CHAPTER ELEVEN

"City University!" Margot exclaimed. "That's where I heard the name Franklin Edwards! He and his wife were the victims at the University, the President of the school and his wife."

Cranston nodded, looking intently ahead through the cab's windshield.

"Then that must mean that Franky is..."

Cranston turned to her, nodding again.

"President Edwards' son!" She sat back in amazement. "How did you come to such a conclusion?"

"It wasn't easy, Margot," Lamont replied. "The convoluted timeline of the discovery of the murders made our job more difficult. You recall the order of the killings?"

"Yes, Lamont," Margot replied, thinking. "The Edwards' were killed first, followed by the Embry's, then that poor man James Barston and his staff, and then poor Bram, though I hope he isn't dead."

"Correct, Margot," Cranston's predatory eyes flashed. "But we didn't discover them in chronological order. Had we done so, we might have looked to young Franky immediately. You remember we discovered him at the Sanitarium, but at the time we didn't consider him because he was still incarcerated and because we were looking for the clues of the other crimes - missing books, framed objects, and the like."

"Franky was at the Sanitarium, Lamont?"

"Yes, I'm sure you remember that I mentioned his name was on the patient list. Do you recall the young man we saw sitting beneath the tree just as we entered the complex?"

Margot thought back and remembered the distant image of a young man drawing on a large sketchbook.

"But how could he be the killer? Wasn't he confined in the Sanitarium?"

"Yes, Margot. What we didn't know was that he possessed this chameleon-like ability to change his appearance. He could have literally walked out without a single man or woman noticing."

Margot absorbed this, puzzling the issue out further.

"But why would a young man like him care about old books, a jade dragon, or the mysterious framed object from the second and third crimes?"

Cranston nodded, smiling coldly.

"Exactly, Margot," he answered. "Why? What would be his interest? That's why we are going back to City University. I think there we will find a man who does have such an interest. A man who felt the presence of a growing mind like Franky's, perhaps after the mental break that caused him to commit patricide. He knew that he would be able to manipulate such a mind to his own purposes. Perhaps with the offer of assistance in developing further mental powers..."

Lamont's voice trailed off as he was lost in thought.

"Who is it, Lamont?" Margot asked, completely confused.

Cranston shook his head sadly.

"I fear that I know, Margot." His voice was quiet, almost pained. "And I wish that I did not. I fear that this threat is not a new one at all...

...it is one that I know all to well!"

CHAPTER TEN

Margot stared at the little boy for what seemed an eternity, put probably only spanned a few seconds.

"Why, of course..." she stammered, "let's sit down here on the stoop."

It was mind boggling to Margot as they sat, knowing intellectually that the person sitting beside her was a much older man, but unable to convince her senses of this truth. From the straw-colored disheveled hair to the smudge of dirt on the knee of his trousers, the young boy looked to be the most average and normal young boy one could meet on the streets of the city.

"Where are your parents?", she asked, searching his face for some sign of inner maturity.

The boy's intelligent dark eyes turned to her suddenly, then softened and moved down to the boy's shoes.

"They're dead," he whispered.

"I'm sorry," Margot replied, sincerely, "that must be so difficult for you." The sight of the pitiful child nearly made her forget to whom she was speaking. However, keeping up the charade, she asked:

"Where do you live?"

"In a big building." The child's intense gaze fixed on her again. "I don't know where." A tear brimmed in the corner of his right eye.

Margot marveled at her own empathetic response. The whistler's manipulative ability was quite remarkable.

"Do you know the name of the building? Is it an orphanage or a school?"

The boy pause, then said:

"It's a hospital."

Then it happened.

The Shadow's maniacal laughter surrounded them. The boy leapt to his feet, casting about himself intently. The laughter rose in intensity and volume, pressing into their thoughts until nothing else remained.

And then all was silent.

"Yes...you live in the Riverview Sanitarium, Franky Edwards!"

Margot was shocked to hear the Shadow speak the young man's name. Who was Franky Edwards?

The boy was also visibly shocked to hear his name spoken.

"That's right, Franky, I'm not fooled by your little disguise. THE SHADOW KNOWS!"

Again the laughter erupted, piercing into Margot's thoughts like a knife. As she watched in shock, she saw the boy's image seem to become blurry, beginning to look as if it were sharing the same space with a larger, darker silhouette of a grown man.

"WHO ARE YOU?!" the boy shouted, his voice a mixture of a child's voice and an older tenor scream.

The laughter again lanced out, and the boy's image gave way even further to that of a man in his early twenties.

"You don't recognize the voice of...THE SHADOW...Franklin Edwards, Junior?"

Margot knew that the name was familiar, but still could not place it.

"I am in your mind, Franky, as persistent as a guilty conscience!"

The larger image of the young man came sharply into focus, and the young boy vanished, as the whistler's last defenses crumbled under the power of the Shadow's mental presence. The young man made a move as if to run away, but stopped short like he had run into something.

Margot stood to her feet, amazed.

The very air in front of Franky began to shimmer, and the colors of the building, stoop, and sidewalk seemed to cascade to the ground, like snow sliding from a statue.

The Shadow was standing, the silver barrel of a pistol pressed against the whistler's forehead.

Margot simply stared in disbelief.

"Going somewhere, Franky Edwards?" The Shadow's voice still seemed to come from everywhere, piercing into Margot's thoughts.

"You are no threat to me, Shadow!" The boy shouted petulantly. "My mind is powerful, too!"

"Yes, Franky, that's how you killed all of those people, including your parents!"

It was the whistler's turn to laugh:

"And kept you guessing all the time! I've grown stronger with each murder and you never caught on!"

"I seem to have you now, Franky Edwards!"

"Simple luck, Shadow, and luck works both ways!"

Just as he spoke the last words, the whistler ducked with amazing quickness and dashed to a car on the curb. Schrevy's cab pulled up just as Franky pulled away. The Shadow holstered his pistol and turned to Margot:

"Let's go, he mustn't get away!"

As they leapt into the back of the cab, Schrevy rocketed away from the curb in pursuit of the whistler's dark sedan.

"Did you have to call so loud, boss?" Schrevy complained. "My head's still ringing!"

