Serialized over the next three weeks we present you with one of the many lost adventures of The Shadow. Between 1937 and 1954 there were over 600 adventures of The Shadow broadcast on radio. Yet, sadly, just over 200 recordings have survived, leaving some 400 “lost” adventures that were heard once, at the time of the original broadcast, and never again. They have been lost to the ravages of time.
Now, after all those years, you can once again thrill to one of the exact same Shadow stories that radio listeners heard over 60 years ago. A story that until now had vanished, unheard by fans.
This Shadow mystery is adapted from one of the old radio scripts for a broadcast which no longer exists in recorded form. You can’t actually sit down and listen to a new adventure of The Shadow as performed for radio audiences. But your mind can still hear the voices of those characters as you read this novelization.
Your mind’s ear can imagine hearing the voice of esteemed radio actor Bret Morrison as he plays the part of The Shadow, and Grace Matthews as she portrays Margo Lane. Hear the wonderfully evocative organ music and The Shadow’s shivery laughter.
Once again, The Shadow will demonstrate that: “The weed of crime bears bitter fruit. Crime does not pay. The Shadow knows!”
Introduction to The Shadow
Who is The Shadow? A lone man of mystery. A crime fighter extraordinaire. An amazing being with the ability to efface himself from human sight. An unseen phantom who strikes terror into the very hearts of lawbreakers.
A spectral wraith who can not be seen — his identity concealed from all — he battles against crime in its many forms. Mysterious being of the night — incomprehensible to both crooks and cops alike — The Shadow gains knowledge of crime in the making and sets his plans accordingly. Criminals quail at his very name, as the master fighter takes to their trail.
In all his dealings with the law, The Shadow uses the same surprising secrecy that he adopts in his affairs with the criminal underworld. Known only to police as a singular being who has mysteriously appeared on the scene of crime, and as inexplicably, disappeared, The Shadow, nevertheless has aided the police all over the world.
The voice of an invisible shade speaks from nowhere — out of the cool night air rings a peal of laughter. The triumph laugh of the Master of Darkness — The Shadow!
The Shadow, weird creature of the night, scourge of evil. The name of The Shadow has become a fixture wherever crime dwells. The power of his hand has been felt in every center where organized crime is fostered. The Shadow is the lone fighter who swings the balance in favor of the law when champions of justice seem overwhelmed with considerable odds.
The Shadow is a being of amazing prowess. A super sleuth, he detects the inroads of crime where others see nothing beneath the surface. The Shadow seems superhuman. His weird accomplishments have left their mark. Through his supernatural measures, The Shadow gains an advantage that often serves him well.
The Shadow, in his moments of greatest power, appears as an unseen champion of justice, leaving only the echoes of a strident mocking laugh as a token of his victory. The very name of The Shadow is provocative of awe.
Identity unknown to all but one — his trusted friend and companion, Margo Lane — The Shadow’s true self is that of Lamont Cranston, wealthy young man about town and well-known world traveler.
Years ago in the wastelands of the Orient, Cranston studied with the holy men of Tibet. It was there that he learned how to unleash an amazing ability — the power of the mind. Through the force of hypnosis, he is able to impress his indomitable will upon others, and erase himself from their conscious thoughts. Their sight will become veiled to the extent that they will see everything but… The Shadow!
Thus armed with the ability to become unseen in even the brightest room does The Shadow go forth to battle crime — to vanquish his foes and make justice triumph. From seemingly nowhere glides a being unseen to strike swiftly. No matter what crime, no matter how diabolical the plan, justice will triumph.
Trailing his actions is his weird chilling laugh — the omen that makes crooks cringe in fear. On the chill night air the triumph laugh peals out from under a midnight sky. Crime has been traced to its source. Crooks have met their just fates. The Shadow has vanquished his foes and crime has been stilled. Justice has counterbalanced injustice. Crime does not pay!
Such is The Shadow; only The Shadow knows!
Murder marked Merry Christmas
(Broadcast Dec. 26, 1948)
Bizarre death strikes at Snow Cap Lodge. Stranded in a wintry wonderland, snowbound victims are preyed upon by a hidden murderer, using brightly wrapped Christmas presents as his couriers of doom. The Shadow must reveal the inhuman killer before the next holiday package can be delivered.
