“Pinch hitting,” returned Harry. “Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. Burbank’s orders, that’s all. A package arrived for me at the hotel. I was to hit that house at midnight, to wait until Tapper cracked the door. Then fake a fight and beat it.”
“You faked it fine,” acknowledged Cliff. “You had me buffaloed. Hawkeye and Tapper, too.”
“I faked it too well,” decided Harry. “Burbank told me those stairs meant danger. Well, it worked out well enough to deceive those fellows at number 18, whoever they are.”
CLIFF opened the door of the cab. He sidled out into darkness; then spoke to Moe and told him to drive to the Hotel Metrolite. In the cab, Harry Vincent settled back on the cushions. He shifted the cloak from his shoulders, bundled it with the slouch hat and automatics; then dropped the load into an open bag that he saw on the floor.
Tonight had been a succession of surprises for Harry Vincent. The rescue of Bruce Duncan; the orders to attack the house on Delavar Street; the masquerade that he had played; that powerful shock at the foot of the stairway in the beleaguered house — all blended into mystery for Harry Vincent.
Harry could divine only that The Shadow had wished to trick the occupants of the house. To make them believe that he had come there; that he had picked the lock of the door and had waged battle as a sequel. Through Tapper as the lock picker and Harry as the cloaked fighter, The Shadow’s ruse had doubtless succeeded.
But Harry, recalling orders, remembered that retreat was to have been the finale of a swift, hot fray. The retreat had come, all right, thanks to Harry’s own misfortune. It had been precipitous; but convincing, inasmuch as Harry — presumably The Shadow — was out of combat.
But what could The Shadow have to gain by making enemies think that he had lost a battle? That was the question to which Harry Vincent could not even imagine an answer. For once, Harry felt himself believing The Shadow had made a tactical error.
Harry’s thought was erroneous. The agent would have been amazed had he known the value of the service that he had performed tonight. Already, The Shadow was reaping the fruits of prearranged strategy.
The Shadow had issued tonight’s instructions knowing that he was bound on a most dangerous mission that might lead to his capture. Actually a prisoner, The Shadow had bluffed his captors.
Well had The Shadow bluffed, and with confidence that he could keep up his pretended role of Lamont Cranston. The prearranged attack at midnight, with Harry Vincent faking himself as The Shadow, was the clinching argument in The Shadow’s game of bluff.
CHAPTER VII
THE DECISION
“IT was The Shadow, right enough.”
Matt Theblaw gave this verdict as he faced Professor Baldridge Jark. The two were in the room where they had held previous conference. As before, Digger Wight was witness to the confab. Digger had remained with Jark while Matt had been out directing combat.
“He blew in big as life,” asserted Matt. “Pulled a smart stunt on us, too. Dodging back from the stairs, so the gang would follow. With a bunch of heels laying back to plug our mob on the stairs.”
“We heard plenty of rods workin’,” put in Digger. “Who did he get?”
“Between him and his outfit,” calculated Matt, “Charley and Fritz took the bump. Luke and Brodie got plugged; but not very bad. They’ll hold out until we get them to the medico.”
“Yeah?” quizzed Digger. “Well, where’s the sawbones?”
“You’re asking me that?” scoffed Matt. “What about Doc Baird? We’ve got him tucked away, haven’t we? On your account, prof” — Matt smiled cunningly as he turned to Jark — “but I guess you won’t squawk if we make Baird do extra duty.”
“Not at all,” commented Jark, dryly. “Suit yourself, Theblaw. It is all for the common cause. This means, of course, that you recommend a prompt departure from this house.”
“Yes,” nodded Theblaw. “Suppose we work it this way. You ride with Digger, in the sedan. Parsons can sit in back, looking out for Luke and Brodie. Digger knows the way to that flossy hideout of ours. Meanwhile, I’ll take the rest of the mob in the other cars. We’ll dump Charley and Fritz out of one; we’ll carry this bird Cranston in the other.”
“What about the junk around here?” demanded Digger.
“You and the prof can pack it,” suggested Matt. “Leave the furniture; it’s no account. The equipment is all you’ll want to take. How about it, prof?”
“Quite satisfactory,” assured Jark. “With this exception, Theblaw. I would recommend that Wight dismantle the equipment before you start. Unless the wounded men are in critical condition, it would be advisable for me to talk with this man Cranston.”
“That’s right,” decided Matt. “Sure thing, prof; the gorillas can wait. I want to listen in and hear how Cranston takes the spiel you hand him. Make it snappy, prof. Don’t spill too much about the shots he heard.”
“I doubt that he heard them at all,” assured Jark, with a smile. “The noise of the firing was scarcely audible in this room. The closed door would have prevented Cranston and his watchers from having heard it.”
With that, the old man went to the door of the next room. Matt gave a nod to Digger, who sidled out into the hall. Then Matt moved behind the door as the professor opened it.
Jark, when he entered the adjoining room, was careful to leave the barrier ajar. Peering through the crack, Matt could view both the professor and the prisoner.
THE gorillas who guarded The Shadow looked restless, as though they had sensed that a fray was on. But The Shadow, calm in the guise of Lamont Cranston, gave no indication that he had noticed anything unusual. He was seated languidly in the easy-chair, almost half asleep.
Matt Theblaw attributed that to weariness, following the powerful electric shock that the prisoner had received. The crook watched Professor Jark approach the easy-chair; he saw a listless gaze on the features of Lamont Cranston. Apparently the prisoner was not worrying about his present situation.
“Well, Mr. Cranston” — there was no sarcasm in Jark’s present mention of the name — “I have attended to my other duties. Let us resume our discussion where it ended.
“It is apparent that you came here under a misapprehension. You chanced to meet my secretary, Bruce Duncan. He passed you a paper that he was anxious to be rid of and did not have the opportunity to destroy.”
“Interesting,” observed The Shadow, becoming less languid. “I should like to know more about this man Duncan.”
“He was my secretary,” stated Jark. “In that capacity, he had access to plans that concerned my new inventions. Duncan, as I learned by chance, saw opportunity to sell his knowledge to rogues who wanted to capitalize upon my efforts.
“Unfortunately” — the old professor smiled blandly, and ran his clawlike fingers through his moppy hair — “I suspected Duncan of complicity and moved all my files and apparatus from this residence. Duncan had already accepted money from his bribers. That put him in a most embarrassing position.
“He left here last night. Undoubtedly he formed contact with the rogues who had paid him. He must have arranged to meet them; to give them the floor plan that would enable them to come here for themselves. But he was dealing with dangerous persons. The meeting proved to be a trap. Duncan barely escaped with his life, according to your testimony.”
“And handed me the paper,” chuckled The Shadow. “Of course — that was the best step he could make. Had he thrown it away—”
“The others might have found it,” interposed Jark. “Perhaps, in justice to Duncan, we may believe that he saw my life in menace also. Duncan was crooked, but not murderous. But whatever his motive, he felt — after that attempt on his life — that he must preserve the information.”