The Shadow - Seven Drops Of Blood Part 1

THE SEVEN DROPS OF BLOOD.

by Maxwell Grant.

CHAPTER I.

DEALERS OF DEATH.

SIRENS shrilled along Fifth Avenue. Their whine rose above the hubbub of the heavy traffic, where snorting taxicabs were poking their way past automobiles and shooting in front of lumbering busses. It was quarter past eight in the evening, a time when through traffic chose Fifth Avenue in preference to the jammed routes near Times Square.

The splitting sirens were answered by the whistles of traffic officers, who motioned cars toward the curbs. Gawkers atop the double-decked busses craned to watch a pair of motorcycles zigzag through the traffic. Behind came an armored truck, manned by uniformed policemen; another pair of motorcycle cops formed a rear guard.

The cavalcade roared southward; reached a cross street and swung left.

Before the traffic officer could blow his whistle to start cars moving, a big limousine detached itself from the congestion and sped after the convoyed truck. The traffic cop started to blow his whistle, then grinned instead, deciding that the limousine had not violated the left turn rule.

Half a block east of Fifth Avenue, the limousine stopped just in back of the halted armored truck. On the right was a pretentious doorway that bore a large sign: KIRK PETTIGREW.

Private Auctions Two plain-clothes men were giving the nod to unload the armored truck.

They hesitated when they saw the limousine; watched the big car while the chauffeur opened the rear door.

A lone pa.s.senger stepped to the curb. He was clad in evening clothes; his well-formed face carried a masklike expression. He was tall, leisurely in action. Apparently oblivious to the police, he produced a briefcase from the limousine and waved for the chauffeur to depart.

The car rolled away. The plain-clothes men nodded anew to the officers who guarded the truck. Meanwhile, the tall arrival strolled through a storelike room that formed the front of the auction house. He reached a heavy door that bore the sign: AUCTION GALLERY.

Another pair of plain-clothes men let him pa.s.s: for his appearance required no question. The tall visitor entered a long room where two dozen people were seated. At each side of the room were curtained doorways. Each of these was guarded by a detective. There were two more doorways at the far end of the gallery. They were also curtained, each guarded by a stolid detective.

Between the end doors was a platform, where a wizened-faced auctioneer stood. An attendant approached the calm-faced arrival and asked for the invitation card required as admittance ticket. The visitor supplied one that bore the name "Lamont Cranston." The attendant carried the card to the platform; the auctioneer read it and nodded. The attendant dropped the card in a square-shaped platinum box. While this was taking place, a stocky, swarthy-faced man approached the new arrival and spoke the greeting: "Good evening, Mr. Cranston."

A SLIGHT smile showed upon the fixed lips of Lamont Cranston. Keen eyes displayed a momentary flash. The swarthy-faced man was Acting Inspector Joe Cardona, of the New York police. His presence indicated that he was in charge of the law's forces.

"Good evening, inspector," came the calm, even tone of Cranston. "Quite a surprise to meet you here. Do you actually expect trouble at this auction? Or are you following one of your hunches?"

Cardona grinned.

"You're a friend of Commissioner Weston," he said, "so you ought to know how little regard he has for any of my hunches. Since you know the commissioner, I guess I can tell you what this is all about."

Cranston's calm face showed mild interest. Cardona looked about, saw that no one was close by, then spoke in a low tone.

"It was a tip-off," he informed. "From The Shadow. I got one; so did the commissioner. They tallied. If you ask me, I'd say that The Shadow was acting on a hunch. But if you'd ever heard that voice of his over the telephone - an uncanny sort of whisper - you wouldn't argue matters."

Cardona turned to watch the main doorway. It had opened; police from the armored truck were bringing in display cases, carrying them to the platform.

The smile on the lips of Cranston showed a slight increase, and with good reason.

This personage whom both Commissioner Weston and Inspector Cardona knew as Lamont Cranston was actually The Shadow. A master sleuth, who aided the law in its battles against crime, The Shadow used the ident.i.ty of Cranston to keep close to the activities of the police.

Neither Weston nor Cardona had ever guessed the double part that The Shadow played. Sometimes, though, one or the other gained inklings of The Shadow's plans and purposes. Joe Cardona, for one, had made a good guess tonight. Joe thought that The Shadow had sent a tip-off purely on a hunch.

Cardona was right; that was why The Shadow smiled.

