Maxwell Grant
Atoms of Death
CHAPTER I
WORD TO THE SHADOW
MANHATTAN formed a changing scene to the man who watched from his window. Dusk was settling over the metropolis; twinkling lights had appeared upon streets and in buildings. Myriad points of illumination were offering man’s combat to the approaching gloom of night.
To most observers, this would have been an assuring spectacle. To the man at the window, it was the opposite. He saw those lights as pitiful spots that could only temper darkness; not overpower it. His eyes, as they looked toward the street below, spied deep, shaded patches, where grim blackness already reigned.
Lurking spots. Places where enemies might be waiting. The far-off glitter of Times Square, already glowing against the sky, was one district that might offer safety by its glare. But Times Square was distant from this young man’s lookout. Intervening spaces would have to be traversed should he begin a dash for those far-off lights that shone like a beacon of safety.
The street was five stories below. Its darkness became more ominous the more the young man watched it. Fading sunlight showed the man’s face pale at the window. A keen face; a firm face — youthful, yet haggard. It was tension, though, not fear, that held the man in its grip.
Turning from the window, the watcher looked about the room wherein he stood. Although he had been watching lights, the young man had avoided using them in the room itself. The furniture that loomed in the dusk of the room was typical of a moderate-priced hotel.
Hunted, avoiding enemies, the young man had chosen this haven. Here, while he awaited some development, he was seeking to give the impression that he was not in his room. His worriment, however, was indication that he felt his ruse was unsuccessful.
Stepping in from the window, the young man trod softly toward the door. There he listened, tensely, trying to catch any signs of movement in the hall. His ears, straining in the darkness, caught a slight, muffled sound that faded as he listened.
A foe? Or merely some chance passer? The listener did not know. But his breath came in a muffled hiss as he moved back toward the center of the room. The suspense had brought his nerves to a point where any noise meant danger. The solitude of the hotel room had quickened his imagination to an unreal pitch — held him on edge.
A telephone bell jingled from a table in the corner of the room. With a stifled gasp, the young man pounced upon the receiver. He raised the receiver from the hook; waited as the bell buzzed on; then spoke in a low voice:
“Hello… Hello…”
A voice across the wire. The young man sank to a chair beside the table. A sigh of relief came from his lips. He had recognized the tones of the speaker. He had at last made the contact that he sought.
“Hello…” Finding his voice, the young man spoke steadily. “Yes, this is Bruce Duncan… Yes, Harry, I called you five times… I see. You just returned to your hotel. Well, I’m mighty glad you got my message…
“I didn’t want to call you again. Because of danger… Yes, great danger… Don’t ask for the details yet. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. But there’s someone you must notify at once. The Shadow—”
Bruce Duncan broke off suddenly as he heard a warning word across the wire. He understood. Mention of The Shadow was unwise. Warily, Bruce looked around toward the closed door of his room. He chewed his lips as he realized the mistake that he had made. He had forgotten that there might be listeners in the hall.
A careful voice was coming over the wire. The friend at the other end was making statements of assurance. Bruce Duncan steadied. When he spoke again, it was in methodical fashion.
“Yes…” His voice was one of agreement. “It’s best that I should get away from here… Before it is too dark… I understand. Yes, I can be there in just half an hour… Good… Leave that to me, Harry.”
Hanging up, Bruce breathed with confidence. He looked toward the window and smiled, despite the fact that the sky had fully darkened. For he had found the solution to his problems. No long, hopeless trip to safety, only a short, circuitous dash that would end in a meeting with a friend.
Half an hour. The time was more than ample. But time, from now on, would be working in his favor, so Bruce thought. Listening at the door, the young man could detect no new sounds; but he still held a suspicion that enemies had been outside that portal.
There was safety in this room; there would be safety for a short while when he reached the outside air. But both would become too precarious if he waited too long. Ten minutes here; then it would be time for prompt departure.
HOLDING his watch as he stood by the window, Bruce Duncan surveyed his present position. Last night, he had escaped from a most threatening situation. He had come to this hotel believing that his trail would be unfollowed. He had decided to remain in hiding.
All had been well until noon today. Then Bruce had realized that he had underestimated the power of the foe that he had eluded. Lunching in the hotel restaurant, he had noted that he was under observation. Men who looked like hardened denizens of the underworld had spotted him.
Coming back to his room, Bruce had summed the present. He realized that this hotel — the Palladium — had been an unwise choice. Bruce had picked it believing that its obscurity would serve him. He had discovered, too late, that this isolated, run-down hostelry would be the very place where searchers would try to find him.
Men of evil had sought Bruce Duncan’s life. The Shadow had thwarted them in the past. A strange, weird personage who fought for right, The Shadow was one who could never be forgotten. The closeness of new danger had inspired Bruce to seek The Shadow’s aid again.
Bruce had known of but one way to reach The Shadow. Back in that dim past, Bruce had made the friendship of a man who he knew must be in The Shadow’s service. That man was Harry Vincent; when Bruce had last seen him, Harry had been living at the Hotel Metrolite.
By reaching Harry; Bruce knew that he could reach The Shadow. He had made a call to the Metrolite and had learned that Harry was stopping there. But when Bruce had made his first call, he had been informed that his friend was out. Bruce had followed with four more calls throughout the afternoon. He had finished with leaving word for Mr. Vincent to call him at the Palladium.
Harry’s call had come at last. Aside from Bruce’s error in mentioning The Shadow, the conversation had produced complete results. Harry had pictured Bruce’s present dilemma and had offered the best way out. It was not wise for Bruce to remain much longer at the Palladium Hotel; nor was a long trip advisable. The best plan was a rendezvous not too far distant.
Wisely, Harry had suggested a corner on Third Avenue. That thoroughfare lay east of the Palladium Hotel. By heading eastward, Bruce would spring a surprise on followers who would be expecting him to take a westward course. Moreover, the chosen meeting place was but ten minutes distant. Allowing more time, Bruce would able to double back on his tracks.
The total space of thirty minutes would be ample for Harry Vincent. Bruce had a hunch that it would enable other friends to be with Harry. Moreover, it meant that Harry might have time to communicate with The Shadow. That thought brought a soft chuckle from Bruce Duncan.
Darkness was The Shadow’s habitat. Night increased his formidable powers. Until now, Bruce had dreaded the fading of day. But with word gone to The Shadow, the darkening of night promised greater security.
TEN minutes had almost ended. Bruce stepped away from the window. A new thought inspired him. His was a double task. Not only was his own security at stake; that of many others lay in the balance.
Crime was in the making. Hazy, indefinable crime that Bruce could not analyze. Its existence; its imminence — these, however, were indisputable. It was Bruce’s duty to make that threat known; and he could think of no one better fitted to cope with it than The Shadow. In fact, as Bruce considered it, only The Shadow would give full credence to the strange tale that Bruce himself could tell.