THE SHADOW’S WARNING
“IT is nine o’clock. Let us attend to business.”
The speaker was Rufus Cruikshank, newly elected mayor of Seaview City. Firm-faced, immaculate in attire, important in bearing, he commanded the respect of those about him.
Cruikshank was seated at a large table in the Green Room of the new Hotel Pavilion. Congregated about him were the most important citizens of Seaview City. These men constituted the Public Safety Committee of the prosperous shore resort.
“Our new administration,” declared Cruikshank, in his dignified tone, “faces a most important task. Seaview City, gentlemen, has grown to remarkable proportions. It is our task to govern it with wisdom and discretion.
“We have at our disposal a capable police force, headed by an excellent officer. I believe that we all have confidence in our police chief, George Yates. He is here tonight to cooperate with us in our conference.”
Cruikshank ceased speaking to turn to the end of the table, where a stalwart, red-faced man in uniform was sitting in an uncomfortable pose. The chief’s beefy countenance reddened even more as he saw all eyes turned in his direction. Yates uttered a gruff acknowledgment of the mayor’s introduction.
“We can rely upon Chief Yates,” resumed Cruikshank. “He has orders to report directly to me in every matter. It is my duty to take up all his important findings with this committee. Therefore, gentlemen, I think that it would be wise for us to hear what the chief has to say.”
Chief Yates arose at these words. He was tall and heavily built, and made a good figure despite his bulkiness. Once on his feet, he experienced little difficulty in talking.
“Policing this city,” he said, in a booming voice, “is a special kind of matter that is different from a lot of places. People come here to enjoy themselves. We’ve got to take that into consideration.
“There’s restrictions we’ve got to enforce, and the more sensible they are, the better. That’s what I’ve found out. It’s up to you, gentlemen, to decide what you want done, and I’m the fellow to do it. But if I can help by giving any suggestions, I’ll do it when I’m called on.”
Yates looked around him questioningly. He seemed to be awaiting interrogation. A sharp-faced man seated beside the mayor took up the opportunity immediately. This was Louis Helwig, one of the principal promoters of Seaview City.
“What about the closing hours on night clubs?” he questioned.
“There’s an ordinance says one o’clock,” responded the police chief. “It hasn’t been regularly enforced. The way it’s worded don’t make it official, unless we want to put the clamps on. Then we’ve got it to use.”
“Can you use it?”
“Yes.”
“On what basis?”
“On complaints. It don’t affect any except the ones we’ve got the complaints on.”
“That appears satisfactory.” Louis Helwig nodded as he spoke.
His nod was taken up by a man who sat beside him. This individual was a square-faced, businesslike man, Raymond Coates by name. He was the principal real-estate dealer in Seaview City.
MAYOR CRUIKSHANK alone appeared doubtful. He shook his head slowly.
“It seems to me,” he announced, “that varied interpretation of a closing ordinance can lead to both trouble and criticism. We must have an effective weapon to deal with public nuisances.
“The license suspension covers that, your honor,” prompted Chief Yates. “We can close them up tight on complaint. We’ve done it quick enough, when we’ve been told to. The only trouble” — his face became grim — “is, that we’ve been kept off too much.”
“That was during the past administration,” declared Cruikshank coldly. “I can assure you, chief — and all others present — that such circumstances shall not exist while I am in office.”
“What about hotels?”
The question came from a sallow, suave-faced man. Graham Hurley was the owner and manager of the luxurious Hotel Pavilion, in which this meeting was being held. He was frank in his question, seeming to admit that it applied to his own interests.
“We don’t bother the hotels,” responded Yates, “unless a lot of trouble breaks out. Then they generally call us in before it gets bad. They’ve got to keep their business right. That’s the way it works out.”
“Gentlemen” — Rufus Cruikshank’s cold voice was stern — “we are going to administer Seaview City so that it will become the greatest resort in this country!”
“It’s that already!” interposed one of the committeemen.