Chapter 1
The shadowy promise of death lay over Snow Cap Lodge. It was a pall not yet recognized by the lodge guests, but it lay there nonetheless, waiting ominously for a concealed killer to strike. The future scene of grisly murder looked so innocent, it was impossible for anyone to believe that this white winter playground would soon be drenched in crimson red.
The lodge sat in a high valley of the Adirondacks, nestled between two peaks. Evening approached and the copper rays of the sun set the white snowpack glistening with multi-colored gleams of brilliance. As soon as the sun fell below the mountainous skyline, darkness would quickly settle upon the little valley. Already long shadows were being cast as the setting sun struck the tall pines surrounding the converted farmhouse, now a ski lodge.
The building was an old one. It was a two-story sprawling affair, showing where additions had been made over the years. At present, it was covered with a thick blanket of glistening snow, as were the rest of the surroundings, and as evening approached, millions of wind-tossed snowflakes began falling, adding a new layer to the already growing depth of snow.
The lodge wasn’t officially open for the season, yet, but Alex Trenton, virile young ski instructor for the lodge, had just been teaching the elements of skiing to an early arrival. The beautiful guest, Eliza Grinnell, was laughing at her trial ski lesson as he opened the front door for her. The lilt of her carefree laughter tinkled in the brisk mountain air.
“I’ll bet I looked funny with my head stuck in the snow, and my legs waving!”
The door closed snugly behind them; the two found themselves alone. The room was a large high ceilinged place, its walls of rough-hewn wood. The central lounge area was dominated by a large stone fireplace. Several huge logs crackled comfortingly on the hearth sending out waves of heat.
Above the fireplace, the mantel was a solid piece of hardwood. Upon it sat a variety of carved wooden figures: a duck, an elk, an old man and a peddler woman. All seemed to look down at the couple who had just entered.
Trenton’s strong, well-tanned face carried a wide grin. He let out a rich chuckle at his pupil’s self-deprecating description of herself.
“Well, you can’t expect to be an expert after one lesson. Come on over to the fire and dry off.”
Comfortable, deeply upholstered chairs circled in front of the fireplace. The two removed their thick ski jackets and laid them upon the chairs to dry. They stood before the crackling fire, turning slowly as if rotating on a spit, warming themselves.
“Mmm.” Eliza Grinnell slowly pivoted before the gentle warmth, allowing the cozy heat from the burning logs to remove the chill acquired from the frozen snow outside. “That does feel good. Oh, Alex, I love it up here.”
He moved to her side.
“I love having you here, Eliza. I’ve missed you.”
“Silly. It’s not even a week since we were together.”
“An hour’s too long.” He slid his strong, muscular arms around her waist; his voice throbbed low as he tenderly murmured her name, “Eliza…”
She pulled away from his amorous embrace with a demure protest.
“Please, Alex. Someone might see us…”
“There’s no one here but us.”
“Diggs?”
“Gone to the depot to pick up two new guests. That’s why I wanted you here, today, before the season opened.”
She lowered her trembling voice. The owner of the inn was absent, but they were still not completely alone. There was one other.
“But we’ve got to be careful. What if Louis…”
“He hasn’t been out of his room since you got here.” He reached out, drawing her close to him. “Come here, darling.”
“Oh, Alex.” She surrendered to his arms.
“Eliza.”
“I do love you, Alex. But I’m so afraid. If my husband were ever to find out…”
“Forget him, can’t you, sweetheart? Besides, I thought you were going to come alone?”
“I wanted to. You know that. But when he decided to come, I couldn’t do anything to make him suspect.”
“Think he knows anything?”
She looked tenderly into his deep dark eyes. “How could he? All those weeks in the city we were so careful. Let’s not spoil it now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Diggs will be coming back any minute. He mustn’t catch us here like this. We’d better dress for cocktails.”
“Maybe you’re right.” With considerable reluctance, he released her. “But hurry. I hate to be away from you even a minute.”
She flashed him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be back before you miss me.”
“That’s what you think. I miss you already.”
“Silly. Come on, I’ll walk you right to your door.”
She took his hand in hers, and the two headed from the front room, down a far hallway. They entered a newer wing of the rambling lodge. This extension was a two-story one that had been built within the past few years. The downstairs held rooms for staff; the upper floor was for the use of guests.
