Shadow 146 - Face of Doom 03-15-38, 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

CHAPTER XI

THE CLUE FROM DARKNESS

DULSINGHAM’S studio was four flights up; it occupied the whole top story of the narrow old house where it was located. The building, itself, was a relic of old Greenwich Village, lost among the narrow, twisted streets of that section.

There was darkness outside; blackness inside. The Shadow made a direct course to the studio. The rickety stairs were creaky, but he ascended them without a sound, thanks to the judicious use of his tiny flashlight.

Always, The Shadow kept the spot of light directly on the stairs, so it could not be observed from other spots. That seemed scarcely necessary, for the house appeared to be as empty as it was deserted. Nevertheless, The Shadow had encountered lurkers in places like this. His precaution might prove wise.

The door of the studio was locked; but the fastening was a poor one. Using a skeleton key that dripped blobs of oil, The Shadow had little trouble opening it. The studio proved dark; though large in size, it was stuffy from tobacco smoke.

If Dulsingham had gone out, it couldn’t have been long ago. Perhaps the artist was still on the premises. The Shadow listened for revealing sounds. There were none. Inside the closed door, The Shadow used the flashlight.

This time, he spread the rays. The glow showed an untidy studio. Brushes lay at random; a smudged palette was on a rickety table, beside an ash-tray so overstuffed with cigar stumps that several had fallen to the floor.

There was an easel beside the wall, on the easel a half-finished painting of a woman’s head and torso. The work was good, but Dulsingham apparently had dropped it. The paint was dry; the canvas dusty. On a table close by were more cigar stumps; also three empty brandy bottles and a glass.

The Shadow recalled that Dulsingham had always been a heavy drinker. He was the sort who worked in short spells, then spent a long session with a bottle.

The empty bottles indicated that Dulsingham had either gone out for more liquor, or had passed out somewhere in the studio. An old screen covering a doorway told that there was another room. Extinguishing his flashlight, The Shadow found a wall switch and turned on the lights of the studio.

Under that glow, The Shadow noted that one wing of the screen was tilted at a sharp angle, offering a narrow opening into the next room. From his vantage point, he saw that the other room had heavy window blinds, like this one.

There was a skylight in the studio; but it was tight-closed and its glass was heavy. Its almost horizontal angle showed that it opened to a roof at the middle of the building. There was no likelihood that the frosted glass could be seen from the street or the premises about the building.

Moving past the screen, The Shadow used his flashlight again. Across the adjacent room, which was as untidy as the studio, he saw a couch, with a bulky man stretched upon it. The man was wearing a grimy smock; above it, The Shadow saw a mop of shaggy red hair.

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