The Creeper

CHAPTER XX. AFTER MIDNIGHT

IT was nearly midnight. Donald Shiloh was standing in the front hall of the Doyd mansion. He had dropped in for a late visit; he and Theresa had held a short chat in the library. They were concluding their talk near the front door.

“Don’t worry about Lundig,” Shiloh remarked. “It’s good riddance that he did not come back this evening. The longer he stays away, the better.”

“Perhaps you are right, Donald,” said Theresa, with a smile. “At least, there has been no creeping about the house during Mark’s absence. At the same time, I cannot help wondering where he has gone. He is not at his hotel.”

“His hotel? You found out the name of it?”

“Yes, this evening. Wilfred found a hotel bill in the library; it was in Mark’s name. He is stopping at the Soulette Hotel, on Seventy-second Street.”

“A terrible old barn. I stopped there once. No wonder Lundig prefers to stay here over night.”

“I called the hotel, Donald; but he was not there. They say he is still registered there, however.”

“He will be back, Theresa.”

Shiloh left the house and drove away in his coupe. Theresa returned indoors. Before she reached the stairway, the doorbell rang. The girl stared in astonishment when Mark Lundig entered.

“Mark!” she exclaimed. “What became of you? Where—”

“I have to make a telephone call,” interrupted Lundig, brusquely. “I have no time to talk, Theresa.”

PUSHING past the girl, Lundig went through to the library. He swung the door behind him; but it did not close. Theresa followed to the back of the hall. She could hear Lundig dialing at the telephone; apparently some one answered, for Lundig began to speak.

“Shiloh’s just left,” he stated. “You left the message for him? Good… Then he won’t go up to his apartment… Yes, that’s right; you left the correct address. 414 Judson Place… No, we won’t go there for an hour yet. I’ll meet you first… Sure. Let Shiloh be there before us. We’ll hand him a surprise when we come in…”

Lundig ended the call abruptly. Theresa hurried away from the door and reached the front stairway just as Lundig emerged from the living room. She waited there, hoping that the man would not see her when he went out.

Lundig came through the hall, glancing in both directions; but apparently the girl escaped his observation, for he continued on, slamming the door behind him.

Theresa hurried to the library. She took the telephone and dialed Shiloh’s apartment, hoping that Jeffrey would be there. She received no answer. Realizing that Shiloh would probably be given the message in the lobby of the apartment house, the girl was in a quandary. She decided to call information; that connection made, she asked for the number of the telephone at 414 Judson Place. She was informed that there was no telephone at that address.

Some one had arrived at the door of the library while Theresa was calling. It was Egbert Doyd; the sickly uncle had come downstairs, aroused by the noise of Lundig’s conversation. From the doorway, Egbert heard the address that Theresa mentioned.

Seeing that the girl was ending the call, Egbert moved toward the closed doors of the reception room.

Opening one, he entered the room; then slid the door almost shut, to peer through the chink.

Theresa came from the library. The girl stopped in the hallway only long enough to don her hat and coat.

She hurried out into the night, slamming the door behind her. Egbert Doyd emerged from the reception room. Chuckling, he went into the library. There, he dialed a number himself.

“Hello… Hello… ” Egbert cackled, as he heard a voice responding. “Yes, this is Egbert Doyd… Surprised, eh, to have a call from me at this hour? Well, I have another surprise for you… Remember that old house on Judson Place? Heh? I thought you would… Well, there’s going to be some excitement there… No, no. I’ll tell you later… What’s that? Coming right over? Good… Suppose I meet you at the corner. Have the taxi stop there… Yes, you’ll see me…”

Another listener had come into the picture. Wilfred, stepping from the dining room, had stopped at sight of the opened library door. Perhaps Wilfred was not as deaf as Theresa had supposed; possibly the sharpness of Egbert Doyd’s voice had enabled it to reach the servant’s ears.

Whichever the case, Wilfred caught the reference to the house in Judson Place. The servant’s face took on a fixed expression as Wilfred drew away from the door and stepped to the darkness at the back of the hall.

He was watching keenly when Egbert Doyd came out of the living room. Egbert did not see Wilfred; he was too occupied in making speed to gain his hat and coat, which were on the rack near the front door.