"Follow that dark car, Schrevy," the Shadow ordered. "I'm sorry for the strength of the call, I...had a great deal on my mind."

"Is that how Franky Edwards managed to escape?" Margot asked. "I've never seen anyone surprise you like that."

The Shadow's smoldering eyes turned to Margot, piercing over the red scarf covering his face.

"I allowed Mr. Edwards to escape in order to lead us to the true mastermind of this affair."

Margot gasped.

"Do you mean that the whistler isn't responsible for all these murders? Why did he confess?"

"Franky Edwards has committed all the crimes, to be sure, " the Shadow replied. "But he is not truly responsible for putting all of these events into motion. His fragile mind has been dominated, subsumed, by a more powerful and diabolical intelligence. Our "whistler", as you call him, has been but a pawn in a larger game, moved about the board by a master player."

"Who, Lamont? Who has been behind all of these gruesome killings, and to what end?"

"You will see when we have arrived at our destination. Our adversary may be able to glean that you know his identity from your mind, and I don't want to play our hand yet..."

The Shadow turned to look out the front windscreen of the cab.

"...but I can tell you that our destination is most likely where all of this truly began."

"Do you mean the Embry building, Lamont?"

The Shadow's dark gaze returned to Margot.

"That is where WE were drawn into this diabolical tale, Margot...but, no, this story truly began many years ago and will find its end...

...at CITY UNIVERSITY!"

CHAPTER NINE

I will never forget the moment when I heard that ghostly whistle in the center of my mind. It marked the moment that I stepped from the normal world in which I had lived into the Shadow's realm of the mind. At that instant I knew on a personal level what Lamont must have dealt with everyday - hearing music in a world of the deaf.

Margot and Lamont quickly excused themselves from Commissioner Weston and stepped outside. Margot was bursting with questions, but Lamont held up a long pale finger to silence her. Then, he turned abruptly and began to jog down the street. Margot quickly removed her heels and followed, lamenting the loss of yet another pair of hose to the adventures of the Shadow.

She followed Cranston as he took several sudden turns until they finally arrived at a bleak three story building some blocks away from Bram's store. The structure stood alone on a large lot, set apart from other delapidated buildings on the block.

As she gasped to catch her breath, Margot asked Lamont:

"Have you found the killer?"

Lamont turned thoughtfully toward her, his dark eyes penetrating.

"Exactly the question I was just considering, Margot. Is it?" He looked toward the building again, lost in thought.

"Well, is this the source of that unnatural whistling that we heard?"

Cranston replied:

"It is now, Margot. The whistler was actually in the room with us when we heard it at first. He moved outside the moment he realized that we had somehow detected his presence. We have followed him here to this building."

"But I didn't see him at all!" Margot responded, shocked.

"Yes," Lamont replied, "Neither did I at first. It seems that our prey on this chase has remarkable ability to camouflage himself."

"Do you mean he can be invisible like the Shadow?"

"No," Cranston said. "Remember that the Shadow is not invisible, just not noticed by weaker minds. By clouding their concentration, the Shadow is effectively below their level of consciousness. The whistler appears to have recently acquired a portion of this ability."

"A portion?" Margot asked.

"Yes. He seems to be able to seem inconspicuous or assume disguises, but not completely disguise himself. As we chased him, he appeared to be several different people. His mind, however, could not be disguised."

Margot was about to ask another question when Lamont simply vanished before her eyes. She had never seen him do it right in front of her, and the effect was quite shocking.

He is coming, Margot, She heard him whisper in her mind. Try to engage him as if you do not know who he is. I want to examine him while he is unaware of my presence.

At that moment, the front of the building opened, and the whistler walked down the steps toward Margot.

"I'm lost. Can you help me?"

Margot tried to maintain her composure.

Standing before her was an eight year old boy.

CHAPTER EIGHT

After two frustrating days of searching, Lamont and Margot were no closer to locating the killer. All of the visits based on the Sanitarium list had resulted in suspects that were mild mannered, depressed, morose, medicated, and wealthy. Many had interests in the occult, mysticism, or other subjects, but usually as talismans to ward off their personal demons, not as serious students.

"We're missing something, Margot," Lamont said after they had returned to Cranston Manor after yet another dissapointing interview.

"Where else can we look, Lamont?" she replied.

Lamont sat and thought for a long moment, his brows knitted together in deep concentration.

"Perhaps Abraham can help us come up with other book owners." He stood, walking to the door to get his coat.

Margot followed, asking:

"Didn't we rule out the importance of the books after we examined the University President's murder?"

Lamont turned to her.

"Weston did, Margot, not us."

They arrived at Abraham's aging book shop to find Weston himself already there, along with a crowd of police. Margot looked to Lamont in shock.

"Oh no, boss, the creep didn't hit old Bram did he?" Schrevy asked.

"I hope not, Schrevy," Lamont replied. "Please wait here for us."

They found Weston inside the shop, directing his officers in searching the scene. Bram's wheelchair was lying in the center of the room, crushed as if it had been stepped on by a giant foot.

"Commissioner, is Abraham injured?" Lamont asked as soon as they entered the room.

Weston turned to him grumpily.

"Don't know, Cranston. All we found was this chair and a blood trail. But it sure looks like someone got pretty rough with him."

Margot gasped and clutched Lamont's arm.

Then it happened.

Cranston stiffened and Margot realized that she heard it, too. An unearthly ghostly whistle was floating through the air. It meandered tunelessly with no sense of key or melody, like the source was unaware of it. Margot was reminded of her father waiting for a train, humming old opera arias almost inaudibly.

She was about to ask Lamont where the sound was coming from when he turned to give her a silencing look. It was then she realized that Weston and the other officers couldn't here the eery sound...

because the whistling was in her mind.

CHAPTER SEVEN

As she and Lamont pulled up to the entrance of the Riverview Sanitarium, Margot was struck by the pristine normalcy of the grounds. The trees, shrubs, and flowers were meticulously arranged and maintained, casting peaceful dappled shadows across smoothly clipped lawns. The main building of the campus was a large red structure with white marble columns stretching three full stories at the front and lines of tall windows running down each wing.

