MARGARET SEEKS A FRIEND
THE clock on Clinton Glendenning’s mantelpiece struck nine. The old man opened his eyes at the sound. He had been dozing in his easy-chair. He saw Larkin standing before him.
“What is it, Larkin?” growled the old man.
“You remember, sir, that I was going out tonight. You said that nine o’clock would be all right.”
“I recall it, Larkin. Go along, go along! Where is Miss Margaret?”
“I think she has gone out, sir. To call on some friends, I believe.”
“That’s good!” Glendenning rejoined. “Time she ended her moping. She hasn’t been out of the place more than a couple of times during the past month.”
“Of course, sir,” said the secretary, “if you think that it’s not best for you to be left alone—”
“Rubbish!” declared the old man fiercely. “I wanted you to go out. I said so. And I told Miss Margaret to go out tonight. I’ve been telling her that every night. I want to be alone once in a while. And, Larkin—”
The secretary turned as he was starting for the door.
“What is it, sir?”
“Take the bells off the telephones. Downstairs and up. I don’t want to be annoyed. Somebody may call up about some useless matter. Wanting to know if I have seen Buchanan — or that detective, Hasbrouck. I don’t want to hear either of them mentioned. I’ve had enough of it! Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Larkin silenced the bells on the telephone box. He left the room, and the old man heard him go downstairs. Clinton Glendenning sank back for another nap.
The secretary stopped before he reached the front door. The velvet curtain rustled beside him. Larkin heard a whispered voice. He spoke softly. Margaret Glendenning stepped from the other room.
“Is it all right, Larkin?” she questioned.
“All right, Miss Margaret. Your uncle thinks you have gone out.”
“I can go with you, then?”
“Yes.”
“But wait a moment, Larkin.” The girl’s hand trembled as she pressed the secretary’s arm. “You are sure that this man will be willing to see me?”
“Positive, Miss Margaret. He phoned and asked for you, one afternoon. You remember, the day you had gone out to the store, and your uncle was asleep? I talked to him, then.”
“He was a great friend of Robert’s,” said Margaret. “Robert often spoke about Henri Zayata. He must be a wonderful man. He is an invalid, you know.”
“Yes,” replied Larkin. “I have heard Mr. Buchanan speak of him also, so I knew who he was when he called up. He said some things over the telephone, Miss Margaret. It made me wonder about—”
The secretary paused as though suddenly conscious that he had said too much.
“Made you wonder about Uncle Clinton?” Margaret prompted.
Larkin did not reply. He looked at the girl; then, apparently governed by an impulse, he nodded his head.
“Larkin,” said Margaret quietly, “I, too, have wondered about my uncle. I cannot understand his hatred of Robert.
“That night the detective came here, I wanted to speak, but what could I say? After all, Uncle Clinton loves me — at least he thinks he is doing the best for my welfare. He never liked Robert, though, and now that Robert has gone I—”
THE girl placed her fingers upon her lips, as though to stop words she did not have the heart to utter. Larkin’s eyes were sympathetic.
“Larkin” — Margaret’s voice became a soft, quavering whisper — “I have weird thoughts every time I talk to Uncle Clinton, concerning Robert. You have been there; perhaps you have sensed it also. I feel that something is being kept from me.”
“You still love Robert?” Larkin asked.
“Yes, and no. I love him because he was sympathetic. But if he has left me, I could never feel the same toward him again.
“If I could find a man who understood me as Robert did; then, perhaps, I could forget my old love for a new. If I could break away from here, I would be better off. But unless I knew that Uncle Clinton was an evil man, it would not be right for me to leave him.
“I am going with you tonight, because I would like to talk to Henri Zayata. He was Robert’s friend. From him, I may learn the answers to those problems that puzzle me.”
Larkin nodded in understanding.
“It is not wise to remain here, Miss Margaret,” he said softly. “Let us start.”
The pair went out into the damp night. The gloom of the street made Margaret Glendenning shudder. She and Larkin walked toward the corner through the thickening fog.
Once, Margaret looked across the street and thought she saw a man sidling through the mist. She dismissed it as a phantom of her imagination.
At the lighted avenue, Larkin threw a cautious glance back along the way which they had come. He helped the girl into a cab, and gave a low order to the driver, who nodded and muttered a low reply. Margaret did not catch a word that was exchanged.
As the cab drove away, a young man materialized out of the mist and hailed another taxi. He clambered into it quickly and spoke decisively to the driver.
“Follow that cab!” he ordered.
The driver glanced back suspiciously.
A ten-dollar bill was thrust into his hand. Without further ado, the driver shot away in hasty pursuit.
HARRY VINCENT was the pursuer. He peered through the partition and watched the chase over the shoulder of the driver. He realized quickly that the cab ahead was taking a circuitous and bewildering course.
