The Man From Shanghai

CHAPTER VII – CRIME’S PURPOSE

MAJOR ROWDEN’S scrutiny of The Shadow produced a definite effect. Challenge faded from the Britisher’s eyes. Rowden raised his hands half upward, as token that he had no extra weapon. Propping an elbow against an arm of the teakwood chair, he brought himself to his feet.

With a smile, Rowden bowed a greeting to The Shadow. The welcome given, he turned to the astonished servant who was staring from beside the wall. Speaking in precise tones, Rowden stated:

“We have a guest, Peju. Bring the chair from the corner.”

Rowden inclined his head toward a second teakwood chair. Gingerly, Peju arose and went to the corner. He drew the chair toward The Shadow, faltering slightly as he saw the glint of burning eyes. The Shadow had fixed the fellow’s nationality. Peju was a Siamese.

“When one expects enemies,” remarked Major Rowden, dryly, “an unexpected visitor should prove to be a friend. Accept my apologies, sir, on behalf of myself and Peju. Our mutual surprise caused us to act hastily.”

The Shadow placed his automatic beneath his cloak. In low-toned voice, he spoke to Rowden:

“Dismiss the servant.”

Rowden gestured to Peju. The Siamese went through the curtains. Calmly, The Shadow removed his hat, dropped his cloak and lay the garments on a taboret. He took the teakwood chair that the servant had brought forward. Rowden also sat down, staring in puzzled fashion.

The major had not expected to see so mild a countenance as the one The Shadow wore. It was a short while before Rowden realized that his visitor’s visage must be a disguise. Then Rowden slowly nodded his understanding. He was not surprised when he heard The Shadow speak in a different tone that better suited his present appearance.

“Your visit to New York has excited comment, major,” remarked The Shadow. “That is the reason why I have paid this unexpected call.”

Rowden nodded. His face became quizzical. He put a blunt question: “May I ask your name?”

The Shadow’s gaze became reflecting. He spoke in leisurely tone. “Last night,” he announced, “my name was George Furbish.”

An exclamation came from Major Rowden.

“No!” uttered the Englishman. “It cannot be! Furbish was not -”

“Not in New York last night?”

The Shadow interposed the question as Rowden paused. The major hesitated; chewed his lips. Finally, he nodded. The Shadow’s guess was correct.

“I passed as George Furbish,” declared The Shadow. “I went to his apartment at the Royal Arms. There I was attacked by an assassin – a yellow-faced killer from Shanghai. A twisted dwarf whose name -”

The Shadow paused abruptly. It was Rowden who exclaimed, “Ku-Nuan!”

CALMLY, The Shadow nodded. Rowden stared nervously, beating his right fist against his open left palm. He wanted to talk; but moments of suspicion brought hesitation. He feared that this visit might be a trick to make him speak. At last, Rowden faced The Shadow’s eyes. Something in their steady glow convinced him that he was dealing with a friend.

“I am reluctant to speak,” declared Rowden, “but, after all, speech can do no harm. Nor can it injure others, who are already marked to die. My enemies could enter openly; they would gain little by subterfuge. Therefore, I shall accept you as a friend. You are one who can aid me.”

Rowden stopped, to await The Shadow’s reply. In easy tone, The Shadow informed:

“I have linked the deaths of Blessingdale and Hessup. I know that Furbish is connected. I want to know the purpose behind crime.”

Rowden nodded. He turned on his heel and approached a cabinet in the corner. Opening the door, he revealed large stacks of silver dollars; there were thousands of such coins. From a shelf above the money, Rowden produced a wide, flat box. He brought it to the taboret beside The Shadow. Opening the box, Rowden displayed a mass of glimmering jewels.

Facets of diamonds glittered in many hues as they caught the mellow light of the room. Rubies glowed like ruddy coals. Emeralds sparkled their verdant brilliance. The deep blue of sapphires was present in the display, intermingled with the magnificence of other gems. Mounted in settings of dull gold, the stones gained added splendor.

“These gems,” announced Rowden, in a hushed tone, “were once the property of the dowager Empress of China. Last relics of the former Manchu dynasty, they are now the property of the Chinese government. My mission is to convert them into money; half a million pounds sterling – two and a half millions of American dollars.”

Leaving the jewels within The Shadow’s reach, Rowden returned to his chair and pointed toward the cabinet.

“The silver that you see there,” he explained, “was given me for traveling expenses. I brought more than six thousand dollars with me, in the one form of available currency that would be negotiable: silver dollars.”

Rowden leaned forward and picked up his meerschaum from the floor. The revolver was lying beside it; taking the weapon by the barrel, the major placed the gun on the taboret with the jewels. Reaching to a humidor, he stuffed his pipe with tobacco. Lighting a match, he puffed; then leaned back and spoke in precise fashion.

“THE Chinese government needs cash,” explained Rowden. “The exodus of silver had depleted the treasury. Even Mexican dollars are scarce. It was difficult for me to obtain the American dollars that I needed for my journey. I am one of several emissaries who have been sent to acquire suitable funds.

“I was told to sell these jewels to wealthy Americans, for United States currency. Paper money, bank notes – those will be quite satisfactory, for they can be converted into silver without difficulty. There are wealthy Chinese who will give their government silver money in return for American paper dollars.”

The major paused to puff furiously at his pipe. The bowl glowed. Rowden resumed his story.