Margot looked about more as Lamont paid the cabbie, catching sight of a few nurses pushing elderly or infirm patients about in wheelchairs, a pair of doctors in white coats conversing on a park bench, and other signs of life. Far to the left side of the building she thought she saw a young man drawing on a large sketch pad.

"Are you ready, Margot?" She was brought back to the moment by Lamont's question.

"Certainly," she replied, stepping in the direction of his outstretched arm and into the front entrance of the building.

The interior was as finely appointed and kept as the exterior grounds had been. Margot took note of the exceptional quality of the furnishings and other decor while Lamont informed the secretary that they wished to speak with the Director. After a brief wait, they were shown into the large office of Sheffield Walters, MD.

"I was surprised to hear that you had called on us, Mr. Cranston," he said, directing them to two plush leather chairs placed before his large desk. "As you know, we do not cater to the criminally insane."

"Yes, Dr. Walters, I know that." Lamont paused thoughtfully, bringing the tips of his fingers together. "It's just that the more upscale nature of your clientele would fit the circumstances of a series of crimes that Ms. Lane and I are researching."

"So you are merely 'researching' and not part of an official investigation?"

Cranston nodded. "We are merely interested to see if any of your clients had an interest in certain artifacts that seem to have been collected by the criminal in question."

Walters sat back and considered this, then replied:

"What sort of artifacts are you speaking of, sir?"

Lamont nodded to Margot to respond to the question. This was a common tactic they used to lesson the apparent import of the information they sought from someone.

"This list of books," she handed the list to him, " and a framed object of the dimensions indicated there."

As he studied the list, Lamont shifted forward about half an inch very suddenly, then quickly leaned back again so as to not attract attention. Margot met his eyes briefly, then looked back to the Doctor when Lamont made a dismissive gesture.

"Many of our patients attempt to find the solutions to their problems in mysticism and other such follies, Ms. Lane," Dr. Walters stated, handing back the list to her. "I can give you the names of the more...interested in this subject among our recently released patients if you like. You will find most of them to be completely harmless."

"Most?" Lamont asked.

Walters replied:

"We cannot hold many of our mentally ill patients indefinitely, Mr. Cranston. Some are released by their families when funds become an issue or when they think that their loved one has had sufficient "rest". That said, however, we have not had an incident of violence on these grounds in many years."

"And yet you still have walls and a gate," Lamont replied pointedly.

Dr. Walters rose, concluding their meeting. "Those walls have been there longer than Ms. Lane has been alive, Cranston. I will have the secretary give you those names on your way out."

A few minutes later, they were standing outside the building again, waiting for Schrevy to come and pick them up.

"What startled you so in the Doctor's office, Lamont?"

He turned to her.

"There were actually two startling instances in that office, Margot. You must have noticed the second one. First, I saw that the son of Franklin and Samantha Edwards is a patient here."

"What!" Margot exclaimed. "If he's already here, the shock of his parent's death might make him even worse."

Lamont nodded. "Yes, I fear it may make his already tormented mind that much more vulnerable. But the discovery that the young Mr. Edwards is confined here is not the more startling revelation. While in the Doctor's office, I sensed the presence of a mind of some ability."

"Ability?" Margot asked, "Can they..."

"Cloud men's minds as I do?" Lamont responded. "No, but the potential is certainly there. Many who posses such gifts are often driven to places like this. They hope that treatment will make the whispers at the edge of their thoughts go away."

"Do you think the person you sensed could be our killer?"

"No, I don't. The thoughts I sensed were almost unnaturally placid. This was not the violent maniac we seek. Our only hope is to seek out those on the list we received from Walters...

...before our killer strikes again."

CHAPTER SIX

The scene of the third murder, which was either the first or the second chronologically, was similar to the original Embry scene. Margot and Lamont stood in the entryway of a large bedroom and watched as Commissioner Weston directed his scurrying officers who were investigating the area.

The room was in the home of the President of City University, the oldest such institution in the region and the most revered. The University President, Franklin Edwards, and his wife, Samantha, were lying on the bed, with blood soaked sheets laying over them. Piercing the sheets and sticking out of the bodies were large ornamental knives. The image was all the more shocking because a portrait of the two with their young son was hanging over the bed, a contrast of happier times.

The pair stood in silence, watching the bustling activity for some time. Margot glanced at Lamont after some minutes had passed, and he seemed to be deeply concentrating. She decided to not interrupt his thoughts.

Naturally Weston was not so considerate.

"Still holding to this robbery theory, Cranston?" Weston harrumphed. "It doesn't seem like anything has been taken from here. Edwards' wife is even still wearing her wedding ring."

"Yes, I had noticed that, Commissioner." Lamont replied, wearily. "Have you discovered any similarities with the other two scenes beyond the use of bladed weapons?"

"No forced entry is all. I think maybe the fiend is gassing them or something." Weston turned abruptly and left.

Lamont turned to Margot.

"We are not accomplishing anything following behind our prey, Margot. We must anticipate his next move somehow."

With that, he took her arm and let her out of the house. They spent the cab ride back to Cranston Manor talking about details of the three crimes.

"It seems like the only thing all the crimes have in common is the use of blades, Lamont," Margot said.

"Yes," he replied. "That and ease of entry. Also, we shouldn't discount the excessive violence we've seen. Even if the scenes are meant to distract us somehow, the gruesome nature of the crimes still points to some sort of mania or mental disease..." he drifted off. Margot waited a moment for him to continue, and then said:

"But how does knowing any of that help us find the killer, Lamont?"

He turned his head to look directly into her eyes, a cold smile crossing his face.

"These crimes started suddenly, Margot. Perhaps our killer has been recently released from prison or from a sanitarium. He may even have committed similar crimes in the past and been committed or incarcerated. That assumption combined with my partial description of the murderer's height and build might be enough to find him."

"It's too bad his face was obscured by that ski mask, Lamont, or we'd have found him already," Margot commented.

"Yes, it is. But the Shadow shall still find him. If this clue doesn't help us, the next one will. Our criminal will eventually make a mistake."

"Driver-" he spoke to the cabbie, "take us to the Riverview Sanitarium."

As the cab turned right towards its new destination, Margot said:

"I hope he does make a mistake soon. I hate to think that more people will be killed so cruelly."

Lamont nodded.

