The Death Triangle

CHAPTER III THE SHADOW LEAVES

A POLICE whistle sounded in the darkness of the narrow thoroughfare beside the apartment house where a battle had been waged. Heavy footsteps thudded on the pavement. Uniformed men crowded into the parking space where an empty sedan was backed against the wall.

There had been an interval between the final shots and the arrival of the officers. During that interim, Cliff Marsland, agent of The Shadow, had made a hurried departure. But The Shadow still remained, up in the apartment where the police were due to converge.

The open portfolio lay upon the galaxy of gems. Long, firm hands drew forth a mass of black cloth. The material developed into a shroud as it dropped over the white wig and false beard which The Shadow wore. The shroud became a cloak. The Shadow’s left hand, with its sparkling girasol glimmering brightly, brought a slouch hat from the portfolio.

The hands slid the hat upward. As it reached The Shadow’s head, the hat replaced the wig and beard. The white-haired mask dropped from The Shadow’s face, which was now invisible beneath the projecting brim of the broad slouch hat. The hands bundled beard and wig into the portfolio; the pliable bag folded and went beneath The Shadow’s cloak.

Whistles from the fire escape. Shouts from below stairs. The Shadow laughed as his burning eyes once again noted that Sparkles Lorskin, the only person present, lay oblivious to all that was transpiring.

The table again glittered with its array of jewels; a train of shining stones lay upon the floor between the table and Sparkles Lorskin’s resting place. The crook’s hurtling body had swept these gems in his wake.

Swiftness, alone, could enable The Shadow to make his departure before the police arrived. Both ways were blocked. Yet The Shadow, as he delivered his uncanny laugh, showed no haste. His hands were drawing on black gloves. A spectral creature clad in somber garments, The Shadow scorned the need of flight.

There was a telephone in the corner. The Shadow lifted it. He dialed a number. A response came. In smooth, easy tones, The Shadow asked to be connected with Doctor Johan Arberg.

Sparkles Lorskin stirred. Groggy, the crook could hear the tones of The Shadow’s voice. They seemed strangely familiar to Sparkles Lorskin. There was a very definite reason. The Shadow was talking in a perfect imitation of Sparkles Lorskin’s own voice!

“Hello!” The Shadow’s accents were dim in Lorskin’s ears. “Doctor Johan Arberg?… This is Lorskin calling… I am glad that I had time to call you before you left the hotel… No, a visit here will be useless… The gems? I have disposed of them… Yes, the entire collection is gone… I was persuaded to part with every gem that I possessed… Good-by, sir.”

SPARKLES LORSKIN was rising to hands and knees. Like a man in a trance, he had heard his own voice speak and cancel the appointment with Doctor Johan Arberg. All was a dream to Sparkles. He vaguely remembered Arberg arriving here; then a whirl through air that had ended in temporary oblivion.

A whistle sounded from the kitchen window. The shrill noise startled Sparkles and brought him to his senses. He saw the body of Mitts Cordy, a revolver lying beside the dead gang leader’s form. Wildly, Sparkles clutched the weapon.

Instinctively, the crook turned toward the telephone, to the spot where he had heard his own voice carrying on a conversation. There was no one at that spot. Then came pounding at the outer door. Rising to his feet, Sparkles stared in that direction.

It was then that Sparkles saw The Shadow. Tall, silent, and menacing, the black-garbed phantom stood like a lonely sentinel, a creature of unreality amid a scene that told of imminent invasion. As a cry — expressing both fear and amazement — came from Lorskin’s lips, The Shadow’s left hand turned the knob of the door.

The barrier swung inward. A burly officer plunged headlong. At the same instant, another bluecoat appeared at the door from the kitchen. The Shadow’s hand was still in motion. As Sparkles Lorskin cowered toward the wall, The Shadow pressed the switch and plunged the room in darkness.

Sparkles fired his revolver. He did not aim at either policeman. He shot for the spot where he believed The Shadow stood, sensing that there was his immediate enemy. A whispered laugh, its very location vague, was the mockery that came in answer.

New revolvers spat their flame. Both policemen had aimed toward Sparkles. Swinging wildly, the crook began to return the shots.

Amid the staccato of revolver fire came the heavy roar of an automatic. The policemen’s shots continued. There was silence from the spot where Sparkles had stood.

Instinctively, the policeman from the kitchen advanced toward Lorskin’s position. His gruff voice ordered his companion to turn on the light. Simultaneously, a silent being edged toward the door from which the officer had come.

On came the light. It revealed two uniformed men, one by the outer door, his hand upon the switch; the other, staring toward the table. Sparkles Lorskin, his breath coming in convulsive gasps, was doubled up on the floor, his revolver three feet away.

Vainly, Sparkles reached for the gun. His effort was useless. He sprawled, choking, as the policemen leaped forward to beat him to the weapon. Cries of amazement came from the officers as their eyes saw the jewels that were strewn upon table and floor.

Another policeman appeared at the outer door. He, like the pair already in the room, was astonished at the sight of the precious stones. Not one of the trio who represented the law gave a glance toward the kitchen door. Hence they failed to see the tall being in somber black, who, motionless, surveyed the scene with penetrating eyes.