Like Lundig and Theresa, Egbert hurried out into the night, slamming the door behind him. Wilfred remained alone.

IT was twenty minutes after twelve when a cab stopped in front of 414 Judson Place. Theresa Doyd alighted; she had made the trip in very few minutes, for Judson Place was not far from her own home.

No. 414 was a two-story house, with shuttered windows — a plain-looking building in a gloomy row.

Theresa rang the doorbell. A bulky, dark-faced man opened the door; Theresa noted his outthrust chin and deep-set eyes. The man was chewing an unlighted cigar, and his head was topped by a derby hat.

“Has Mr. Shiloh arrived?” inquired Theresa.

“Certainly, miss.” The man nodded pleasantly as he removed his derby. “Step right in, if you want to see him. He’s waiting here for a friend. Guess you’re the person he’s expecting.”

Theresa followed a pointing finger. She crossed the hall and entered a lighted room. She stopped short, her eyes wide with wonderment. She had stepped into a glittering blaze of luxury. The place was a veritable Ali Baba’s cave of treasure.

Walls were adorned with thick, gold-woven tapestries. Jeweled statues shone from their pedestals. The mantelpiece was a galaxy of gems, displayed upon velvet backgrounds.

In contrast to this exotic splendor was wealth of a more common sort. A table was standing in the center of the room; upon it were bundles of engraved securities — stacks of bank notes — heaps of gold coins.

A corner table shone with the dull, milky color of pearls. Beside the priceless beads were chunky, glimmering objects that Theresa recognized as uncut diamonds. Gasping in the midst of all this treasure, the girl could hardly find her breath. She did not gain her senses until a chuckle sounded close behind her.

Turning quickly, Theresa faced Mark Lundig.

“Good evening, Theresa,” greeted Lundig, with a shrewd smile. “I thought that I would find you here. My pretext about Shiloh worked well, I see.”

Theresa was too startled to reply.

“I knew that he was calling on you,” chuckled Lundig, “so I waited outside until he was gone. I wanted to bring you here; to see your grandfather’s treasure, which I acquired quite recently and have just placed on display.”

“You — you thief!” cried Theresa. “I know your game, Mark. You— you were seeking the secret of the scroll. You are the one who wanted it. You are The Creeper!”

“The Creeper?” Mark’s query was almost savage. “What do you mean, Theresa?”

“You will learn,” stormed the girl. “You pretended you were bringing Donald Shiloh here. Very well; he will come here—”

Theresa started for the door. Lundig shouted a hoarse command. The bulky man appeared to block Theresa’s path; with him was a tall, wise-faced fellow in a light-gray suit. The pair grabbed the girl and managed to stifle her screams while they stopped her struggles.

“Gag her!” ordered Lundig. “Keep her quiet; tie her up; hold her so she can’t make trouble! I was a fool to bring her here; but I can settle it. Carry her upstairs, while I go out and make a telephone call.”

The two men followed instructions; they lugged Theresa, gasping and fighting, up the stairs. Lundig went out the front door; a few minutes later he returned, to find the two men coming down from the second floor.

“No luck,” stated Lundig. “It doesn’t matter though, now that you’ve silenced the girl. I’ll try another call later, from that drug store at the corner. Anyway, everything’s all right outside. Nobody heard anything. I explained what happened. We’ll keep the girl here, since I was fool enough to bring her.”

A CLOCK from a tower near Judson Place was chiming the half hour. At that same minute, Rick Parrin was sauntering past the front of the old Criterion Trust building. Looking up, Rick made mental note of the number over the door. He continued around the corner; when he reached the inset side door, he found his men awaiting him.

The wooden blockade had been removed; it was merely leaning in position. Rick and another fellow pulled it aside; the group entered. Rick used a flashlight to pick out a stairway that led to the vault room below.

“Want to look around up here?” came a query from a subordinate. “It’s a big enough place — used to be the main room of the bank — and maybe somebody might be around.”

“Not a chance,” laughed Rick. “We’re going downstairs, to find the fellows who got here ahead of us.”

“The Creeper?”

“No. He won’t be here. That is, I don’t think he will. You never can tell about The Creeper, though. But he gave me the order to get the swag, and told me how. That’s why I figured he’s not coming.”

