THE BIG NIGHT
CROWDS were thronging into the luxurious Club Catalina. The resplendent lights of Seaview City’s brightest cafe threw their reflection across the board walk. The largest crowd of the season had arrived.
From a high room of the Hotel Pavilion, a tall figure watched the gathering throngs. He could see the people wending their way to the Club Catalina. He could also observe the dim lights of the second floor, which shone dully through drawn curtains.
The watcher turned away from the window. He was dressed in evening clothes, and presented an immaculate appearance. His face might have been chiseled from stone, so fixed in expression did it appear.
From a vest pocket, this man withdrew a small card, which bore the name of the manager of the Club Catalina — an underling long in the employ of Big Tom Bagshawe.
Upon the reverse of the card appeared these written words:
Introducing Mr. Lamont Cranston. Accord Membership Privileges.
The card was signed with the manager’s initials. As the hand that held the card moved toward the vest pocket an object sparkled on one finger. The sparkle changed from brilliant blue to a dull deep-set red. Only one rare gem carried those mysteriously changing hues. The stone upon the finger ring was a fire opal.
As Lamont Cranston walked slowly across the room, his firm lips parted, and a low sinister laugh came from between them. No mirth was registered upon that immobile countenance; yet the laugh was weighted with sardonic mockery.
The laugh of The Shadow!
Guised as Lamont Cranston, millionaire and traveler, the man of mystery was planning another visit to the gambling den, where he had surreptitiously entered and departed only the night before.
In the lobby of the Hotel Pavilion, Lamont Cranston passed two men who were talking near the door.
One was Herbert Carpenter, polished and well-groomed. The other was a portly, middle-aged man who seemed the personification of prosperity. These two were going somewhere together.
IN his office above the Club Catalina, Big Tom Bagshawe sat with folded hands before the massive desk in the center of the room. His face wore its accustomed smile. The ring of the telephone brought action. Big Tom lifted the receiver.
The voice of Wheels Bryant came over the wire.
“All set for tonight, Tom?”
“You bet,” responded the gambling king, with a chuckle. “Going full blast. More than a hundred people here already. If Yates stays away—”
“He will,” came the voice of Wheels. “He thinks that he has gotten the low-down on the dope racket. Went up to see Mayor Cruikshank, tonight. He’s off on a bum steer, raiding some cheap hang-outs. Shifter has planted some phony leads to keep him busy. There’s no limit tonight, Tom.”
The gambling king hung up the receiver, and his broad smile increased. He pulled a cigar from the box, and chewed away the end while he leisurely ambled from the office, locking the door behind him.
In the gambling rooms, Big Tom’s heart was gladdened by the sight of the reckless players. Every roulette wheel in the place was working. Slot machines were clicking. Faro dealers were busy. A dice table was an additional attraction.
An attendant sidled up to the gambler and handed him a card.
“O.K.?” he questioned. “This guy is a millionaire — got the line on him from downstairs—”
Big Tom read the name of Lamont Cranston. He noted the initials on the card. He looked toward the door and saw the quiet, firm-faced man who was standing there. He nodded his approval as he returned the card to the attendant.
Big Tom’s gaze began to follow Lamont Cranston as the new arrival walked across the room. Then the gambling king’s attention was diverted as he spied two men who had just entered. One was Herbert Carpenter; the other was a stout individual.
Big Tom smiled. Carpenter’s companion had been here before. He was Gifford Morton, a multimillionaire who came to Seaview City for the yachting season. Big Tom advanced to greet the guest. He had met Morton in Florida.
“Trying the wheel tonight, Mr. Morton?” questioned Bagshawe.
“Yes,” smiled Morton pleasantly. “I have a few thousand to squander — as I have done before in other establishments of yours.”
Carpenter threw a quiet glance toward Big Tom. It signified that the multimillionaire was going to lose more than a few thousand tonight, without the aid of Bagshawe’s roulette wheels.
Hard money served in place of chips at Big Tom Bagshawe’s. When Carpenter and Morton stopped in front of a roulette layout, the table was well covered with bright silver dollars and glittering gold pieces. Men in evening dress vied with beautifully gowned women in their efforts to gain big winnings.
Herbert Carpenter dropped twenty dollars on the red, and Gifford Morton followed suit. Passing the man at the wheel, Big Tom uttered a low remark, and received an almost imperceptible nod in reply.
“Easy with them,” were Big Tom’s words.
The gambling king did not know what Carpenter’s game with Morton might be. However, he knew that it would probably be helpful if Morton did not lose too much money tonight. It was evident that Carpenter would like to have his quarry in an amiable mood.
ONLY one person overheard the remark. That was Lamont Cranston. The firm-faced visitor had chosen a spot near the head of the table, and had hazarded a few small amounts on the turn of the wheel. Now, his brilliant gaze was focused upon the man in charge of the wheel.
Several plays went by. A deluge of bets dropped upon the red numbers. Gifford Morton hazarded two hundred dollars on the black. Just as the wheel was about to spin, Lamont Cranston leaned forward and placed a sum upon the same color.
The wheel ended its whirl, and the ball dropped into a black-numbered pocket. The croupier raked in the money from the red space. He stared as he began to pay the bets on the black. Lamont Cranston had won a thousand dollars!
Again, the players made their wagers. Another whirl of the wheel. This time, Cranston had played a two-to-one to the amount of five hundred dollars. One of his row of numbers turned up. He collected another thousand.
“Luck,” growled the operator, in an undertone.
But as the play proceeded, Cranston’s luck persisted. Somehow, this stern-faced stranger possessed an uncanny ability in playing the turns of the wheel. At times, his bets dropped to trifling sums. Those proved to be the occasions on which he lost. Whenever his stakes were large, his number turned up.
