The Hollow Dagger

Lamont Cranston sat at his desk in the Sanctum and picked up the phone connected to Burbank. Twenty four hours should've given Joe Cardona enough time to get all the case notes together for the Shadow.

"Report." Lamont said, petting Khan as the loyal dog sat down beside him.

"Agent Cardona has sent over his notes regarding the Alice Munroe case." Burbank said over the static-ridden line. "The housekeeper discovered the body at ten forty-five yesterday morning. She was killed by a stab wound directly to the heart, the weapon used was a ceremonial dagger. Oddly enough, there were no signs of a struggle and only her right hand was covered in blood."

That got his attention. "The wound was self-inflicted?" Lamont asked. "And the only blood found was on her hand?"

"Apparently." Burbank said. "There was no blood elsewhere. Cardona hypothesizes that she was killed elsewhere and brought back home."

"Was anything missing from the residence?"

"No valuables reported missing and the front door was unlocked." Burbank said.

"So she was killed elsewhere and brought back. What notes did Cardona include about the dagger?"

"It's a simple dagger. The hilt's carved of ebony wood to resemble a skull wearing a top hat and glasses…" Burbank said.

Lamont recognized the description immediately from his travels. "Baron Samedi." He said. "The Voodoo Master of the Dead. What else can you tell me about the dagger?"

"That seems to be it…hold on." The Shadow heard the rustling of paper. "It appears that the blade was made of glass." Burbank said.

"Glass?"

"It shattered the moment it struck her breastbone. Not only that but it was hollow and filled with some kind of liquid that spilled everywhere when it shattered."

Lamont had a bad feeling about what was in the dagger. "Has said liquid been identified yet?"

"Tests are still being run on it as we speak." Burbank said. "Cardona promised to send in more updates when he got them."

"Understood." Lamont said as he hung up. Silence filled the Sanctum, the only sound being Khan as he scratched his neck, the tags clinked together.

Lamont rubbed the shiny red girasol.

He remembered Oscar Conway speaking of his childhood in Haiti. Of the nursemaid who told stories of Voodoo practices and rituals. Back when he was known under a different name.

Dr. Rodil Mocquino.

He might be using our methods, he probably hypnotized Munroe to stab herself in the heart…using the techniques we taught him. The Shadow said, his voice seeming to echo off of the Sanctum walls.

Lamont felt the familiar guilt. "No, we're not going through this again." He sighed, rubbing his temples to relieve the pressure building.

We could've completely erased his memory of all traces of the Shadow. But no. You had to be merciful instead of completely purging his mind of the techniques we taught him.

"If we did that, he would've ended up a living vegetable, unable to think or feel again." Lamont argued. "I couldn't do that to my friend and I don't regret it."

And then Miss Munroe would still be alive. The Shadow retorted.

Lamont sighed. Ever since the day he accepted the Shadow into his life, it's been a war. A war between protecting the innocent and stopping the Shadow's natural taste for blood. Part of him wondered if he should abandon everything, run far away and leave it to be somebody else's problem.

It had cost him so much already…

But he knew the truth.

The Shadow was now part of his soul. Just as Margo was…

Speaking of which, where was she? She did mention to him at dinner last night that Conway would be taking her out.

For once, he was glad the attachment was there. He could track her.

Taking a deep breath, Lamont went into a meditative trance. He focused his thoughts on the young woman with deep blue eyes and brown hair.

Sure enough, he found her. She was dressed as Kitty Welles and was leaving her brownstone. With her was Oscar Conway. They were dressed nicely, a picnic basket under Conway's arm.

A location came to mind. Central Park.

Lamont dropped the connection, knowing every second spent thinking of her would strengthen the attachment.

So they were going to have a picnic. He thought, rubbing his chin. Must be an easy way to eavesdrop on them.

Lamont looked at his makeup table.

"To the rare and radiant maiden the angels named Alice Munroe." Mr. C said as he held his glass up high.

Nameless here forevermore. My mind responded as I sipped my sparkling lemonade. It was a beautiful August day. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, painting shadows everywhere. People from all walks of life were also enjoying the warm day. Some couples were having picnics like ours. Children ran around, playing and laughing.

The whole event seemed uncomfortable. I thought as I put down my glass. Mr. C's idea to remember his late girlfriend was to have a picnic with me in Central Park.

Normally, I'm all for remembering the dead by celebrating their lives. But something about this didn't feel right. I thought as curled up next to him, his fingers running through my blonde wig.

He had something to do with Alice's end. I just know he does. That makes the feeling of his fingers through my hair that more disturbing.

But Kitty Welles, dumb as a three cent stamp, wasn't supposed to suspect anything. She's hopelessly devoted to her Mr. C. Time to gain his trust. I thought as I felt his lips moving down and kissing my neck.

My goal was to get him ready for a trap.

"Want to know something, Mr. C?" I asked as I kissed his temple.

"That's that, my Kitten?"

