Diamond Bert had committed new robbery, with double gain. But this time, murder had been averted.
The supercrook had fled with pursuers close upon his heels. Barely had he eluded The Shadow.
Safe in his hideout, Diamond Bert would deliver a new challenge. Crime had not yet ended. But when Diamond Bert again fared forth, The Shadow would be ready with a snare. Such was the meaning of The Shadow’s departing laugh.
CHAPTER XVIII. MOVES ON THE MORROW
AFTERNOON. A huge limousine was rolling along a West Side avenue. Seated in the car was a personage who wore the guise of Lamont Cranston. Deft fingers were opening envelopes; keen eyes perused the messages contained within.
Reports. A new contact point had been established for the day. Harry Vincent had received calls from agents in a little office that he had rented for the purpose. After dark, Burbank would again take up the duty.
There had been no emergency calls. Harry had given his reports to Clyde Burke, who had carried them to Rutledge Mann. The investment broker had left them in the deserted office on Twenty-third Street, along with a report of his own. This was the one that most interested The Shadow.
It concerned one Gautier Ranaud. Through wealthy clients of his investment bureau, Mann had learned more about the Frenchman. Ranaud was unquestionably the representative of foreign interests. He was here in New York on a bona fide mission; to make purchases of diamonds.
Apparently, the Frenchman had been waiting a favorable condition of foreign exchange. The past two weeks had been slightly to his advantage. The dollar had lulled during its upward climb. Ranaud had gained his opportunity to spend French francs, or English pounds. But Mann had gained no data concerning any actual transaction.
Investigating the International Mining Syndicate, Mann had learned that the corporation was doing an active business. By direct inquiry, he had found that the syndicate could not promise delivery of uncut diamonds for several weeks to come. The inference was that Ranaud had bought all the available gems.
THE limousine stopped in the middle of a block. Stanley, the chauffeur, sprang to the curb and opened the door. Lamont Cranston alighted. He entered a building, noted a name on the list by the elevator and ascended to the fourth floor. There he arrived at the offices of the Blefflinger Safe Company.
When he announced his name, the visitor was at once conducted to a private office. There he met a pudgy, heavy-jowled individual who proved to be Maurice Blefflinger, the president. Blefflinger had just returned from Buffalo; he expressed his regret that he had been absent in the morning when Lamont Cranston had telephoned him.
The visitor was prompt in stating his business. It concerned safes of special construction. Lamont Cranston was apparently in the market for a built-to-order article. Blefflinger shook his heavy head.
“Can’t supply you, Mr. Cranston,” he declared, “We’re only making standard models at present.”
“Odd,” remarked the visitor, “I was informed that you specialized in safes and strongroom equipment made to individual design.”
“We did,” admitted Blefflinger, “but the idea didn’t work out. It depended too much on one man. He had entire charge of the department. Used to work on each order like a sculptor with a statue. He’d stay here half the night, after the mechanics had gone.”
“He must have been a remarkable craftsman.”
“He was. Throckton Rayne was his name. Made his own designs for safes and vaults. Turned out the most remarkable grilles that you could ever see. He was an artist in his line.”
“What became of him?”
“His health went bad” — Blefflinger shook his head sadly — “and the doctor told him to retire. Too bad; Rayne wasn’t much more than forty. He left us a year ago and took a place in the country.”
“Have you seen him since?”
“Once. Funny thing” — Blefflinger paused to chuckle — “you know I popped in on him, just by accident. What do you think he was doing? Last thing you’d ever expect. He was raising pigeons. But I guess he quit that, too.”
“You saw him again?”
“No. That’s just it. It was early in the summer when I dropped in on him up in Connecticut. I came by the place a month later. Rayne was gone. Just packed up and left. I inquired about him; none of the natives knew what had become of him. They thought he’d gone out West.”
A nod from Lamont Cranston. The visitor was rising. Blefflinger, also coming to his feet, spoke in a serious tone.
“I’d like to recommend you to another concern,” he said, “but I honestly don’t know who to name. What’s more, I advise you strongly to forget this idea of a made-to-order vault.”
“Why?”
“We did about a dozen special jobs while Rayne was here” — Blefflinger stooped to open a drawer and take out a typewritten sheet of paper — “and there’s the list of the purchasers. Notice anything about it?”
“Some of the names appear familiar.”
“They ought to,” Blefflinger grunted. “Tatson and Lewkesbury. Both of their places were robbed during the past week. Maybe I sound like a poor business man, mentioning this fact. But I can tell you for certain that if Tatson and Lewkesbury had bought our standard safes, right out of stock, they wouldn’t have had this trouble.”
“What was the fault with the special ones?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Blefflinger, shaking his head in puzzled fashion. “They ought to have stood the test. But they didn’t. It’s my opinion that putting so many tricky devices on a safe is the worst thing you can do. Weakens it. Lays it open to a smart cracksman.
“Rayne took all his plans along with him when he left here. I thought we had duplicates; but it appears we didn’t. So I can’t figure what was wrong at those two places. It beats me. But there’s one lesson I’ve learned, Mr. Cranston. I’m out of the special-made business. Anybody that wants Blefflinger safes or strongroom equipment will have to buy out of regular stock.”
Lamont Cranston left. He entered his limousine and ordered Stanley to drive him to the Cobalt Club.
Drawing a small pad from his pocket, Cranston used a fountain pen to write a column of names. From memory, he copied the entire list that Maurice Blefflinger had shown him.
The writing faded. The names were perfectly impressed upon The Shadow’s memory. He had learned another phase of Diamond Bert’s game. He had discovered the identity of the slippery crook’s chief aid.
Throckton Rayne.
DIAMOND BERT had made many contacts during his checkered past. Marlin Norse, Tam Sook, Monte Agland, Ruke Perrin — these and others had done his insidious bidding. But the master stroke of his ingenuity had been the acquisition of Throckton Rayne.
Working for Blefflinger, Rayne had unquestionably made definite use of the time while Diamond Bert was in the penitentiary. Employed to design special strongroom apparatus and to superintend the construction, Rayne had added his own secret devices.
With a dozen formidable safes ready to be opened by Rayne’s ingenuity, the stage had been set for Diamond Bert’s return from Sing Sing. His work accomplished, Rayne had retired; ostensibly for his health; actually to raise carrier pigeons that could be shipped to his chief.
The quick and efficient robberies at Tatson’s and Lewkesbury’s were now explained. Rayne had accompanied Diamond Bert on those raids. Other strongrooms would yield should Rayne enter them.
Only, however, if the owners of the special vaults chanced to have jewels stored there. Gems were Diamond Bert’s best bet. He had agents who could fence them. Two of twelve potential victims had been robbed. Which would be the next?