The Shadow 262 by Maxwell Grant

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

THE taproom clock showed nine. A stentorian voice announced, by loud-speaker, that the parade was starting. Immediately, people finished their drinks, put on their masks, and hurried from the place. Clyde found himself staring at one lone customer who remained, a figure in fanciful rags and tatters.

The man was Prince Poverty, otherwise Roy Rexford. His mask hanging from his neck, Rexford was standing at the bar calling for another double whiskey. Clyde saw the bartender stare askance, whereupon Rexford uttered:

“Don’t worry about me. I know my part in this parade, and I’ll play it just as far as I like, and no further! Understand?”

Rexford’s tone sounded firm and sober. He was in a mood that nullified the effect of the drinks he had stowed away. The bartender nodded, but politely reminded Rexford that it was nine o’clock.

“I know it,” snapped Rexford. “But Prince Poverty doesn’t have to do his act until the parade reaches the reviewing stand. And after that, he’s finished… if he wants to be. So keep the belt line moving on the whiskey. I’ll do my stuff between drinks.”

Distant music announced the approach of the parade. Clyde hurried out to intercept the floats before they reach the reviewing stand. He wanted to see the act that Rexford intended to do. Taking a short cut in back of the reviewing stand, Clyde suddenly sighted the parade.

On the largest float of all Clyde saw King Progress and Queen Industry, surrounded by courtiers and ladies in waiting. Since the king and queen were seated on thrones, the part wasn’t too difficult for Dane, even with his bad ankle; though Clyde noted that Diana Gault, masked as Queen Industry, was showing considerable concern for her royal consort.

Clyde wondered how Rexford would like it when he saw Diana worrying over Dane. The thing to do was watch and learn. Strife between Progress and Poverty, as represented by a magnificent king and a tattered prince, threatened to mark the climax of a personal grudge.

There was no need to analyze the possible outcome. Clyde was leaving that to The Shadow, confident that his unseen chief would be in the thick of things.

The Shadow was definitely in the thick of something.

Still in the pit where Amon had dropped him, The Shadow was lying in thick blackness, which covered him more like a coffin than a shroud. The world had forgotten The Shadow and he had forgotten it.

And the world included the city of Industria, where amid the spirit of carnival death’s masquerade was in the making, promising more than a sham result in the annual duel between King Progress and Prince Poverty!

Whatever The Shadow knew or suspected, there was nothing he could do to offset it, on this occasion when gaiety and music offered cover for a stroke of death!

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