The Shadow 210 The Devil's Paymaster by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1940-11-01T00:02:18+00:00

“Show him up,” The Shadow murmured.

Judson had a queer expression on his face when he entered. He was very affable, but he seemed to be waiting for Cranston to say something. They talked aimlessly for a while about the weather. Then Judson frowned, said: “Well? Have you brought the money?”

“What money?”

“The ten thousand dollars. The second payment of conscience money from Mr.

Remorse.”

Cranston looked puzzled. “I brought you no money. What makes you think I did?”

“Didn’t you telephone me from this inn, a short while ago?”

“Of course not. I have only arrived.”

“That’s queer!”

Judson’s face paled. Under Cranston’s prompting, he explained in a choked voice.

A man whose voice sounded remarkably like Lamont Cranston had phoned Judson at his walled estate. He announced that Mr. Remorse had handed him the second payment of ten thousand dollars to be turned over to Judson. He asked the inventor to come at once to the Green Tree Inn and receive the money.

“Are you sure the call came from this inn?” Cranston asked.

“Positive! I had the call traced. The operator told me it came from here.”

Cranston’s face was suddenly grim. He stepped to the telephone, called the desk.

“This is Mr. Cranston. Mr. Judson was called on the phone a short time ago by one of your guests. He forgot to get the man’s name. Do you remember from which room the call was made?”

“Just a moment,” the clerk said. “I’ll ask the switchboard man.”

There was a brief silence. Then the clerk returned to the wire. He sounded puzzled.

“There must be some mistake. No outside call was made. The only calls were requests for room service. Is Mr. Judson sure the message came from the inn?”

Cranston pretended to confer with the frightened-looking inventor. Then he spoke apologetically into the mouthpiece.

“I beg your pardon. I misunderstood Mr. Judson. The call was from New York. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

He hung up.

“That clerk was lying!” Judson said nervously.

“I don’t think so. I noticed a public telephone booth in the taproom downstairs. A call from there could reach you without going through the switchboard.”

“Who did it?”

Flasher Brown was the name that occurred instantly to The Shadow. In his role of Woodstock, Flasher had ample opportunity to lure Judson to the inn by a fake message. But Cranston didn’t disclose his suspicions to the jittery inventor.

“It was a trick to get me away from the protection of my walled estate,”

Judson whispered. “It must be Mr. Remorse!”

CRANSTON questioned Judson about possible suspects. But the inventor was of no help, He knew no more about Mr. Remorse than Cranston did.

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