"He will, Margot. The weed of crime bears bitter fruit...crime does not pay--"

"--The Shadow knows!"

CHAPTER FIVE

The Shadow knew even as his feet left the rooftop that he was not going to make it to the other side. He looked down at the man he was pursuing that had leapt just before him.

The murderer was reaching out for the edge of the building across the alley, his arms stretched ahead of his leaping form. The man slammed into the opposite wall about four feet below the roof, rebounding off into space and plummeting toward the street below.

As time seemed to slow around him, the Shadow determined that he had leapt better than his prey, but that he still would fall about two feet short. He rolled forward in mid-air so that his feet were facing the rapidly approaching wall. As he connected with the unyielding surface, he launched himself off again.

He stretched out his hands and twisted in the air as he moved back across the alley and caught the fire escape railing on the floor below. As he pulled himself up onto the sturdy steel platform, the Shadow looked down to see the murderer's fate.

The man had fallen into a sitting garbage truck, unharmed. The Shadow shook his head in amazement as he watched his prey ride away laying on top of a pile of trash.

Margot was looking around the wrecked display room holding a large ledger when Lamont walked in. He was still wearing a cloak but was carrying the red scarf and brimmed hat of the Shadow. He saw that she was gingerly walking around the three corpses lying in the center of the room.

Margot looked up at him and displayed the book.

"This ledger is a catalog of all the contents of Mr. Barston's collection. I've been trying to figure out what was missing," she said. "Did you catch him?"

Lamont related the events surrounding the killer's escape. Even though he glossed over the dramatic leap from the rooftop, Margot still gasped with shock.

"It's a wonder you weren't killed!"

Lamont replied:

"The Shadow still has much too much to do to leave this earth so easily, Margot. Now, what have you discovered?"

Margot brought the ledger over to Cranston.

"I've found about three books missing, all texts of ancient philosophy or astronomy. There is also a jade figurine of a dragon that I can't find."

Lamont listened as she spoke, looking around the room. When she finished, he walked over to the wall on the left side of the entrance. He ran his finger over the painted surface.

"There is also a small framed object missing from here."

Margot stepped forward, surprised.

"Do you think it is same small object missing from the scene at the Embry's?"

"It is undoubtedly about the same size..." Lamont replied, seeming distracted.

"Do you think this is the same killer as the maniac who killed the Embry couple? That scene was so much more bloody and cruel than this one."

"True, but I believe that is only because our arrival interrupted the killer. The three swords lying near the bodies could indicate that he meant to perform the same cruel acts on these poor souls."

He turned and walked to a telephone hanging of the hook on the wall.

"We must inform Weston of these events, but we must also ascertain exactly what was taken from this room before he arrives. I believe this brutal crime was designed to disguise a robbery, just as the brutal murder of the Embrys was."

"Who would kill five people to steal books and picture frames?" Margot asked.

"Someone passionately interested in the books' content, Margot. Someone who was interested enough to kill for what was hidden in the pages of these ancient texts." Lamont hung the phone up, as if a thought had just occurred to him.

"Another commonality is the seeming lack of a struggle," he said. "Just as with the Embry couple, there are no defensive wounds and no sign of forced entry. We must determine how the killer or killers managed such a feat."

"Could it be someone who knew the Embrys and Mr. Barston?"

"Possibly," Cranston replied. "Or someone capable of gaining their confidence or of tricking them into letting their guards down somehow."

He paused thoughtfully for a long moment, then raised the phone again and dialed quickly.

"Hello? Commissioner, it's Cranston...I have found another crime scene."

Cranston gave the Commissioner the address. He paused, listening.

"Thank you for informing me. Margot and I will wait here until your men arrive."

Lamont hung the phone up slowly and turned to Margot. She grew apprehensive, knowing somehow that he had bad news.

"The police found another murder that occurred before the Embry's were killed. This is apparently the madman's third crime."

CHAPTER FOUR

Feeling the silent presence of the Shadow right behind her, Margot gripped the handle of the large door and pulled it open. In a practiced manner she stepped slightly to the side so that the Shadow could pass her and enter the room first, but not in such a way that an observer would recognize the maneuver. Margot paused at the doorway in order to let her eyes adjust to the darker interior of the room.

The room was in as much disorder as Tallon's shop was tidy. Books, paintings, small sculptures, and numerous other artifacts were scattered about and on top of upturned furniture. There was an open doorway directly at the back of the room, and long curtains obscured the walls on either side. Margot realized that much of the debris was from four glass cases that had been utterly demolished. They appeared to have originally stood towards the middle of the room.

It was there in the room's center that the real horror lay.

There were four bodies, presumably Mr. Barston and three employees. Three of them, an athletic gentleman in his fifties and two younger women, lay with looks of terror frozen upon their faces. The man had been shot squarely in the forehead, and the two ladies appeared to have been strangled with silken scarves, still tied around their necks. The fourth victim's face was obscured by a third scarf, but the body appeared to be a younger man, perhaps in his thirties, wearing a dark pair of pants and shirt.

"Wait here, Margot," the Shadow whispered into her ear.

She began to look about the room, examining the artifacts that remained scattered about. She counted numerous ancient books, several jade statues of Asian origin, and a few ancient swords that appeared to be Japanese, among numerous other items.

Margot bent to examine one of the statues when she was jerked roughly to her feet from behind. As she felt her left arm encased by an iron grip, her attacker's right arm wrapped around her throat.

"Who else is here?" The voice was low and gravelly.

"No...no one else." Margot struggled to breathe against the man's arm. As she looked around the room, she tried to divine from where her assailant had come. Then she looked to the room's center.

The fourth body, the young man, was no longer there.

"Does anyone else know-"

"I know." The Shadow's voice seemed to come from everywhere.

Margot felt her assailant's arm relax slightly, confused.

"I know that you murdered Mr. Barston and his assistants."

"Who are you? Come out where I can see you!"

The assailant turned Margot and started to drag her toward the door at the back of the shop.

"Stop! I have two guns trained on you and I'm an excellent shot."

"Not unless you want to kill your little friend here," the man sounded sarcastic. "Now show yourself or I'll do the job for you!"

"Don't you see me?...I'm here...in the shadows!"

