The Shadow - 105 - The Yellow Door by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1936-06-30T22:00:00+00:00

In vain hope of preventing another murder, Cardona sped a call to headquarters. He had realized that some menace hovered over any person who might carry a false message to those who held the secret of the Yellow Door.

TIMED almost to the exact minute of Cardona’s headquarters call, Vic Marquette had entered a studio building in Greenwich Village. Ascending wide, bare stairs, Marquette stopped in front of a broad door where he saw the neatly painted sign:

LUKE SASCHEW

Studio

Marquette rapped. He waited a half minute, then knocked again. The door opened; a tall, big-chested man stared from within the studio. The man looked like an artist, for he was attired in smock and beret; but his mustached face was a hardened one.

“Mr. Saschew?” inquired Marquette.

The artist nodded. He motioned Vic into the studio and closed the door. Saschew was holding brush and palette; he went back to a half-finished portrait that stood on an easel in the corner. About to proceed with his painting, he paused. Eyeing the portrait as he spoke, he questioned:

“Why did you wish to see me?”

In a low tone, Marquette responded:

“The Yellow Door.”

Saschew laid aside his brush and palette. He reached out his hand; Marquette produced the envelope.

About to tear it open, Saschew questioned:

“You came here earlier?”

Marquette replied in the negative.

“I was not here,” remarked Saschew. “I had not expected you until tomorrow. There was no reason to count upon an early message.”

Saschew drew the blue sheet of paper from the envelope. He unfolded it, glanced at the typewritten lines; then motioned to a chair. Marquette sat down. Saschew walked behind a screen, in a corner of the room.

Marquette listened intently; soon he heard the click of a typewriter. He guessed that Saschew had put keycaps on the machine, to decode the message. Half a minute passed; Marquette heard a trickling sound, which reminded him of liquid pouring from a bottle.

Another interval; the typewriter clicked again. Saschew reappeared, carrying a sealed envelope. He passed it to Marquette; in a confidential tone, he stated:

“Take this message. I shall tell you where. When you leave here -“

Saschew stopped. He had wagged his left hand toward the door, while his right was pressed against Marquette’s shoulder. That pressure had lessened; noting Saschew’s face, Marquette gained a sudden inkling of danger. He sprang away; as he turned about, he saw a leveled revolver in Saschew’s right hand. The artist had pulled the weapon from his smock; he had been about to jab the muzzle against Vic’s ribs.

MARQUETTE had no chance to draw a weapon of his own. With a violent surge, he drove squarely upon Saschew and sent the artist back against the wall.

Saschew lost his aim; for a moment, the odds were even. Then the artist clutched Marquette’s throat with his big left hand. More powerful than the G-man, he bent Vic backward toward the floor.

Gasping, Marquette lost his grip. Saschew, snarling, hunched his huge shoulders upward and jammed his revolver straight down between Marquette’s eyes.

Another instant and Vic Marquette would have suffered the same fate as Weasel Hacklin.

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