The Death Giver

CHAPTER XI. THE SHADOW WARNS

IRWIN LANGHORNE was seated in a little office on the second floor of his Manhattan home. His flat-topped desk, with its sheet of plate glass, reflected the glistening light of a heavy crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling above his head.

This room had once been a portion of a reception hall. A partition had been erected, but otherwise Langhorne had left the room very much as before. It was here that the millionaire importer attended to those details of work that escaped his office routine.

A stack of mail was lying on the desk. Langhorne ran through the envelopes and stopped at one. He tapped a bell beside him. A few moments later, the door opened to admit a slender, sleek-faced man who gazed questioningly at the millionaire.

“Jarvis,” demanded Mr. Langhorne gruffly, “when did this mail arrive?”

“At five o’clock, sir.”

“Very well. You may wait outside. I shall call you later.”

Langhorne laid the envelope aside. He opened a drawer of the desk and methodically brought forth two similar envelopes, both of which had been previously opened.

From one, Langhorne shook forth a mass of clippings. He went through them, one by one. Sinister items these, they referred to mysterious deaths upon Long Island. With them was a sheet of paper which bore a cryptic message:

Irwin Langhorne frowned and laid the clippings in one pile, the envelope on the other side of the desk, and the message in front of him. This material had arrived yesterday morning.

Langhorne shook the second envelope.

Out came new clippings. The millionaire examined them. Every one referred to deaths in Manhattan.

A perplexed look appeared upon Irwin Langhorne’s brow. He had received these clippings this morning.

He had mulled over their meaning all day at the office. For every one of these mysterious deaths had occurred along the route which Langhorne followed in the morning, with punctual regularity!

The note that accompanied the clippings was inscribed in the same cryptic capitals:

Once again, Langhorne performed his methodical sorting. He put clippings, envelope, and message in their separate places, and picked up the new letter that had arrived this afternoon.

Langhorne felt positive that an explanation must lie in this new envelope.

HE was right.

The envelope contained a letter. It was written in plain words. Its opening remarks stated:

Langhorne quickly referred to the messages on the table. With pencil, he crossed out the last syllable of each word. Meaningless jargons now made sense:

Irwin Langhorne studied the facts. He realized instantly that he was confronted with tremendous danger.

The first note had come before the Manhattan killings. It was a boast of what the murderer had done.

Directly afterward — after a space of only twenty-four hours — had come the boast of a new achievement: three deaths which concerned Irwin Langhorne.

The millionaire knew that he could easily have been made a victim. What was the purpose of these terrors? Money? The millionaire sensed that such would be the answer. He continued his reading of the new note.

Below the message appeared a fateful signature. Langhorne stared as he read the words:

Irwin Langhorne was confronted by the same terror that had gripped Henry Bellew not many days before. But in this instance, the evidence of The Death Giver’s power was more dynamic than in the past.

Bellew’s death was clear in Langhorne’s mind. The importer knew that the manufacturer had been murdered — obviously because he had not heeded The Death Giver’s words of warning.

Hence Langhorne pondered long over the sinister threats that lay before him on the desk. At last, he replaced the items in their particular envelopes and put them away in the desk drawer. He continued to study the situation until the ringing of the telephone bell ended his reverie.

AN unfamiliar voice was on the wire. Langhorne heard the speaker introduce himself as Lamont Cranston. A few words of explanation followed. Mr. Cranston, a great traveler, had importing interests.

He would like to call upon Irwin Langhorne.

“I shall certainly be pleased to meet you, Mr. Cranston,” stated the importer, in a voice which was calm despite his nervousness. “I hardly think that I can do so this evening. I intend to dine alone — I shall be leaving here within a half hour. Could you call me at my office in the evening?”

“Certainly, Mr. Langhorne,” came the quiet response over the wire.

When Langhorne hung up the telephone receiver, he noted that Jarvis was standing within the door. The sleek secretary smiled sheepishly.

“I may have heard the telephone, sir,” he said. “I thought that you were ringing for me.”

“It’s all right, Jarvis,” responded the millionaire; “I am going out to dinner right away. I shall return about eight thirty.”

“Yes, sir.”

Irwin Langhorne went through the rest of his correspondence. He became calm as he proceeded; and when he finally arose to leave the room, he showed not the slightest sign of nervousness.

Jarvis phoned for a taxi. The vehicle was awaiting Langhorne when he stepped to the street. The millionaire entered the cab and sank back in the cushions as he gave his destination as the Hotel Albion, an uptown hostelry that boasted an excellent cuisine.

