The Shadow - 222 - Master of Flame by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1941-04-30T22:00:00+00:00

It was a curt message of congratulation from the Boss. It instructed David Frost the exact route he was to take on the way back to New York. Frost had reported by telephone the afternoon before - from a pay station on the outskirts of town - the fact that he had captured Harry Vincent. He had voiced his belief that Vincent might be working for The Shadow.

This note, smuggled into Frost’s room by unseen hands, was the answer of the Boss.

Frost’s eyes lost some of their tension as he read the final sentence of congratulation from his unknown chief. Frost had vanished from his home in New York and had done a dirty job for a criminal, because he dared not do otherwise. The peril that overhung him was now gone.

He could return home in his own respectable identity as Harold Young. A plausible explanation for his sudden departure would end the police search for him.

Frost grinned as he went downstairs with his bags. Before he checked out, he dropped a large envelope into the inn’s mailbox. The envelope contained a bill of sale and a copy of the Beecher brothers’ dye formula. It was addressed to “Box X2291, New York Classic, Uptown.”

For twenty miles, Frost followed a State highway, as he drove toward New York along the route prescribed for him by the Boss. Then he made a left turn and followed an older road. The road, in turn, gave way to what was little more than a weed-grown wheel track through the Watchung hills.

The car bumped and swayed. Frost was forced to drive slowly. Once he stopped completely and consulted the directions the Boss had given him. Satisfied, he continued his slow progress through the hills.

Rounding a sharp turn in the narrow road, Frost uttered a sudden gasp. His foot jammed on the brake.

A grimly-attired figure confronted him with uplifted hand. Frost could see the gleam of watchful eyes. It was the only clue to the identity of the man in the road. The eyes gleamed through two slits in a hooded mask that covered the head of the figure. His uplifted hand was gloved.

Frost felt cold terror as the robed figure advanced toward him. But the voice that issued from beneath the hood was not menacing. It was soft, almost womanish.

“You understand now why I asked you to come by this unfrequented route. It was necessary for me to have a brief personal interview with you. Did you mail the documents, as I ordered?”

Frost nodded wordlessly.

“Excellent!” the Boss said. “You haven’t made a single mistake. You shall have your reward - now!”

As he spoke, he lunged forward. Frost screamed. The gloved hand of the Boss had whipped from concealment. It clutched a long double-edged knife. The knife plunged into Frost’s body.

But it was not a death blow. Frost, writhing with terror, had jerked aside. The knife had not stabbed at a vital spot.

The masked criminal was as pitiless as if he had been made of stone. He didn’t utter a sound.

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