“In order to do so,” continued Cruikshank severely, “we must pursue a wise course. A resort that is tight shut may be as bad as one that is wide open, so far as progress is concerned.
“Nevertheless, I shall not hesitate to impose curbing regulations. I feel convinced that our existing ordinances are sufficient, if properly enforced. Do you agree?”
“Let me make a suggestion,” said Hurley, the hotel owner. “This establishment of mine represents a tremendous investment. I intend to make it a credit to Seaview City. Bad places hurt good places. I don’t want to see any bad places.
“The chief made a vital statement when he said that people come here to enjoy themselves. Let them do so. Be ready with strict enforcement, and begin it with the cheap, undesirable places. They cause the real trouble. Eliminate them, and you eliminate complaints.”
Murmurs of agreement followed. Rufus Cruikshank studied his companions closely, as though anxious to determine their sincerity. At last he nodded thoughtfully, and the others appeared relieved by his reluctant agreement.
“We have the matter of open crime,” he said. “My investigation shows that it is not prevalent in Seaview City. Am I correct, chief?”
“We can handle crooks,” declared Yates emphatically. “We bottle them up when they float in here. They’re all small fry that think they’re going to get easy pickings. Leave them to me. They don’t amount to much.”
“Is your force adequate?”
“Sure, the way things have been going. We don’t get organized crime here. If we did, I could shift the squads that watch the other places.”
“Seaview City has doubled in population in two years,” observed Cruikshank. “There has been no increase in the size of the police force.”
“Well, I could use more men.”
Louis Helwig was quick with an objection, and Coates sustained him.
“The area of the city has not increased,” he said. “We have ample police coverage. More officers would mean a new appropriation—”
“Which we are anxious to avoid — ” came from Coates.
“Because of the appropriations for the extending of the board walk,” added some one, “and also the fund for the completion of the municipal auditorium.”
These were persuasive arguments which Mayor Cruikshank could not ignore. He had been elected on the crest of a reform wave, but the promise of Seaview’s development had been an important plank in his political platform.
“I’ve got enough men,” interposed Chief Yates hastily. “We can always use more, but I won’t need them—”
“Then we are equipped against crime,” declared Cruikshank.
“Absolutely!” said Yates.
“It is agreed, then,” questioned Cruikshank deliberately, “that we shall retain the present maximum of our police force?”
Affirmative expressions came from all.
“Are there any other comments?” asked Cruikshank.
COMPLETE silence followed the question. The ornate clock in the corner chimed the half hour. Men began to rise from the table.
Then came a sudden, chilling moment that ended all motion. The members of the committee were aghast as they heard an awe-inspiring sound.
Through the room crept the weird mockery of a whispered laugh. Rising to an eerie crescendo, it broke like a huge breaker in the surf. Its myriad echoes murmured a dying response.
Into this room — seemingly from nowhere — had come the laugh of The Shadow!
No one stirred. Every man realized that the laugh would be the precursor of some more startling event. Seconds ticked by as they waited breathlessly.
Their faces were startled; even the police chief’s bluff countenance paled. Only Rufus Cruikshank, stern and dignified, retained his composure.
Now a voice swept through the room. A sardonic, whispered voice, it carried the same penetrating tones that had characterized the dreadful laugh.
“Prepare for crime!” declared the voice. “It will strike soon. Be ready! That is my warning.”
A pause, while the men stared, wondering, scarcely believing that this sinister voice could be that of a living man.
“While you are departing” — the voice was ominous — “others are gathering. They plot crime. They are close by you at this very moment. Prepare to meet them. Heed my warning!”
Men were clawing at their faces. Others were slumped in their chairs. Some, half standing, were trembling. Of the dozen present, not one was unperturbed. Only Rufus Cruikshank upheld his dignity; yet his fingers were tapping nervously upon the table.
