{"id":1017,"date":"2016-12-23T10:00:51","date_gmt":"2016-12-23T15:00:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepulp.net\/thatspulp\/?p=1017"},"modified":"2016-12-12T23:36:48","modified_gmt":"2016-12-13T04:36:48","slug":"murder-marked-merry-christmas-part-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepulp.net\/thatspulp\/2016\/12\/23\/murder-marked-merry-christmas-part-2\/","title":{"rendered":"Murder Marked Merry Christmas, Part 2"},"content":{"rendered":"

And now, part two of a “lost” Shadow radio mystery<\/a>.<\/p>\n

Murder Marked Merry Christmas<\/strong><\/h3>\n

(Broadcast Dec. 26, 1948)<\/p>\n

\"A<\/a>
A Shadow adventure in 3 parts.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

What has gone before:<\/strong><\/p>\n

Snow Cap Lodge, an idyllic winter resort has suddenly become the scene of murder. Ski instructor Alex Trenton has been killed. The wind-up music box he received as an anonymous Christmas gift had been filled with explosive.<\/em><\/p>\n

Black smoke still billows from the room as the proprietor of the resort, a crusty old codger named Diggs, pulls up outside in his horse-drawn sleigh. He has brought two new guests from the railway station, Lamont Cranston and Margo Lane. The three run inside to find the dead body of Alex Trenton.<\/em><\/p>\n

Also present are the portly Mr. Louis Grinnell and his wife Eliza. What the man doesn’t realize is that his wife Eliza was having a secret fling with the recently-deceased Alex Trenton. Or is he as ignorant as he seems?<\/em><\/p>\n

There is no way for the police to get through the roads packed with ever-deepening snow until morning, but Lamont Cranston steps in to investigate.<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Chapter 4<\/h3>\n

While snowflakes continued to fall outside, filling the chill air with fleecy white, inside the lodge was cozy warm. Subdued illumination of the large front room came from the cheery flames in the fireplace. A grandfather clock against the far wall began striking ten. Two figures sat upon a small sofa before the snapping fire, enjoying its snug warmth.<\/p>\n

Eliza Grinnell and her husband sat close together looking into the dancing flames. Neither spoke. Her eyes were slightly swollen from weeping; his were hard, unforgiving. Their awkward silence was interrupted by the approach of two new arrivals.<\/p>\n

Lamont Cranston moved into the fluttering firelight, Margo Lane at his side.<\/p>\n

\u201cFire\u2019s mighty nice on a night like this, eh, Grinnell?\u201d<\/p>\n

The stern-looking businessman looked up, recognizing the two guests.<\/p>\n

\u201cUh… why, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMind if we join you,\u201d Cranston asked.<\/p>\n

Eliza looked up with pleading eyes, silently beseeching for some company to join them; someone to break the uneasy tension between she and her husband.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease do, Mr. Cranston,\u201d she invited.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe were just going upstairs, Cranston.\u201d<\/p>\n

Louis Grinnell abruptly stood, his face strained. He beckoned to his wife.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut Louis…\u201d she protested, mildly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re very tired, my dear.\u201d<\/p>\n

Margo moved forward, seeking to stall their departure.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt must have been a terrible shock, Mrs. Grinnell. Particularly since you knew the man.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you don\u2019t mind, Miss Lane,\u201d Grinnell was adamant, \u201cwe\u2019d rather not discuss it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Cranston made a casual, but pointed comment: \u201cI\u2019m afraid we\u2019ll all have to discuss it with the police, Grinnell — when they can get here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re leaving as soon as possible after they arrive.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI see.\u201d<\/p>\n

Cranston was beginning to see. At least, a theory was beginning to form in his perceptive mind. Grinnell\u2019s reluctance to discuss the unfortunate death of the ski master indicated he had some knowledge of the event — some information that he wanted kept under wraps. He validated that thesis with an abrupt departure.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood night, Mr. Cranston. Miss Lane. Come along, Eliza.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI…\u201d the woman paused, seemingly wanting to say more. \u201cGood night.\u201d<\/p>\n

Grinnell took his wife by the arm and the two walked from the room. Lamont Cranston and Margo Lane were left alone in the large hall. Margo stifled a yawn.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot exactly sociable,\u201d she observed. \u201cBut he has something about getting some rest. I\u2019m dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s too bad.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

