The Shadow 293 by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI

OYSTERS ROCKEFELLER formed a tasty dish that delighted Margo Lane, particularly the kind that were served in a certain French restaurant just within the borders of the Vieux Carre. At present however, Margo was neglecting this specialty to furnish Lamont Cranston a bit of tidy news.

“Don’t look now,” undertoned Margo, “but there’s an old friend of mine who doesn’t know me when he sees me. He must think he’s going to collect some prize money that he didn’t get or he wouldn’t be so interested in local blondes.”

Cranston looked, by way of a restaurant mirror, and gave Margo a nod.

“I know who you mean,” said Cranston. “Howard Shorke.”

Margo stared, a bit puzzled.

“You’ve met Shorke?”

Cranston had, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he replied:

“I’ve met the blonde.”

Such a revelation would have put Margo in a fighting mood, if it hadn’t occurred to her who the blonde in question was. Margo recalled her as a girl in Dutch costume that had made her look considerably different.

“But what does Joan Marcy see in Shorke?” queried Margo.

“Nothing,” replied Cranston. “It’s what she wants to hear from him.”

“You mean details about last night’s fiasco?”

“The police called it murder, Margo, and they’ve put the blame on Ferrand. Joan probably wants to clear him.”

“And why? I understood they weren’t clubby any more, and from the way you said Ferrand acted -”

“Ferrand’s actions are Joan’s main reason,” interposed Cranston. “She wants to clear the book. Trenhue stayed at headquarters, probably just to tell Ferrand that Joan was doing all she could for him.”

“And is she?”

“I think so.” His tone extremely confidential, Cranston explained why. “Joan has listed her own candidate for Suspect Number One in the Mephisto murders.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“You’re looking right at him, Margo.”

Since she was looking right at Cranston, Margo continued to stare, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“It was rather odd that I should show up at the Borneau Mansion,” reminded Cranston. “If Mr. Mephisto had time to get from there to Moubillard’s and toss off a murder, I for one had time to get back to the Mansion. Besides, nobody has asked me where I was at the time Chardelle was killed.”

“But Lamont! Of all the nerve!”

“That’s a mere side issue, Margo. I think I’ll go the rounds and maybe run into Tourville or Aldion, to hear their opinions. When you’re clear, you might phone young Langdon and tell him that it would be advisable for the missing Mephisto to stay under cover a while longer.”

With that, Cranston passed Margo an envelope which had dropped from Ken’s pocket during last night’s trip across Moubillard’s roof. It bore Ken’s name and address to which Cranston had thoughtfully added a pencilled phone number.

From the corner of her eye, Margo watched Joan follow Lamont’s departure. If she hadn’t learned the truth, Margo would have classed the blonde’s gaze as a designing one. But then Margo was over-suspicious of blondes, just as she underestimated the intelligence of such milk-toast gentry as Howard Shorke.

While Margo was watching Joan, Shorke was watching Margo.

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