“How damaging?”
“Very little.” Again Tellert was almost inaudible; yet Cliff could hear him as well as Mann. “Nevertheless, I can convince Jark that I would be branded as a criminal if the news came out.”
Tellert concluded with a slight nod. Mann caught the cue. Picking up his question, he asked, in a raised voice.
“You mean you might go to prison for your former connection?”
“I do,” replied Tellert, his voice also raised. “I was connected with the Augustine Gold Company, Mann. They sold watered stock; and if I mention that to Jark, he will know that he has the goods on me as much as I have on him.”
“Then he will release you,” agreed Mann. “But why will he do so?”
“In order that I can squash future stories in the newspapers,” rejoined Tellert. “That is his game, Mann. I suppose he will also want me to cover up your absence. I can do that for him also.”
Rising, Tellert paced the floor in front of Mann and Cliff. His figure was between them and the bolted door, the only entrance to this room. Again in his whisper, as he faced the others, Tellert spoke:
“Once free, I cannot talk to the police. Who else can I inform? Who can aid you?”
Mann shook his head soberly. Cliff Marsland was staring straight at Tellert.
“Write something,” urged the promoter, “while I am covering you. Drop it in my pocket as we go back to the other room.”
Again Mann shook his head; but this time, Cliff’s hand stole to his coat pocket. His captors, after searching him, had left him objects which seemed unimportant. Among them were the short pencil and the pad.
“Shall we go out?” questioned Tellert, in a normal voice.
Mann nodded. Cliff arose. As Tellert went toward the door, Cliff followed. Mann, rising, came behind them. He saw Tellert knock at the door; then he saw Cliff’s hand ease over and drop something into the promoter’s pocket.
A psst from Cliff; a nod from Tellert. Then a bolt clicked; the door opened. They stepped out into Professor Jark’s improvised laboratory.
A STOOP-SHOULDERED gray-haired man was standing near the professor. The moment that the prisoner arrived, Jark eyed them and indicated the newcomer.
“Do any of you know this man?” queried the professor.
No one responded.
“No one knows Doctor Nordis Baird?”
No response. Jark looked at the physician, who shook his head to indicate that he knew none of the trio. Jark’s trick had failed.
“I can offer surety, professor,” declared Tellert, suddenly. “If you will release me, I can convince you that I shall be unable to betray you. That is, I can convince you that I would suffer more than you would, should all facts come out.”
Jark made no reply. He eyed Tellert as though expecting that a game was up. He studied Mann and Cliff as well. Then his gaze turned as a door opened in the far corner of the room. A mobster was entering. It was Matt Theblaw who spoke to him.
“Hello, Louie,” greeted Matt. “Where’s Pete? Wasn’t that him coming in?”
“He’s right here behind me,” returned Louie.
Another figure entered. Matt recognized the features of Pete. The second arrival was wearing an old brown coat and had a square package tucked under his arm.
“What kept you so long, Pete?” demanded Matt, while Jark remained silent until this palaver had ended.
“Louie, for one thing,” growled The Shadow, in a tone that answered for Pete’s. “I was out front there. He didn’t show up to open the door.”
“I didn’t hear you honk,” put in Louie.
“Why should I honk?” queried The Shadow, in his disguised growl. “That would have meant noise.”
“Pete’s right,” broke in Matt. “How about Nicky, Pete?”
“Couldn’t get him. That was another reason it took me so long.”
“You got the cigars, though,”
“Yeah. Where’ll I put them?”
“Over on the window sill.”
Jark turned to speak to the prisoners; then paused again as Matt offered another query.
“Did you bolt the inside door, Pete?” he asked.
The Shadow, back to the crook, gave a shake of his head. He was putting the package on the window sill as he growled:
“Thought Louie was to do that.”
“Guess it’s my job,” vouchsafed Louie. “I’ll go down and bolt up, Matt.”
This time Jark waited to make sure there would be no interruptions. Then, in a sarcastic voice, he queried:
“So you are anxious to leave us, Tellert?”
“Quite anxious,” admitted the promoter. “Let me explain, Professor Jark—”
“Sounds phony, prof,” inserted Matt, stepping forward. He gave beckoning signal to Luke and Digger. “Let’s see what this guy’s got on him. Search his pockets while I hold him.”
“No, no!” protested Tellert, wildly. “No, no, I tell you—”
Matt muffled Tellert’s mouth while Digger dug into the promoter’s pockets. The little crook gave a chuckle of elation as he brought out a tiny wad of paper. Matt pounced upon it and opened the pellet.
“Here it is, prof!” he exclaimed. “We got it! It says: ‘Call Shadow’ and it gives a phone number. It came from Marsland. Is that right, Tellert?”
THE promoter nodded weakly. Matt looked jeeringly at Cliff, who made no comment. Mann was tense. He had expected some result such as this; but he had gained no chance to give Cliff warning of his fears.
“You’ll spill more from now on, Marsland,” sneered Matt. “Bring the mob in, Luke” — he pointed to the door to the hall — “and tell them to start the heat. We’ve got the wedge we want. We’ll make Marsland squawk.”
Of all the mobsters, only one was present; hence Matt had given Luke the order to bring in the rest. That lone underling was Pete, standing by the window sill. His hands were coming from his coat, as though to be ready with guns if needed.
But this was not the real Pete. It was The Shadow. He was prepared to make an unexpected thrust; to mow down opposition before Luke could give the call. He was waiting only until crooks stepped away from the prisoners. Digger, alone, had drawn a gun, to urge Cliff forward. Opportunity was almost in The Shadow’s grasp.
Then, at this critical instant, the corner door burst open. Two men came hurtling inward, each with a revolver. They had come up by the stairway from the garage. The foremost was Louie; behind him was the real Pete!
By some freakish chance, Louie had heard a noise from the rear of the coupe. He had found Pete and released his pal. The two had dashed up, Pete giving his story on the way. Right now, Louie was crying the truth as he thrust his gun toward the figure by the window sill.
“That’s not Pete!” howled Louie. “He’s The Shadow! The Shadow, I tell you! Get him!”
Hard upon Louie’s damaging words came a response from the false Pete. The Shadow’s disguised lips delivered a laugh that left no doubt. As he whisked two huge automatics from beneath his coat, The Shadow still raised his mocking challenge in defiance of the odds that he must face.
CHAPTER XXIII
JARK TRIUMPHS
AMID his burst of pealing mockery, The Shadow wheeled from his place beside the window. Quick with his aim, he pressed the triggers of his automatics. Bullets seared forth from flashing muzzles as The Shadow picked the closest of his threatening foemen.
These were Louie and Pete. Unwittingly, they had given The Shadow a break by their excited entrance. Already prepared for battle, the master fighter was quicker than they when it came to the opening shots.
Louie fired before The Shadow; but that was only because the mobster was hasty in his aim. His revolver bullet whistled wide of the disguised warrior. Before Louie could fire again, he was tottering, clipped by one of The Shadow’s first shots.