The Death Giver

CHAPTER XV. THE NEXT NIGHT

A KEY clicked in the door of Paul Roderick’s apartment. A tall figure blotted out the light from the hall.

The door closed softly and the tiny rays of a small flashlight circled about the room. An unseen hand pressed the switch of a table lamp. A mild glow pervaded the corner of Paul Roderick’s living room.

The fringe of light revealed the obscure shape of a tall being clad in black. The folds of a long cloak enveloped the stranger’s shoulders. The brim of a black slouch hat obscured the features that lay below.

The Shadow had arrived.

Paul Roderick had been right in his fear that The Shadow would trace him. The dying gasp of Irwin Langhorne, the penciled slip upon the clerk’s desk at the Bastion Hotel — these had been sufficient clews for The Shadow to track the murderer through investigation at the Merrimac Club.

Roderick’s apartment had been the next step. Here, with scrutinizing eye, The Shadow saw that the bird had flown. A low laugh echoed softly through the room.

Paul Roderick’s flight had been precipitous. It was obvious that he had not come back to his apartment.

Roderick was the link to the strange monster who called himself Thade, The Death Giver. Roderick, here, could answer questions under pressure. Roderick, gone, was useless. But somewhere there might lie a clew that would enable The Shadow to continue his quest of the missing clubman.

The clock on Roderick’s mantelpiece showed twenty minutes of eight when The Shadow began a silent but methodical search through the premises. Drawers slid open from tables almost of their own accord.

Letters, stacks of papers, all were scrutinized by a practiced eye. At last the search ended.

The clock on the mantel struck eight sharp tinkles. Those sounds seemed to culminate The Shadow’s effort. Not one trace of Thade, The Death Giver, had been discovered by the black-cloaked seeker.

There was a telephone table in the corner; there, The Shadow made his way. From a stack of telephone books, he raised the one marked Long Island. Held in a gloved hand, its thick back downward, the book wavered under delicate balance until its pages fluttered in two directions.

The book had opened at opposite pages which listed names beginning with the letter Q. The Shadow’s laugh rippled softly. On one of those pages appeared the name of Vernon Quinley.

Paul Roderick was the man who had called Quinley, that night of the explosion in the bearded man’s garage. Harry Vincent had mentioned a phone call in his report. The source of the call was evident now.

Roderick had used this book on several occasions to look up Quinley’s number, wisely refraining from making a notation of the Felswood number.

That was why the book, balanced by a careful, guiding hand, had opened to the spot where Roderick had so frequently referred.

What worked with one book might work with another. The Shadow’s hand raised the book marked Manhattan, and held it in the same delicate balance. The pages fluttered doubtfully. The keen eyes watched them; and the hand did its part in the careful operation. The book finally wavered and opened at one particular place. The names on the facing pages were those which began with the letters TR.

UPON the margin of the right-hand page was a slight sign of a rumple in the paper. It denoted the spot where a thumb had pressed. The eyes of The Shadow ran down the column of names. They spied a significant fact.

A dozen names, together in the column, bore a distinct trace of a consultation. They were not marked by the imprint of a finger, but the printed ink was smudgy. Paul Roderick, in looking for a certain name, had inadvertently run his finger over this column, leaving the tell-tale mark.

Carefully, The Shadow noted the lowermost of these names. The third from the bottom of the smudged group was that of Harlan Treffin. The stopping finger would have blurred the names below. This one name — Harlan Treffin — was the most likely choice. Still, the others could not be entirely eliminated.

Here, at least, was a probable man with whom Paul Roderick had had recent contact. To-night, The Shadow would be seeking facts that involved the man. The Shadow had reached an important point in his quest. An unexpected event was to speed his immediate action.

The telephone began to ring. The Shadow reached forward and gripped the instrument in his gloved hands. Lifting the receiver, he spoke in a careful tone. It was not the voice of Paul Roderick — which The Shadow had never heard — but over the telephone it carried a distant note that did not disturb the speaker at the other end.

“Hello — Roderick?”

“Yes.”

“This is Treffin. Do you want to see me to-night?”

“Yes — alone.”

“Certainly. I’m alone now, here at my home. Are you coming up?”

“Yes. Wait until I arrive.”

“All right. I called you last night, but no answer. I waited until nine, expecting to hear from you. I’ll be here.”

The Shadow swept from the room the moment that he had concluded the call. There was no time to be lost. Harlan Treffin’s last words had revealed the arrangement between him and Paul Roderick. If Treffin, calling, received no response, he was to wait until he heard from Roderick.

Therefore, Treffin might receive a call from Roderick any minute between now and nine. The Shadow was racing against time. He must reach Treffin’s home before Roderick could call from some unknown spot.

