tonight I shall add your swag to my other trophies. Walpin’s pearls will be safe within my strong room. Within the next few days, I shall show you my treasure vault.

“You will be pleased with it. I can assure you that it lacks no protection. It lies beneath this building and it is a natural stronghold. At the same time, I hope you have already realized that the lodge itself is well protected.”

“I noticed wires along the picket fence,” returned Cliff. “What are they — an alarm system?”

“Yes; no one could enter these grounds without discovery. The lock on the gate is a device of my own invention. Any attempt to pick it would register an alarm as effectively as if someone cut one of the fence wires.

“The windows of this building are all barred. We do not fear surprise attacks here, Marsland. Nevertheless, those are all emergency precautions.

“Our real protection lies in the fact that we are clear of suspicion. Six years ago, I retired from business with a sizable fortune. Much of it had been gained by methods that were shrewd — not criminal; but I had always admired crime as a means of gain. That was why I chose this residence.”

Treft paused to chuckle harshly. To Cliff, The Condor’s gloat had the semblance of a cry from a vulture’s throat.

“I HAD one excellent contact,” resumed Treft. “That was through Ace Lafitte, a criminal in his own right, but one who had kept his rackets covered. To Lafitte I confided my scheme. It was he who selected candidates for The Condor.

“Men like Gruzen; others; each with a quest. Each to deliver on his own, or pass the word to someone who could accomplish the task. Six years, Marsland, was the limit. I expected some to fall by the wayside. Last week, three were unheard from. The thirteenth of this month marked the finish line.”

“Then I showed up,” laughed Cliff. “Well, I guess you expected Gruzen, didn’t you, chief?”

“No,” returned The Condor, “I did not. Oddly, Marsland, only a few of my band are original workers to whom Lafitte passed the word. Some gave the news to others at the very start. Others, like Gruzen, confided in pals when they knew that they could not continue.

“Lafitte, himself, is dead. He was to arrive here after I was established. Unfortunately, he had enemies who were members of a gambling ring. They murdered him in San Francisco, only a few months after he and I had made our deal.”

Cliff nodded new understanding. He realized why Treft had counted so heavily upon identifying tokens such as the Blue Pearl.

“Gold — gems — treasures” — The Condor was chuckling as he itemized his hidden store — “wealth that can bring us a cool million, Marsland! But that is trifling. The swag that you and others have delivered was called for as a test of your ability.

“I have a million dollars of my own. I shall be finished with Mountview Lodge. Our stolen goods will be shipped to Europe, to South America, to the Orient. We shall find a new headquarters, our assets transformed into solid money.

“Then our day begins.” The Condor’s eyes gleamed wickedly. “We shall launch crime without parallel! Arson, robbery, blackmail, forgery, murder — all the calendar of crime will unroll before us.

“I, The Condor, shall be master. Working with me, you and others, all specialists in crime — men of proven worth. Already, merely as a preliminary test, I have sponsored crimes that an ordinary chieftain would consider a final goal. Yet, to me, the beginning still lies ahead.”

The Condor’s harsh voice continued. Listening, Cliff could feel the insidious spell that this crime master had woven about the men who acknowledged him as chief. Yet, to Cliff, these promises of coming gain were thoughts that made him find difficulty in restraining his pent-up fury.

Again, he wanted to leap forward and grip Treft’s throat to throttle life from this monster who was plotting misfortune, torture and death for scores of innocent persons.

When The Condor’s gloating monologue had ended, Cliff sat dazed with horror. He barely managed to restrain a shudder when Treft arose to clamp a talon on his new underling’s shoulder.

They walked out into the hallway. The others had retired; only Trossler was about, puffing out lights. The Condor’s grip relaxed. An evil smile upon lips, the chief bade his latest henchman good night.

WHEN he reached his own room, Cliff sat down by the window. His head was whirling; his forehead feverish as he touched it. Regularly, in The Shadow’s service, Cliff dealt with crooks on their own ground. He was used to steeling himself against the vile influence of evil men.

But The Condor, calculating, cold, outmatched any fiend whom Cliff had ever encountered. The strength of Treft’s position pointed to the power of his future. True, the law would strike against Mountview Lodge, once it suspected that criminals had found harbor here. But would the law uncover that fact?

Cliff decided no. Trails had been covered. Swag was protected in some mysterious stronghold. As Griscom Treft, The Condor passed suspicion. One point, however, was evident. The time to strike was the present — while Mountview Lodge still held its close-knit band of rogues.

Facts concerning past crime would not help. Incomplete data concerning the lodge would not be useful until later, when Cliff might have learned more about the place. The names of those within these walls were not an important factor in planning some way to reach The Condor.

Thinking of names, Cliff remembered two. Zegler — Spadling. Those were not names of persons located here. They were outside parties, those two whom Corey had mentioned. A grim smile formed on Cliff’s lips. It faded as he stared at the barred window.

To use those names, Cliff needed contact. Instructions had been for him to leave the lodge if possible and meet Harry Vincent at the cabin on the other slope. Should Cliff not put in an appearance, Harry’s duty would have been to come here and try to contact Cliff.

Not this first night, but later. All that, however, was ended. Feverishly, Cliff’s brain began to drum. Harry Vincent was dead — that definite fact swept all other thoughts from mind. Cliff could picture exactly what had happened.

Harry coming to the cabin. Lurkers — fiends whom Cliff had met tonight, men with whom he had feigned friendship — those villains had released their blast. A shattered cabin, its sections tossed about the hillside.

The only comfort was that death must have been swift to the helpless man trapped within the doomed shack.

Rising, Cliff extinguished the light. He came back to the opened window and stared into the blackened night. One hope had come to his tormented brain. He was sure that The Shadow had come to Paulington. It was possible that The Shadow would take up Harry’s task. Contact with Cliff!

As he stared from the window, Cliff became suddenly alert. Yards away, beyond the fence, something had blinked from among the trees. It came again: quick, instantaneous flickers of a flashlight.

The Shadow’s code! Calling for an answer!

FINDING his opened bag, Cliff dug deep and produced a flashlight. He blinked an answering symbol.

Contact was made. Tensely, Cliff decided to send the vital information.

Blinking his light at the window, he signaled two names in the code used by The Shadow and his agents.

Zegler was the first name; Spadling the second. Then Cliff added a brief sentence stating that those men were somewhere at large and must be found.

Blinks from beyond the fence. The Shadow’s symbol for concluded transmission. Cliff signed off in return. A profound ease settled through his throbbing brain. One step had been made against The Condor.

From small beginnings, The Shadow could produce great deeds. Hope held Cliff Marsland as he thought of the future. The Shadow knew the fate of Harry Vincent; of that, Cliff was positive.

Inspired by vengeance, The Shadow would never relent until he had dealt destruction to those who deserved it. Though The Condor might think himself secure, Cliff knew that the supercrook would be forced to cope with a foe whose craft had conquered others who dealt in crime.

Brief though the time might be, Cliff Marsland felt the positive belief that before crooks left Mountview Lodge, The Condor would meet The Shadow face to face.