Eliza stopped outside a door near the end of the hall, where a staircase led to the second floor.
“Here you are.”
“Meet you in front of the fire in 15 minutes.”
He reached out for her, but she slinked out of his grasp with a spritely laugh.
“Fifteen minutes. Bye!”
She turned and scampered up the stairs, disappearing from sight around the turn at a small landing. Alex Trenton stood gazing fondly after her. The next 15 minutes would be the longest of his life. He reluctantly turned to his door.
Trenton patted his pockets, finally finding his room key. He unlocked the door and stepped inside his room. Each of the rooms at the inn, whether for guests or staff, was outfitted with a wood fireplace. Gas lights bordered the walls, indicating the building had only recently been wired for electricity. The bed was supplied with several thick comforters to ward off the cold nights.
While darkness deepened outside, the ski instructor thought of the upcoming week, here at the lodge with Eliza. What a wonderful week it would be. Having her husband unexpectedly accompanying her here was awkward, it was true, but if he — Louis, the husband — stayed to his rooms, as he had most of this day, Trenton would be satisfied.
His ruminations were interrupted as he noticed a small package sitting on an end table. It was covered in gay Christmas wrapping paper. Perhaps a belated Christmas gift, he thought. It hadn’t been here earlier, which seemed strange, but perhaps in his rush he had overlooked it. It appeared that Santa Claus had held one present out for him, he thought with a smile.
Curious, Alex Trenton hastily tore off the paper. Inside he was bemused to find a wooden music box, carved in the shape of a little man. Attached to the eight-inch figurine was a small card. He read to himself:
“To operate, wind music box by twisting head of carved figure.”
This looked like something the playful Eliza might have left for him. With a smile, he followed the directions and turned the head. He continued turning, winding up the music box, until it would turn no more. When he let go, the head slowly began rotating back to the tinkling accompaniment of “I Can’t Give You Anything But Love, Baby.”
The sentiment seemed appropriate. Trenton laughed aloud at the clever little figurine and began to sing aloud to the empty room: “I can’t give you anything but…”
The wooden carving gave an unexpected click. The next sound was a horrific blast that would have shattered the eardrums of Alex Trenton, if he had remained alive to hear it. The small figurine had been booby trapped with some powerful explosive.
The shock wave sent glass flying from shattered windows. The entire ski lodge gave a shudder. A flash of fire was quickly replaced by black billowing smoke. It rolled from the broken windows, swirling darkly upward in the snowy skies.
From upstairs came the sharp sound of a startled scream. And then, as the inky-black smoke continued to curl from the shattered windows and creep from beneath the ruined door, there was an uneasy silence. It was a silence of death.
Alex Trenton lay slain in his quarters, a victim of some diabolical device hidden within the carved little man. Murder, sudden and foul, had struck Snow Cap Lodge.
The promise of death had been kept!
A HORSE-DRAWN SLEIGH moved smoothly along the whitened country road through the gathering dusk, past snow-laden trees. From above, large white snowflakes softly floated downward. Small bells attached to the side of the large sled jingled merrily, the musical notes echoing their Christmas greetings to all who heard them.
The horse pulling the sleigh needed little guidance from the driver, who seemed to prefer the company of the animal to that of humans. The wizened old man sat high on the front of the sleigh, his bushy mustache covering a good quarter of the lower half of his face. He was a small, wiry fellow who occasionally gave the reigns a light tug, more for show than anything else.
The sturdy equine kept an even pace down the snowy road. The twenty-mile trip from the small village train depot to the ski lodge was one that the horse had taken many times. It was a gentle and capable animal, and it swiftly carried its passengers toward their destination.
In the rear of the sleigh, two warmly-dressed guests huddled close together beneath a thick blanket, enjoying the picturesque ride through the white forest. It was as if they had left the trappings of civilization behind, and were snow bound in the wilderness. They were headed toward the ski lodge on a snow-covered road that was no longer passable by motor vehicles.
Margo Lane, vivacious socialite among Manhattan’s elite 500, spoke in a low voice to her companion. Her tone sparkled with humor.
“Lamont, how do you do it? Did you get a good look at the character that’s driving this sleigh?”