Margo had seen that look in his eyes before. Her friend had some plan definitely in mind. Drowsiness dropped from her eyelids. Now wide awake, she could anticipate what was coming.<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean,\u201d he replied, \u201cwe\u2019re not likely to get much sleep tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not,\u201d she asked, knowing the answer in advance.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause one of the three people in this lodge right now committed a murder. And you and I are going to find out who it is — tonight!\u201d<\/p>\n

Cranston\u2019s hawkish, masklike countenance was one of absolute calm that hid an adventurous personality. Like a dog with a bone, the tenacious Cranston wasn\u2019t about to let go of this mystery until he had finished with it — until the killer was revealed and the case solved.<\/p>\n

Now was the perfect time to investigate.<\/p>\n

Margo felt herself being drawn into yet another mystery. Not that she disapproved. She loved adventure and was just as eager for excitement as her companion.<\/p>\n

Before this night was over, an unknown killer would be unmasked.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

MINUTES LATER, two vague figures were creeping along the upper-floor hallway in near total darkness. Gas lights on the hall walls had been turned down for the night, and gave off only enough light to hint at the identity of Lamont Cranston and Margo Lane.<\/p>\n

Guest room doors appeared as darker blotches regularly spaced down the murky passage. Margo widened her eyes in a vain effort to enhance her vision. She failed miserably, jostling into a small side table.<\/p>\n

\u201cShh, Margo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s dark out here,\u201d she whispered. \u201cCan\u2019t we have some light?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want anybody to know we\u2019re watching the rooms.\u201d<\/p>\n

Cranston found a little alcove at the back end of the hall near the top of the stair. Here they could watch out of sight. He pulled her into it. The two stood silent, motionless, looking down the gloomy expanse of the upstairs corridor.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow what?\u201d Margo softly breathed.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe wait for the killer to make the next move.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou mean we may have to stay here all night and…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShh,\u201d Cranston silenced her as one of the hallway doors edged open.<\/p>\n

An ill-defined figure, difficult to identify in the poor light, closed the door and walked farther down the hall to the next room on the same side. The indistinct form went inside; the door closed quietly behind.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho was it?\u201d Margo lowtoned.<\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Grinnell just left her husband. She went down the hall to her own room. Come on, maybe we can find out something.\u201d<\/p>\n

The two night time visitors crept from their place of concealment and slowly tiptoed their stealthy way down the hall.<\/p>\n

\u201cLamont, I don\u2019t like this. Why don\u2019t we…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cStay close to me, Margo, and quiet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"A<\/a>
A gun barrel jabbed stiffly in his side…<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Without warning, Cranston stopped. He felt the unexpected pressure of a gun barrel jabbed stiffly in his side. A low, hard-bitten voice accompanied that sudden thrust.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a gun in your ribs, mister. Don\u2019t move.\u201d<\/p>\n

Margo let out a faint scream of startlement. Cranston froze as the new figure moved from the vague doorway behind and sidled around in front.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho are you,\u201d he hissed.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe gun in my hand says I ask the questions. Who are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLamont Cranston. This is Margo Lane. We\u2019re guests here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing, playing hide and seek in the dark?\u201d<\/p>\n

Cranston turned slightly, so that he was able to see the dim outline of the man who had accosted them. He looked to be of medium height, sturdy with a firm face. His steady automatic never wavered from Cranston\u2019s side.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have our reasons. Incidentally, we haven\u2019t heard who you were.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNat Welsh,\u201d the man introduced himself. \u201cI\u2019m a guest here, too. Stopped in the village on the way and heard about the murder. Decided not to advertise I was here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Now that her initial scare had passed, Margo\u2019s fear turned to indignation.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you always stop other guests with a gun in their ribs,\u201d she demanded.<\/p>\n

The man gave a short, harsh laugh. \u201cI got a license for it, lady. I\u2019m a private investigator. Thought I\u2019d take a crack at breaking this job.\u201d<\/p>\n

With that, he lowered his automatic and slid it into a shoulder holster beneath his jacket. That movement allowed Cranston to relax his muscles which had been tensed, preparing to pounce.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, busman\u2019s holiday, is that it?\u201d the millionaire asked, keeping his voice low.<\/p>\n

