Shadow 175 - Smugglers of Death 06-01-39, 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 LAW’S REPORT

LATE that next afternoon, Lamont Cranston called at the penthouse of Raymond Kendler. He came there by special request of his friend Ralph Weston, the New York police commissioner. Vic Marquette and Joe Cardona were also present, and they listened knowingly while Weston explained why he had invited Cranston.

“Matters went badly last night,” declared Weston. “You were here, Cranston, when arrangements were made to cover a man named Amos Marle. Therefore, we thought it best to tell you how those plans miscarried.”

The Shadow showed only slight interest. That was the way with Lamont Cranston. He seldom let any matters disturb him. On this occasion his blase pose was very helpful, for he actually did lack energy. He had spent most of the day in bed recovering from last night’s ordeals.

“At half past eight last night” - Weston was referring to a police report - “Amos Marle returned from his trip and appeared at his East Side store.”

As he spoke the commissioner looked at Cranston, as if telling him remarkable news. The Shadow’s disguised face gave no change of expression. The report, however, did not surprise him, for he had been near Marle’s store soon after the time stated by Weston.

“At ten o’clock,” resumed the commissioner, “a messenger arrived at Marle’s and delivered a fair-sized package. Our men closed in, to intercept the messenger when he came out. They watched Marle through the show window, and saw him open the package.

“It contained smaller parcels, which Marle placed in his safe. After he had locked the safe, he began to close the shop. Federal operatives and police detectives entered, showed him warrants and demanded that he open the safe.”

Weston paused, his face so grouchy that the tips of his military mustache seemed to bristle. In Cranston’s quiet tone, The Shadow calmly asked:

“Did he?”

“He did,” returned Weston, “and they found the parcels, along with a few dozen others, so much alike that it was impossible to tell which was which. So they opened all of them -“

“And found the smuggled jewels?”

“No!” Weston fairly roared at the interruption. “Hear me out, Cranston! Or, if you prefer, see for yourself! Show him what was in those boxes, inspector!”

Cardona opened a small satchel. A glittering flood of junk jewelry rattled on Kendler’s table. Weston pawed among the rings, bracelets, necklaces, separating them into groups. He wasn’t watching Cranston, or he would have seen thin lips form a faint smile.

All the so-called jewelry upon the table was the sort of stuff that Marle kept in his display window marked with sales tags that ranged from 49 cents to

$19.98.

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