There was something hawklike in the molded visage of her companion. Lamont Cranston, wealthy world traveler and playboy, undertoned back to her:
“I thought he was a nice little old fellow, Margo.”
“In a gruesome sort of way. He looks like a first cousin to your underworld pal, Adolphus Q. Poindexter.”
Cranston flashed her a brief smile, the most to cross his usually passive countenance.
“You must imagine that. I’ll bet he’s a gentle old soul. Watch.” He raised his voice, calling out to the old man. “How long will it take to get to the lodge, my good man?”
“Ain’t your good man,” came back the clipped reply. “Name’s Diggs.”
Margo giggled softly. “Gentle old soul, all right.”
Ignoring her derision, Cranston called out again, “Guess you’re looking forward to the season, eh, Diggs?”
“Nope.” That was all; just the single word reply.
“Why not?”
“Too many people.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Hate people.”
Margo nudged her companion with an elbow. Her eyes twinkled merrily.
“You certainly can pick them, Lamont.”
“Wait a minute, Margo.” He wasn’t done with the fellow, yet. “If you don’t like people, what are you doing running a lodge?”
“Got talked into it by a slick city fellow by the name of Trenton. Calls himself a ski master.” He let out a grunt. “Shoulda let well enough alone.”
“What have you got against people, Diggs?”
“Get in a man’s way. Keep him from doing what he really likes.”
Margo chose the opportunity to chime into the conversation.
“What do you like, Diggs?” she asked, innocently.
“Whittling. Puttering around. Thinking.”
“It must be profitable, though, running a ski lodge.” This from Cranston.
“Money isn’t everything, neighbor. It can’t buy quiet. Can’t buy peace.”
Margo was enjoying the old coot. She laughingly undertoned to Cranston, “I take it back, Lamont. He isn’t Poindexter’s cousin. Poindexter has a nice, sweet mind compared to his.”
By now, it was snowing heavily. The white flakes clouded the darkness like a dense, milky veil. The driving white flakes made it impossible to see for more than a few yards, yet the horse instinctively knew the way. It followed the nearly invisible valley road that skirted the base of the hillside.
“Here’s the lodge,” Diggs indicated ahead where the large structure suddenly materialized through the snowstorm. Smoke from the high chimney gave promise of the warmth that awaited them inside.
Lamont Cranston was heartened by the sight. It had been a chilly ride, even though he and Margo had been carefully bundled beneath that cozy blanket.
“Oh, that looks just like what the doctor ordered. All of us should get plenty of peace and quiet, here.”
Diggs tugged the reigns, again an unneeded gesture mostly for show, and the horse came to a smooth stop directly in front of the wide front doors to the ski lodge. Cranston stepped down into the deep, soft snow. He reached up for Margo, and helped her down. But the entire time, her eyes were taking in the white-covered chalet which seemed to glisten by starlight.
“It is beautiful. Looks like the most peaceful place in the world.”
As if to prove the contrary, further comment was interrupted by the abrupt roar of a violent explosion. The crisp clear air seemed to catch and magnify the deafening sound. A woman’s shrill shriek, an aftermath to the blast, could be heard coming from somewhere upstairs in the old lodge.
“Good lord, what was that?”
“Can’t say,” the spry old sleigh driver jumped down from his high seat. “But it don’t sound very peaceful.”
The millionaire’s keen gaze followed the sound. From a ground floor window near the back of the snow-covered structure he spied black smoke flowing outward. Cranston’s finely tuned reflexes jerked into action.
On a dead run, he headed for the front door, with Margo and Diggs close on his heels.
Chapter 2
Sprinting footsteps beat rapidly through the large front room, down the back corridor and approached Alex Trenton’s room at the far end of the hallway. The voice of Lamont Cranston called out:
“The blast seemed to come from this room, Margo.”
Trenton’s door showed a long crack where the power of the blast had split it full length. Cranston shouldered it open easily; the hinges had been nearly torn from the door casing. He stumbled into the room. Lying on the floor was the bloodied body of Alex Trenton, a tragic fatality of the mystifying explosion.
“Good heavens!” Margo gasped in astonishment from behind him. “That man!”
Cranston blocked her way. This was something she didn’t need to see.