The magnitude of tonight's auction was something that the law had overlooked. The little, withered man on the platform was Kirk Pettigrew, whose size was no measurement of his importance in his chosen line. Pettigrew was the biggest auctioneer in New York. He specialized in the sale of jewels, thought nothing of auctioning off half a million dollars' worth at one time.

Police were always present at Pettigrew's auctions; but a few competent bluecoats and a pair of detectives had been considered sufficient in the past.

In watching announcements of Pettigrew's scheduled auctions, The Shadow had observed that the present one was to involve more than two million dollars in gems. The Shadow knew that crooks could easily gain the same news.

Pettigrew, accustomed to the routine of auctions, had not realized the danger. The police, expecting the auctioneer to inform them if he needed extra guards, had not been aware of the situation. The Shadow's tip-off - whether founded on known menace, or merely given as a hunch - was so coldly logical that it had awakened the law to prompt action.

"TWO million in jewels," confided Cardona to The Shadow, while police wereplacing the showcases under Pettigrew's direction. "Yet Pettigrew was going through with it, just like any other auction. He intended to have the jewels here an hour beforehand, with only two men to watch them. I changed his plans for him."

Cardona paused, while the outside officers left the platform and departed by the main door. The four detectives at the curtained doorways retained their posts.

"We stowed the jewels in the bank vault," explained Cardona. "Pettigrew came in here alone, to greet the customers when they arrived. He told them all that the gems would arrive later. I showed up just after eight o'clock, bringing a squad of eight men with me. I posted four outside, four in here.

Then I sent word for the armored truck to start from the bank."

The Shadow looked about, eyed Cardona's arrangement with approval. His eyes took on a far-away gaze, as though wondering what lay beyond the velvet-curtained doorways where detectives were on guard.

Cardona noted the questioning expression that showed itself on the features of Cranston. Anxious to gain the full approval of the commissioner's friend, Cardona produced a penciled diagram.

The chart showed the auction gallery - a long, rectangular room, with pa.s.sages on three sides. Those at the left and right could be reached by the doorways at the sides. The third pa.s.sage was beyond the far end of the auction gallery. The two doors past the platform opened into it.

"This place used to be two buildings," stated Cardona, pointing to the diagram. "Pettigrew made one place out of them; but he couldn't alter the old hallways on account of permanent walls. As soon as I came here, earlier in the evening, I saw that those three pa.s.sages would be good spots for crooks to hide in. So I inspected them.

"They're all walled up and empty. The only way to get directly into them is through an outer door off from the back pa.s.sage. That door is plate steel; it has three automatic locks on it, with special keys. Not only that, but the only place it leads into is a courtyard that has all solid walls. Crooks couldn't come from there. If they tried to get away through the courtyard, they'd be bottled."

The Shadow nodded. People were crowding up to the platform to view the exhibit of gems. The Shadow strolled forward. Cardona kept at his elbow, adding in an undertone: "Just to be sure of everything, I left a detective at the steel door, after we'd tried the keys and found the locks O.K. Pettigrew only has two sets of keys. He gave me one and kept the other. The man I left at the steel door was Lacey, one of the best I've got. He has stayed out of sight. After I stationed Lacey, I came here and told Pettigrew to get ready for the auction.

He stayed in this room until I moved in with the squad. Lacey is at his post."

THEY reached the platform. The Shadow, though he seemed but casually interested in all that Cardona had said, had actually considered every detail.

He was satisfied that the law had been thorough in its precautions. That settled, The Shadow turned his attention to the displayed gems.

Kirk Pettigrew, wizened even to the top of his bald head, was beaming as he pointed out the magnificent gems that he intended soon to auction. He was also eyeing the customers present, observing that they included some of the wealthiest persons in New York.

There were four large, gla.s.s-topped cases in the display. Each was divided into velvet-lined sections. One case displayed a resplendent array of diamonds set in pendants, necklaces and brooches. These were from various collections; some of the pieces were of huge value and they stood out conspicuously among the lesser items. Two cases contained gems of other sorts. They, like the first, had prize pieces that were easily identified. The Shadow recognized a celebrated topaz that had once garnished a king's scepter. He saw cl.u.s.ters of amethysts and emeralds. It was the fourth display, however, that commanded chief attention.

Every item in that collection was a rarity. Pettigrew called attention to a solitaire ring with a fifteen-carat canary diamond. He indicated a platinum brooch that contained a cl.u.s.tered design of emeralds. He paused to announce the merits of a sapphire bracelet.

