The Shadow 243 Room of Doom by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1942-03-31T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XII

MEN IN THE DARK

EARLY the next evening, Cranston’s limousine rambled leisurely along a side

street of Manhattan, as though it had caught the idling habit from its calm-mannered owner.

Deep in the cushions of the big car, two passengers were noting the scenery

that this area offered. They were particularly interested in brownstone houses.

Cranston, of course, was one passenger, and Joan was the other. They checked on the basement of a closed house, noting the very heavy boarding on all the windows, from basement to top floor.

The basement level was only a few feet below the sidewalk; the door into the basement opened at the side of the high steps in front of the house.

The door below the steps was the only way of getting into the house. Joan knew, because her uncle had told her. Besides, she was acquainted with that house. It actually belonged to her uncle; he had acquired it in a stock deal from a friend who was lately deceased, but he had not yet registered the deed.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Mr. Cranston,” Joan pleaded, as they rounded the corner past the house. “There was nothing shady in the deal, and my uncle’s friend died a natural death.”

She couldn’t see Cranston’s face in the gloom of the car, but Joan was quite sure that he would understand. Only momentarily had she feared that Cranston was catching the common fever of prejudice against Smead Kelburn.

Always, common sense restored Joan’s confidence.

If Cranston did doubt Kelburn, he had only to inform Commissioner Weston and be thanked for bringing a wanted criminal into the hands of the law. So far, Cranston had not turned Kelburn over.

“The basement is really separate from the house,” explained Joan, as they continued around the block. “The man who owned it used to keep his valuables down there, and he made it like a fortress, even walling off the stairway up to the first floor. There is no back way into the basement, Mr. Cranston.”

Cranston’s own observation confirmed Joan’s statement. Through a space between houses in the next street, he could see the rear of Kelburn’s hideout.

Unlike a house adjacent to it, the closed brownstone had no door on the basement level; not even a boarded barrier. Joan felt quite pleased to see her statement proven by the visible evidence.

She was a bit perturbed, however, when Cranston put a direct query:

“You are quite sure that your uncle did not leave the house late this afternoon?”

“I’m positive!” voiced Joan. “You see, I phoned him there. I mentioned that

fact before, Mr. Cranston.”

“But he may have left later.”

“I don’t think so. Because -“

The tenseness in Joan’s voice reached a more than noticeable pitch in the word “because.” Recognizing the fact, the girl clipped her sentence short.

Cranston picked it up with the very word that Joan had used to drop it.

“Because you came by here this afternoon,” declared Cranston, very steadily. “Against my advice.”

Guiltily, Joan nodded, but she caught a glimpse of Cranston’s face as they

were crossing a lighted corner. It didn’t

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