“Stay here, Margo. I don’t think there’s anything we can do for him, now.”
He moved forward into the room which had been destroyed by the blast. The air had cleared of most of the fumes. The room itself was surprisingly intact; the explosion had been powerful but localized. That fact prompted Cranston to search about for some remnants of what must have been a small bomb. Perhaps some clue could be found.
From her position, Margo asked, “He’s dead?”
“Looks like it was instantaneous.” He peered through the wreckage; reached down and picked up a charred piece of wood several feet from the prone figure. “Well I’ll be — a little carved figure.”
Actually, it was just the head of the carved man that Alex Trenton had found in the Christmas package. The lower section of the body which had contained the music box, and the explosive, had been shattered in the blast. Radiating singe marks upon the wood indicated to the experience eye of Lamont Cranston that this object was the key.
He held it up. “That’s what caused the explosion.”
“Carved figure?” Margo looked at it curiously. “Why…”
Before she could ask her question, a commotion from the rear stairwell interrupted her. Two people were rushing down the stairs as fast as their legs could carry them.
In front was a tall, thick man of mature years; traces of gray marked his thinning hair. His manner was the brisk one of a businessman.
He stepped into the room and demanded, “What’s happened? We heard the noise and…”
“We were just getting dressed,” Eliza Grinnell added, fast on his heels. She stopped as she realized in whose room they stood. A look of horror crossed her lovely face as she saw the body laying in the rubble. “Alex! Alex!”
The man snapped a command at his hysterical wife. “Pull yourself together, Eliza.” The no-nonsense man addressed Cranston, “What’s happened?”
“This man was killed by an explosion.” Keen eyes watched from the calm face of Cranston.
The millionaire bent down, picking through the debris. Something flashy had caught his eye. He retrieved it and straightened up; his sharp gaze examined the stern older man. “Didn’t you hear it, Mr. —?”
“Grinnell. This is my wife, Eliza.”
Diggs, the proprietor of the ski lodge, had moved in, belatedly. He shook his head sadly at the sight of the dead ski master.
“Looks like Mr. Alex Trenton got his, all right.”
Cranston held up a ragged piece of bright red Christmas wrap that he had discovered in the wreckage. He showed it to the assemblage along with the wooden head of the carved man.
“This figure was wrapped as a gift. Apparently he opened it, it exploded, killed him.”
Eliza was stunned at the sight of her secret love lying dead on the floor before them. She could only ask, “But, why? Why?”
“You’ll have to excuse my wife,” Grinnell used the brusque take-charge voice that he commonly employed at work. “She’s the hysterical type.” Then, looking at Cranston, “I don’t think I know who you are, sir.”
“My name’s Cranston. Lamont Cranston.”
“I’m Margo Lane.”
There were no pleasantries. No handshakes. The somber occasion was not appropriate for that. An unexplained explosion had dealt doom to the lodge ski instructor. Casual conversation could wait.
“Do something!” There was a sharp note of frustration in Eliza’s voice. “You can’t just let him lie there.”
The old owner of the lodge spoke quietly. “We’ll take care of things, Mrs. Grinnell.”
Grinnell put his arm around his wife and turned her toward the door. He spoke sternly. “I think you’d better go up to your room, Eliza.”
She nodded in agreement. As she left the scene of the tragedy, she let out a convulsive sob. “Alex!”
Cranston confronted the two men who remained. He held up all that survived of the carved wooden man.
“Any of you ever see this carved figure before?”
Both emphatically denied any knowledge of the statuette. The manner of each seemed sincere. It was something that neither had seen before, or so they claimed.
Diggs, whose self-admitted hobby was whittling, took the charred fragment from Cranston. It turned it over in his hand slowly, examining the remnant of the figure with piercing eyes.
“Booby trap, eh? Pretty clever.”
“Here’s the dead man’s key to this room,” Cranston tested a key — one he had removed from the body — in the door’s lock. “Anybody else have a key to it, Diggs?”
The wiry innkeeper paused as he thought it over.
“I got a pass key to all the rooms. What about it?”
“Maybe nothing…” Cranston’s voice was hard. “We’ll leave that for the police to decide.”
“The police?”
