Part 5 (1/2)
Creelon nodded. Blandly, he told how he had posed as Agent F-3. From his own statement, he practically admitted that he had murdered the real F-3 in Paris. That did not shock Bryland. Instead, it brought a sparkle of evil approval from the ex-major's deep-set eyes.
FROM the Argus mirror, The Shadow could see a tightening of Creelon's straight lips. The master-spy was coming to the matter of business; but he was cagily avoiding mention of the NEC until he had sounded Creelon further.
”Nina Valencita came here after she saw you,” informed Creelon. ”She said that a girl was with you at the Apollo Club; that the girl saw her and did not like it.”
Bryland grimaced; shrugged his shoulders.
”The girl was Martha Leeth,” he said. ”The congressman's daughter. She made a scene, and it looked bad. There were people about.”
”Did they see Nina talking to you?”
”Yes. But I doubt that it mattered. Nina Valencita is well accepted inall Was.h.i.+ngton circles.”
Creelon arose; shook his head as he stepped toward the fire to warm his hands. Facing about, the spy looked toward Bryland. From the mirror, The Shadow could see the false ruddiness that came to Creelon's features. All that they needed was the evil smile; then the firelight would give them their satanic glow.
”I am not sure about Nina,” expressed Creelon, slowly, still preserving his straight-lipped pose. ”She is reliable; otherwise I would not have employed her. But her status in Was.h.i.+ngton may be less established than I supposed. Her trip to Spain, during the revolution there, was the sort of expedition that would have placed her name on a doubtful list.
”I think that you should have an alibi to cover your meeting with Nina.
Therefore, I have provided these. Nina wrote them hastily while she was here; but they will suffice. Particularly because she showed skill in writing love notes.”
Creelon produced a small packet of note papers. Bryland scanned them, he recognized the handwriting of Nina. He smiled as he read them; nodded approvingly.
”All back dated,” he remarked. ”They certainly convey the impression that Nina was once in love with me. They go well with this note that she had delivered to me at the Apollo Club, saying that it was important for me to see her.”
BRYLAND produced the note in question; showed it to Creelon and added it to the fake love letters. He started to put the batch in his inside pocket; stopped because of a sealed envelope that bulked there. The Shadow saw an avaricious sparkle in the eyes of Hugo Creelon. The spy knew that Bryland's big envelope could contain the NEC.
”I shall place these letters where they can be found,” a.s.serted Bryland, ”if any one - suspecting my meeting with Nina - should search my apartment. I shall have no trouble covering my visit here. Martha Leeth and I are supposedly at the theater this evening.”
”What about the girl?” quizzed Creelon. ”Will she support your story?”
”She does not have to,” chuckled Bryland. ”I took her home instead of to the theater. I purposely made her angrier than before. That put her in a tantrum. I told her that she was a snippy child, that I would telephone later, to receive her apology. She retorted that she would not answer the telephone, no matter how often it rang. The rest of the family is away. Calls to the Leeth home will therefore be ignored.”
Bryland was explaining the exact reason why Vic Marquette had called the Leeth house without result. Bryland's arrangement pleased Creelon. He waited to hear if the thief had more to say. Bryland's silence made it apparent that he had finished. Creelon spoke. He questioned: ”You obtained the NEC complete?”
”I did,” replied Bryland. ”Exactly as I took it from Follingsby's apartment.”
”You have kept it intact?”
”Precisely as I found it.”
”You have made no copies of it?”
”None. Not only did I lack the time to do so; but I had no reason to make copies. I might add - needlessly, perhaps - that no one other than myself has even seen the NEC since I acquired it.” Creelon eyed Bryland steadily; then questioned in choppy tone: ”What is your price?”
”One million dollars!”
Creelon did not flex a muscle when he heard Bryland's demand. He gave the price consideration; then snapped his answer: ”Too high!”
Bryland delivered an indulgent laugh; steadied his hands to rise from his chair.
”It is worth two million,” he told the spy. ”You will probably receive more for it. I warn you, Creelon, that my offer will not be lowered.”