The arm relaxed further as the man realized who was taunting him. Margot took the opportunity to twist violently and drive an elbow into her assailant's torso. He grunted and released her. Her hands in front of her, Margot pushed away when she hit the floor. The man took two quick steps backward and then ran out the back door of the room.

"Margot, are you all right?"

"Yes, Shadow, go get him!"

Margot heard steps running away from her and then the back door slammed shut.

When the Shadow arrived on the roof, he saw the murderer leaping to the next roof, about twenty feet to the Shadow's right. He turned and gave chase. The assailant was an athletic man, but the Shadow managed to keep pace as they flew over the dirty buildings.

"I almost have you!"

The murderer looked over his shoulder in panic but kept running.

"That building up ahead is too far to jump. You'll never make it."

The man kept running, fear of the disembodied voice driving him on. However, as the Shadow had said, the rooftop ended ahead with about a twenty foot space to the next. As the edge approached the man put on a burst of speed.

Then he jumped.

Even as he saw the attacker jump, the Shadow did not slow. He ran to the edge of the building...

...and leapt into space.

Chapter Five.

CHAPTER THREE

Lamont returned the phone to its cradle and turned to Margot.

“Weston has identified the books, but has not managed to identify the missing object on the wall.”

Cranston walked across the ornate rug in the paneled study of Cranston Manor to a leather chair. He sat down abruptly, his fingertips pressed together. Margot was seated on a small couch perpendicular to him.

“What books could be so valuable that they can justify such a horrible crime?” She asked, leaning closer to Lamont.

“That is what puzzles me, Margot. The books are valuable, but not in a monetary way.”

“What do you mean?”

“For example, one is the collected writings of a very great mystic. He was said to have found true enlightenment and recorded his spiritual journey in seven identical books that he then, through his followers, spread throughout the known world.”

Cranston lowered his hands and looked at Margot.

“Every copy was supposedly destroyed in wars throughout the centuries, the last perishing during the French Revolution. I have no idea how Embry came to possess such a treasure.”

“Yes, Lamont,” Margot said, “but you said that they weren’t treasure, didn’t you?”

“To be sure, Margot,” Lamont replied. “The books are of such a rarity that they lack the notoriety to be worth a large sum of money. The treasure would be to the student of the mind. The Mystic was said to have gone far beyond the simple abilities taught to me in the Orient. He was said to have mastered the fundamental forces of the universe itself.”

“Then why steal them?”

“Because,” Cranston replied, “to someone who was a student of the mind, they would be worth any price. I would pay a fantastic sum for them myself.”

“What other books are missing?”

“That is also interesting,” Cranston answered. “The other two books are of a similar age. One is an intricate record of astrological observations from Ancient China, and the other is the historical record of a Buddhist monastery in Tibet.”

“A monastery?” Margot asked.

“Yes. I actually was a guest there for some time in my youth. It was known for the depth of knowledge of its monks, men who often were called upon to resolve disputes and bring answers to difficult problems.”

Cranston stood abruptly.

“The thing I don’t understand is how Embry, though surely an educated and discerning man, came into possession of three artifacts of such rare distinction. His interests were in the arts and music.”

He walked to the window. Margot stood and joined him.

“And what about the mysterious object on the wall, Lamont? Do you think it was a work of art or a photograph?”

“I don’t know, Margot. But we can find out more about those books and where Embry acquired them.”

With that, he turned and handed Margot her coat from off of the rack by the door.

“We’re going to see an old friend of mine.”

With Schrevy across town carrying a regular fare, the two were forced to take an ordinary cab into the older section of the city. This prevented Margot from asking questions about their destination or the “old friend” to whom Cranston was referring.

When they finally arrived at their destination, Margot stepped out of the taxi to see a shabby old shop with tattered books in the window. The swinging sign over the door read “Tallon Books - Procurement and Sales of Rare Texts”.

Lamont paid the cabbie and the two entered the old storefront. Margot was struck by the musty smell of old paper the moment they entered. Most of the shop was neatly organized on various low wall shelves and a few stand-alone bookcases set around the room. Some of the shelves had meticulously handwritten signs that read “First Editions” or reflected the books’ nations of origin. The desk at the front of the store, however, was obscured with several loose stacks of books that presumably were being processed. Margot saw no shopkeeper.

“Cranston, it’s good to see you.”

Margot almost jumped with surprise, as the high-pitched male voice came from the stacks of books on the desk. Cranston stepped forward with his hand extended as Margot finally saw who had spoken. It was a man about five and a half feet tall confined to a wheelchair. He rolled himself from behind the stack of books that had obscured him and took Cranston’s hand, shaking it vigorously.

“Professor Tallon, it’s always a pleasure to see you as well,” Lamont smiled warmly and then gestured to Margot. “This is my friend, Margot Lane.”

Tallon looked at her as if he were appraising a Browning First Edition. Seemingly satisfied, he extended his hand.

“I am pleased to meet you. Please call me Bram.”

“Bram? I’ve never heard that name before. Is it a family name?”

“It is short for Abraham my dear,” he replied, smiling. “You will of course recall that the author of the novel Dracula was named...”

Margot laughed.

“Of course, Bram Stoker. Was his short for Abraham, too? I never knew that.”

Lamont laughed.

“Abraham always tells women to call him that. He thinks it makes him mysterious.” He then stepped closer and leaned down to speak to Tallon more quietly. “I have a matter of some delicacy to speak with you about. Do you have a moment?”

“Certainly,” Tallon replied, intrigued. “If your lovely companion would not mind hanging the sign...?”

Margot nodded and quickly walked to the door, turned the sign hanging from it so that the “closed” faced the street, and then came back. By the time she had returned, Cranston had apparently already discussed some of the details of the case with Abraham. The small man seemed deep in thought already.

“Hmmm...those are rare and interesting pieces. I would have given half of the books in this shop for one of them...”

“Yes, Abraham,” Lamont interrupted, “but where do you think that Embry could have gotten them? I don’t know of anyone else in the city that would sell such a thing - do you think he purchased them abroad?”

Tallon shook his head.

“To find such things abroad, one must know where to look. Embry must have gotten them from someone here in the States.”