Rick’s underling threw a flashlight’s gleam about the main room; the passing glare showed nothing but darkened, splotchy corners of ragged walls that had once had marble facings. Clicking out the light, the fellow followed Rick and the others downstairs. He felt sure that the big room was empty.

Outside, on the street, a big truck was coming from Sixth Avenue. It stopped near the back door of the old bank. Its lights went out; as soon as they did, a huddled figure sneaked away from a door on the other side of the thoroughfare.

Moving rapidly, this hunched watcher kept on, past a darkened touring car wherein watching men were mumbling among themselves. The hunched man gained the corner without being seen.

Another touring car was parked up at the corner of the avenue. Gus and Carning had arrived in their truck; Zimmer and his divided band of touts were covering from both directions. The Creeper’s outside men were set.

So were those inside. Rick and his companions had reached the lower floor. They entered a lighted room with roughened walls that had also been deprived of marble fronts. Nick Curlin was waiting with half a dozen hard-faced followers. Former habitues of his gymnasium, these rowdies looked like a group of sweatered thugs.

Rick Parrin ran his hand along the wall beside the stairway, giving a visible representation of a creeping claw. Nick Curlin responded by pushing his fat fist up along the door of a vault, at the far corner where he was standing. The Creeper’s countersign had been exchanged. The fake salesmen fraternized with the phony pugs.

RICK had approached the door of the vault. It was a formidable device, that door, the only piece of valuable equipment which had been left in this deserted bank building. No cracksman would have attempted to smash that massive metal barrier, here in a deserted bank. It would have been too great a task at best; to try to open an empty vault would have been the extreme of folly.

Rick chuckled at the thought. Bigelow Doyd had been a smart one, using this vault as a hiding place for his treasure. The empty building must be part of the deceased millionaire’s property; hence he had owned the vault and could have used it as he chose.

Clever, too, thought Rick, taking the street number of the bank for the combination of the vault.

Something that no one would have ever guessed.

Left — right — left — right — there were four figures in the number; Rick was using them in rotation, figuring that they would probably be alternated left and right. The natural manner, since instructions were lacking on that point. Rick, after delivering the scroll to The Creeper, had received full news concerning the all-important translation.

Click! Rick had unlocked the vault. The door swung outward. Other men crowded up behind their leader. They stared into the vault, expecting to see stacks of treasure chests and boxes. The interior of the vault was large; but the light from the room filled every space; and the entering glare brought growls of anger from The Creeper’s henchmen.

The interior of the vault was empty. Nothing — not even a trace to prove that swag had ever been there.

Whether they had been beaten to the goal, or whether they had been sent upon a hoax, these minions of The Creeper could not guess.

AS harsh snarls subsided, a sudden sound came to the ears of the dozen men in that lower room. All looked toward the bottom of the stairway; for it was from there that the startling noise came. The steps turned at the bottom; hence they could not see who was descending.

The sound, however, was recognized instantly by Rick Parrin. He knew that strange, crawling tread, that must surely be coming closer, even though its intensity remained the same.

“The Creeper!” rasped Rick. “Stay quiet, everybody! Maybe he’s got some new dope for us; maybe that’s why he’s here. We—”

Rick paused. The sound had stopped. Eyes were straining toward the bottom of the stairs, where deep blackness reigned. They expected to see the advent of The Creeper. Instead, they witnessed the unexpected.

Blackness rose suddenly; it swept forward into the light, like gloom that had materialized. A strident, sardonic burst of mockery swept echoing through that underground room. A cloaked shape towered before the goggling eyes of Rick and his companions. Gloved fists thrust huge automatics forward; above the guns, peering from beneath a hat brim, were eyes that fairly flashed their fire.

Astonished crooks stood helpless and dumfounded, their arms rising mechanically. Not a gun was ready; for these rogues had expected The Creeper. Instead, they saw a being who had simulated the elusive creeping of their evil chief, to arrive upon them unawares.

The Shadow, arch-enemy of crime, stood in view of The Creeper’s cowering henchmen. With ready guns he held them all at bay; for not one of the dozen crooks dared yank a weapon while covered by those looming muzzles!

Well had The Shadow planned his arrival; well had he guessed what its result would be. He had trapped a clustered group of foemen, so suddenly that they could find no chance to fight.