Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 325 by Maxwel l Grant

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

CHAPTER XII. THE CRYSTAL SEANCE

THE penthouse owned by Hanneford Lang was more of a dream of lofty grandeur than an actuality. Not that the penthouse didn't exist; it was real enough, so far as walls and ceilings were concerned. But instead of an air castle topping a cloud-capped skyscraper, it was simply a squatty, square-shaped addition to the roof of a flat-topped twelve-story apartment building, dating back to the period when builders were too superstitious to go as high as a thirteenth floor.

Hanneford Lang certainly wasn't superstitious. His whole life was devoted to defeating hoodoos. This was apparent from the moment that the wheezy old elevator completed its climb and forced Lamont Cranston and Clyde Burke to stretch a full step to gain the hallway that fronted Lang's door. On the door was the number 1313, emblazoned in big letters. After all, being the only occupant of the thirteenth floor, Lang had a right to choose his own number.

The knocker on the door was an L on casting shaped to resemble a leering gnome that seemed to wince when Cranston pounded its nose. When the door was opened by a drab-faced servant, the visitors found that they had to walk under a ladder to enter the living room. These were just little jests, mild satires on

superstition, which seemed out of character with Lang, whose manner had been very serious when he attended Bogardus' hypnotic show.

Such travesties usually explained themselves. The rule was true in this case. After the servant had pressed a button to call Lang, the man himself appeared, wearing a bland smile that was probably his custom when he received new visitors. Through his glasses, Lang studied Cranston and Burke in owlish style, not recognizing them until Cranston made the introductions.

"We met only briefly this evening," declared Cranston. "My name is Lamont Cranston and I attended the Bogardus show this evening with Commissioner Weston and Dr. Fontaine. This gentleman is Clyde Burke, of the Classic."

"Ah, yes," said Lang with a nod. "I remember now that you were with Dr. Fontaine. I hope you are not too superstitious, to be annoyed by these surroundings."

"Not at all."

"I must apologize, too," continued Lang, "for not being more social when I met you earlier.

Unfortunately"—Lang's smile took the exact curve of his circular face—"you were there with Dr.

Fontaine."

"I understand," said Cranston. "Naturally, Professor Bogardus wouldn't have liked to see you fraternizing with the other camp."

"Precisely. Bogardus and Fontaine are both frequent visitors here, but never at the same time. Their opinions do not concur."

"So I gathered."

"Therefore," declared Lang, "I invite them only on alternate evenings."

It was Cranston's turn to smile as he asked casually, "Which of the two was here tonight?"

"Neither," replied Lang. "There was a trifling mix-up in the dates not long ago, and both have stayed away rather than risk meeting each other."

"How long has that been going on?"

"Perhaps a week." Lang's shoulders hunched in a shrug. "After all, I am not to blame. But none of this"-

Lang's eyes gave a worried glance toward Clyde —"is for publication.

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