“Do you know of anyone else that might sell them, Bram?” Margot asked.

Abraham smiled at her use of his nickname.

“Yes...YES! I can think of someone!” He excitedly wrote on a scrap of paper on the desk and handed it to Margot. “This man came in about two months ago and introduced himself to me. He said that he had just returned from the Orient with rare books. I purchased a few from him, mostly ancient Buddhist texts, but there were some examples from other parts of the world. There was a marvelous Persian-“

“Abraham.”

Bram stopped and looked at Cranston sheepishly.

“Yes...sorry. Anyway, he never mentioned having books of this rarity, but then he might have correctly assumed that I could not afford them.”

Lamont took the paper from Margot and read the name and address. He nodded, looking up again at Tallon.

“Your help has been invaluable, Abraham.”

Tallon smiled.

“Anything for an old friend, Lamont.”

Margot bent down and kissed Tallon on the cheek.

“Nice to meet you, Bram.”

Tallon blushed and nodded mutely.

They left the store and took another cab a quick ten blocks to the address that Tallon had given them. After the cab had left, they stood before the door of a large blank stone building. A simple brass plaque next to it read, “James Barston, LTD.”

Margot reached for the door, but Lamont grabbed her hand before she could touch it.

“Wait a moment, Margot. There is something very wrong here.”

Margot looked at Cranston in surprise.

“What’s the matter, Lamont?” she asked.

He returned her gaze sadly.

“Murder,” he stated flatly.

And then he vanished.

Chapter Four

CHAPTER TWO

Although Lamont was tolerant of him, I always felt that Commissioner Weston was an eternal obstacle for the crusade of the Shadow. He was always quick to take the simplest solution to a crime, something that inevitably put him at odds with Lamont’s unorthodox methods. Lamont always said that he was an “uncomplicated man with a heart filled with duty”. My opinion is that he was an arrogant man with the heart of a sniveling weasel.

Lamont and Margot were shaking the rain off of their coats in the doorway when they first realized where their race across downtown had taken them:

The Embry Building.

Julius Embry was an aloof man of approximately sixty years and incredible financial means. Former head of a large family business, Embry had taken the company public at age forty, sold his shares, and retired one of the wealthiest men in the city, if not the world. A lover of fine music and art, he was the rare philanthropist who gave generously to many causes without often appearing to accept their accolades. He had married his high school sweetheart and had two very charming sons, both of whom were thought great catches in society circles.

In short, Embry was a wealthy and successful man in every sense.

A short beefy cop recognized Lamont immediately and offered to take the pair’s coats.

“Weston’s upstairs at the scene.”

“What has happened, sergeant?” Margot asked.

The sergeant, a man of many years on the force, turned pale. He spoke softly.

“I wouldn’t like to speak of it to a lady, ma’am. You and Mr. Cranston will have to go up and see for yourselves. It’s the top floor.” He pointed to a brass elevator.

Margot nodded, acknowledging the man’s discomfort. Lamont lifted a curious eyebrow to her and purposefully turned, walking to the elevator the sergeant had indicated.

They took the elevator to the top floor of the building, where the Embrys maintained their residence in the city. After walking out into a large open foyer, Lamont and Margot made their way to a knot of plainclothes and uniformed officers going through the motions that attend a murder scene. Lamont and Margot stepped through them and into the doorway of a large room.

“Lamont...” Margot choked, thoroughly horrified.

Mr. and Mrs. Embry were lying naked in the middle of the floor of a large room, presumably a library, judging by the tall bookshelves lining every wall. They had been stabbed so many times as to defy counting, and their blood was literally sprayed over almost every surface of the room, including the ceiling many feet overhead. Protruding from both of their chests were large ceremonial daggers, presumably taken from a rack of similar implements hanging as decoration on the far wall of the room over a small writing desk.
“Please sit here, Margot, while I go and speak with the commissioner,” Lamont whispered softly and helped Margot into a small chair that the police had placed near the doorway, probably for just such a purpose.

Lamont stepped slowly into the room, careful to avoid stepping on any of the spatters of blood that had spread over the luxurious carpets or hardwood floors. He walked in this manner to the left side of the room to Commissioner Weston, the city’s long-time head of the police department. Weston, a large man, was loudly giving orders to a pair of young officers hurrying about gathering evidence. He turned just as Cranston approached, and his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t recall asking for an outside consultant on this case, Cranston,” his voice rumbled.

Lamont smiled demurely.

“I merely saw the rush of police and the coroner and assumed that my expertise might prove useful to you.” His voice was even and reasonable. “As you know commissioner, I am simply an interested citizen with some expertise in such matters.”

“How does one become an expert on murder, anyway, Cranston?”

“Not by luck, I assure you Commissioner,” Cranston replied with a hint of melancholy. “What have you learned so far?”

The Commissioner started to say something else, thought better of it, and answered.

“It’s basically what you see here, Cranston. Two upstanding citizens butchered by some maniac. The knives come from the display over there,” he gestured to the weapons on the wall, proud of his deduction, “and they may have known the killer, as there was no sign of forced entry.”

Lamont nodded thoughtfully, looking past the commissioner at the wall behind him.

“Probably one of their sons or a business partner,” Weston continued on. “Usually about the money in these cases.”

He paused.

“Cranston! Are you listening to me?”

Lamont returned his focus to the large man and spoke quickly.

“Yes, Commissioner, but I feel that you have reached several wrong conclusions.”

He stepped past the Commissioner to pick up a newspaper off of the small writing desk. He turned and displayed it to Weston.

“As this headline indicates, both of the younger Embrys are currently overseas on a European tour. It is featured here in the society section.”

Weston harrumphed.

“Furthermore, Mr. Embry has divested himself of all business interests and thus has no partners other than Mrs. Embry, who shares his fate. Also-“ Cranston indicated the display of blades “-those daggers could not be the murder weapons, or this spray of blood would have struck the wall behind where they were placed. The spray of blood covers the blades to either side and some of the wall, but there is a conspicuous empty space where the blades would rest.”

Lamont moved quickly to the bodies.

“You can see the rest of that pattern here, on the hilt of these two daggers.”

He looked up at Weston.