\u201cHoliday nothing. I was working on a case. Grinnell\u2019s had me tailing his wife and Trenton for the past month or so.\u201d<\/p>\n

Cranston didn\u2019t seem surprised. \u201cHis wife and Trenton?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen,\u201d Margo surmised, \u201cGrinnell knew his wife was a friend of Trenton\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cToo bad you didn\u2019t get here a couple of hours earlier, Welsh. You might have…\u201d<\/p>\n

From down the hall, a guest room door was flung open. It was the room belonging to Eliza Grinnell.<\/p>\n

Welsh prodded, \u201cBack in the shadow.\u201d<\/p>\n

From out of the open doorway staggered a woman. A spasm of coughing wracked her dim form. Her breath came in ragged gasps.<\/p>\n

\u201cHelp,\u201d her voice choked. \u201cOh, help!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s Mrs. Grinnell,\u201d Welsh burst.<\/p>\n

Cranston whipped from the doorway where the three had stood unobserved. He barked to his companions, \u201cSomething\u2019s happened. Come on!\u201d<\/p>\n

All three dashed the length of the hall to aid the stricken woman.<\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Grinnell, what is it?\u201d Cranston called.<\/p>\n

The hapless woman wasn\u2019t able to answer. Hands clawed at her throat. She couldn\u2019t stop her attack of coughing. Weakened, she slumped to the floor.<\/p>\n

Cranston snapped swift instructions.<\/p>\n

\u201cMargo, you stay out here with Mrs. Grinnell. Come on, Welsh. Let\u2019s see what\u2019s in her room.\u201d<\/p>\n

The two men surged forward. Inside they found the light on. The room was small but nicely decorated in a fashion typical for a ski lodge.<\/p>\n

Welsh sniffed the air suspiciously. \u201cThat smell. What is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGas!\u201d Cranston coughed. \u201cPoison gas. We better let some air in here.\u201d<\/p>\n

He grabbed the window sash and heaved upward. The stubborn window didn\u2019t budge. Not waiting, he snatched a vase from a nearby table and hurled it at the window pane. The glass shattered outward into a thousand tiny shards, allowing a puff of fresh air to enter.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s better,\u201d he gulped.<\/p>\n

Outside the doorway, Eliza Grinnell lay motionless on the floor with Margo huddled over her. The poor woman\u2019s gray face was stilled. It was too late for her.<\/p>\n

Louis Grinnell, alerted by the ruckus, bolted barefoot down the hall from his room, garbed in a dressing gown. He saw his wife laying in the corridor.<\/p>\n

\u201cEliza,\u201d he cried. \u201cEliza! What happened here, Miss Lane?\u201d<\/p>\n

Cranston moved to the doorway.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow is she, Margo,\u201d he wanted to know.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d Margo answered reluctantly.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s see.\u201d Cranston knelt down to check the woman\u2019s pulse. After a moment without any response, he looked up grimly. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Grinnell. I\u2019m afraid your wife is dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDead?\u201d The man was stunned. \u201cBut she was in my room just a minute ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

Only moments earlier she had been a living, vibrant woman. Now, his wife had been cruelly taken from him. Louis Grinnell stood dazed in the badly lit hallway, shocked by the swift events.<\/p>\n

\u201cWait a minute.\u201d Cranston turned back into the room and picked up a small package that lay upon the floor. \u201cTake a look at this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA gift wrapped package. So what?\u201d Welsh noted the brightly decorated paper. \u201cYesterday was Christmas. Maybe she just got around to opening it.\u201d<\/p>\n

The firm-faced private eye took the package from Cranston. It had been opened. He reached in among the tissue paper and removed a small perfume bottle in the shape of a mermaid.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t inhale that stuff, Welsh,\u201d Cranston cautioned.<\/p>\n

The warning came too late, The detective had sniffed at the contents. That one brief whiff was all that was necessary.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt… it ain\u2019t perfume,\u201d he choked. \u201cIt\u2019s the gas. Poison gas!\u201d<\/p>\n

Hurriedly he placed the ceramic stopper in the bottle, cutting off the toxic fumes. This, then, was the source of the gas which had killed Mrs. Grinnell.<\/p>\n

