Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 222 by Maxwel l Grant

Author:Maxwel,l Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

CHAPTER IX. MOTHER GOOSE

THE SHADOW was reading a morning newspaper. There was sinister news in that paper, news which brought a flicker of flame to The Shadow's eyes. But no one in the Cobalt Club realized the significance the news had for him.

For the moment, The Shadow's grim identity was hidden behind the more harmless role of Lamont Cranston.

The account in the paper summed up the "facts" in reference to a sensational arson job which occurred in the town of Faxton, New Jersey. Police were searching for a man named David Frost. Frost and a criminal henchman of his, who had posed as an artist, had been accused of causing the disastrous fire at the Beecher plant. Both were missing. But Frost had been positively identified as The Shadow!

A whisper of faint laughter came from behind the shield of Cranston's newspaper. The Shadow had left the bedside of Harry Vincent only a short while before. Harry was no longer in danger of death. The arrival of a famous medical specialist by airplane had turned the tide. But it would be many weeks before Vincent would be able to leave the private hospital where The Shadow had sheltered him.

The Shadow was grimly determined to avenge his agent.

A friendly greeting interrupted The Shadow's train of thought. He lowered his newspaper. A man was smiling at him. It was George Gregory, the wealthy woolen manufacturer who had promised to aid Clifford Mason's orphaned daughter by giving her a job.

"Hello, Cranston," Gregory said. "Do you mind if I interrupt you for a moment?"

Gregory was not his ordinary self. He looked worried. The Shadow stiffened when Gregory told him what was behind that worry of his. Dorothy Mason was behaving very queerly, it seemed.

"How do you mean?" Cranston murmured.

"Well, as I promised you a few days ago," Gregory explained, "I offered Dorothy Mason a job as a junior secretary in my organization. She accepted it. She was supposed to report for work this morning.

But she hasn't shown up. A phone call to her home wasn't answered.

"It annoyed me, at first, because I went to considerable trouble to make a place for her. Then I began to worry. Do you suppose anything could have happened to her?"

Cranston concealed his alarm. But he suggested that it might be a good idea to investigate.

"I feel a sort of responsibility for the girl," Gregory said. "It's so unlike her to act like this. I can't forget how grateful she was when I offered her the job."

The two friends drove uptown in Cranston's car. The Inwood home of the dead inventor looked almost as deserted by daylight as it did by night. But there was nothing sinister about it from the outside.

Dorothy's small coupe was in the driveway in front of the private garage.

"Perhaps she overslept," Gregory said. "She evidently meant to drive to Dyckman Street and take the subway to my office."

The Shadow rang the front doorbell. Nothing happened. Two or three more rings brought only silence within the house.

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