I took a deep breath, hoping he would buy it. "I…I think I'm starting to fall in love with you."

A man sat on a park bench a few yards away. His rumpled and dirty clothes hang on his skinny frame. Dark glasses cover his eyes and a thick, unkempt beard hides his angular face. Sitting at his side was a large brown golden retriever.

He rubbed the familiar red girasol ring on his finger as he studied the young couple. It's wonder what makeup could do. To the world he's Kent Allard, veteran of the Great War who became blind thanks to a chemical attack. Khan, playing loyal guide dog, sat at his side.

But his glasses hid the fact that he was watching Oscar Conway and Kitty Welles. The young couple snuggled together in the shade of a large oak tree. Kitty was dressed in a white dress with a low sash and a knee length skirt, her matching cloche hat covered her blonde curls. Conway, dressed in a pale blue suit with a matching fedora was stroking her shoulder.

Deep inside, Lamont Cranston's feelings were swarming. Keep a lid on it, Cranston. The Shadow warned. Kent Allard doesn't care about young lovers…even if he could see them.

But you do. Cranston said.

In any case, you said you would never think of her again.

And let you take over me completely? If I let that happen, you'd become a literal Angel of Death, destroying all you touch. I keep you human. Cranston fought.

And I kept you alive. The Shadow snapped back. Face it Cranston, if it weren't for me, you would've become one of those nameless, faceless casualties during the Great War. Nobody would've noticed or cared. My only price is your consent. Remember Cranston, I saved your life. It now belongs to me.

Cranston didn't fight back anymore. Good. The Shadow thought as he resumed his role. Put your war training to good use, Cranston.

While Kitty and Conway were speaking in low tones, the Shadow used his sensitive hearing and Cranston's eavesdropping skills to overhear every word.

Kitty had just proclaimed that she was beginning to fall a little in love with him. Why is she doing that? Cranston asked internally.

She's up to something. The Shadow thought. Oh, your skills of bravery are foolhardy as they are gutsy, Miss Lane.

"Why do you say that, my Kitten?" Conway said to her declaration of love. He seemed surprised but not angered.

"Everything about you, my darling…" Kitty said, slowly cupping his chin in her hand. "Your kindness. Your sense of joie de vivre. You aren't afraid to have fun and have shown me so much since I came back from France. I didn't think that life could be so much…fun."

God, Margo, I pray to God you know what you're getting yourself into. Cranston protested internally. Conway can be so possessive…

Don't call her Margo. Stay as formal as possible, Cranston. The Shadow warned again. Besides, she's going to have to learn that manipulation is the rule of the land when she succeeds you.

If she lives that long…Cranston protested.

"I know I'll never live up to Helene or Alice's memory. But I want to make you happy Mr. C. As happy as you've made me. I know you are such a wonderful man." Kitty said, beginning to kiss him again. "Perfect in every way."

There was a pause from Conway. The Shadow didn't dare try reading his thoughts as he'd probably sense him.

But he could feel the emotions of the actress and the role she was playing. Kitty Welles' thoughts were sincere and joyful. But beneath it, he could feel Marguerite Lane's fear.

She knows this is foolhardy.

But she was trying to gain his trust. Ah, now he understood it. The Shadow thought. She was trying to get him vulnerable enough to set a trap for him.

Mr. C paused. I thought I saw a tear forming in his eye. "Kitty…I'm not a perfect man."

I decided to keep going. "I know that, Mr. C, but please let me finish." I said, touching his lips. "Whatever you did…it's in the past. Nothing could ever change my feelings for you. I trust you Mr. C with my heart and soul."

He took a deep breath. "Kitty, I have a private yacht stationed on the Hudson. Why don't we go out for a romantic boat ride tonight? We'll get far enough into the ocean to see the stars."

There's my chance. "What's the name of your yacht?"

"Myram's Folly and she's such a beauty."

Deep inside his mind, Lamont felt sick.

Oh God, Margo…don't go! It's a trap!

My stomach seized tightly. "Ugh…" I said, clutching my abdomen.

"Kitty, are you ok?" Mr. C asked, clearly alarmed. "You look positively pale!"

"I don't feel good." I said, turning away and proceeding to empty my stomach.

I was terrified and sick. There was no way on Earth I was going anywhere near any ship he had. I was never going to be alone with him if I could help it.

"Oh, Mr. C! I'm so sorry!" I gasped as he patted my back.

"Forgive me, my dear." Mr. C said, wiping my neck. "Why don't we go home?"

"That sounds like a terrific idea." I said. "As long as I can take a rain check on that romantic yacht."

The Shadow smiled as he watched Kitty and Conway clean up the picnic remnants and left. You have courage, Miss Lane.

Now the Shadow knows where to search for more clues regarding Alice Munroe's death.

A/N: Now we know the partial backstory on our main bad guy; one of the Shadow's recurring foes from the pulps.

Will the Shadow be able to find the proof he needs about Conway's plans? Or will there be a surprise…

Stay turned!