The Murder Genius by Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson

Author:Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson [Grant, Maxwell & Gibson, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Espionage, Fiction, Thrillers
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1940-07-18T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER IX. DEAD MAN'S CURVE

THE black coupe of the two fleeing killers vanished around a bend in the highway. In a few moments the echo of its distant hum died away.

The whiskey-drugged Clyde was mercifully unaware of his dreadful predicament. He saw and heard nothing. The lifting lid of the rumble seat at the rear of his black coupe did not register on his consciousness.

The lid lifted swiftly. A face appeared. It was a lean face with a hawk- like nose and deep-set burning eyes. The black-clad figure of The Shadow vaulted to the roadway.

The Shadow had not believed that final sentence in Clyde's report at the hotel: "Everything at present under control." He had stowed away in Clyde's car to protect his agent. He had not interfered during the ride from town because he never made a premature move without being in possession of all the facts.

Up to the time that Clyde's commandeered car had been joined by Tony's, The Shadow had mistakenly hoped that he might be able to save the life of Millicent Whitney. That hope was now blasted. Staring at the gruesome set-up that Snapper and Tony had left for the police, The Shadow's lips tightened. He could have pursued the fleeing killers. That would not, however, have saved Clyde. Cunning as well as courage was demanded by this tragic emergency.

Already, The Shadow had formulated a plan to clear Clyde of a vicious frame-up. He intended to place the blame of murder squarely where it belonged - on the criminal figures of Snapper and Tony.

He raced back to where the crumpled body of Millicent Whitney lay in the road. Gently he lifted a thin gold chain from the girl's bruised throat. He opened her locket. It was empty.

The Shadow made a quick deduction - and as it happened a wrong one. He assumed that either Tony or Snapper had stolen the paper that contained Benedict Stark's fingerprints. He was not yet aware of the duplicity of the sly Marie.

Empty-handed he ran back to Clyde's car. But it was not easy to revive Clyde.

Grimly, The Shadow stuck to his task. Every minute was precious. He knew that it would not take much time for Snapper and his thuggish pal to reach their gas station hide-out in the valley beyond and telephone a warning of a drunken driver to the Herndale police.

Suddenly, The Shadow heard a sputtering hum down the road. The noise increased rapidly. It was the sound of a speeding motorcycle.

The Shadow darted to the side of the road. A thick growth of bushes concealed his black-clad figure. He watched the motorcycle driver swing into view around the bend.

The man was in uniform. A motorcycle cop. But evidently he had no knowledge of the tragedy into which he burst without warning. The thugs had not yet had time to telephone. The cop was on routine highway patrol.

He halted his machine with a gasp of horror. The cracked headlight of the coupe, the bloody fragment of clothing caught in the fender, told their own story.

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