AN instant later, The Shadow was gone into the darkness of the kitchen. Picking his way past the bodies of the fallen gangsters, the master fighter headed toward the window that gave access to the fire escape.

Stealthy in stride, The Shadow reached his goal. He was already on the fire escape when a powerful flashlight cast an upward beam to reveal the window through which The Shadow had passed.

“Hey, up there!”

The call came from a policeman, who was standing beside the dead body of the gangster who had toppled from the window. A figure appeared within the shaft of light. The man below recognized one of the policemen who had gone up to Lorskin’s apartment.

“We’ve got one of them,” informed the officer in the window. “Phoning for the ambulance. Had to plug him in the darkness. There are others up here — but they all got the works before we showed up.”

The policeman with the flashlight was staring upward as he listened. Brick wall and open window were within his path of vision. To the man above, only the glare of the flashlight was evident. Neither saw nor heard the stealthily moving form that reached the bottom of the fire escape.

With darkness as a hiding veil, The Shadow passed behind the officer in the parking space. His black form was invisible. It could not even be seen as it reached the sidewalk. The only phenomenon that indicated The Shadow’s presence was the momentary blotting of a light across the street. Neither officer observed it.

Upstairs, the officer returned from the kitchen and stood looking at Sparkles Lorskin. One policeman was at the telephone, calling headquarters. He had already sent an emergency call for an ambulance. The other officer was gathering the gems from the floor, piling them into the box upon the table.

Of all the evil men who had sought to bring death to Doctor Johan Arberg, Sparkles Lorskin alone remained alive. Yet his condition, judged by his position upon the floor, indicated that little chance was his.

Mobsters had recognized that the fighter disguised as Doctor Arberg was The Shadow. Those gangmen were dead, with their leader, Mitts Cordy, silent as they. Only Sparkles had seen The Shadow in his weird guise of black. Sparkles had not identified him with Doctor Arberg. To Sparkles, the visitation of The Shadow had been an unreal incident.

The policemen, piecing their theory to what they saw, believed that raiders had come to steal this hoard of jewels. They knew that the gems must be stolen; otherwise, Sparkles Lorskin would not have battled against those who represented the law.

Not one of the officers suspected the hidden presence of The Shadow in this room where death had struck those who had planned to deliver it.

BLOCKS away, The Shadow was speeding southward. Seated behind the wheel of a trim coupe, the master was departing from the scene of crime. The car turned into the entrance of a garage. As an attendant came up to take the coupe in charge, a gentleman in evening clothes, with portfolio under his arm, stepped forth.

“I shall leave my coupe here tonight,” he remarked in a quiet tone. “Has my limousine arrived?”

“Right over there Mr. Cranston,” replied the attendant.

The gentleman turned in the direction indicated. A chauffeur was opening the door of the limousine. The gentleman entered the car.

“Over to New Jersey, Stanley,” was his order to the chauffeur.

The limousine rolled from the garage. It headed toward the Holland Tunnel. Stanley drove at an easy speed, while the passenger, reclining on the cushions, leisurely smoked a cigarette.

Tonight, The Shadow had impersonated Doctor Johan Arberg, to make an early visit to Sparkles Lorskin’s apartment. There, over the telephone, he had impersonated Sparkles Lorskin to tell Doctor Arberg that a visit would be unnecessary!

In the meantime, this amazing battler had wiped out a desperate mob. He had returned to the black-clad guise of The Shadow. He had left Sparkles Lorskin, desperately wounded, in the hands of the police, surrounded by a crime-reaped harvest of stolen gems.

Now, in the guise of Lamont Cranston, multimillionaire and gentleman of leisure, The Shadow was returning to a mansion in New Jersey, there to await a new occasion that would call for conflict with surging hordes of crime.

The Shadow had saved the life of Doctor Johan Arberg, Danish blood specialist, whose return to Copenhagen could not now be blocked by Sparkles and his minions of the underworld.

Such was the way of The Shadow. By marvelous achievements, this stranger of the night could accomplish the seemingly miraculous. With skill and precision, The Shadow had saved the life of Doctor Johan Arberg without the savant gaining a single inkling of the menace which he had avoided!

Through his watchfulness of affairs in the underworld; through the reports of Cliff Marsland, his agent in the bad lands, The Shadow had gained a complete triumph. From his knowledge of the entire situation, The Shadow saw no further need of extending protection to Doctor Johan Arberg.

Yet while The Shadow, as Lamont Cranston, was riding comfortably back to New Jersey, a new menace was threatening Doctor Arberg. Beyond the reach of The Shadow’s vigilance, an enemy more subtle and capable than Sparkles Lorskin and Mitts Cordy combined was planning drastic action.

Every step of evil that The Shadow had foiled was to be duplicated, with an objective that reached to heinous crime beyond — hidden crime that had not yet come within The Shadow’s ken.

The fruits of victory that The Shadow had gained tonight were destined to be spoiled. The Shadow, triumphant, was due to face new foemen who were worthy of his steel!