mg.cyro-第3节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　　Roke's　rising　gun　stopped　short。　A　pained　expression　came　over　the　man's　mustached　face。
　　With　gasped　groans；　Roke　Rowden　dropped　his　revolver。　Hunching；　he　pressed　his　hands　to　his　breast；　then；　with　a　sickly　expression；　he　subsided　to　the　floor。　He　lay　there　moaning；　unable　to　pick　up　his　gun。　The　man　was　mortally　wounded。
　　
　　〃THANKS　for　the　tip；　Roke；〃　sneered　Lence；　lighting　his　cigarette。　〃I　thought　you　were　bluffing　with　that　gat；　until　you　reminded　me　that　the　shot　would　not　be　heard。　I　forgot　that　the　near…by　apartments　were　vacant。
　　〃I'd　like　to　help　you　out　of　misery〃…Lence　paused　as　he　picked　up　the　torn　pieces　of　Cyro's　letter　and　the　translation　that　went　with　them…〃but　it　would　not　be　artistic。　You　might　pass　for　a　suicide；　the　way　you're　dying。　A　second　bullet…through　your　brain…would　be　a　give…away。〃
　　The　glass　of　water　was　standing　on　the　desk；　beside　it　lay　Lence's　handkerchief。　Lence　polished　the　sides　of　the　glass；　then　tipped　it　with　his　elbow。　The　glass　toppled　from　the　table。　It　broke　upon　the　fringe　of　a　rug　and　its　contents　trickled　along　the　floor。
　　〃Maybe　they'll　think　you　were　going　to　try　poison；　Roke；〃　suggested　Lence。
　　〃Maybe　they　won't。　It　doesn't　matter；　either　way。　They　won't　weep　over　a　con　man　gone　to　blighty。　This；　however；　is　most　important。〃
　　Lence　was　polishing　the　handle　of　his　revolver。　Stopping　by　Roke's　side；　he　grasped　the　dying　man's　sleeve　and　tugged　a　hand　into　view。　He　shoved　his　own　gun　into　Roke's　fist。　Roke's　fingers　loosened；　but　one　digit　caught　the　trigger　guard。　The　gun　remained。
　　In　case　the　police　inspected　the　murder　bullet；　the　gun　Lence　had　substituted　in　Rowden's　hand　would　be　proven　the　one　which　had　fired　the　shot。
　　Lence　was　building　up　a　suicide　theory。
　　A　bulge　showed　in　the　dying　man's　coat。　With　professional　skill；　Lence　thrust　his　hand　into　Roke's　inside　pocket　and　produced　a　bulky　wallet。　Opening　it；　Lence　drew　forth　a　wad　of　bank　notes。
　　He　looked　at　his　victim's　huddled　form　and　laughed　at　Roke's　paled　expression。　The　gun　was　dangling　neatly　from　Roke's　fingers；　as　though　the　hand　had　relaxed　without　pletely　losing　hold。　Roke's　eyes　were　closed。　His　shoulders　heaved　and　sank　as　he　breathed。
　　〃Twenty…five　grand；〃　chuckled　Lence；　as　he　counted　the　money　that　he　had　extracted。　〃I'm　glad　you　brought　it　from　the　safe…deposit　vault；　Roke。　It　would　have　been　useless　there。　You　don't　need　it　any　longer；　Roke。
　　〃A　man　doesn't　mit　suicide　while　he　still　has　a　bank…roll　the　size　of　this　one。　Let　me　see：　Ten　dollars；　twenty；　thirty…you're　a　flashy…looking　chap；　Roke。　You'd　carry　at　least　a　hundred。　I'll　raise　the　ante。〃
　　Lence　added　two　twenties　and　a　fifty　to　the　three　tens。　He　took　two　fives　and　a　one　from　his　own　pocket　and　added　them　to　make　a　total　of　one　hundred　and　thirty…one　dollars。　He　replaced　the　small　sum　in　the　wallet。
　　Carefully　avoiding　the　blood　that　stained　Roke's　shirt…front；　Lence　slipped　the　wallet　back　into　the　inside　pocket。　Edging　the　dying　man's　body　along　the　floor；　he　uncovered　the　revolver　that　Roke　had　dropped。
