TELLTALE MARKS
WHEN Acting Inspector Zull opened his eyes, he was immediately conscious of a dull pain at the back of his head. He sat up and wondered where he was.
All was black about him. He rubbed his eyes; they became accustomed to the darkness. As he looked about him, Zull could see a vague, gloomy patch of light not far away.
He realized what had happened. He had entered this alleyway to find a man lurking in the darkness. Despite his alertness and the caution of his approach, he had been attacked and overpowered.
He could still remember the sickening sensation which he had experienced. He had been whirled like a windmill, catapulted in a gigantic somersault that had brought him prone upon his back. It was fortunate that he was not severely injured.
Zull saw now the mistake that he had made. Entering the cul-de-sac, he had not realized that a slight light had formed a background behind him.
He could see the dim glow of the entrance to the alleyway. It had been to the advantage of the hiding man. Lurking in a dark corner, he had been able to watch the outline of Zull’s form.
Thus had the trapper been trapped.
Groping in the darkness, the inspector suddenly discovered his flashlight. He turned it on and rose unsteadily to inspect his surroundings.
He was alone in the alleyway. His adversary had gone. He turned his light toward his watch.
An exclamation of surprise came from his lips. He had been lying in this place for nearly an hour!
Confusedly, Zull reached in his pocket and brought out the pad that he found there. He exclaimed in satisfaction as he observed it.
The top sheet bore slight indentations. The man who had overpowered him had not taken this pad of paper. Zull flicked out the light.
Despite the fact that his head still throbbed, he began to concentrate in the darkness. Zull’s analytical mind tried to piece together the incidents which had occurred.
First, he had been followed. His pursuer had taken up the trail outside the house where Richard Harkness had been murdered.
Zull could see no definite object in that — unless the man who had trailed him had suspected that he was on the way to trace some clew pertaining to the murder.
NO ONE had seen him pick up the pad — Zull was sure of that fact. The fact that he still had the pad was proof that his follower had not been cognizant of its importance.
There could be — so Zull argued — but one reason for the attack here in the darkness. The man following him had been trapped. He had made a successful attack, and had fled.
Despite the fact that the attacker had left no trace of his identity, Zull was positive that he knew who the man was.
Only one person could have planned such a bold onslaught and carried it through to such perfection. That was The Shadow.
“The Shadow!” whispered Herbert Zull through set teeth. “What brought him into this! If he—”
Perplexed thoughts followed.
To Inspector Zull, keen graduate of detective ranks, The Shadow was a reality — not a myth. He had often heard of this mysterious being, who so frequently dominated the affairs of New York’s underworld.
No one knew who The Shadow was. A strange personage of the night, he appeared from nowhere, garbed in black, and vanished as amazingly as he appeared.
Time after time, The Shadow had thwarted the affairs of master crooks.
While none knew what The Shadow was, many — Zull among them — knew what The Shadow was not.
They knew that he was not a detective — though his ability at solving crime surpassed that of the most expert sleuths. They knew that he was not a criminal — though he understood the ways of crooks and gangsters and fought them successfully with their own weapons.
It was rumored — never proven — that The Shadow was a man of wealth, who studied criminology through contact with crime. Yet he seemed to choose his activities with the care of a connoisseur, ignoring certain crimes where one might logically expect him; stepping into others when not anticipated.
Gangsters and detectives alike had surreptitiously sought to trace The Shadow through one source — his radio broadcasts.
Once a week, this mysterious man appeared at a great broadcasting studio, and sent his voice over the air on a national hook-up.
But every effort to learn his identity had failed. Even those connected with the radio programs did not know The Shadow.
Sometimes he broadcast from a room with black hangings, which evidently had a secret entrance. There he was hidden from prying eyes.
But on one occasion, when alert eyes had been watching that special room, The Shadow had entered the studio in disguise. He had deliberately broadcast from the very room in which the actors in a radio drama were doing their parts.
At the time his voice had sounded, there had been a dozen persons standing by different microphones. A chill had come over the spectators as The Shadow’s weird voice had pervaded the room.
Yet no one there could tell which person had uttered those mocking tones!
On other nights, The Shadow had tricked his would-be discoverers by using a telephonic connection that brought his voice to the studio from a distance.
His laugh had been taunting — a proof that he knew he was thwarting the plans of those who attempted to trace him.
It was evident that The Shadow was a master of disguise — a man of many faces, whose own face could not be recognized. It was probable that he had various agents who reported to him, yet did not know his identity themselves.
The activities of these agents had been suspected; but following The Shadow’s instructions to the letter, they had become mysterious also.
ZULL had seen the hand of The Shadow in different police cases that had come under his investigation. He had heard dying gangsters scream in delirium — “The Shadow! The Shadow!” but their statements had been incoherent.
More than once, The Shadow had eluded the police when they had arrived while he was investigating the scene of a crime. Tonight, he had done more than that. He had entered into open combat with an officer!
