FREAK SHOW MURDERS
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," May 1944.
The masked fiend had a perfect score, until the Shadow realized that the
route of the Carnival coincided with the trail of death!
CHAPTER I
JUST before he reached Treft's mansion, Steve Kilroy saw The Harlequin.
Steve didn't realize it at the time, for his mind was on other matters; besides
he'd never heard of The Harlequin, that curious criminal character who was later
to be confused with Steve himself.
In fact, The Harlequin himself was confusing at first sight. Even in the
glare from the headlights of Steve's car it was impossible to identify him as a
human figure, for his costume formed a perfect camouflage in its present
setting. Treft's curving driveway was flanked with magnolias and the blossoms of
those trees produced a colorful weave with which The Harlequin blended. He
simply seemed to shake himself loose from them and the glare of the lights as
well, as Steve swung the car around the final bend and out from under the
magnolia trees.
Steve laughed at what he thought was a brief illusion. Here was Treft's
mansion looming large in the Carolina moonlight, which though somewhat clouded
was bright enough to show the open lawn. The living thing that had scudded from
the driveway must have been imaginary, otherwise Steve would have spotted it
again.
So at least Steve thought, without considering the huge azalea beds that
flanked the mansion. They, much more than the magnolias, were made to order as a
background for the figure that Steve had actually seen. In the moonlight the
flowers formed a patchwork of black and white, but when the veering headlights
swept them, they became a galaxy of purple, pink and crimson, with splotches of
pure white. Where the bed was thickest, there were a few dabs of colors not
common to azaleas, but Steve didn't picture them as belonging to a huddled
figure, motionless in its harlequin costume.
More important to Steve Kilroy were the lighted windows in the corner of
the mansion, just above the nearest flower bed. He was sure that they must
represent the room where Milton Treft was waiting to discuss a sale that would
conservatively involve a million dollars.
As he brought the car to the big pillars that fronted the mansion, Steve
jammed the brakes in real alarm. This time there was no mistaking the figure
that sprang into view; it was human and it carried a double-barreled shotgun. A
moment later the muzzles were poking in through the car window and a gruff voice
was demanding Steve's business in these parts.
Very gingerly, to show he wasn't reaching for a revolver, Steve dipped his
thumb and forefinger into his vest pocket and brought out a coin about the size
of a silver dollar. He held it in the dash-light so that the man with the
shotgun could see the symbols stamped on it. One side bore a feather, the other