“Every thing was arranged,” he stated. “This penthouse was to be my headquarters, protected with bared windows. Certain Americans – men of great wealth – were advised that I would be in New York; that they could visit me singly and purchase quantities of these rare gems. I arrived in New York. I stayed here in seclusion. I avoided all visitors, believing that it would be best. Until yesterday, I believed that my position was secure.

“Then, chancing to read a newspaper that was delivered to this penthouse, I learned that two men had been murdered. I had wondered why neither of those men had called here, for both were overdue. I refer to Jerome Blessingdale and William Hessup.”

Rowden paused solemnly; then added:

“Both were to be purchasers of these rare gems. Both were bringing funds in actual currency. Robbery was the motive behind those murders. I am prepared to state that Blessingdale and Hessup were deprived of a quarter million dollars each.”

Leaning forward in his chair, Rowden emphasized his next words.

“My natural impulse,” he declared, “was to inform the law. I tried to call by telephone; there was no answer from downstairs. I rang for an elevator; none came. At last, the telephone was answered; but by that time, I was wise enough to avoid the call. I realized that if I tried to summon the police, I would sign my own death warrant.

“Peju and I have investigated this penthouse. We have found that we are absolute prisoners. The bars installed for my protection actually prevent my escape. The trapdoor in the roof was battened down from above, as we learned when we tested it.

“Word of my mission must have been gained in China. Ku-Nuan – I heard of him in Shanghai – was the evil messenger who brought the news to a still more evil chief. I know the name of my formidable foe, for I was warned that such a man held connection in China. My enemy is a man named Kenneth Malfort.”

Rowden hoped that The Shadow might recognize the name. Seeing that he did not, the major added:

“Hitherto, Malfort has never dealt in open crime. He was the man behind intrigues that threatened the stability of the Chinese government. Safe in America, his residence unknown, he pulled the strings that caused armies to desert; he paved the way for traitors to leave China, laden with loot.

“Malfort financed such schemes. He received his share of spoils. My visit to America gave him opportunity to use information that leaked from China. Malfort has placed spies in this hotel to thwart any move that I make. I am cut off from the outer world.”

COLDLY, Rowden had described his plight. A soldier of fortune, he was a man who knew no fear. Experience in the Orient had steeled him to emergencies.

“Five men were to visit me,” declared Rowden. “Blessingdale and Hessup are dead. I learned facts too late to save them. A third is in no danger; but there are two others who must be warned. One is George Furbish, whose part you took last night. He was in Bermuda, a fact which Malfort apparently did not learn. Furbish will not arrive in New York until tomorrow.

“The last man is Calhoun Lamport, a Chicago railroad owner. He does not intend to come East until early next week. Hence his danger will not begin before that time. Malfort has shown his preference to wait for victims to come within his sphere of action.”

Rowden’s statement was a sound one. The Shadow pictured the death of Blessingdale and Hessup. They had been murdered at the end of their journeys, when they had wealth in their possession. The Shadow knew, without questioning Rowden, that the victims named must have supposed that there were no other men interested in the purchase of the Chinese gems.

Blessingdale’s death had, therefore, failed as a warning to Hessup. Similarly, the deaths of both would mean nothing to either Furbish or Lamport.

“Consider my dilemma,” urged Major Rowden. “Malfort is permitting me to live only while he murders and plucks the men who carry money. He has taken the lives of two. Three remain. When Malfort has finished them, I shall become the final victim. The money gained, Malfort will seek my death, so that he may acquire the spoils which he already counts as his own.”

With this statement, Rowden motioned toward the opened jewel case. His gesture showed detest for those baubles that had cost the lives of two men, and threatened similar fate to others. Facing The Shadow, Rowden queried:

“Should I act in the meantime, what would be the result? I can answer that question, easily. Malfort will simply murder me, take over this penthouse, and carry on the schemes against the others. It is merely preference – sound policy, perhaps – that causes the master of crime to let me live. After all, I am a bait for others. Living bait is better than dead, when one seeks large fish.”

WITH this sound argument, the major concluded his story. He had summed the circumstances that were in back of crime. He had given good reason for his present idleness. With no good plan to follow, the major had preferred not to choose a bad one during the twenty-four hours that would remain until George Furbish reached New York.

The Shadow had recognized Rowden’s mettle. He knew that tomorrow – all else failing – the major would seek to avert Furbish’s visit, even if the attempt would mean death. The Shadow could see why Malfort preferred to let Rowden live, aside from the reason that the major served as bait. It might be difficult to kill so good a fighter as Major Rowden, if he made a rush for it, with Peju beside him.

Nevertheless, Rowden would certainly meet with death. A battle on his part could, at most, cause sufficient commotion to bring the law to the Maribar Hotel, and thereby serve as an indirect warning to Furbish and Lamport.

What was needed was a course that would curb the master villain; hold him in abeyance; force him, finally, to commit a blunder that would end the evil game. Picturing the position of Major Rowden; considering past events as well as future, The Shadow could see the formidable strength that some supercrook had gained.

There was, however, a rift that changed these circumstances. The Shadow’s own advent had paved the way to counterstrokes. The course was to match the moves of Malfort, that superfoe whose name at last was known to The Shadow.

A whispered laugh from smiling lips. The Shadow’s mirth seemed doubly strange, uttered in his present character of Henry Arnaud. Rowden looked up, awed by the tone. Keen hope showed upon the major’s square-jawed face.

From The Shadow’s laugh, the man from Shanghai had guessed the truth. He was to learn a plan that would offset the evil ingenuity of Kenneth Malfort.