Yet, even though Kwa had escaped, the laugh of The Shadow sounded as a sinister whisper upon the spaces of the lawn!
CHAPTER XVIII. DOWN TO CHINATOWN
THE Chinese invasion which had resulted in the abduction of old Barton Schofield made a front-page newspaper story that persisted to hold the largest headlines through to the evening editions. At six o’clock the following evening, nearly twenty-four hours after the banker had been kidnapped, Doctor Ward Zelka was seated in a booth at Brindle’s restaurant, scanning the latest reports.
Someone jostled against the table. Doctor Zelka looked up, and raised his eyebrows in surprise as he saw David Moultrie. With a sour grin that added no attraction to his large-toothed mouth, the stock manipulator took a seat opposite the physician.
“Well?” questioned Zelka.
“Well enough,” said Moultrie, with a low laugh. “Looks like things are going good for the Huxley proposition, eh?”
“I don’t like it,” declared Zelka, in a hushed tone. “What’s more, I don’t like being with you, Moultrie, even in a secluded place like this.”
With these words, Zelka peered from the booth. Seeing that he and Moultrie were well away from listening ears, he decided to resume the conversation.
“Rather drastic, don’t you think?” questioned Zelka suavely. “Two murders and an abduction?”
“Yes,” confessed Moultrie slowly. “I don’t like crime, Zelka, even when it works to my advantage. I may be unethical, but I am not in favor of murder — or abduction.”
Zelka was listening intently to the stock manipulator’s words. He did not notice that two young men had arrived in the next booth. Harry Vincent and Clyde Burke, agents of The Shadow, had met outside of Brindle’s restaurant. Together, they were seeking to edge in on the conversation between the men whom they were watching.
“You don’t like it, eh?” questioned Zelka. “Even though it is to your advantage; even though the idea was suggested to you.”
“Suggested to me?” Moultrie glowered. “Say, you aren’t trying to pin this mess on me, are you? If I thought you were, I’d—”
Zelka’s eyes narrowed. The physician seemed to be waiting the rest of Moultrie’s threat. It did not come.
The mouthy stock manipulator glared.
“I was merely making an impersonal remark,” declared Zelka. “Sometimes, people take unusual measures when they see a way to easy gain. Murder? Nothing was further from my mind, Moultrie, when I told you that the elimination of Hartnett and Goodall would pave the way to a quiet deal with old man Schofield.”
“Look here, Zelka,” returned Moultrie, in a bold tone. “You’ve been reading the paper — it’s right here on the table now. What about this business?”
“What about it?”
“Well — from my standpoint. A flock of Chinese are in back of these murders — that is, if the murders are connected with the abduction of Schofield. What do I know about Chinese?”
“Nothing, I suppose.”
There was a tinge of sarcasm in Zelka’s tone. Moultrie caught it and glowered.
“I can’t even make out a Chinese laundry ticket,” insisted the stock manipulator. “But when it comes to knowing something about China, you’re the berries. You’ve been there. I’ll bet you know the language perfectly.”
“You are insinuating—”
“Nothing.” Moultrie became suddenly calm. “I only mean this. We both stand to profit by the way that things have turned. Only — well, I don’t want to be hooked up with killings.”
“With which you think I am connected.”
“Yes,” admitted Moultrie.
DOCTOR ZELKA smiled. “When unusual circumstances arise,” declared the physician, “it is sometimes advisable to take advantage of them without going too deeply into their source. I have found that a policy, Moultrie. Perhaps you would do well to follow the same thought.”
“Which means?”
“That you and I — through the conditions which now exist — are able to proceed with a very definite plan of action regarding the acquisition of Huxley Corporation stock.”
“I’ll grant you that,” agreed Moultrie. “Just the same, I don’t want you to—”
“It so happens,” interposed Zelka suavely, “that we are very much in the same boat. It does not matter” — Zelka paused to insert a cigarette in his goldbanded holder — “what has caused the deaths of Hartnett and Goodall, or who has chosen to abduct old Schofield. That is a problem for the police to handle. Our interest lies in the matter of Huxley stock.”
David Moultrie grinned in a knowing manner. Doctor Zelka continued to speak in his suave tone.
“Suppose,” he suggested, “that my analysis regarding these three men had caused you to take some action regarding them.” Zelka, with a wave of his hand, stopped the beginning of Moultrie’s protest.
“What would the effect be upon me? I shall tell you.
“Certain people — the police for instance — would say that Moultrie and Zelka had much in common. Too much, perhaps. Therefore, Moultrie, your interests are ones that draw mine along with them. Is that plain?”
“Plain enough,” asserted Moultrie. “But don’t start to connect me—”
“I am connecting you with nothing,” interrupted Zelka smoothly. “I am coming to the other side of the story. Suppose that my suggestion to you — the one regarding the three men who are now eliminated — had been a thought which I intended to put into practice. Very well; what would be said, now that circumstances exist as they do?
“I shall tell you, Moultrie. People — the police included — would say that whatever Zelka did, Moultrie would benefit. Therefore Zelka’s interests have drawn those of Moultrie.”
The stock manipulator grinned sourly. He studied the physician’s face. At last he shrugged his shoulders and made a blunt statement.
“Whatever you’ve done, I’ll be blamed,” said Moultrie. “I guess you’re right, Zelka. Well, there’s no getting out of it.”
“Not a chance,” declared Zelka. “In fact, Moultrie, if I had acted — let us say criminally — I would certainly expect to have you share the blame with me, inasmuch as you would share the profits if all went well.
“Conversely, I would not expect you to deal otherwise with me — assuming that you had gone to the great trouble of producing crime. I shall be frank, Moultrie. I do not approve of murder any more than do you. Nevertheless, there is no way of altering what has happened.”
Steady gazes met. Moultrie tried to laugh matters off with a nasty leer. Zelka responded with a suave smile, which ended with a puff at the cigarette holder.
“UNDER the circumstances,” remarked Zelka, “my advice that we should avoid each other’s company is more important than before.”
“You’re right about that,” returned Moultrie. “I was a fool to look for you here tonight. I just was curious, that was all — no — I was worried, too—”
“People who are worried,” stated Zelka, “usually have some burden upon their minds. However” — his tone turned to a soothing purr — “you need not worry so far as I am concerned. As for Huxley stock, that can wait. Goodall is not here to make his statement. Hartnett can no longer influence Schofield. Perhaps” — the physician’s tone was thoughtful — “we shall hear from the old banker before long.”
“Do you know where he is?” queried Moultrie quickly.
“No,” responded Zelka. “Do you?”
Moultrie laughed hoarsely.
“Suppose we don’t hear from Schofield?” he said, in a cautious tone. “Suppose something has happened to him — like death — well, what will we do then?”