As Zull walked to police headquarters, he began to obtain a clear theory as to The Shadow’s purpose tonight.
Wherever mysterious crime occurred, The Shadow might decide to investigate. He could not have entered the room where Richard Harkness lay. The police had been the first to learn of the murder. Therefore, Zull decided, The Shadow had come to make his own observations.
With both Crowell and Devlin there, it would be useless for him to wait. So he had followed Zull, who had evidently learned facts that might be of interest.
Viewed in this light, Zull began to consider his defeat as a partial triumph. He had, at least, detected the fact that The Shadow was trailing him. Since he had noticed it once, he could discover it again.
Zull smiled grimly as he thought of what might occur in their next meeting. It would be a feather in his cap if he could unmask The Shadow!
Zull stopped in front of a small cigar store. From the doorway he glanced up and down the street.
Satisfied that The Shadow was no longer on his trail, he entered the store and went into a telephone booth. He obtained his number.
He spoke in a low voice. His first words were inaudible; as he concluded the conversation, his tone rose slightly and his final statement pertained to The Shadow.
“He’s a wise bird,” said Zull. “But there’s only one place he can get a lead — that’s from me; and he hasn’t done it. I’m going down to headquarters. I’m keeping mum until I’ve worked out a solution the way I want it.
“If The Shadow is trying to learn anything from Crowell and Devlin, he won’t have any luck. Crowell is a dumb mug, and Devlin is on the job too late.
“No matter how good The Shadow is, he’ll need a couple of days to get started on this Harkness murder. So everything is all jake.”
With that, he left the store, smiling broadly. Herbert Zull was the lone wolf of the detective force. He obtained results in his own way; he ignored assistance and resented interference.
He was secretive in his methods, using contacts which were unknown to his companions on the force. It was Zull’s boast that he could lay a snare for any man who crossed him.
He had met such a man tonight — The Shadow. They would meet again!
“Lying low,” muttered Zull, contemptuously, “that’s what he’s doing now! Pulled one on me when he got away. Nervy bird — The Shadow — except when he gets cold feet.
“Well, I’ll be ready for him. He’ll be back on my trail if he’s as clever as he’s supposed to be — and I’ll lead him everywhere — except where he wants to go!”
When Zull reached headquarters, he found a stack of reports awaiting him. He studied the statements made by Lester, by the housekeeper, and by others who had known Richard Harkness.
While he was thus engaged, his mind reverted to The Shadow. When he thought of that mysterious man, Zull pictured him hiding away in some dark room.
STRANGELY enough, Zull’s conjecture was not entirely wrong. At that very moment, The Shadow was immersed in the darkness of a room not many blocks from the house where the body of Richard Harkness lay.
But The Shadow was not there from fear. He, too, had work to do. As Zull began to inspect the reports more closely, The Shadow began an examination of his own.
There was a click in the dark room where The Shadow was wont to go alone. A low-hanging light threw its rays upon the surface of a polished table.
Two hands appeared there. They were long, slender hands; white hands, with tapering fingers. Upon the left hand glowed a peculiar gem — a rare fire opal that caught the rays of the light and reflected them from crimson depths.
This gem — a girasol — was The Shadow’s own talisman. Like him, it was mysterious, baffling and ever changing in its appearance.
Those finely shaped hands produced a sheet of paper and laid it upon the table. That paper told a story. It proved that Inspector Zull had missed his guess when he thought that The Shadow had overlooked the evidence which had been taken from the studio of Richard Harkness.
The paper was the top sheet of the pad which Zull had pocketed!
There were indentations in the paper — marks made by the pressure of a hard lead pencil. A small envelope came into view. The fingers opened it and a black substance poured upon the paper.
The fingers spread the finely ground powder over the surface of the sheet. A flick of the hand swept away all but a thin film of graphite. The marks showed plainly, now, like the tracing of carbon paper. Telltale marks!
Upon the paper was a partly finished sketch of a man. It was not enough to give a clew to his identity, for it showed only the head and shoulders, and a face hidden by a folded handkerchief that served as a mask.
But the paper showed something else — not quite so plain as the sketch. It revealed a rough diagram that indicated a flight of steps, a passageway, and a section of a wall.
The Shadow studied the diagram. He traced it upon a sheet of paper. Then his hands — they alone were visible beneath the light — began another diagram drawn from memory. It was a ground-floor plan of the old Galvin mansion.
The hands held the diagrams side by side. Their points of similarity were evident.
The plan which The Shadow had discovered from the telltale marks corresponded in its chief details with the ground floor of the building which The Shadow had visited — that night when Betty Mandell had seen him in Theodore Galvin’s study!
The hands were motionless. An invisible mind was at work in the gloom. A master brain was determining the significance of these diagrams that looked so much alike.
Then the light went out. A low, sinister laugh came from the darkness. It seemed a part of the room itself; the very walls seemed to join in that weird mockery.
The laugh died away. The room was silent. The Shadow was gone!