THE GREEN SHADOW

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 958, 29 April 1930, Page 5

THE GREEN SHADOW

By

HERMAN LANDON

Copyright by Public Ledger

CHAPTER XVII.— (Continued)

After he had left Adele Castle and the newcomer on the balcony, Dale gathered up his trailing purple bordered robe and returned to the bnjlroom. The gaiety was at its noisiest, most tumultuous height. Faces were flushed, and marks were awry or removed altogether. A little unsteadily, Dale edged his way through the swirling, carousing throng. His eyes seemed dull and heavy, and he offered his apologies in a thick lisp when occasionally he bumped into a merrymaker.

At length he found an unoccupied chair, and sat down. His head slumped to his chest, and he seemed half-asleep, but through the corner of an eye he took in every detail of the boisterous scene. Everywhere he looked for the swaggering caballero he had encountered earlier in the evening, but that haughty cavalier was nowhere in sight. His eyes grew a little heavier. Now and then he roused himself and looked groggiiy across the floor. He wondered what Adele Castle and the person who had joined her out there were talking about.

A knowing little smile twitched his lips. He could make a fairly close surmise. The armoured little maiden had not deceived him with her naive looks end artless manners. She had approached Adele with all outward appearance of casualness, but Dale’s keen eyes had seen through all that. Joan had carried casualness to an extreme that roused his suspicions. He had read design and premeditation in her most innocent glances. Dr. Moffett was certainly exercising a queer judgment in his choice of agents. Yet his choice in this particular instance had much to commend it. Joan’s airy patter and unsophisticated manner would have deceived the average observer. Yet the arrangement puzzled Dale. What could Dr. Moffett’s emissary accomplish out there on the balcony, where an interruption might occur any moment and where a trap might easily have been set for her? Surely she did not mean to receive the blackmail money in such an unprotected place. Dr. Moffett was too shrewd and farsighted a scoundrel not. to have anticipated such risks. He must have chosen this particular place for the delivery of the money because he considered it the safest one he could find.

Dale pondered, and of a sudden his brows went up and a faint gleam of comprehension kindled in his eyes. He had just asked himself how he would have made his arrangements if he had been in Dr. Moffett’s place and if he had chosen this particular balcony as the scene of the transaction. The answer came instantly.

The money was to be dropped over the railing, of course, to another o f Dr. Moffett’s agents who was waiting down below to receive it and make a sudden flight the moment it was in his hands. Dale smiled thinly. No other arrangement was conceivable, so his surmise must be correct. On tbe whole the scheme was rather ingenious. It offered the maximum of success with the minimum of risk. The ball itself, with its raucous hilarity, gave the best sort of protection. Attention, if any, would be focused on Joan of Arc, not on the person waiting down below. A transaction in blackmail was always more or less dangerous, but this scheme reduced the danger to the lowest possible minimum. As he viewed the arrangement from all angles. Dale found himself conceiving a new respect for Dr. Moffett. Then he fell to wondering how far Miss Castle would be able to lead the emissary on before the latter should discover that the roll of blackmail money was padded. Nearly ten minutes must have elapsed since he left the balcony, and he was thoroughly convinced that he must act quickly and to the best possible advantage. He formed a mental picture of the ‘errain. The ballroom was on the very top of the Hotel Vandermoore. one of the largest and most sumptu-

ous hostelries in the city, although not very fastidious with regard to its clientele. The balcony, twenty-six storeys above the ground, looked out upon a narrow court with tall buildings on all sides. At this hour most of the windows in those buildings would be dark. A watcher waiting down below for a packet of money to he dropped from the top would be in no great danger of detection. He got up from the chair, swayed a little, stroked his brow as if suffering from a slight headache, and looked out over the room. Still there was no caballero in sight. The room was becoming insufferably hot and stuffy. Unsteadily he made his way through the eddying crowd. In the hall outside he removed his mask while ho wiped the moisture from his forehead, then replaced it again. Now he moved to the window at the farther end and drew the fresh night air into his lungs. Leaning out only slightly, so that his head barely showed beyond the window frame, he looked down into the black cavern below, then to the side. On a balcony about twenty feet away he descried two dim figures. A scarcely audible word was brought to him by a slight puff of wind: “Satisfied?” It was Joan of Arc speaking, of course. From the one little word he could make a fairly accurate guess as to the trend of the conversation on the balcony. He tried to hear more, but the rest was indistinguishable. Again lie scanned the black depth below, then left the window and, disdaining the elevators, sought the stairs. It would not matter greatly if he should meet any one. On this particular night almost any sort of conduct would pass unquestioned at the Vandermoore. He descended sixteen flights, then stepped to a hall window which was directly beneath the window above. For an instant he looked back. The long hall, flanked by doors on either side, was deserted. In the ceiling glowed a row of frosted lights. Cautiously he leaned over the sill and looked down. He strained his eyes and ears. From this lower level he could distinguish the flagged surface of the court. He saw a row of milk cans, a stack of packing cases, a cat slinking across the murky space, but there was neither sound nor movement.