　　Lence　picked　up　Roke's　unused　gun。　He　eyed　the　victim　and　observed　that　Roke　was　almost　motionless。　Slow；　moaning　gasps　came　with　painful　monotony。
　　Roke　gave　no　other　sign　of　life。
　　Stepping　to　the　wastebasket；　Lence　dug　out　a　fistful　of　torn　paper。　He　began　to　examine　fragments　of　envelopes。　The　third　one　was　half　an　envelope　that　bore　a　New　Orleans　postmark。　The　next　fragment　looked　like　the　missing　half。　Lence　pared　them。　The　two　fitted。
　　There　was　no　return　address　on　the　envelope。　Lence　recalled　that　Roke　had　not　mentioned　the　book　shop　until　he　had　opened　the　letter。　Thrusting　the　torn　pieces　into　his　pocket；　the　murderous　con　man　started　toward　the　rear　of　the　apartment。
　　On　the　way；　he　stopped　and　felt　the　time…tables　in　his　pocket。　He　decided　to　keep　them。　With　a　last　look　at　Roke　Rowden's　inert　body；　Tracy　Lence　delivered　an　evil　chuckle　and　departed；　through　a　darkened　room。
　　Opening　a　window；　he　stepped　to　a　fire　escape。　Roke　Rowden　had　purposely　chosen　an　apartment　with　an　available　emergency　exit。　Closing　the　window　behind　him；　Tracy　Lence；　murderer；　stole　softly　downward　into　the　darkness　of　a　courtyard。
　　
　　　CHAPTER　III　
　　　UNEXPECTED　VISITORS　
　　SILENCE　persisted　in　that　lower　courtyard　after　the　departure　of　Tracy　Lence。　The　murderer's　stealthy　footfalls　had　been　but　slight　clicks　in　that　gloom。　Stilled　atmosphere　clung　shroudlike　in　the　court　during　the　five　minutes　that　elapsed　after　the　murderer's　exit。
　　Then　came　motion。　A　soft　swish　disturbed　the　darkness。　Noiselessly；　a　figure　had　glided　into　the　courtyard。　Unseen；　a　phantom　shape　was　moving　toward　the　fire　escape　that　Tracy　Lence　had　descended。
　　A　new　presence　had　arrived。　Some　one…a　being　in　black…was　reversing　the　course　that　Lence　had　followed。　A　hidden　shape　arrived　at　the　very　window　from　which　Lence　had　left　the　apartment。　A　soft　laugh　whispered　in　the　darkness。
　　That　sound；　scarcely　audible；　was　a　token　of　identity。　This　mysterious　prowler；　approaching　the　scene　of　crime；　was　a　personage　to　whom　such　journeys　were　monplace。　The　being　from　darkness　was　The　Shadow。
　　To　crookdom；　The　Shadow　was　a　living　foe。　Men　of　evil　knew　his　prowess。
　　Time　and　again；　plotters　of　crime　had　gained　evidence　of　The　Shadow's　uncanny　ability　in　bringing　doom　to　crime。　A　weaving　figure　cloaked　in　black；　the　author　of　a　strident　laugh　that　acpanied　the　withering　staccato　of　barking　automatics…such　was　The　Shadow。
　　And；　as　mute　testimony　of　this　master　fighter's　strength；　men　of　evil　had　found　the　silent　bodies　of　their　pals　in　crime。　Dying　mobsters　had　coughed　his　name…The　Shadow…in　gasping　their　last　breaths。　And　always；　when　The　Shadow　arrived　to　deal　vengeance　upon　foes　of　justice；　he　came　with　unexpected　stealth。
　　The　little；　like　the　big；　could　feel　The　Shadow's　wrath。　For　his　campaign　was　one　of　extermination。　The　Shadow　knew　that　men　of　smaller　schemes　would　bee　the　makers　of　large　plans。　To　The　Shadow；　crime　was　crime。　That　axiom　had　brought　him　here　tonight。