"Observe those blue stones," announced Pettigrew, in a wheezy tone.

"There are twenty-four in all - every one a perfect match for the other. A marvelous item for a collector! I can a.s.sure all prospective purchasers that it would be impossible to duplicate this bracelet. This is from the De Leon collection; it was thirty years before the full two dozen sapphires could be matched."

No one was listening to Pettigrew. All eyes were upon the center of the showcase. There lay a sight beside which the bracelet and its small sapphires seemed trivial. The object was a six-pointed star of gold. Each point of the star was set with a ma.s.sive ruby; a seventh ruddy stone adorned the center.

Those jewels gleamed a blood-red crimson. Each showed a sparkling depth that captivated the eye.

Pettigrew saw where interest was centered. His wheezy tone became a dramatic one.

"THE Seven Drops of Blood," declaimed the auctioneer. "Once the prized possession of the Maharajah of Bolopore. Each ruby, so the legend tells us, cost the life of a prince who owned it. Hence the stones were known as the Seven Drops of Blood. This unmatched star of Oriental workmans.h.i.+p adorned the royal turban of the maharajah.

"The a.s.sa.s.sination of the maharajah produced such political upheavals that British intervention was necessary to place the proper successor on the throne.

Finding his treasury rifled, the new ruler of Bolopore was forced to sell the Seven Drops of Blood in order to pay the costs of intervention. The ruby star was finally purchased by Tobias Berkland. After years of owners.h.i.+p, he has placed it on sale."

As he finished speaking, Pettigrew waved a withered hand toward a tall, elderly man who was standing near the platform. The Shadow recognized Tobias Berkland, a retired oil magnate. With Berkland was his daughter, Lenore, a former debutante whose portraits had often appeared in the society columns of the New York newspapers.

Tobias Berkland was a man of dominating appearance. His profile was sharp, almost eaglelike. His high-bridged nose supported a pair of spectacles, through which, observers could see the glint of cold, gray eyes. Lenore bore a striking resemblance to her father; but the feminine softness of her face gave her a distinctive beauty. Her sharp profile actually added to her appearance.

Lenore was speaking, as attention turned in her direction. The Shadow was close by; as buzzing conversation ceased, he heard her words.

"Lawrence may be here at any moment," the girl was saying. "Since I have his card, he will not be admitted here -"

"Don't worry about Woolford," broke in Berkland. "Speak to your Uncle Glen when he arrives. He will see that Woolford is admitted."

The name of Lawrence Woolford was one that The Shadow recognized.

Woolfordwas a young society man who was engaged to Lenore Berkland. The uncle to whom Berkland referred was a man named Glen Mogridge. He, too, had been in the news.

As brother-in-law of Tobias Berkland, Mogridge had recently been made president of a subsidiary oil company of Berkland's.

Berkland's annoyance concerning Woolford was explained a moment later. As persons began to turn away from the platform, the sharp-faced oil magnate stepped up to speak to Pettigrew. Lenore remained beside the platform, looking toward the main doorway, hoping to see her uncle, Glen Mogridge.

As The Shadow and Cardona were starting to find seats, they paused at the sound of Pettigrew's gavel. With the others, they looked toward the platform.

"I have an announcement before the auction begins," wheezed Pettigrew.

"Mr. Berkland informs me that today he accepted an offer for his rubies.

Therefore, the Seven Drops of Blood will not be auctioned. For the benefit of those who are interested, I may mention that the rubies were purchased by the International a.s.sociation of Jewelers, for display at their coming exposition.

The price set for the seven rubies was three hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

AWED voices buzzed about the auction room. Amid the murmur, The Shadow and Cardona walked to the side of the gallery, toward the nearest empty seats.

Their destination was not far from the curtained doorway at the left side of the room.

They halted, however, before they reached the spot that they had chosen.

Above the buzz came a sharp report; it was a gunshot. The Shadow and Cardona wheeled. Even as they spun about, a second gunburst followed the first.

They saw the source of the fire; they viewed its murderous result.

Standing in the rear doorway to the left of the auctioneer's platform was a man dressed in baggy Hindu attire. His face was concealed by a heavy black beard; his head was topped by a brilliant turban. Because of the man's attire, it was almost impossible to gauge his height. It was certain only that he was of more than medium build.