“The murder weapon is either somewhere else in this home, or the murderer has taken it with him. In any case, these daggers could not be responsible for the fatal blows of the Embrys.”

He walked back over to the commissioner.

“It is also interesting to note that the murderer or murderers left these valuable jeweled daggers behind and instead removed...” Cranston’s voice trailed off without completing his sentence.

Weston tapped his foot impatiently.

“Removed what, Cranston?” He stared at Lamont suspiciously.

Lamont looked thoughtful.

“The Embrys were of a means to own many items of some value. I see many of them even in this room. I would recommend a search of the entire house with insurance records to determine if any items were missing.”

Weston stammered in surprise.

“Do you mean that someone committed this horrible crime for a robbery?!”

Lamont looked at the Commissioner thoughtfully and then replied:

“I agree with your opinion that a less gruesome crime would be adequate if simple theft were the only goal. This is a crime of great passion - in which case you will probably find the killer or killers...”

He walked past Weston toward the door.

Just as he reached the still-recovering Margot he turned back.

“Or it is a crime of great insanity - in which case you will probably find more victims.”

Margot stood and looked at him, shocked and questioning. Lamont nodded sadly.

“Such a manic taste for blood is not so easily sated. If ever.”

He took Margot by the arm and led her back down the hall.

She trembled when they got back in the cab and Lamont began to answer Schrevy’s questions about what they had found. After informing Schrevy of the gruesome scene in the penthouse, Lamont turned to Margot and looked intently at her.

“Margot, are you all right?”

She smiled weakly.

“Yes, Lamont. I’ve just never seen anything so...so cruel.”

“Or so calculated,” Lamont responded, nodding. “That scene seemed almost theatrical in its effort to shock those that saw it.”

“How could a calculating mind produce such wanton violence?” Margot replied quickly. “Surely only a madman could do such a thing.”

Cranston sat back.

“Madness and calculation,” he said. “The two can go together, Margot.”

“What do you mean, Lamont?”

“That crime has several characteristics that suggest more than the excesses of a maniac.”

He extended one long, pale finger.

“First, Weston mentioned that there had been no forced entry. That means that our crazed madman had to get past a doorman, who was surely armed, and an elevator operator to get to the Embry’s home. Then, he had to enter the penthouse without leaving any marks or procure a key in advance.

“Second,” he extended a second finger. “There were three or four books missing from the shelf behind where Weston was standing when we walked in the room, and there was a a small framed painting or photograph removed from the opposite wall.”

Margot’s eyes grew large. “How do you know that, Lamont?”

Lamont looked uncomfortable.

“It is a distasteful subject, but the pattern of blood across the bookcase and the wall indicated that these objects were missing. That is why I suggested that Weston check with insurance records. He will be more thorough if he can take credit for the discovery of the missing books and frame.”

“He shouldn’t need that kind of motivation,” Margot said, not for the first or the last time.

“Third,” Lamont continued, extending another finger. “The daggers were not the murder weapons, but were placed to suggest that they were. And fourth, The Embrys did not seem to have struggled in any way, indicating that the assailant had some means of subduing them before he stabbed them.”

He curled his four extended fingers into a fist and looked out the window.

“The worst is that this criminal has left no clue as to his identity, and no suggestion as to his motivations.”

Margot exhaled slowly.

“It’s the perfect crime, Lamont.”

Lamont nodded.

“If not so evil, one could admire the skill involved. However, I plan to end this artist’s career as soon as I can.”

“We’ll see how ‘artistic’ he is when he meets the Shadow!” Schrevy chimed in.

Margot chuckled lightly, but Lamont only looked out the window, lost in thought. As they sat in silence, Cranston’s words continued to chill her more than the rain that still poured down ever could:

If ever.

Chapter Three

CHAPTER ONE

Dick Williams whistled softly to himself as he headed down 42nd Street. The dozen roses he had recently purchased on 40th hung loosely in his left hand as he walked quickly toward the National Bank.

Sarah hated it when he was late. That was what the flowers were for.

He crossed at the middle of the block and stepped quickly through the mid-afternoon crowd moving down the sidewalk to land in the doorway of the tall gray building. Sarah had been a teller here for two weeks, and lunch today was supposed to be celebrating her completion of the probationary training period before she became an official employee of the bank. Dick also had a special surprise planned.

The heavy doors creaked as Dick shoved them open and strode quickly into the bank.

He stepped about ten feet into the expansive lobby and froze, realizing that everyone was looking at him. Sarah was standing behind the teller counter in her usual spot, but she had a peculiar look on her face.

Before he could open his mouth to ask a question, Dick felt the cold metal of a revolver in his back.

“Shut up and don’t make a move, sonny.”

Dick almost laughed, as the voice that had called him “sonny” sounded about eighteen.

The revolver shoved roughly into his back again.

“Move over to the others by the counter.”

It was then that Dick noticed several bank employees sitting on the floor with their hands on their heads. He realized that the few men scattered around the room were all bank robbers dressed as customers.

When he sat down, Dick saw his slightly built assailant move towards the counter and Sarah. He was wearing a dark knit mask that concealed his features.

“Now, as I was saying,” the young man spoke to Sarah, “open the vault, bring out all of the small bills, and put them in bags on the counter.”

Sarah shook as she replied:

“I’m a new hire and I haven’t been taught how to open the vault.”

The robber walked closer to the counter and pointed the gun at her.

“Don’t lie to me! Now open the vault or I will shoot you in your pretty little face!”

Sarah, now weeping, started to stammer out a reply, but she was interrupted.

It started softly.

A dark brooding chuckle seemed to fill the entire room. Rising in pitch and volume with every second, it became a maniacal wail. The young robber and his cohorts cast about themselves searching for the source of the disturbing cackle. The disembodied laughter echoed high in the ceiling of the marble-walled lobby and pealed off the walls in wave after wave. Dick covered his ears to block out the mind-numbing sound.

And then all was quiet.

The young robber froze. The room was deafeningly silent.

The Voice that spoke next was a low menacing whisper:

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Samuel.”

The bank robber turned rapidly, finding no one behind him.

“Who was that? How do you know who I am?”

The Voice chuckled again menacingly.

