Shadow 147 - The Crimson Phoenix 04-01-38, The by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street and Smith
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THE cellar exit from the freight elevator was a concrete passage that led to a side alley. Adjoining the alley was a low board fence penning in what looked like an abandoned parking lot.

The Shadow slipped silently over the fence, as he believed a cunning murderer had done before him. The lot was covered with unkempt weeds. Near the street side was the empty shack of an abandoned filling station.

But the first thing that caught the observant eye of The Shadow was a closer object amid the weeds. A wardrobe trunk! The Shadow wasted no time forcing open the lid. He knew that the killer would be smart enough to leave no prints. The gloved hands of The Shadow gave him similar protection.

His tiny electric torch lighted up the inside of the trunk.

It was a grisly sight. It was soaked with blood. The inside was lined with a double layer of rubber sheeting, which explained why no blood had seeped through to betray the killer’s ghastly freight.

The Shadow had barely glanced inside when he heard a shout. His torch in the darkness had attracted attention. A policeman was racing across the weeds from the filling station entrance.

The Shadow snapped off his torch and whirled. He fled. His action convinced the cop that he was dealing with a criminal. Bullets whizzed through the darkness. But The Shadow had gained the rear fence. He melted into obscurity, using a convenient cellar entrance and a maze of back yards to cover his trail.

The cop had caught a glimpse of the bloodstained trunk as he passed it. He raced back. His own flash showed him the ugly sight The Shadow had uncovered.

He waited for the appearance of a second patrolman, before he dashed off to a police alarm box. He was able to give no clear description of the man who had fled. But his report to headquarters created instant excitement. Police cars shot uptown with screaming sirens.

The Shadow, too, was making swift use of a telephone. A quarter mile away, he stepped timidly into a public booth in the character of Mr. Peter Lane. He made two hurried calls. One was to the swanky town house of John Marsley; the other was to the apartment occupied by Stanley West. Neither were at home.

The Shadow was not surprised. His sibilant laughter echoed faintly in the closed booth.

Leo Barry was no longer a menace. Death had removed him in the same bloody manner as Duke Duncan. An anonymous supercriminal had at last been forced into the open. The Phoenix admitted the commission of both crimes. From now on, it would be grim and unrelenting warfare to the death.

The Shadow versus The Phoenix!

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