\u201cEliza,\u201d her husband sobbed.<\/p>\n

Margo looked at the shiny wrappings on the perfume box.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnother deadly Christmas package,\u201d she mused, significance in her tone. \u201cJust like Trenton.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s going on here, anyway?\u201d queried the investigator. He knew of the murder of Alex Trenton, but wasn\u2019t aware of the details. This was the first he had heard that Trenton had also been killed by a wrapped Christmas present.<\/p>\n

Lamont Cranston answered thoughtfully.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, Mr. Welsh, but it seems that our killer has a macabre sense of humor.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean, Lamont?\u201d<\/p>\n

Cranston held the mermaid shaped bottle out for Margo\u2019s inspection. He indicated the bottom of the ceramic container.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook at the label. The perfume is called \u2018Fatal Fascination\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n

The name was grimly appropriate. Eliza Grinnell\u2019s fascination with Alex Trenton had proved fatal, first for him — then for her. Both parties were now dead, each victims of diabolical murder.<\/p>\n

It was time for The Shadow to step in. The Shadow, the mysterious crime fighter whose strange ability to hypnotically veil his physical presence made him feared throughout the criminal underworld, was here at the ski lodge, in the person of Lamont Cranston.<\/p>\n

Evil had been done in this old lodge. Death had struck, not once, but twice at the snowbound inn. Whether there was only one killer or two was something to be determined. But The Shadow vowed to discover the identity, or identities, of whomever was behind the ruthless murders.<\/p>\n

The Shadow was resolved that the killings ended here. There would be no more deaths at Snow Cap Lodge.<\/p>\n

Chapter 5<\/h3>\n

The great room, the main lounge of the lodge, was deserted except for two figures conversing privately in the dim, flickering light of the fireplace. The log fire was burning low, thick logs had become mostly blackened coals. An occasional snap sent a small geyser of sparks harmlessly out onto the hearth.<\/p>\n

Margo Lane spoke quietly to her companion, Lamont Cranston.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut, who could have done it, Lamont?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAny of us here at the lodge. Diggs could have planted the packages. So could Grinnell. Or even Welsh.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWelsh? But he\u2019s a detective. With either Trenton or Mrs. Grinnell dead, he\u2019s out of a job.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRight now, we\u2019ll all be suspects.\u201d<\/p>\n

Margo had a specific suspect in mind.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut Grinnell, Lamont! He knew his wife and the ski master had been seeing each other in town. That\u2019s motive enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d conceded the millionaire, \u201cif he could have gotten the pass key from Diggs.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut, if he is guilty, why does he stay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhoever it is doesn\u2019t want to look guilty by running away now, Margo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs there anything we can do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he replied thoughtfully, \u201cbut I think The Shadow could pay a visit and get some truth.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFrom Grinnell?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. From the one person who made it a point not to be at the scene of the murder. Diggs!\u201d<\/p>\n

Margo wondered about that. Diggs had not been upstairs when Eliza Grinnell had been killed. Was that by chance, or by design? It was a question she could not answer. But one man could. Her faith lay in The Shadow.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"<\/a>
Bret Morrison inside the special booth for The Shadow’s voice effects.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

HIRAM DIGGS, proprietor of the snow inn, had a small room behind the office. His quarters were cramped; he didn\u2019t need much other than a bed. But at present, late though it was, he wasn\u2019t using that bed.<\/p>\n

Still dressed, he was pacing the narrow floor nervously. In the poorly lit room, he was pondering how to deal with the unexpected and deadly situation with which he was now confronted. The police probably wouldn\u2019t arrive until the morning; in the meantime, as owner of the lodge he was technically in charge.<\/p>\n

He stopped his back and forth stride at the sound of low quivery laughter. Amid the somber darkness, hushed mirth rose from whispered tone to bone-chilling crescendo. Eerily it filled the confined space. Shuddering taunts thrummed through the startled man\u2019s brain.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho\u2019s that,\u201d he cried out fearfully.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Shadow, Diggs. Don\u2019t try to find me.\u201d — this as the harried proprietor peered frantically about the room — \u201cNo one sees The Shadow!\u201d<\/p>\n