A glove covered the bearded man's right hand. That glove was fingerless; but his fingers, themselves, were out of view. One was hooked to the trigger of the smoking revolver that the killer carried; the others were hidden beyond the handle of the weapon. Knuckles alone were visible. Their hue could not be determined in the dull light by the curtained doorway.

The bearded entrant had fired his first shot point-blank for Kirk Pettigrew. The withered auctioneer was slumping to the floor of the platform.

The killer had sent his second bullet toward the attendant to whom The Shadow had given his invitation card. The attendant was beside the platform; he, too, had been an easy target. He was sagging when The Shadow saw him.

In less than two seconds, a killer had delivered double death. His gun was still pointed toward the platform; his eyes, peering through narrowed slits, were beadily viewing the wealth displayed there. The killer was faced by a score of witnesses, among them armed representatives of the law. He seemed contemptuous of their presence, and with good reason.

The bearded man had stepped in from the curtained doorway. Through the draperies behind him bulged the muzzle of a machine gun, trained on the throng that filled the auction room. From the other rear curtain, on the right side of the platform, loomed the barrel of a second machine gun. One false move would mean death - not only for the individual who attempted it, but for every person in the room. Dealers of death had arrived to take command; and among those who stood helpless before their machine guns was The Shadow!

CHAPTER II.

VANISHED WEALTH.

WHATEVER the full purpose of the crooks who had entered, it was certain that they did not intend further slaughter, unless necessary. The Shadow recognized that fact the moment he viewed the killer. Unconsciously, the bearded murderer had lowered his revolver after its second recoil.

The death of Pettigrew and the attendant had left the way clear to the platform. Berkland still stood there; his daughter was near him below the platform, but they were on the side away from the jewels. Furthermore, the sudden fate of the auctioneer and his a.s.sistant had stunned the others present.

Hands were coming up instinctively, among them those of Joe Cardona and the four detectives. They, like the rest, had been caught completely off guard.

In their vigil, they had posted themselves too far inward from the curtained doorways. They were covered by the machine guns.

The Shadow had pa.s.sed the detective at the side door. Joe Cardona was between The Shadow and the platform. Nevertheless, The Shadow let his briefcase slide to the floor behind the detective. In the calm fas.h.i.+on of Cranston, he raised his hands. A machine gun was pointed in his direction. The Shadow did not care to be the person who might start a quick-triggered gunner on a campaign of slaughter.

If no visible resistance should be offered, crooks would depart without using their machine guns. Their leader had chanced two revolver shots, believing that the sound would not carry through the thick door that formed the main entrance of the auction gallery. But once the machine guns began to rattle, matters would be different. A whole squad of outside police would hear. That was why The Shadow reasoned that the machine guns were intended chiefly as a threat.

Studying the bearded murderer, The Shadow was impressed by the effectiveness of the man's attire. It was impossible to tell whether or not the murderer was actually a Hindu or a masquerader. The Shadow decided, however, that the outfit was a disguise; The Shadow's reason was the bagginess of the attire. It looked like the sort of garb that could be put on or discarded without a moment of unnecessary delay.

Proof of The Shadow's opinion came as the murderer stepped toward the platform. It was then that the machine gunners edged into view, to make room for another pair behind them. Like their leader, the men with the machine guns were attired as Hindus; but their garb lacked the smoothness of their chief's.

Their beards showed false in the light. Their ungloved hands were obviously stained with a hastily applied dye that glistened too conspicuously.

The bearded killer did not seem to worry over the fact that his men had revealed themselves as disguised ruffians. He had four machine guns backing him, instead of two. Of the submachine type, those guns could be easily handled by the individuals who held them. Moreover, another pair of faces showed inreserve; one at each door. There were six bearded followers behind the master crook.

THRUSTING his revolver beneath the girdle of his robe, the murderer stepped upon the platform. Pettigrew's body had stilled; the fake Hindu shoved one of the auctioneer's hands away from his path, using a shuffling foot motion for the deed. He stopped at the display cases, wrenched the first one open.

With a shoveling motion that kept his fingers from view, the crook scooped up ma.s.ses of diamonds and brought them from the case. He looked about for a place to put them. He saw the platinum box that contained the special invitation cards delivered by those who had come to the auction. The crook poured the diamonds into the box; thrust his hand into the showcase and scooped out more gems.

Satisfied that he had plucked the items that had large value, the killer wrenched open the second case and rifled it. He did the same with the third case, then turned to the fourth.