The night was chilly, and the windows of the cab were closed. As the vehicle rode along, Langhorne became conscious of a peculiar aroma that was pervading the interior of the cab. Black spots seemed to float before his eyes. Then he heard a quiet voice, speaking in his own tones, through the narrow slit to the cab driver.

“Take me to the Bastion Hotel, instead of the Albion.”

“Yes, sir.”

The cab driver’s response seemed far away. Irwin Langhorne wondered at his own inability to protest.

The aroma was pungent now; it seemed to lull him into quietude. Wearily, the millionaire turned his head to face a pair of gleaming eyes that shone from beneath the brim of a dark slouch hat.

“Irwin Langhorne” — hidden lips pronounced the name in a whispered tone— “do not fear. Obey my bidding, and all will be well. I am here to meet the danger which confronts you.”

Vaguely, the millionaire sensed that this hidden companion must be a friend. Some one must know The Death Giver’s purpose. It was useless to resist; it was easy to obey. The exotic perfume which had charged the atmosphere was soothing. Langhorne nodded to show that he understood the stranger’s words.

The cab drew up in front of the Bastion Hotel. At his companion’s urging, the millionaire stepped to the street. The cab driver stared wonderingly at the cloaked person who placed the fare in his hands. In the dim light, the cabby could barely distinguish the outline of Langhorne’s companion.

THE Bastion was a secluded hotel, with a sleepy clerk at the desk. Langhorne accompanied the cloaked figure that conducted him across the lobby. Together they ascended a flight of steps and entered a small room on the second floor.

A single light shone in the corner. Irwin Langhorne slumped in an easy-chair; then, his slight daze fading, he stared wonderingly at the tall shape that loomed before him.

“Why have you brought me here?” he demanded. “Who are you?”

A soft, whispered laugh was the response; then came cryptic words of explanation.

“My identity is that which I choose it to be,” was the reply. “I have brought you here to protect you. I have brought you here to study you. As for my present personality — you can look to yourself for the answer!”

Irwin Langhorne stared at The Shadow. He could not understand the meaning of the final words, even though he saw a strange transformation taking place. The black-cloaked form seemed to be shrinking; the burning eyes were losing their amazing light. Then came the astounding revelation.

The Shadow’s cloak dropped away. The black hat fell to the floor. Before his very eyes, Irwin Langhorne saw a man who was almost the exact image of himself!

The heavy cheeks were there; the close-clipped gray mustache was perfect in its detail. The suit which the standing man wore was similar to Langhorne’s own attire. The man was speaking now, and his enunciation was very much like Langhorne’s own.

“You are in danger,” said The Shadow. “You have received messages from a man who calls himself The Death Giver.”

“How do you know that?” queried Langhorne, in alarm.

“Do not fear,” replied The Shadow, still affecting Langhorne’s tone. “I am not in league with The Death Giver. My purpose is to thwart him.”

“How?”

“By acting in your stead. By taking your place, I can meet the present danger. I shall act to-night. Where are the messages?”

“In my desk — in the little room I use as an office.”

“Give me the essential details of your house,” ordered The Shadow; “the plan of the rooms; the names of your servants. I am going there to-night. It was I who called you, Langhorne. When I learned that you were going out to dinner to-night, I arranged to meet you.”

Methodically, Irwin Langhorne began to disclose the details which this strange being required. The millionaire became more and more impressed with the exactitude of The Shadow’s disguise. When he had finished his talk, Langhorne rested back in his chair to watch the incredible person who stood before him.

“The Death Giver,” declared The Shadow, in a now perfect replica of Langhorne’s accustomed tones, “is a monster who plans and executes murder. Henry Bellew was struck dead because he defied The Death Giver. Terrible danger lurks in your home even now. The Death Giver does not wait!

“I am the one who can meet it. I do not fear The Death Giver. My only apprehensions are regarding your safety. No one can possibly know that you are here. Therefore, I rely upon you to inform no one. Wait patiently. I shall return. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” responded Langhorne.

The Shadow donned Langhorne’s coat, picked up Langhorne’s hat. The perfect image of the millionaire, as he had left his home, the disguised master went to the door. There, he faced the millionaire and delivered a last warning.

“Remember,” came the carefully affected tones, “I intend to end the menace that now threatens you. Stay here in hiding. I shall return, to give you further word.”

The door closed. Irwin Langhorne dropped back into his chair. The millionaire rubbed his eyes in amazed perplexity. It seemed to him that a miracle had happened here to-night. The threat of The Death Giver had been strange, indeed; compared to the amazing actions of The Shadow, it was nothing!

The master mind of darkness had set forth to challenge the master mind of death!