The Shadow — the mystery man who had the inexplicable power to render himself invisible — the dreaded crimefighter who aided the forces of the law against those who would undertake evil. Where death lurked, there did the hand of The Shadow appear to thwart and reveal the schemes of insidious monsters.<\/p>\n

\u201cShadow?\u201d The man was dumbfounded at his presence within this room. \u201cWhat do you want here?\u201d<\/p>\n

The voice came as a grim hiss in the night. \u201cGoing somewhere at this hour, Diggs?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI been in bed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll dressed?\u201d<\/p>\n

The innkeeper shifted uncomfortably.<\/p>\n

\u201cI couldn\u2019t sleep,\u201d he defended himself. \u201cThere\u2019s been a murder here tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTwo murders, Diggs\u201d — then The Shadow meaningfully added — \u201cas if you didn\u2019t know!\u201d<\/p>\n

A look of confused innocence crossed Diggs\u2019 visage.<\/p>\n

\u201cTwo murders?\u201d<\/p>\n

It was difficult to tell if he was dissembling or not. The Shadow\u2019s low voice pressed on.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow there are only four guests left. And they\u2019ll be leaving soon. You\u2019ll like that, won\u2019t you, Diggs?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d Suspicion was in his tone.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t like people. With two murders, they\u2019ll be leaving you alone. No one will ever come back to this lodge.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t kill anybody,\u201d he blurted defensively. \u201cI swear it!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe you know who did, Diggs?\u201d<\/p>\n

There was something about the sibilant voice that impelled an answer — something insistent, demanding. Something that brooked no resistance.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Diggs paused. \u201cBut Grinnell, he hated both of them.\u201d<\/p>\n

There it was. He had tacitly admitted knowledge of the second murder. He knew the identity of the second victim without The Shadow having revealed it. The Shadow ignored the slip. He was more interested in the hate that Diggs described.<\/p>\n

\u201cEnough to kill with two ingenious lethal toys?\u201d He waited for an answer, then prompted the man with, \u201cWell, Diggs?\u201d<\/p>\n

A shrewd look crossed the landlord\u2019s face. \u201cYou know what business Grinnell is in? Eh?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou tell me, Diggs.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s in the novelty business, that\u2019s what. Fancy boxes, novelties of all kinds. The biggest in the country.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid he tell you that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, but I found it out,\u201d he gloated. \u201cI found it out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Shadow will find out more, Diggs. Lots more. And if I find that you have had a hand in these murders, you will answer to The Shadow.\u201d<\/p>\n

Through the darkness of that murky room came the sound of a hollow, whispered laugh. It was an uncanny noise — a mirthless murmur both forbidding and foreboding. Its echoes rose to a strident burst of mirth that ended in a host of echoes that shouted grotesquely from the walls. The weird reverberations dwindled to ghostly sobs that persisted as though uttered by a host of ghoulish throats.<\/p>\n

Something swished in the darkness. Then came silence, with sinking echoes of the taunting laugh. The Shadow had departed.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

IN THE GLOOMY upstairs hallway, the stocky figure of a man moved furtively. It approached the door of Louis Grinnell\u2019s room and knocked.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho is it?\u201d the distant voice of the occupant demanded.<\/p>\n

\u201cWelsh. Let me in, Grinnell.\u201d<\/p>\n

After a moment, the door opened. Louis Grinnell stood in the open doorway, still garbed in his dressing gown. His gaunt features carried a frown as he faced the private detective — the man that he had hired several weeks earlier.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn.\u201d<\/p>\n

The shamus pushed his way forward into the room, and closed the door behind him.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell?\u201d the businessman demanded impatiently.<\/p>\n

The operative\u2019s firm face carried a smug look. \u201cNot smart, Grinnell. Not smart, at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet to the point,\u201d Grinnell barked. \u201cWhat do you want, Welsh?\u201d<\/p>\n

Welsh stood with a self-satisfied smile upon his face. He moved casually into the room.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not saying the gimmicks were bad, mind you. But you\u2019re a novelty manufacturer. It was like signing your name to the job.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you implying I killed my wife and Trenton?\u201d stormed Grinnell.<\/p>\n

The gumshoe shrugged, indifferently. \u201cThey were going to die anyway. Let\u2019s say you just speeded up nature. By maybe thirty or forty years.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet out!\u201d There was contempt in Grinnell\u2019s hard eyes.<\/p>\n