Cranston nodded. Unknown to the two men present, Lamont Cranston was synonymous with a mysterious sworn enemy of crime and evil. This strange personage secretly battled crime as the invisible avenger called The Shadow. It was his duty to aid the forces of the law. While he might choose to investigate tragedies on his own, a death such as this also demanded their official presence.
“Why, yes, Mr. Diggs. It’s customary to notify the police in cases of murder!”
Lamont Cranston had every intention of including the police in this investigation. A telephone call to the small village would be his next task. But he would not abandon the issue to the local constabulary. Cranston was already planning his own personal investigation.
It would be an investigation carried out by Lamont Cranston, and if necessary… by The Shadow.
CHAPTER 3
Outside Snow Cap Lodge, snowflakes continued to drift down from the black sky. Darkness had settled. Light poured from the windows of the lodge, spreading illumination upon the white blanket covering the surroundings.
In the large front room of the ski lodge, the huge burning logs continued their crackle in the fireplace, casting their cozy warmth throughout the empty space. The only light was that given off by the flickering radiance cast by the flames as they licked greedily outward from the stone hearth. That light struck a side door; originally a study, it now served as the lodge’s office.
Through the glass window in the door, Hiram Diggs, owner of the ski lodge, could be seen in the dim office, pouring over some papers that cluttered his desk. He was not happy. The events of tonight weighed upon his mind. The lodge was scheduled to officially open for the season tomorrow. But with gruesome murder having taken place upon the premises, everything had changed.
The office door opened and a man entered.
“Who’s that?” Digges looked up and recognized his visitor. “Oh. You, Cranston.”
“Going to invite me in, Diggs?”
“You’re already in.”
Cranston closed the door to allow them a bit of privacy.
“I wanted to ask a few questions, Diggs. The Grinnells. Have they been here long?”
“Just last night. Lodge ain’t rightfully open until Monday — tomorrow.”
Eliza and Louis Grinnell had motored up late on Saturday — Christmas Day — when the roads were still passable. They had reserved rooms for an extended two-week stay at the lodge. To the standoffish inn owner, they seemed a normal married couple.
Cranston, however, had detected a hint of some strain in the relationship. His question prodded in that direction.
“Did they seem to get along together?”
“Can’t say. Woman spent all her time on the ski run with Trenton. Man ain’t stuck his nose out of his room.”
The Shadow nodded, as though the matter scarcely interested him. He was playing the leisurely role of Cranston in his most effective style.
“They and we are the only pre-season guests?”
“One more,” Diggs corrected. “Fellow name of Welsh. Supposed to get here some time tonight. He’s driving up.”
Cranston was standing with his back to the man. He was looking out into the great room where flames danced merrily in the stone fireplace. He pointed.
“Nice little carved figures you’ve got on the mantle. Ever think of selling them as novelties?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The light showed the faint flicker of a smile on the steady lips of Lamont Cranston. Keen eyes flashed from his masklike face; their gleam faded without the old man noting the momentary change in his expression. Cranston had made his point; he changed the subject.
“You mentioned that Alex Trenton had talked you into opening the lodge. You must have liked him.”
For a moment, the owner of the ski lodge sat at his desk saying nothing. His unflinching face gave no clue to his thoughts. Finally, he admitted, “He was all right.”
Cranston turned back; his hawk-like gaze penetrated the man.
“Meaning?”
Diggs lowered his eyes, to avoid the piercing stare. He shuffled some of the papers before him, then tugged at his thick mustache before responding brusquely.
“Meaning I’m busy. I think you better be leaving.”
“Good idea, Diggs.” Cranston opened the door, then turned with one final thought. “Incidentally, it may be some time before the police can get up.”
“So?”
“So, I thought you might like to know…” his leveled voice carried a cold timbre. “I’m going to try to find out who the killer is before they get here!”
He stepped from the office and closed the door, leaving Diggs at his desk. Diggs watched the tall man stalk across the front room, his face betraying no emotion. It was several minutes before Diggs started sorting through his papers again — minutes in which his brain was carefully weighing a multiplicity of possible future actions.
Murder had struck at Snow Cap Inn. The suspects were a limited few. That should make discovery of the killer simpler. But, it could also produce unforeseeable results. Someone might have seen something. Someone who might have to be silenced.
It was possible that death would strike again before the night was ended.
(To be continued next week)