Moreover, his percentages were increasing. When he collected sixteen hundred on a bet of two hundred, the croupier glared.
Never before had Big Tom’s wheel lost money. But now the tide had turned. The betting limit was a thousand dollars. This incredible player was going the limit and winning!
Coins laid everywhere on the layout board. Cranston quietly placed a stack of gold coins upon No. 13. The wheel revolved, and the tiny ball bounced back and forth until finally it found a lodging place. The wheel stopped. Beads of perspiration adorned the operator’s forehead when he saw that 13 was the winning number!
There was no smile on the croupier’s face when he noted that stack of gold coins. Lamont Cranston had played five hundred dollars on a long shot. His winnings were seventeen thousand five hundred. The money was paid.
Eager players were finding a new enthusiasm. All eyes were upon this amazing figure, whose mind seemed to possess foresight. Others were following the play that Cranston indicated. The wheel had become bewitched. The bank was losing heavily.
Considerable time had elapsed since the beginning of the evening’s game. The players now gathered here were the elite — the ones who had large sums to lose. Yet they were winning. The operator left the wheel for a short recess. He headed in the direction of Big Tom Bagshawe’s office.
Leaning against the table, the new operator made a slight motion with his thumb. Then he prepared to spin the wheel. At that moment, a whispered voice reached his ears.
“Make no move—”
There was a sinister note to the words. The hard-faced operator shuddered in spite of himself. He stared in the direction of the sound, and encountered the cold gaze of an unperturbed face close to his own.
The operator realized suddenly that he, alone, had heard that voice. He stared into the gleaming eyes, and found himself caught in a hypnotic stare.
With an effort, he dropped his gaze, and he saw something that no one else noticed — the muzzle of an automatic pressed against the edge of the table.
LAMONT CRANSTON’S left hand stretched forward. Above a stack of gold coins gleamed a translucent fire opal. The eyes that saw it dropped toward the pile of money. Fifty twenty-dollar gold pieces clinked upon the board — placed on double 0!
Short laughs resounded about the table. Had the player with such uncanny luck failed at last? Double 0 — the house number! It had not been played all evening!
Small amounts fell on other numbers; but no one dared reckon with the fatal double 0, despite the fact that the genius had chosen it.
The operator spun the wheel. His hand stayed away from the edge of the table. He — alone — still saw that threatening gun muzzle. His head sank listlessly. Big Tom’s wheel was fixed — prepared for such emergencies as this. For once, it had failed. The stone-faced man had called the turn.
When the wheel stopped, it showed the ball resting on double 0. The croupier stood aghast. Mechanically, he pushed over thirty-five thousand dollars to the winner.
Before the wheel was ready for another spin, Big Tom Bagshawe appeared upon the scene. His face was smiling, but the effort was strained. He spoke to the players who were gathered about the table.
“We must close immediately,” he declared. “I know that it is early, but we are very careful here. Our time is up.”
The players buzzed as they moved away from the table. Envious eyes were upon the tremendous pile of money that Lamont Cranston had accumulated. Had the devil, himself, stepped into this game, he could scarcely have fared better than this remarkable player.
Big Tom Bagshawe had spoken the truth when he said that the time was up. But he had not added the real reason. Tonight, the house had sustained unbelievable losses. The bank was broken!
Attendants were urging the players to leave. The room was emptying, and most persons were satisfied. They had shared in the winnings, to a moderate degree. But the winnings of that one player — he of the immobile face — were a matter of wild speculation.
GIFFORD MORTON was chatting with Herbert Carpenter as the two walked out together. The multimillionaire had won ten thousand dollars. He was in high spirits.
This pair, of all the persons present, caught the attention of Lamont Cranston. Gathering his final supply of wealth, the big winner prepared to go.
It was Big Tom Bagshawe who restrained him. The bulky gambling king intercepted Lamont Cranston and tried to lull him with a friendly smile.
“Congratulations!” exclaimed Bagshawe. “You had luck tonight, sir—”
“Luck is sometimes a habit,” responded Cranston, in a cryptic tone.
“Come into the office,” suggested Bagshawe. “You are laden with all those coins. Suppose that I give you paper money instead—”
Cranston stopped short. He noticed that Morton and Carpenter were going toward the stairs. He caught a few words of their conversation. They were planning to spend a while in the Club Catalina, instead of returning to the hotel at this early hour. Moreover, the attendants had formed an irregular cordon between Cranston and the door to the anteroom.
“Thank you,” responded Cranston, the vague flicker of a smile tracing itself upon his lips. “I shall accept your favor, Mr. Bagshawe. Paper currency would be more convenient.”
With Bagshawe’s hand upon his elbow, Lamont Cranston turned toward the door of the office. He stared straight ahead as he walked. He did not appear to notice the quick, significant glance that Bagshawe threw toward his underlings.
The door of the office closed behind the two men. Attendants who were busy packing away equipment suddenly ceased their tasks. Two men hurried to the door that led to the head of the stairs. When they returned, they nodded toward their companions. The clearing of the rooms continued without further interruption.
These actions had accomplished results. Men were stealing up the stairs to the anteroom. Mobsters, hurriedly assembled at a given signal, were blocking the path that led below.
Lamont Cranston had won with ease. He had deliberately entered Big Tom Bagshawe’s lair. Soon, he would be about to leave this place. But from now on, trouble awaited him.
Big Tom was a man prepared for emergencies. One had arisen, and it would be met. Perhaps the man who broke the bank would leave; but if he did, he would carry neither coins nor their equivalent.
So Big Tom Bagshawe had planned.
But he had not reckoned with The Shadow!