On his feet, Bryland placed his hand to his inside pocket, gripped the fat envelope and added: ”My next price will be one million two hundred thousand dollars. I consider that the danger of keeping the NEC should be worth the difference.”
CREELON remained immobile. Through the mirror, The Shadow watched the spy intently. Creelon looked almost ready to accept the million dollar terms. If he did, the NEC might change hands before The Shadow's eyes.
That would force the issue. The Shadow had steadied; he had already determined to undertake battle, if necessary, even against odds. The present seemed to offer The Shadow the sole opportunity that remained to him. He knew that he could reach the reception room, enter there and cover both Creelon and Bryland while they still stood together, their transaction uncompleted.
One against two. Small odds for The Shadow. He was weak, though; and these adversaries were men of the most dangerous sort. Balancing that, however, was a factor that could serve The Shadow. He could attack by surprise, startling both crooks by the sight of an enemy whom they believed already dead.
The Shadow drew back slowly from the plate gla.s.s; then paused. It was neither weariness nor uncertainty that halted him. His eyes fixed themselves first upon Creelon, then on Bryland. In each face, The Shadow saw something that enlightened him; yet which neither of the trading crooks noted in the other.
The lips of Hugo Creelon were beginning the insidious smile that could transform the spy's face into that of a Mephistopheles. The square-jawed features of Frederick Bryland had taken on a firmness that meant more than mere stubbornness.
For some reason, both were confident that the other would come to terms.
Through The Shadow's brain flashed the double answer. He foresaw exactly what was due; he could tell the sort of trump cards that these crooks would play.
That was why The Shadow made no farther move. He remained in his position behind the Argus mirror.
Creelon's features showed their satanic contour more plainly. Bryland noted it; saw the spy's hand move toward the wall. Still gripping his inside pocket with his left hand, Bryland shot his right toward his side pocket. His move was hopelessly late.
Creelon had buzzed a signal with a hidden b.u.t.ton beside the fireplace.
Purple curtains ripped from the walls of the reception room. In surged Creelon's crew of huskies.
Bryland had no chance against the inrush. He was unable to twist away as The Shadow had done, the night before. Attackers struck him in a solid ma.s.s; s.n.a.t.c.hed his revolver from his fist before it was half from his pocket. Theyrolled him to the floor; pinned his arms behind him and hoisted him upright for Creelon to see.
Gloating, Creelon stepped forward; he plucked the big envelope that projected plainly from Bryland's inside pocket. Harshly, Creelon hissed: ”You fool! If you had named a reasonable price, I would have paid you! A million dollars! Bah! You will be content with nothing! You can have your life, because your death would be of no consequence to me.
”Go! Denounce me if you dare! Your statement that I hold the National Emergency Code will be a confession of your own theft. No one will believe that I, the guest of a great emba.s.sy, could be an international spy.”
The strong-arm squad was ready to drag Bryland away. Creelon restrained them. To complete his triumph, he wanted to flaunt the stolen NEC in the face of the tricked thief who had lost it. The envelope in Creelon's hands was a prize that Bryland could not hope to reclaim.
Nor could The Shadow gain it. He had pa.s.sed his opportunity.
Nevertheless, he waited behind the mirror. Creelon's elation might have changed to puzzlement had he seen The Shadow. The spy's look would have altered, too, had he bothered to look at Bryland, for the ex-major still showed a grim smile.
Creelon, however, was thinking of nothing but the envelope. He ripped it open; hissed his triumph as he tugged thick-folded papers from within. With hands that showed eagerness, Creelon spread the folds to gain his first gaze at the stolen NEC.
It was then that the master-spy stood rigid; his demoniac features soured.
Even from the mirror, The Shadow could see the cause of Creelon's suppressed rage, for the firelight's glow showed the papers that Creelon held.
Frederick Bryland had tricked Hugo Creelon; the thief had made the spy overplay his game. The tight-packed papers from the envelopes were blanks!