Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 136 by Maxwel l Grant

Author:Maxwel,l Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

CHAPTER XII. THE VANQUISHED PRISONER

THE SHADOW could still unmask Chet Darringer.

That was the very point that The Shadow wanted Chet to remember; and Chet did. He realized that The Shadow, given time, could prepare smooth arguments to cover almost any situation. It would be wise to play along with The Shadow's request.

"It's a deal," declared Chet. He took a satisfactory look at The Shadow's bonds. "No offense, old chap.

I just want to be sure you're properly fixed. I'm responsible, you know."

After tightening the gag, Chet went to the door. He summoned Dresson; told the tool to watch the prisoner every moment. With that, Chet departed.

Beneath the smug expression that enabled him to pass as a steward, Dresson had the appearance of a rat. He had a gun and looked eager to use it.

Chet had taken no great risk leaving Dresson to guard The Shadow. If the fake steward saw one budge at those wired bonds, he would let The Shadow have it.

When he met The Shadow's eyes, Dresson scowled. He had heard of The Shadow; and disliked this delay in disposing of so troublesome a foe. He expressed himself accordingly.

"Don't try no tricks with me, you blighter!" he told The Shadow. "I've 'andled toffs like you, afore!"

The Shadow's stare persisted. Odd, that gaze. The eyes looked past Dresson toward the corner. The false steward became restless; shot a glance over his shoulder. All that he saw was a large trunk.

Dresson looked toward The Shadow. This time the prisoner's eyes met him, expressively. Dresson became curious. He approached The Shadow; relaxed the gag. With gun ready, Dresson growled:

"Well? Speak it!"

"In the trunk," announced The Shadow, calmly. "Hide the gold that you find there."

"The gold?"

"Certainly! Darringer left before I could tell him about it. He won't want the others to find it."

The Shadow's suggestion was subtle. It covered either of Dresson's possible reactions; personal greed, or loyalty to Chet. The steward took another look at the trunk. He tightened The Shadow's gag; made sure that the prisoner was secure in the chair.

"If you're bluffing—"

DRESSON gestured with his gun; then shrugged. He could lose nothing by investigating the trunk.

Holding his gun, he went to the corner.

The trunk was unlocked, but its clamps were tight. To loosen them, Dresson pried with the sight that topped his revolver barrel.

Stooped with his back toward The Shadow, Dresson did not see the prisoner's action. The Shadow strained forward in the chair. Because of the body strap, he could not urge his weight far enough.

Pressing his feet to the floor, he tilted backward; then forward.

The thick carpet muffled the slight thud of the front chair legs. A hunched, crook-legged figure, The Shadow balanced with weight forward. He had gained the momentum that he needed.

Swaying, chair and all, he began a snail's-pace forward. Close to Dresson, while the steward sweated with the trunk, a misshapen streak of blackness moved along the floor. It reached Dresson, but was unnoticed.

Following his own silhouette, The Shadow came closer. The clamps were loose; Dresson raised the trunk lid with a clatter that drowned the last stages of The Shadow's approach.

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