A taxi driver on the street was surprised to find that he had a passenger. A voice spoke through the window between the front and the interior of the cab. It ordered the taximan to hurry to an address on an uptown street — the number of Harlan Treffin’s home, which The Shadow had noted in the phone book.

The driver, hoping for a substantial tip, responded. He caught a traffic break on an avenue, and whirled along at breakneck speed. The taximeter clicked its changing fares with unusual rapidity. Fifteen minutes later, the cab squeaked to a stop at the required destination.

A five-dollar bill fluttered into the driver’s hand. The passenger was gone.

The cabby stared along the street. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders, he pocketed his fee and drove away. For all he knew, a ghost had ridden with him to-night. Why should he worry, so long as ghosts paid with five-dollar bills and required no change?

THE taximan, in his wondering gaze, had passed over the door of Harlan Treffin’s home. It was there that The Shadow had gone, his black cloak hiding his outline against the darkness of the door.

A gloved hand was working with a steel instrument. Hardly had the cab moved away before Treffin’s front door opened and The Shadow entered the gloomy hall.

There was a light in a rear room. Gliding quickly along the floor, The Shadow neared the open door. His gloved hand came from beneath his cloak. It clutched a huge automatic. Sharp eyes peered through the door.

Harlan Treffin was seated at a table across the room. The man’s head was on his hand. He was thinking deeply. The light came from brackets on the wall — not from the lamp on Treffin’s table. Beside the lamp was a telephone.

A few moments later, Harlan Treffin glanced suddenly upward to find himself staring into the huge muzzle of the automatic. Beyond the gun he could see burning eyes that peered from beneath the brim of a broad slouch hat. A tall figure, clad in a black robe, had materialized itself in this room.

A startled cry died on Treffin’s lips. He sensed the menace of The Shadow. This dread avenger of the night was a sight that would make a bold man quail. Harlan Treffin, unnerved, could not even stammer his fright.

“Harlan Treffin” — The Shadow’s words were cold — “I have come to question you to-night. Speak when I command. Tell me what you know of Thade, The Death Giver.”

A hunted look came into Treffin’s gaze. He tried to turn his eyes away, but the blazing orbs of The Shadow terrified him. Mechanically, almost against his will, Treffin nodded his willingness to obey.

“You have seen Thade?” came The Shadow’s query.

“Yes,” gasped Treffin. “I have seen him.”

“Where?”

“At his abode.”

“What is its location?”

“I do not know.”

Treffin’s plaintive words indicated that the frightened man was telling the truth. The Shadow divined the reason for the man’s ignorance and put it to the test.

“Who took you to see Thade?”

“Paul Roderick,” blurted Treffin hopelessly. “I was drugged. I did not know — where I was going—”

The telephone began to ring. The Shadow’s voice was quick in its low command.

“Answer it,” he ordered. “If it is Roderick, simply say that you called him at eight, but received no response.”

Treffin reached weakly for the telephone. His hand faltered as the ring continued.

“Obey!”

The Shadow’s command had a steadying effect upon Harlan Treffin. The man nerved himself for the task of answering the telephone. Supercharged with fear, he seemed to regain his normal senses at The Shadow’s bidding. He picked up the telephone and spoke.

“Hello… Yes, this is Harlan Treffin… Ah, Roderick. Yes, I called you to-night… You weren’t there…”

Treffin listened while Roderick spoke. A worried look came over the man’s face. With his left hand, The Shadow plucked the desk telephone from Treffin’s grasp. The man slumped back in his chair and listened in startled amazement as he heard The Shadow continue the talk in a voice that was a remarkable imitation of Treffin’s own.

“What was that, Roderick?” queried The Shadow.

“I was asking if you had encountered anything unusual,” came a steady voice over the wire. “No signs of any er — of any disturbance.”

“None at all,” responded The Shadow in Treffin’s voice.

“I want to see you, then,” returned Roderick. “Stay where you are. I will be there in less than an hour. There is new work to do, Treffin, and this time” —Roderick’s voice became suave — “you will profit by it. You understand.”

“Good,” responded The Shadow quietly. “I will wait for you, Roderick.”

DURING his conversation as Treffin’s proxy, The Shadow had not, for one instant, taken his eyes from the man before him. The muzzle of the automatic was still covering Harlan Treffin.

Now, with the phone call ended, The Shadow became a new menace to the man beyond the table. It was evident that The Shadow intended to continue his quiz.

“What did Thade demand of you?” came the ominous whisper.

“Nothing — nothing—”

Treffin’s attempt at falsehood brought a laugh from The Shadow’s lips. The tall figure in black became more sinister than before, as words of denunciation told The Shadow’s knowledge.

