Maxwell Grant - The Man From Shanghai

Another car – the last – with Spark Ganza at its wheel, had come up against the police. Giving battle as they fled, the last crooks were speeding away from the vicinity that they had come to cover.

All chance of trailing Furbish’s taxi was ended. Those crooks would be lucky if they managed to escape.

As traffic nosed timidly along the avenue, The Shadow started his coupe. He rode one block southward, passing the wreck of the sedan; then wheeled to the right, found the next avenue and circled around in front of the Maribar Hotel.

All was quiet there. The inside men were glad that they had not mixed in the outside fray.

Nearing the corner, overhung by the elevated, The Shadow saw the smashed, abandoned touring car that stood as mute evidence of the efficient work his agents had performed. Harry and Cliff had made a comfortable departure.

Passing beneath the elevated, The Shadow delivered a whispered laugh – sardonic mirth that was confined to the interior of his coupe. He had shown his enemies how useless odds could be to them. He had escaped their trap. He had arranged the visit between Furbish and Rowden. He had covered Furbish’s departure after a completed transaction.

All this, despite Malfort’s cunning schemes. Bad word would reach the supercrook tonight; word that his trap had failed, that his hordes were scattered. Malfort’s methods had proven futile against The Shadow’s plans.

More than ever before would Malfort know that to succeed in crime, he would first have to quell The Shadow.

With a man of Malfort’s insidious moods, that could mean trouble.

Even to The Shadow.

MORNING found Kenneth Malfort seated in his living room. The fire was crackling with fresh logs that Wardlock had added. There was added light from lamps about the room; but no daylight penetrated. Every window of the room was shuttered.

Malfort was reading the morning newspaper, with their scare-head stories of last night’s battle. The police had completely routed a criminal horde. Half a dozen thugs had fallen in the fight; twice that number had been captured. One carload of thugs only, had made a get-away.

Spark Ganza had been in that fugitive car. Spark was a wanted man. Though his henchmen had not talked, they had been identified as cronies of Spark Ganza. The law was on the lookout for Malfort’s lieutenant.

The printed reports did not seem to perturb Malfort. As he read new details, the master crook merely smiled. His smirk, however, was an ugly one. Wardlock, when he noted Malfort’s face, was quick to display a grin of his own. The moon-faced secretary knew his master’s moods.

Forced to duel with The Shadow, Malfort had accepted the challenge with confidence. He had been too confident, from Wardlock’s view. Double defeat had come to Malfort; the experience had changed his opinions of The Shadow as an adversary. That, as Wardlock saw it, was fortunate. From long service, the secretary knew that Malfort was always at his best on the rebound.

After all, The Shadow had gained no lead to Malfort himself. The master crook was as secure as before. All that troubled Wardlock was the fact that Malfort could no longer summon a full crew of thugs. Spark Ganza, wanted by the law, would have to make out with his few remaining followers.

Yet Malfort still could count on Spark; he could also depend on Ku-Nuan. The Mongol had come back to Malfort’s badly shaken, but more than ready to attempt new battle with The Shadow. In fact, both Spark and Ku-Nuan could prove more valuable than ever before. Under Malfort’s evil inspiration, they would want vengeance.

Wardlock went from the living room while Malfort was still reading the newspaper. Soon, the secretary reappeared with the announcement that Spark Ganza had arrived. Malfort ordered him to bring the lieutenant upstairs.

SPARK arrived with a sour face. Malfort waved him to a chair. As Spark began apologies, Malfort introduced a silencing pur.

“Details are unnecessary,” voiced the master crook. “I have learned enough from Ku-Nuan and the newspapers. Barthow also reported.”

Spark nodded; then questioned, “What about Ku-Nuan? Is he O.K.?”

“Quite,” replied Malfort. “His mental attitude is the same as yours, Spark. He is anxious to get at The Shadow.”

Spark’s growl told that his urge for vengeance was as genuine as Malfort had supposed.

“I shoved my four gorillas back to the hide-out near the Maribar Hotel,” he told Malfort. “Figured that would be the best place for them. The cops won’t be looking for them around there. They’ll be all set when I show up; and the same if they get a call from Barthow.”

“Good!” approved Malfort. “We shall let them wait for Barthow’s call. Since it is now daylight, Spark, it will be preferable for you to remain here.”

Spark showed agreement. He had pictured trouble with police, if forced to travel to the hide-out. Nevertheless, there was one point that troubled him.

“How’re you going to get back at The Shadow?” queried Spark. “You’ll need me and the outfit, chief. What’s more, The Shadow is wise that we’ve got guys inside the Maribar Hotel.”

“He knew that long ago,” purred Malfort, smoothly. “Our plans, Spark, must be based on the situation as it now stands. We must analyze The Shadow’s viewpoint, as well as our own.”

Malfort picked up a pad on which Wardlock had penciled shorthand notes.

“Our motive,” declared Malfort, “was to intercept those men who came to visit Major Rowden; to eliminate them and acquire their wealth. You handled matters well with Blessingdale and Hessup. The trouble came with Furbish. That was where The Shadow entered.

“The man at the Royal Arms was not George Furbish. He was either The Shadow or a subordinate fighter, posted to meet an attack like the one Ku-Nuan delivered. Barthow saw the real Furbish last night, at the Maribar Hotel.”

“And Furbish made a get-away,” put in Spark, sourly. “You can bet The Shadow slid him somewhere that we’ll never guess.”

“Let us forget Furbish,” advised Malfort. “We have another man to think about. I refer to Lamont Cranston, the substitute purchaser who intends to buy gems originally held for Calhoun Lamport, of Chicago.”

Spark shot an eager query.

“Is Cranston going to buy?” he asked. “Where did you get that dope, chief?”

“From Barthow” answered Malfort. “Cranston called the major late last night. Barthow overheard him say that he would come to the penthouse tonight, with funds to make the purchase.”

“Then we can bag Cranston -”

“Not only Cranston. We shall settle scores with Major Rowden, as well!”

SPARK’S hard eyes showed their admiration for the scheme. Malfort purred the details.

“Since Cranston is the last man,” stated the master crook, “there is no need to intercept him before he reaches Rowden’s. We intended to concentrate upon the major, as soon as the money men were gone. Tonight, it will be a simple matter to eliminate both Cranston and Rowden, when they hold their meeting in the penthouse. I, personally, shall attend to that task.”

Malfort paused to study the fire flame. When he spoke again, his tone was harsh.

“So much for our campaign,” he declared. “We must now consider The Shadow as a factor. Let us assume that he knows everything. He has learned why we murdered Blessingdale and Hessup – to say nothing of Durlew. To show his strength, he arranged Furbish’s visit to Rowden, last night.

“Since he protected Furbish, he will also be on hand to safeguard Cranston. We can not chance an open battle with The Shadow. Therefore, I must see to it that The Shadow can not be present. Unless -”