The Crime Clinic
- Автор: Грант Максвелл
- Серия: The Shadow #43
- Год: 1933
- Язык: английский
- Год: Street and Smith
- Жанр: Крутые детективы
Электронная книга - «The Crime Clinic». Краткое содержание книги:
Harry had been ordered here by instructions received from Burbank. Harry knew, from his own report, that The Shadow must have picked the Winchendon home as a danger spot tonight. It had been Harry’s duty to remain huddled in his own car, lined with others that were presumably empty.
The mobsters, rather than attract attention, had not made a close inspection of these vehicles. Harry had locked his doors from the inside; with windows up, he had been protected. At the first sign of figures beyond the hedge, he had lowered the windows. Thus he had also heard the invaders, as they spoke in low whispers.
Harry felt more at ease after he had given the second pair of light signals. The men who were approaching the house had evidently reached the flat, stone veranda by the French windows. Their forms were lost beyond patches of shrubbery. Harry could not hear a sound.
He had warned The Shadow. He awaited only a definite sign that would either send him on his way, or bring him to some new duty. It was while Harry counted on such a result — an expected ending to his night’s work — that the unexpected happened.
A SLIGHT sound came from the left side of the car. As Harry turned in that direction, the jab of cold steel came suddenly against the side of his neck. A flashlight glimmered, its glare lowered toward the floor of the coupe. A voice growled an order.
“Shut up and don’t budge,” came the command. “It’ll be curtains for you, bimbo. Put up them dukes.”
Harry raised his arms. It was too late to reach for his automatic, which was ready in a side pocket of the car. An ugly snarl came from the man who had surprised him.
“Blinking your light, eh?” questioned the mobster, as he extinguished his flashlight. “Well, I’m wise to you. Don’t think you can get away with something now you’re in the dark. I’m watching. What are you — a dick or something?”
Harry made no reply. His situation was a serious one. Fear, however, was not the emotion that swept The Shadow’s agent. Harry was chagrined because he had shown stupidity; he was alarmed because he had caused a slip-up in The Shadow’s plans.
The mobster who now controlled him had evidently caught the glimmer of the second signal, and had doubled back around the hedge. He had trapped Harry Vincent with neither sound nor trouble. Yet Harry still possessed a temporary safety. He knew that this man would not dare to fire while his companions were still waiting for the attack.
A critical stage, however, might be approaching. If gun play burst loose around the Winchendon mansion, the gangster’s logical course would be to shoot his prisoner. In anticipation of this danger, Harry let his right hand creep over toward the pocket in the door. It was a desperate chance; yet he wanted to have his automatic ready if the mobster should choose to fire at him.
Harry’s left shoulder hunched unconsciously. The gangster growled; he flashed his light simultaneously. The glare, confined entirely to the car, revealed Harry’s hand; it also showed the butt of the automatic. The muzzle of the gangster’s revolver jabbed more firmly. Harry could imagine the finger trembling on the trigger.
“One inch, bimbo,” came the snarl, “and it’ll be curtains. Make a grab for that rod if you want — I’m going to snuff you out anyway in a minute. This is where you—”
The sentence ended abruptly. A gargling gasp coughed from the gangster’s lips. His body slumped. The revolver barrel flopped away from Harry’s neck. The flashlight tumbled to the floor of the coupe. Harry reached down and extinguished it.
Staring through the window, Harry saw nothing but blackness where the mobster had been. Yet in the back of his head, he held the impression of a dull, thudding sound that he had heard. Solid blackness seemed to move before Harry’s eyes. He realized then that a living presence was outside the window.
The Shadow had come to the coupe. He must have seen the second signal as well as the first that Harry Vincent had given. Rising like a specter from the darkness, the black-garbed master of the night had struck down the gangster who had held Harry Vincent in his power.
CHAPTER XV
THE SHADOW RETURNS
THE tones of a whispered voice came to Harry Vincent’s ears. From the darkness, The Shadow was issuing a command.
“Let the car roll,” were the monotoned words, “as soon as trouble begins inside the house. Start the motor at the bottom of the slope.”
“Right,” whispered Harry.
He saw The Shadow’s purpose. It would be a mistake for Harry to slide away now. The other mobsters thought that their companion had taken care of him.
What if they should investigate? Perhaps another gangster would come from the crew. Harry could visualize The Shadow disposing of such investigators one by one. He realized, a moment later, that The Shadow could not depend upon such a plan. Trouble was due within the house. The Shadow must return to prevent it.
Something was going on in the darkness. Straining his eyes, Harry could see a figure moving on the street. A grayish cloth seemed to be coming up over arms and shoulders.
Harry suddenly knew what it meant. The Shadow was peeling a sweater from the stunned gangster’s body.
The sweater seemed to move away. Harry caught a flash of what appeared to be a checkered cap. Staring through the rear window, he saw cap and sweater settling into place. It dawned on him that The Shadow had taken off his hat; that over his cloak he had drawn the mobster’s sweater; that on his head he wore the stunned man’s cap!
Harry could see a crouching figure hurrying across the lawn. It disappeared beyond the shrubbery. The Shadow had taken the place of the growling gangster!
That was the last that Harry Vincent saw. Up by the house, however, there were those who noted the arrival of the sweatered figure. Bing Claver, crouched on the stones beside the veranda, hissed a warning.
“Did you get him?”
“Knocked him cold.” The growl was a perfect imitation of the stunned gangster. “But he may come to. I didn’t want to plug him. I’m going back.”
“All right, Cady,” agreed Bing. “Give him the works as soon as we pile into the place. Then come up with us.”
THE sweatered form moved away. It took a circuitous path alongside the house. That was natural, for the opening in the hedge was farther back. Thus did The Shadow come into the midst of Bing Claver and his mobsters, to lull them into thinking that Cady, the stunned gangster, had fulfilled his mission.
Bing Claver and his mob were in readiness. Scattered, they would have been a difficult problem for The Shadow at this moment. The master fighter preferred to met them in a massed attack. Behind a bush, he doffed the sweater and the cap. His black hat settled on his head.
Silently, The Shadow crept to the opened window of the little hallway. He glided over the ledge — inward as easily as he came outward.
One minute after The Shadow’s return, Lamont Cranston appeared just beyond the curtains. His form was still unseen within the living room. His sharp eyes, however, could spy what was going on. The macaw was still giving its performance under Farrell Sarborn’s supervision,
Over by the farther French window was Bart Melken. The young man who served The Jackdaw was still fidgeting with his cigarette lighter. He flipped it; the flame appeared, and went out an instant later, as Melken dropped the cap upon it. Then, with twitching lips, Melken suddenly moved away to the shelter of the wall.
There was a moment’s pause. One of the French doors seemed to tremble. It hesitated. The macaw, its eyes staring across the room, uttered a shrill and unexpected cry.