The Crime Master

CHAPTER XI BLACK JOINS WHITE

IT was Monday, midnight. The Crime Master, seated at his checkered table, was studying the set array of pieces on the board. The map beneath the squared glass showed the complete detail of the Fergis Building as well as the closest blocks which surrounded it.

Reds, greens and blues — all were arranged for attack and defense. White pieces, scattered here and there, seemed hopelessly lost. The Crime Master was giving the police every advantage that they might possibly obtain; still, his game was sure.

The buzzer. The old man chuckled as he placed a scrawny finger on the button. Henley entered from the clicking door. The Crime Master’s secretary was carrying a sheaf of reports. Approaching the table, Henley paused and handed the first sheet to his master.

“Good.” The white-haired man chuckled, as he perused the paper. “So we have lined up the five mobleaders who worked for Eagle Tabrick. I have only one regret, Henley. It is too bad that this fellow Pigeon Melgin was sacrificed along with his useless chief.”

“Melgin’s men have joined with the other groups,” remarked Henley. “That fact is clearly stated on the report, Master—”

“I see it,” interposed the old man, in a querulous tone. “But that does not make up for Melgin’s loss. One leader of his caliber is worth a dozen gunmen.”

New sheets followed. The Crime Master chuckled as he read their details. The thoroughness of the reports pleased him. The underworld was in the hollow of his scrawny hand.

“Crime is a business, Henley,” announced the old man, dryly. “It needed some one of my ability to make it pay. Come. Let me have the next report.”

Reluctantly, the solemn-faced secretary passed the final sheet to his chief. Fierce eyes sparkled though slitted lids as The Crime Master read the words before him.

“The Shadow!” The old man spat the name. “That spook — that scarecrow! So these fools think that he has been the cause of the trouble they encountered. Bah! It is their pretext to cover their own stupid mistakes.”

“Louie Harger is a capable fighter, Master,” reminded Henley. “He made a remarkable escape after his fight at the Titan Trust. This is the first report we have had in full from him.”

THE CRIME MASTER made a new study of paragraphs to which Henley pointed. His snarl, though vicious, was impersonal. It was plain that on second reading, he had decided that his criticism of Louis Harger had been too bitter.

“Bullets from the bank building, eh?” The Crime Master contemplated the statements. “A black figure in the doorway. These could account for Harger’s failure to wipe out Cardona and his men. At the same time, Henley, this may be Harger’s alibi.”

“I have a previous report, Master,” interposed Henley, drawing a paper from his stack, “The raiders — the reds — stated after the robbery that shots increased as they fought with the detectives. They saw no one — and yet—”

“It could have been The Shadow. I agree with you, Henley. I thought they, too, were presenting an alibi. But none of them have had contact with Harger. This begins to appear important, Henley.”

“Here is another old report, Master. It relates to the death of Trigger Maddock. We have been unable to trace any one who could have killed him and his underlings.”

“A good point, Henley. Wait. I shall read the rest of this present report. It interests me, now.”

The Crime Master scanned the typewritten lines. His lips moved in snarling fashion, though no sound came from them. With an angry gesture, he thrust the paper back to Henley.

“You are right.” The old man settled back in his chair as he spoke. “This matter of our appointed killer — the man on the warehouse roof — is of vital consequence. He escaped, though mortally wounded. This delayed statement from the pal to whom he talked appears as convincing proof.

“Eagle Tabrick could not have slain him. We thought, logically, that Pigeon Melgin might have fired the bullet. But now that we knew he fired at a third enemy — this from his own statement — we can presume that it was the unknown foe who reached him instead.”

Henley nodded. He studied his chief. The Crime Master formed a grotesque sight as he rested in his chair. His scrawny fingers were clasped beneath his chin. His grayish face, thin nosed, with scowling lips and fanglike teeth, was as terrible as his fiendish eyes. The mass of white hair added to his insidious appearance. He looked like a portrayal of the figure of Death, ready to hew down victims with a sharpened scythe.

“Bring me the file, Henley.”

“Yes, Master.”

THE secretary went to the wall. He produced a bulky book which proved to be a file. From it, he drew a folder which he brought to the old man. The Crime Master opened the folder. He plucked forth a stack of papers which bore the title:

Sheet by sheet, the old man began his study. Here in his files, the creature of crime had data concerning every individual who roamed the underworld. More copious than police records — for The Crime Master’s information came from the inside — these files were remarkably complete. Even The Shadow had been listed.

Yet in these pages from a single file, The Crime Master could find nothing more than rumor. Here were the deeds of The Shadow as chronicled by crooks. One mobleader — so the records said — had met The Shadow. The man was not alive to tell his own story. Another, like the first, had died in battle with The Shadow. A third had disappeared. Where? Only The Shadow knew!

The schemes of cunning crooks; these, rumor had it, had been balked by The Shadow’s power. Mysteries of the underworld; stolen pelf reclaimed; rogues captured red-handed by the law — such were the reputed results of The Shadow’s activities through the badlands.