Welsh stood where he was. \u201cBe smart, Grinnell. You oughta talk this over with someone who knows his way around. Me, for instance.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTalk what over? I didn\u2019t even have a key to the man\u2019s room.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou had something better. Pocket lettuce.\u201d He rubbed two fingers with his thumb, suggesting the universal gesture for cash. \u201cThat opens any door.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMeaning?\u201d<\/p>\n

Welsh cast the newly-made widower a knowing look.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou got the goofy little guy, Diggs, to deliver the packages for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re crazy — crazy! I wouldn\u2019t put myself at the mercy of such a man.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s not get excited. This is just a friendly conversation. So far.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you driving at, Welsh?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWith your wife dead, I can\u2019t tail her. That sort of makes me unemployed, doesn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll get well paid for what you\u2019ve done.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was thinking of unemployment insurance. To kind of take care of me in my old age.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo that\u2019s it.\u201d It dawned upon Grinnell what the private dick was getting at. \u201cBlackmail.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s say you\u2019re compensating me for my lost memory.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t do anything we\u2019ll both be sorry for, Grinnell.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet out!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay. But think about it, friend.\u201d There was low anger in his voice. \u201cThe story I got to tell the cops ain\u2019t got a very happy ending — for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

He swung to the door, opened it and strode into the hall. Grinnell slammed it forcefully shut behind him.<\/p>\n

Two men with conflicting goals had met. Each had warily danced around the other. Since the plans of one seemed at odds with the other, they had not been able to come to any satisfactory agreement.<\/p>\n

That promised hostile dissension in the coming near future.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

MARGO LANE and Lamont Cranston ascended the front staircase. It was time for them to get some rest. The coming morning promised to be a hectic one.<\/p>\n

As the two traveled the ill-lit hallway, Cranston spoke to his companion. \u201cIt\u2019ll be getting daylight soon, Margo, and the police will be able to get through.\u201d<\/p>\n

One of the hallway doors opened — the room belonging to Nat Welsh. Welsh had heard the low murmurs coming from the hall and recognized the two subdued voices. He wanted to speak to them.<\/p>\n

In a stifled, excited voice, he called out, \u201cCranston!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLamont,\u201d Margo indicated the figure at the partly opened door. \u201cIt\u2019s the private detective.\u201d<\/p>\n

She and Cranston stepped toward the door. Cranston greeted the man.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello, Welsh.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCranston, I think you and I ought to have a little talk. There are some things you ought to know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSomething\u2019s happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot exactly. I\u2019ve been holding out a little. I\u2019ve decided to give you the whole story. Let\u2019s go into my room.\u201d<\/p>\n

Margo and her companion accompanied the operative inside and closed the door. Cranston got right to the point, with no stalling.<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right, Welsh. Let\u2019s have it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI just came to the conclusion it\u2019s a sucker play for me to be covering up for a killer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you have any doubt of that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe. Anyway, I\u2019m playing it with the cards up from here in. I just saw Grinnell, and…\u201d He suddenly did a double take. Sitting on the floor, just inside the door, was a small package. \u201cWhere\u2019d that come from?\u201d he cried.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLamont!\u201d Margo was pointing. \u201cIt\u2019s another one of those wrapped gifts. The same as the perfume bottle and the carved figure!\u201d<\/p>\n

Welsh was backing away from the brightly wrapped bundle. \u201cWhy, the dirty double-crossing…\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know where this came from, Welsh?\u201d<\/p>\n

The detective scoffed. \u201cI can guess. It wasn\u2019t here earlier this evening.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen could it have been slipped in?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAlmost any time,\u201d he admitted. \u201cI\u2019ve been in Grinnell\u2019s room. Then I went looking for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Cranston exhibited no indication of fear. He bent down and slowly picked up the package. It was Margo who showed concern.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t open it, Lamont.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s right,\u201d Welsh agreed. \u201cMaybe we better leave it for the cops.\u201d<\/p>\n