“Don’t you recognize me, Samuel West? I am…the Shadow.” Dick looked up in surprise as the Voice continued: “ I followed you here from your brother’s apartment on the edge of the city. I know all about your little insurance scheme with the bank manager.”

Dick looked over at Ian Jonnson, the manager. He was white as a sheet.

“How? How did you know?” the young man demanded, eyes wide beneath the mask. His gun wavered, searching for a target that was unseen.

“Haven’t you heard, Samuel?…The Shadow knows.”

The young man ran to the counter and held his gun inches from Sarah’s face.

“Let me see you or I’ll kill her.”

Dick was about to leap to his feet when the Shadow spoke:

“Put down that gun Samuel, or you’ll regret it.”

There was no hint of doubt in the Shadow’s tone. It was a simple statement of fact.

“NO! Let me see you or she’s dead!”

Sarah wept openly.

“One.” The Shadow’s voice was firm and authoritative.

The bank robber futily looked at his fellows for help. They had already dropped their weapons and faced the wall.

They knew better.

“I swear I’ll shoot!”

“Two.”

Dick looked on helplessly as the young man started to pull the trigger.

“Three!”

Just as the robber pulled the trigger, the gun suddenly jerked upward, firing harmlessly through the skylight overhead. Then, the robber was hurled through the air as if by magic to land with a bone-jarring crack on the marble floor several feet away. He lay moaning, his obviously broken arm jutting out at an odd angle under his dark sweater.

Dick smiled with relief as he heard the sirens approaching outside the bank. He leapt to his feet and ran to Sarah, taking her in his arms.

“Thank you, Shadow,” he said loudly, “I’m Dick Williams, and if you ever need anything, just call!”

The Shadow spoke again, friendlier this time.

“I may just do that, Mr. Williams. Now, give young Sarah that engagement band before you lose it.”

Dick and Sarah looked at each other in shock. They both remembered what the Voice had said at the same moment:

The Shadow knows.

Margot Lane sat in the back of a taxi, looking at the crowd gathered around the bank. Police were now swarming all over the sidewalk, leading the foiled bandits out in irons. She saw a pool of reporters gathered around a young couple.

“It was the Shadow!” the young man was saying, “he knew their whole plan!”

Margot smiled as she watched the young woman beside him look on adoringly.

Young love is so sweet.

She never saw him do it.

One moment she was staring at the crowd, looking for Lamont, and the next he was opening the door to the cab.

Lamont Cranston was a handsome man who appeared to be of indeterminate age. He had dark hair and fair skin, and had an athletic build on a rather lanky frame. His only really distinguishing features were his eyes. They were dark and smoldering, as if constantly burning with intensity.

He set the hat and scarlet scarf of the Shadow on the seat between them. Margot caught a glimpse of the trademark .45’s under his coat.

“Let’s go, Schrevy,” Cranston said quickly.

The balding older man in the front seat turned and smiled broadly.

“Sure thing, boss.”

The cab pulled away from the curb and left the growing crowd outside the bank behind.

“Are you all right Lamont? I heard a gunshot.” Margot asked.

Lamont put a finger to his lower lip and looked thoughtfully out the window.

“No, I’m fine, Margot, as is everyone else.” He responded, his brooding voice flowing out in his characteristic aristocratic accent. “The Shadow was fortunate this time.”

“Well, then, why aren’t you more pleased? Didn’t the Shadow manage to foil the false robbery and stop the bank manager’s scheme? All the shareholders should be glad to hear that their money is safe in the National Bank.”

“Yes, Margot, that venerable institution has been restored to its former place of respect, but I fear that this is only the beginning.” Lamont replied, still lost in thought.

“The beginning of what, Lamont? What’s going on?”

Cranston paused for a moment.

“A feeling, Margot,” he said, slowly, “just a strange feeling...strange and oddly familiar...I don’t know why.”

As he turned his attention outside of the taxi again, it began to rain.

After several minutes of silent travel with the rain thumping on the roof of Schrevy’s cab, the three were about to turn onto a cross street for Cranston Manor when a line of police cars almost collided with them. As they rushed past, Schrevy complained about the sheets of muddy water and who knows what else they were launching at his cab.

“I just had it washed yesterday, I tell ya,” the cabbie cried in exasperation.

Margot laughed and was about to comment when Lamont interrupted.

“Follow them, Schrevy.” His voice was so low and intense that Margot turned to him, startled. His eyes were closed, and Cranston looked almost as if he were intently listening for something.

“What is it, Lamont?”

Lamont opened his eyes suddenly, the thread he had strained for was gone.

“Something terrible has happened.” He turned to look ahead as Schrevy turned onto the avenue and raced after the speeding police wagons.

The last one had large white letters painted on the back doors:

CORONER.

Chapter Two

PROLOGUE

My relationship with Lamont Cranston, known to many in our city only as the Shadow, is something that may fill many volumes. When I first met him at a cocktail party that I attended with a society friend, he seemed unremarkable. Lamont was about twenty feet away, in a crowded room with his back to me. When I looked at him, he stiffened and slowly turned to look back at me.

It was his eyes that you noticed first.

But more of that later. In the weeks and months that followed I became first his assistant, then his friend, and then his confident. I was younger than he, and pretty by the standards of the time. This beauty served him and me well on many of our adventures, as many people will open up to a pretty girl faster than a brooding aristocrat or a disembodied voice. I also had worked for a while as a reporter, which gave me a good ability to interview witnesses. He always worried that he was placing me in too much danger, but I would not have traded my experiences with him for anything.

Who else gets to be a superhero’s sidekick?

My daughter has suggested that I write some of these experiences down so that others can share them. I do so not for this reason, but so that the thousands, if not millions, of lives that Lamont saved in secret can finally know the truth.

So, this is my first effort. I choose to write in the third person so that I can incorporate the remembrances of others like Schrevy or Lamont himself into this story without interruption. My own recollections will be directly included where they may shed additional light onto the tale.

Our story occurs in that time after I had gained Lamont’s confidence but was still learning more and more about his mysterious past and the demons that drove him. It also begins with the all-important question and its answer -

Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?

The Shadow knows!

Margot Lane
Cranston Manor

A Novel In a Month

I have just signed up for the Novel in a Month deal. Here goes...

Jon