Disappointed, and wondering if he had reasoned falsely, he let his eyes slant upward along the wall. High up was a series of projections, like bird’s nests clinging to a sheer cliff One of them, he knew, was the bal cony on which Miss Castle and Joan of Arc were standing, but at this distance he could not determine the exact one.

Again he looked down, straining ears and eyes, still loth to think that he had made a mistake. Again, as his pupils responded to the lower darkness, the objects down there began to take shape. Back and forth his eyes roved, searching every foot of space, and presently they fastened on a point near the stack of packing cases. A blur, scarcely distinguish able from its background, riveted his attention. It was a formless thing at first, only a slight shade blacker than the darkness which framed it. “Protective colouring!” he mused.

His eyes began to ache from the intense strain. Little by little the blurry thing began to differentiate itself from its surroundings. A shape stood out vaguely from the shadowy masses. He gave a surprised start Then, leaning a little lower over the sill, he formed a tube with his hands, and whistled softly. Something stirred in response. A pair of eyes seemed to be peering upward.

“A dog!” Dale thought. “My hat off to you. Dr. Moffett. Y'ou’ve trained him for this job. of course—rehearsed him. very likely. Great idea! ”

Dale grew thoughtful. 1-Ie could admire the cleverness of an adversary, even a despicable one like Dr. Moffett. He saw the plan clearly now. When the packet dropped from the balcony, the dog would clutch it ithis jaws, and, by a prearranged route slink off to a waiting car and a waiting master somewhere in the neigh-

bom-hood. There were hundreds of cars parked in the vicinity of the Vandermoore tonight. Nobody would suspect a dog of mischief. If seen in the -act, he would merely excite admiration for his cleverness. Suddenly Dale jerked up his head. A slight scraping sound, like that of a window being cautiously raised, had reached his ears. "He glanced upward along the wall, most of it dark, but with here and there an isolated light. From a dark window a little to the side, and a few floors higher up, a head protruded. A dim light fell on it from the window just above, and Dale could see it was a man’s head. The man was looking upward, toward the row of balconies at the top, perhaps at the very balcony where Miss Castle and Joan of Arc were. Dale nodded. In addition to the dog, there would be a watcher, of course, waiting to see if there should be a hitch in the proceedings. As well as he could in the dint light, Dale studied the shape of the head and the long blond wig which framed it. Evidently the watcher was one of the merrymakers. And Dale thought he had seen that blonde head before. CHAPTER XVIII. The head turned. For an instant Dale caught a vague glimpse of a face, and then the head disappeared within the window. “The caballero —Paul Ainsworth!” he mumbled. He was still gazing rigidly at the window from which the wigged head had projected. One, two, three. It was three floors above his own level. That would be the thirteenth floor, just midway between the ground and the roof. The window was the fifth from the central hall in a horizontal direction. With the location clearly fixed in his mind, he went to the stairs, ran up three flights, and turned into the transverse corridor at the left. He counted the doors as he passed them. At the fifth from the turn he stopped, and the metal figures on the upper panel told him it was No. 1325. He waited a moment. There was no sign of life in the hall. The orchestral din on the top floor was scarcely audible here. After a moment’s hesitation he turned the knob gently. The door must have been left unlocked in preparation for a quick retreat if necessary, for it swung easily inward. He held it open a bit and listened, but no sounds came from the interior. He touched his hair, his mask, his purple-trimmed robe, and without a sound stepped inside. Silently he moved forward, approaching the window, only a grey blur in the darkness encompassed by the four walls. Only a few steps he moved, across a rug that deadened ■the sound of his footsteps, then stopped. In the gloom he could hear someone breathing, and he traced the sound to a point near the window. He waited a little, not quite certain how to proceed, and presently his eyes turned in another direction. Again he heard a subdued intake of breath There were two watchers in the room. Holding his own breath he moved back a few steps. There was a sound of movement in the front of the room A man’s head and shoulders were silhouetted against the window. For a moment the man leaned out and glanced upward. “Annie’s taking her time,” a voice mumbled. Dale recognised the voice in an instant. The speaker was Paul Ainsworth. The Annie referred to could be none other than Joan of Arc. “Annie is wise,” another voice remarked. It -was low and distinct, and it sounded vaguely familiar to Dale, yet he could not identify it. “She knows we’re playing this game to the tune of one hundred thousand berries. It pays to go slow- and move carefully. Anyhow, there’s no hurry. This party will last till daylight.” Ainsworth mumbled something under his breath. Dale was searchi mg his memory for a clue to the other ; speaker’s identity. He was certain