Again came the fear-stirring laugh. Its tremolo ended with a gruesome dwindling that seemed to repeat itself upon the ears that heard it. The silence that followed was incredible. Roused imaginations still fancied that they sensed the token of some weird presence.
“Who — who — what is it?”
The stammered question came from Louis Helwig. He turned from man to man, as though seeking an explanation. At last his gaze rested upon Graham Hurley, the hotel proprietor.
Hurley shook his head slowly. He, too, was seeking an explanation, but saw only blankness when he looked toward Police Chief Yates. He was met with a cold, inquiring stare when he encountered Mayor Cruikshank. At last, realizing that this strange event had taken place in his own hotel, Hurley knew that the answer rested with him.
AMID the intense silence that followed the final ripples of the awesome laugh, Hurley had a sudden inspiration. His eye lighted upon a switch on the wall, where a plug was jammed into a socket. Going to that spot, Hurley removed the connection and slumped into a chair beside the wall.
“It must have been the radio,” he said, in a trembling voice.
“The radio!” The words were echoed by Raymond Coates. “I’ve heard that voice over the air! It’s the voice of The Shadow! But these words were no part of a radio program!”
“Gentlemen,” announced Mayor Rufus Cruikshank, in a self-possessed voice, “we may be the victims of a hoax. I consider this to be some prank which our defeated opponents have arranged to worry us.”
Tense silence followed. Every one expected to hear again the shuddering tones of The Shadow’s voice. But no word came.
Graham Hurley, examining the radio socket, turned to the others, and announced that this must have been the cause of the uncanny sounds.
“Can you trace the connection?” questioned Rufus Cruikshank.
“No,” said Hurley, shaking his head. “Some one has evidently tapped the wiring from somewhere in the wall. It would mean a great deal of trouble, and probably no result.”
“Then we shall forget it,” declared Cruikshank firmly.
“I’m not so sure it is a hoax.” Chief Yates was speaking. “It sounded like a warning to me. It sounded like whoever spoke knows something.”
Yates nodded emphatically as he made this statement. The others were momentarily impressed by his words. Then opinion changed as Rufus Cruikshank spoke quietly.
“Gentlemen,” said the mayor, “I shall abide by your decision. You represent the Public Safety Committee. We have made our plans. Now, from an unknown source comes a voice of warning. Shall we heed it, by appropriating special funds for the prevention of unmentioned crime — or shall we choose to regard it as a useless, freakish utterance that shall have no bearing upon our course of action?”
“There are other appropriations necessary—”
“We rely on your good judgment, mayor—”
“We’re well equipped for crime, anyway—”
These were the stumbling responses that followed the mention of a special appropriation. Now that the warning voice was no longer present, the apprehensive men were changing their opinions. Mayor Cruikshank rapped upon the table.
“The meeting is adjourned,” he declared.
The men filed from the room. The lights were turned out. The officials of Seaview City had made their decision. They had failed to accept the warning of The Shadow!
A SHORT while afterward, a young man entered the obscure Green Room of the Hotel Pavilion. He found his way through the dark until he reached the switch by the wall. He plugged in the loose cord.
“Vincent speaking,” he said, in a low voice. “In the Green Room. The others have gone.”
“Remove connections.” It was Burbank’s quiet voice that replied. “Detach dictograph. Remove equipment from your room. Pack, and return to New York.”
From beneath a corner rug, the young man detached an instrument that was connected with an unused lamp cord. He went back to the wall, and placed his hand upon the plug.
As he hesitated, he heard the low, whispered sound of an echoed laugh, which ended abruptly. The young man removed the plug. No longer could The Shadow hear what was said in this room. No longer could The Shadow speak to those who might be present.
Then Harry Vincent, operative for The Shadow, was gone. The room was empty and still. The Shadow’s mission was ended.
The Shadow knew. The Shadow had heard. The Shadow had spoken. He had warned men against crime, and his words had passed unheeded.
What menace threatened Seaview City?
Only The Shadow knew!