Robert J. Hogan - The Secret 6 #1: The Red Shadow

Gripping Murder-Mystery Novel

By Robert J. Hogan

It struck out of the night, a monster whose blood-red shadow brought death to everyone it touched. What was this weird Thing? Beneath its reign of terror, police were powerless. But grimly, out of the list of victims, rose six men six men who vowed to track the scarlet killer down a suicide road to a murder showdown!

TICTACTICTACTICTAC. To a casual observer, that sprightly ticking sound might have seemed merry. But to the young man who was sitting alone in a cell of the States Prison Death House, it meant the approach of a swift end.

At his arrest he had been booked merely as King because he would not disclose his real name.

There seemed nothing particularly outstanding about him as he sat on the bunk of his tiny cell and stared thoughtfully at the blank gray wall a few feet ahead of him. Nothing, that is, unless it was the determined look about his lips and the straight, unwavering glance of his cold, blue eyes.

He had the expression of one resigned to his fate. But there was no trace of fear in his manner. He shot a glance at his wrist watch.

Fourteen minutes more, he said.

The corners of his lips turned up in a faint smile. He unstrapped the wrist watch, turned it over and pried the back of the case open with a firm thumb nail. The smile lingered as he read the words:

Presented to

in memory of his brave deed on

by the

ny

The condemned mans name, together with the date and the title of the company which had presented the watch, were scratched out.

Lucky thing I thought to scratch that out the first night after my arrest, he murmured. They might have been able to trace my identity although the company couldnt tell them anything because its broken up. Broken and busted long ago.

He stared out ahead of him as he slowly closed the case and strapped the watch on his wrist.

Scotty McRay wasnt a bad boss at that, he said. Good pilot. But Ill bet he bought this watch cut rate. Never have been able to make it keep good time. Always sounded like it had a leaky valve. That was some party when he gave it to me.

The party seemed to be the main thing that the young man remembered about the incident. But newspapers some years ago had written the brave deed up to the skies.

He had been flying an H Boat load of passengers across the Gulf Stream, and the engine failed. For fifty-three hours the boat had settled deeper and deeper into the water. One by one the five passengers had slipped off, only to be brought back by the young man, in spite of the sharks that infested the waters. He had lashed them on to the top wing with cut brace wires finally, and when the plane was sighted he, the pilot, was unconscious.