Shadow 221 - The League of Death 05-01-41, 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

HAVING finished with the genuine newspaper, Arlingame tossed it from the window. He was very careful about such matters. His colony of future murderers, who constituted an active league of death, could be nourished only by correct propaganda, the sort that appeared in the fake newspapers that Arlingame brought with him.

Arriving earlier than usual, Arlingame strolled to the Italian garden to chat with the members of his colony. Despite his perpetual smile, this master of the double cross had secret moods that were anything but pleasant. He knew how to analyze the individuals at Stony Lodge, and he had given each a definite rating.

At present, the list was topped by Tresher, the former medical student. The lowest of the group was Steve Osden, not because he was a newcomer, but because Arlingame doubted that Steve had accepted murder as a suitable vocation.

In passing out the newspapers, Arlingame studied the reactions of the men who read them. Others were still gloating over the details of Belder’s imaginary success when Arlingame drew Tresher aside.

“I’m not quite sure of Stephen,” said Arlingame indulgently. “Suppose you bring him inside, Tresher, so that we can have a heart-to-heart talk.”

Leaving the rest to Tresher, Arlingame went into the mansion. A voice greeted him as he crossed the living room, and the smiling man stopped at sight of his niece, Muriel. She had returned from a horseback ride, and was wearing a natty riding habit.

“Back so soon?” queried Arlingame. “Why, it isn’t dark yet. I thought you never returned earlier.”

“I’m going into town, Uncle Roswell,” the girl replied. “I might come back later in the week, if I am still welcome at Stony Lodge.”

“You are always welcome,” assured Uncle Roswell. Then, his tone actually serious: “But have you forgotten about Stephen? Will he like it if you leave?”

“Steve can get along,” Muriel answered. Her tone showed a touch of irritation. “He has found friends that he likes.”

“But he likes you better -“

“Perhaps. If he does, it is time that he showed it. I shall tell him that I am returning to the city. If he so chooses, he can come along.”

Uncle Roswell’s face really wreathed itself. The spreading of his smile was ominous, though Muriel did not realize it.

The girl, as yet, had no idea that Steve’s presence was necessary at Stony Lodge, for she had never been admitted to the murder conferences. Her uncle was going to make sure that she did not cause Steve to leave; for that matter, Roswell was none too anxious that Muriel should end her visit.

“You are tired,” he remarked. “Relax and have a cigarette.” He proffered one from a platinum case. “How was the ride today? Very strenuous?”

“I got by with one fall,” laughed Muriel. “A trifle harder than some of the others, but not serious.”

Her uncle turned as Steve entered with Tresher. His face became sober for Steve’s benefit, but Arlingame spoke to Muriel.

“A fall from a horse can prove quite serious,” he said. “Perhaps it would be better to rest a while before going to New York.

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