“Hm-m-m,” mused Harry. “This promises to be interesting. There’s something phony about this.”
The leading cab made sharp turns through dingy streets. Harry’s driver lost the trail; at last he sighted his quarry a block away, when an avenue was reached. He made speed, turned a corner, and suddenly applied the brakes.
“They’ve stopped,” he said.
“Out with your lights!” responded Harry quickly. “Turn off the motor!”
The driver obeyed both commands. Harry saw Larkin and the girl alight from the cab ahead. The secretary paid the driver.
Evidently the man had made some mistake in the destination, for Larkin and Margaret walked ahead and took another cab which was standing in the street. The new vehicle came into view when the old pulled away.
“Turn on your lights,” Harry told the driver. “Get going!”
Once more the trail was an uncertain one, but this journey was not as long as the other. The leading cab stopped in a side street. There were no other vehicles in sight, so Harry was certain that this was the final destination.
Harry’s driver turned out the lights and stopped the motor without being told. Seeing Larkin and Margaret alight, Harry opened the door and slipped to the sidewalk.
“Keep the ten-spot,” he said to the cabman. “Pull away after the other car goes. Make it look like you were simply running past.”
Lurking in the gloom of a large warehouse, Harry saw the first cab move off. His own cab followed and swept along the street as though it had bustled in from the avenue.
Harry started operations. He angled his way toward the spot where he was sure the other two persons were standing. He caught a momentary glimpse of them moving along the street. Then they disappeared.
Larkin and the girl had entered a passageway between two warehouses. Margaret spoke in surprise as they came into the sudden darkness.
“Are you sure this is where we are going, Larkin?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” replied the secretary. “Mr. Zayata told me how to come here. He has a private entrance to his place.”
As Larkin spoke, his hand took the girl’s elbow, and he urged Margaret toward what appeared to be a blank wall.
Under Larkin’s touch, a door swung inward, and they entered a dark corridor. Margaret shuddered, but kept on. Another door opened, and they were in a long, lighted passageway that seemed to be hewn through solid concrete walls.
The girl was too astonished at her surroundings to wonder how Larkin was so familiar with the place. Halfway down the corridor, the secretary led her into what appeared to be a yawning square chasm in the wall.
Before Margaret realized it, there were two sharp clicks. The first closed a door — she could feel the air; the second turned on a small light. They were moving upward in a little elevator!
OUTSIDE, Harry Vincent was groping his way between the two warehouses. A small flashlight came from his pocket. He went through to the next street; then retraced his course.
Here was a mystery. Somewhere in that narrow crevice between the buildings, he had lost track of those ahead.
Harry uttered a quick exclamation as his light revealed a crack in the side of the wall. It looked like a door. He would try it. He pressed. It did not yield.
He pressed again. He was sure that the others had entered at this spot — but now the barrier was tight against him.
Harry’s light was turned full on the wall. He did not see what was happening beside him. Two men were creeping up — one on each side.
In another instant, powerful fingers had gripped Harry’s arms. He was drawn back, pinioned. Something hard cracked against his ribs — he knew it for the muzzle of an automatic.
“One grunt out o’ you, an’ you’re through!” came a voice. “Just one grunt. Savvy?”
Harry did not move.
“Hold him, Lance. I’ll gag him,” came the same voice.
A grimy rag was forced between Harry’s jaws. Prodded by the automatic, he was forced down the narrow way. The trip ended before they reached the street. The man with the revolver opened a door in the side of the other warehouse. In another minute, Harry was bound upon the floor.
A light had been turned on. They were in a small room that served as a garage. An old touring car stood in the center.
Harry could see his captors now. Both were brute-faced mobsmen of the underworld. They seemed to gloat because they had him in their power.
“Quick work, eh, Lance?” The speaker was the uglier of the two. His face bore scars, and Harry, noticing his hands, saw that one finger was missing from the left.
“Soft, Marty,” said the other, a fellow with a swarthy, foreign look. “Lend a holt here. We’ll heave him in the buggy.”
Harry was deposited roughly in the back seat of the touring car. The men moved away. He tried to struggle with the ropes. They bit into his wrists. His feet, too, were firmly bound.
“Well, he’s all set for his last ride,” came Lance’s voice.
“Yeah” — Marty’s reply was a growl — “but we’re not goin’ just yet. The boss has got somethin’ to say about this.
“Wait’ll I fix that tail light. We don’t want no cops botherin’ us. Then I’ll buzz Flash, an’ we’ll be ridin’ high an’ wide.”
Harry Vincent shut his eyes in resignation. So this was to be his finish! He realized that this occurrence had not been anticipated — that for once The Shadow was not here — could not be here — to help him!