\""Don't<\/a>
“Don’t open it, Lamont!”<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Cranston had no intention of waiting for the arrival of the police. Here was a prime clue, one which he intended to investigate without delay.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know of a way.\u201d He moved cautiously toward the fireplace. He gently placed the oddly-shaped package on the cold iron grate, then picked up a pair of blackened fire tongs from their hook.<\/p>\n

With infinite care, he he used the implement to strip the paper from the mystery present. The process was done slowly, taking care not to jar the object. Gradually the contents were revealed.<\/p>\n

He exhaled, realizing he had been holding his breath.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s your gift.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was a miniature candle. Not a wax candle, but the figure of a candle made from glass with a metallic base. Cranston recognized it.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve seen them in town,\u201d he acknowledged. \u201cIt\u2019s a novelty cigarette lighter. You lift off the top triangular piece and it flames. Like this…\u201d<\/p>\n

He reached out with the tongs and nudged the top section of the novelty. There was a brief flash of flame, accompanied by the sharp crack of a gunshot. The momentary flame was the muzzle flash of a small pistol hidden within the innocent glass figure.<\/p>\n

Margo let out an instinctive yelp and jumped backwards at the unexpected detonation.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s all right, Margo,\u201d Cranston calmly reassured. \u201cThe shot went up the chimney. Apparently, it was set to fire the minute that cap was removed.\u201d<\/p>\n

The booby-trapped lighter lay on its side on the fireplace grate, knocked over by the recoil. Detective Welsh eyed it from a distance.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, now he\u2019s trying to kill me to keep me quiet, eh? A .45 at that range couldn\u2019t miss being fatal!\u201d<\/p>\n

Cranston gave the man a penetrating look. \u201cHe? Who\u2019s he?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGrinnell, the dirty rat! And that stooge of his, Diggs. When I\u2019m done with them…\u201d<\/p>\n

He left his threat unspoken as Cranston inserted, \u201cNow, just a second, Welsh.\u201d<\/p>\n

The shamus wasn\u2019t about to be calmed down. His face reddened; his voice rose. He was thirsting for retribution.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s bad enough he kills my client and makes me look bad,\u201d he stormed. \u201cBut now, he\u2019s trying to kill me. I\u2019ll fix him so\u2019s he\u2019ll stay fixed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think you\u2019ve got something there, Welsh. Hold Grinnell and Diggs downstairs till I get there. I\u2019ll be with you in a few minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n

Events were reaching a critical point. Cranston called for an assemblage in the great room below. It would be a meeting in which three suspects would confront each other. A meeting that would be joined by a fourth — an unseen — party.<\/p>\n

Cranston intended that whoever was guilty for the murders in this old lodge would be revealed at last. Justice would finally be dealt… by The Shadow.<\/p>\n

(To be concluded next week)<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

And now, part two of a “lost” Shadow radio mystery. Murder Marked Merry Christmas (Broadcast Dec. 26, 1948) What has gone before: Snow Cap Lodge, an idyllic winter resort has suddenly become the scene of murder. Ski instructor Alex Trenton has been killed. The wind-up music box he received as an anonymous Christmas gift had […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":13,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"inline_featured_image":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_has_post_settings":[],"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"That's Pulp! Part 2 of 'Murder Marked Merry Christmas,' featuring The Shadow. #pulpmags #oldtimeradio #otr","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_wp_rev_ctl_limit":""},"categories":[31,62],"tags":[64,33,34,26,74,27],"hashtags":[],"class_list":["post-1017","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-old-time-radio-otr","category-the-shadow","tag-christmas","tag-lamont-cranston","tag-margo-lane","tag-old-time-radio","tag-otr","tag-the-shadow"],"pp_statuses_selecting_workflow":false,"pp_workflow_action":"current","pp_status_selection":"publish","jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6SOGR-gp","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepulp.net\/thatspulp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1017","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepulp.net\/thatspulp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepulp.net\/thatspulp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepulp.net\/thatspulp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/13"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepulp.net\/thatspulp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1017"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/thepulp.net\/thatspulp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1017\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1180,"href":"https:\/\/thepulp.net\/thatspulp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1017\/revisions\/1180"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepulp.net\/thatspulp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1017"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepulp.net\/thatspulp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1017"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepulp.net\/thatspulp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1017"},{"taxonomy":"hashtags","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepulp.net\/thatspulp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/hashtags?post=1017"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}