Bells of Doom by Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson

Author:Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson [Grant, Maxwell & Gibson, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Espionage, Fiction, Thrillers
ISBN: 9781608770359
Amazon: B00483OQF0
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1935-03-15T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOW MOVES

THIS night was a gloomy one. The sky, heavily clouded, allowed no rifts for moonlight. Objects on the ground were blackened into total invisibility. The countryside about the town of Torburg was one continued blot of inkiness.

Off in a secluded patch of woods stood the old house that Harry Vincent had located. It was not even visible among the trees. The eyes that watched it were also hidden. The Shadow had stationed himself close to the deserted building.

The Shadow had pieced important facts. He knew that Willis Beauchamp was well guarded. It would take at least a squad of men to trap him in his residence. No corps of gunmen could be assembled within the limits of Torburg.

If called from outside, a crew of ruffians would need a meeting place. This house - The Shadow had prowled through it - showed signs of recent occupancy. The Shadow was positive that crooks were due to meet.

Midnight was approaching. Yet The Shadow lingered. Minutes ticked slowly by. Finally, a glimmer of light wavered from the road in front of the house. It became the glare of headlights. A car approached, jouncing along the rocky road. It swung into the driveway beside the house.

The Shadow waited until the lights were extinguished. Then he crept forward. He found a shuttered window and opened it. He rose from the ground and entered an empty room. He moved across to a door and pressed carefully.

A glow showed through the crack. Four men were gathered about the adjoining room, a kerosene lantern on the floor. They were talking in growled voices. The Shadow recognized them as a group of Manhattan mobsters.

"Say," came a gruff tone, "this is a cuckoo lay. What's Beef been doin', using this joint as a hide-out?"

"Better ask him when he shows up," came a response. "Maybe he'll tell you."

"Fat chance," said the first mobster. "He won't say nothin'. D'you think he's been hangin' out here alone?"

"Sure? Why not?"

"Well, Beef ain't no big shot. You know well enough that he must be workin' for some guy that's runnin' the wheels of the racket, whatever it is."

"All right. That's none of our business. Beef was wise, keepin' us a long way off until he came for us today."

There was a pause in the conversation. The Shadow knew now why the house had been deserted when he had first arrived. But where was "Beef," the head of this assembled crew? The answer came - from a mobsman's lips.

"Beef kept on ahead in the coupe," said another ruffian, speaking for the first time. "Guess he had to go somewhere and get a tip-off from the big shot. Well - he ought to be back pretty quick."

Another pause; then, from outside the house came the rumble of a motor. The noise ceased. A door clattered. Into the room stepped a husky, big-fisted man whose ruddy face added to his beefy appearance. This was the fellow that the crew expected.

"All set," growled Beef. "Come along, get going.

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