“You are lying, Harlan Treffin!” declared The Shadow. “You were deputed by Thade to place three deadly containers beneath telephone boxes. You caused the death of three innocent men!”

Wildly, Treffin threw his hands before his face as though to cut off thought of his terrible deeds. The Shadow’s accusing words had shattered his morale. The Shadow knew!

“You are a murderer,” continued The Shadow, “even though you obeyed the dictates of another. Speak! Tell me why you followed Thade’s command!”

Harlan Treffin lowered his hands. He stared into the eyes of The Shadow; but his gaze was that of a madman. He could hear the stern words of his accuser, but in his brain, he was visualizing the horrible sight that had lain before his eyes in The Death Giver’s lair.

“I can die!” gasped Treffin. “I can die! But not as I saw — not as the man I saw — the man that Thade was killing — by degrees—”

Treffin’s hands were on the table. They were clawing, crawling, helpless in their frenzy. A convulsive spasm shook the man’s frame. The recollection of the death that Thade could give caused Harlan Treffin to sprawl face foremost on the table. His arms spread apart. He was helpless.

At that moment, there was no thought of resistance in Treffin’s delirious mind and The Shadow knew it.

The black-clad questioner was waiting for Treffin to recover from his momentary fit of fear. After that, the grilling would succeed. The Shadow had expected this temporary collapse.

But Harlan Treffin, as he lay inert, became conscious of a vague sensation. His hand was touching against cold metal — the base of the lamp upon his table! Coupled with the fear of Thade, the sudden touch brought hope. Much as he feared The Death Giver, Treffin was convinced that there was no escape from Thade’s toils.

His trembling fingers were upon the secret switch at the base of the lamp. That, Treffin recalled, was the protection of Thade against such an emergency as this! Roderick would be here soon. Would he find a traitor, or would he find that Treffin had followed Thade’s instructions to the letter?

Up came Treffin’s face, with a gleam of frenzied delight. His fingers steadied and plucked at the switch upon the lamp. This would be the doom of the strange interrogator who was attempting to foil Thade!

IN an instant, The Shadow saw all. Treffin’s quick recovery made it impossible for him to stop the man’s design. It was too late to stay those pressing fingers. Backward swept The Shadow, away from the table and toward the floor, to escape this new device of Thade.

At Treffin’s touch, the center of the lamp spread open, and a cloud of greenish vapor hissed forth in sudden spray. It swept across the center of the table, covering a radius of half a dozen feet. Swirling, spreading, the gas became as nothingness, dwindling into the atmosphere of the room.

The Shadow had dropped away from the poison spray; but Harlan Treffin was within its range. Devised to kill all within arm’s length of the lamp, the swirl of deadly gas performed its mission. As proof of its lethal power, Harlan Treffin lay dying across the table. A last short gasp; Harlan Treffin was dead.

Thade, The Death Giver, had struck. Barcomb — Quinley — Jarvis— now Treffin. These minions of Thade had been sacrificed; and each, by reliance upon The Death Giver, had aided the monster’s plans.

Again, The Shadow had been balked by death.

This time, The Shadow laughed. His sinister mockery floated through the room and faded as mysteriously as had Thade’s greenish gas. Harlan Treffin, a murderer, had died. Before his demise, he had admitted his own ignorance of The Death Giver’s whereabouts.

Useless to Thade now, Treffin would be of use to The Shadow! This death was one which Thade might soon regret! For Harlan Treffin had served as The Shadow’s link to Paul Roderick. It was Roderick who acted as Thade’s lieutenant, and he was on his way to visit Treffin!

By subterfuge and not by threat, The Shadow could now act to thwart the schemes of Thade, The Death Giver. The whispered laugh prophesied swift action. Before its wavering echoes had died away, The Shadow was at work.

Leaning above the upturned face of Thade’s latest victim, The Shadow studied every phase of Treffin’s countenance. The black gloves peeled away from long white hands. The girasol glimmered as careful fingers pushed back the slouch hat and pressed at the face beneath.

Fifteen minutes later, a man was seated at the table. The sides of the death-dealing lamp were closed.

Harlan Treffin’s body was gone. The locked door of a large closet gave no token of the fact that the dead man had been hidden there by The Shadow.

For the figure at the table was one that seemed to belong there. In every feature, the living man was Harlan Treffin! As with Langhorne, so with Treffin. The Shadow had taken the place of the dead as he had taken the place of the living.

Paul Roderick would not be disappointed to-night. He would find Harlan Treffin awaiting him, ready to hear his commands, and heed his bidding.

The Shadow, master of disguise, was prepared!