　　Somehow；　The　Shadow　had　learned　of　Roke　Rowden's　scheme。　He　knew　where　the　swindler　lived。　He　had　full　knowledge　of　the　time　set　for　the　trimming。　He　knew　also　that　a　confederate　would　be　present　to　aid　Roke　Rowden　in　the　fleecing　of　Northrup　Lucaster；　the　gentleman　from　Des　Moines。
　　
　　THE　window　by　the　fire　escape　opened　at　The　Shadow's　pressure。　The　spectral　raider　had　expected　as　much。　He　had　seen　the　apartment　house　from　the　outside。　He　knew　that　Rowden　would　have　chosen　an　apartment　with　an　emergency　exit。　The　unlatched　window　was　proof　that　this　was　part　of　apartment　516。　It　was　ready　for　a　quick　get…away。
　　The　Shadow　entered　the　darkened　room。　Straight　ahead；　a　door　stood　ajar。
　　As　The　Shadow　advanced　with　stealthy　glide；　a　clock　in　the　living　room　chimed　the　hour　of　ten…the　time　set　for　Lucaster's　arrival。　The　Shadow　knew。
　　No　voices　from　the　living　room。　Yet　Rowden　had　expected　another　friend　before　Lucaster's　arrival。　By　the　usual　procedure　of　con　men；　conversation　should　be　in　order。　Silence　told　The　Shadow　that　something　was　wrong。
　　Listening　by　the　partly　opened　door；　The　Shadow　caught　the　sound　of　a　faint　moan。　Slowly；　he　edged　through　the　doorway。　His　form　emerged　into　the　lighted　living　room。　Automatic　in　hand；　The　Shadow　stood　motionless　as　he　eyed　the　dying　form　of　Roke　Rowden。
　　The　Shadow　had　e　here　tonight　to　play　a　hidden　role。　Such　crooks　as　Rowden　belonged　to　the　police。　The　Shadow　had　arranged　for　the　law　to　capture　Rowden　and　his　unknown　pal。　The　Shadow　had　arrived　only　to　cover　the　exit　which　he　knew　the　crooks　would　take。
　　But　instead　of　two　living　men；　he　found　one　man；　dying。　A　single　glance　at　Rowden's　sweat…stained　face　was　proof　that　the　man's　life　was　almost　gone。
　　The　Shadow's　hand　disappeared　beneath　his　cloak。　It　left　the　automatic　there。　In　its　place；　it　brought　out　a　phial　that　contained　a　purplish　liquid。
　　Stooping；　The　Shadow　applied　the　elixir　to　Roke　Rowden's　lips。
　　Moaning　ceased。　A　tremor　shook　the　huddled　frame。　Roke's　eyes　opened。　They　met　The　Shadow's　burning　optics；　those　burning　eyes　that　gleamed　from　beneath　the　brim　of　a　broad　slouch　hat。　Roke　uttered　a　hoarse　gasp。　Lence's　gun　dropped　from　Roke's　fingers；　as　the　dying　man　brought　both　hands　to　his　face　to　shut　off　sight　of　that　blazing　gaze。
　　With　maddened　effort；　Roke　struggled　to　his　elbow。　He　wanted　to　regain　his　feet。　The　elixir　had　given　him　vigor；　sight　of　The　Shadow　had　added　terror。
　　Struggling　upward；　Roke　caught　the　edge　of　the　table　and　drew　himself　to　his　feet。　He　swayed　crazily。　The　Shadow's　strong　arm　caught　him。
　　With　the　stare　of　a　hashish　fiend；　Roke　gazed　toward　the　blankness　of　the　desk。　He　was　focussing　his　eyes　there；　to　avoid　another　view　of　the　grim　figure　in　blackness。　To　his　dying　stare；　The　Shadow　had　symbolized　death。
　　But　Roke　could　not　escape　the　sinister　whisper　that　sounded　in　his　ear。
　　There　was　fierce　mand　in　the　sibilance　of　the　single　word　that　The　Shadow　uttered：
　　〃Speak。〃
　　
　　ROKE　gasped　incoherently。　He　could　not　frame　the　words　he　sought　to　speak。
　　His　left　hand　clutched　th