The Crime Master fumed. With an angry sweep of his arm, he sent the folder across the room, its contents scattering as the binder struck the wall. On his feet, the old man clenched a clawlike fist and pounded the table until the pieces rattled on their squares.

“The Shadow!” The old man spat the challenge. “Who is he? What is he? Where is he? Nobody knows. He is a being of mystery — a chimera that frightens stupid gunmen out of their superstitious senses.

“Now they say The Shadow seeks to balk me. We shall see” — the old man was chortling — “yes, we shall see. If The Shadow is merely a phantom, he is nothing. But should he be the reality that these informers claim, he must be regarded as a living foe.

“What is The Shadow’s game? To ruin crime. What is his method? To find the heart of danger. He was on his way to the most menacing zone when he approached the Titan Trust — if we can believe Harger’s story. The Shadow learned facts to guide himself that night. Perhaps he has learned new ones concerning to-morrow’s crime.”

The old man paused. Henley was nodding, half afraid, as he faced his maddened master. The Crime Master was a fiend incarnate. Gloating, fuming, his face had changed from gray to crimson. Then came the subsiding. The old man spoke in a calmer tone. His voice was caustic.

“Let us hope,” he worded, “that The Shadow has learned facts. Let us hope that he will seek the central zone of crime. I see now that he has hitherto played a hidden part. It was through his doing that Joe Cardona learned certain facts.

“Cardona is out of the battle. He is a broken white piece. He no longer belongs upon my board. His departure is doubly satisfactory. I see him — Cardona — not only as a minion of the law, but as the unwitting instrument of The Shadow.

“Who can replace Cardona? No one. Therefore, The Shadow must play a stronger part. He must seek to thwart my crimes in person. By doing so, he thinks that he has increased his importance.

“He has not. That, Henley” — the old man was leering — “is where The Shadow has erred. By planning to appear as an actual foe, he has reduced himself to the level of these puppets!”

The Crime Master grinned and waved his hand above the board with its colored pieces. Turning, he stalked to a small bookcase. He opened a lower drawer and drew out a box. He returned, while Henley stared. Opening the box, the old man produced a tapering wooden cone with a cylindrical knob, like the king from a set of chessmen. The new piece was jet black in color.

“I have foreseen this, Henley,” cackled the Crime Master. “I am ready. This” — he held up the black man — “is The Shadow. I shall place him here!”

With an emphatic sweep of his hand, The Crime Master set the black piece upon the central square of his board — an unoccupied space in the midst of surrounding pieces. That square indicated the unbroken strongroom of the Associated Importing Company!

“There he stands,” gibed The Crime Master. “The Shadow, in the heart of danger, waiting to surprise my legions. He knows that it is futile to attack me from without. He seeks to battle from within.

“What can he do? Look closely, Henley! You see this weak avenue? It would fail against an attack from within.” So speaking, The Crime Master pointed to an irregular formation of open squares. “Very well, we shall fill that break.”

Chortling, the old man brought new pieces from the box beside the table. He plugged the weak spot that he had detected. Again, his scrawny finger pointed.

“I have a small green on this square.” He shook his head. “It is not enough. A middle sized one — this piece will do — and here, a large green.

“Another red over here — blues at these vital points.” Square by square, The Crime Master was strengthening his board. “That will do — no — if the whites are strong here at the left, we must be prepared. A blue will do it. Ah! There is the game!”

SITTING down in his chair, The Crime Master surveyed the board with gleaming smile. Henley, peering as he made notations on a sheet of paper, was preparing to issue new instructions. Orders had already gone to those who were to participate in The Crime Master’s original plan of action. Further commands were needed, for those minions whom the old man had added to his board.

There were changes, also. Henley noted all. His task completed, the secretary gathered reports and left the paneled room. Long minutes passed. It was half an hour later when Henley returned.

The Crime Master was still studying the board. He had not changed a single piece. The black marker in the vital square was totally surrounded by pieces of varied hues. Beyond those were the whites, blocked at every turn. The evil eyes of The Crime Master were glowing with delight.

“Orders, Master.”

Henley placed the papers on the table. The old man brought out his stamping seal. As he read each set of instructions, he pressed the seal to emboss his certifying signature. When he had finished, The Crime Master waved his left talon toward Henley.

“This is final,” he declared, with fiendish emphasis. “It is a double cordon. Where one may fail, another will succeed. Let The Shadow come!”

Henley nodded as he took the orders. He left The Crime Master staring in elation. Gibbering sounds were coming from the old man’s lips as the monster continued to survey the merits of his game.

Until tonight, white pieces alone had constituted The Crime Master’s opposition. A new factor had entered; the old man was prepared. The Shadow, like the law, was to be his foe. Black had joined white!

The Crime Master was ready for The Shadow!