he had heard the voice somewhere before. “One hundred thousand,” the same voice went on. “It’s a nice grubstake. Too bad it’s got to be split five ways.” “Five ways,” Dale thought. “That meant there were five in the blackmailing band. He tried to check them off by name; Dr. Moffett, alias Paul Ainsworth, Annie, Axelson. Miss Conway was not to be counted, for she was dead. Who were the other two? The answer eluded him, but by way of compensation the other speaker’s name suddenly flashed through his mind. Axelson, of course! Again a shadow appeared at the window. Ainsworth was looking up at the balcony. “Wish she would hurry,” he mumbled peevishly, moving away from the window again. “Can’t imagine what’s delaying her.” “Miss Castle probably wants to look the papers over,” Axelson suggested. “A lot of good it will do her! If I say it myself, I did a good job copying those papers. Even if she knows Forrester’s handwriting—and I'll bet she doesn’t —she won’t be able to tell them from the originals.” Dale started a little. So the papers were merely copies! Well, he had suspected something of the sort. The originals, of course, were to be retained by Dr. Moffett and used by him for the purpose of further extortion. “Oh. don’t crow,” said Ainsworth with his usual surliness. “I’ll admit you are clever at that sort of thing, but don’t forget that a lot of clever forgers are wasting their talents behind prison bars.” “So are a lot of clever blackmailers.” Axelson retorted. A pause fell. Dale was getting a deeper and more comprehensive insight into Ainsworth’s despicable character. There seemed to be no limits to the man’s villainy. Even while his heart ached for Miss Castle such an exhibition of treachery and infamy filled him with loathing. “Are you sure Miss Castle came here alone?” Ainsworth asked in an understone. “Positive. Not worrying?” “Pm just wondering if she is quite as simple as she looks. I think she would be capable of playing a trick on us.” “What can she do? We’ve taken precautions against every sort of surprise she can possibly spring on us, haven’t we? I don’t see where there’3 any room for trickery. Annie won’t even touch the money. Miss Castle wil ljust drop it over the railing, and Caesar will do the rest.” “Caesar,” Dale thought. That was tlio dog, of course. Another pause came, then Ainsworth asked; “Did you see the man in the white toga with the purple border?” “Oh, you mean the cock-eyed one?” “I’m not sure he was as cock-eyed as he looked. He danced with Miss Castle, and afterward he took her out on the balcony. I don’t like the way he acted.” “She had to dance with somebody, didn’t she? And it’s the most natural thing in the world to step out for 3 bit of fresh air after a dance.” Dale smiled. It was a lucky thing he had selected a mask that concealed more of his features than the ordinary mask did. His muscles were beginning to feel the strain of remaining motionless for so long. Ho moved a foot cautiously. “It’s all right,” Axelson was saying. “You’re just nervous tonight. Everything is going all right. We'll trim Castle good and hard, and then we go after Ferryman, eh? Ferryman is rich. Not so rich as Castle, but he’s got a lot of coin salted away. And he owes me something for the xyay he gave me the air. I’d like to —” He stopped and caught his breath sharply. Dale’s foot, as he moved it to ease his cramped position, had struck against something.” “Say, did you hear that?” Axelson exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. “Sh!” Ainsworth whispered back. Dale sensed two pairs of ears and eyes straining in his direction. He moved back and ran his hand along the wall until he found the light switch. A little click sounded, but no lights came on. The bulbs had either been removed, from the sockets, or partly unscrewed to forestall the very thing he had attempted to do. “It’s a plant!” Axelson cried ; hoarsely. “We’ve got to stop it. Quick —the signal!” A match flared up. Then came a sizzling sound, like that of a frying pan over a fire. A small streak of flame shot up over the window sill,

then two pairs of feet scurried quickly across the floor. The door slammed. With a soft chuckle Dale stepped forward and fumbled for the light fixture. As he had suspected, the bulb had been partly unscrewed to break the connection. He gave it a few tw’ists, and a bright light came on. He saw’ a spacious room, an open travelling bag on the floor, a fetv toilet articles on the dressingtable. He acted in great haste now, as if each second was precious. He took two newspapers, saturated them with ink from a bottle on the writing desk, formed them into a small compact bundle, tied a string around it, and held it at arm’s length. A small, steady trickle of ink fell from the package. Smiling, lie stepped to the window. Me looked down for a moment, then let the ink-dripping package drop to the ground. “Caesar will do the rest,” he chuckled softly, as he ran quickly from the room.

As if to cheer the pale, lovely girl seated on the frail-limbed Chippendale chair, a flood of glorious sunshine poured through the windows of the Castle drawing-room. “How dreadful!” she sighed. Dale, looking his brightest and freshest, picked up the afternoon paper she had dropped to the floor. A prominent black caption stood out from the general run of news on the front page: "Arrest of the Mysterious Mr. Graves Promised within 24 Hours.” Dale ran his calm, grey eyes down the appended column. “Rot!” he exclaimed. "But it says the police have definite information which will positively lead to an arrest before tomorrownight.” “Lies!” Dale crumpled the paper and flung it from him. “It is only yellow journalism at its worst. Nothing but insinuation, innuendo and drivel. Not one positive statement in

the whole article. I admit Dr. Moffett is clever, though. He has fed a few harmless hints to the authorities, enough for this yellow rag to base a scarehead on. His object is to frighten your father and you, and to convince you that he is ready to go the whole way unless you submit.” To be Continued Tomorrow.