“LET’S think about Duncan for a moment,” he declared. “We know he got away from Stinger’s crew. That much is sure.”
“On this guy Cranston’s say-so?” demanded Digger.
“Certainly,” retorted Matt. “If we’ve really got The Shadow, we know he’s seen Duncan. If he isn’t The Shadow — if he’s Cranston — he’s given us a straight story. All right, supposing we’ve really got Cranston. That leaves Duncan in the clear, don’t it?”
Matt had swung to the professor. Jark nodded.
“So we can figure,” continued Matt, “that Duncan’s passed the word to The Shadow. And if I know The Shadow right, he won’t be waiting until next week to come here.”
“So what?” put in Digger.
“The longer we wait, the better,” asserted Digger. “There’s the test you want, prof. Hold our prisoner for twenty-four hours. No — that’s too long. Twelve hours are enough. If The Shadow is coming, he’ll be here any time.”
“And if he don’t come?” asked Digger.
“It’ll mean that we’ve already got The Shadow,” sneered Matt. “All we’ve got to do is wait. Sit up with this prisoner of yours, prof. Keep him awake talking boloney about your inventions. And if nothing’s hit before daylight, We’ll give him the bump. We’ll know then that he’s The Shadow.”
Another pause. Professor Jark was nodding as he rubbed his chin. Matt decided to drive his argument home.
“Anybody’s liable to be dumb,” said the tall crook. “Even The Shadow. Maybe he’s pulled a boner and that’s how we got him. What I’ve said still goes. If we’ve got the real Cranston, The Shadow will show up. If he does, I’ll bet it won’t be by the side door.”
“Why not?” queried Jark.
“Because he’d figure it was trapped by this time,” replied Theblaw. “If this prisoner is the real Cranston, the best argument he’s got is one he hasn’t mentioned. The fact that he came in the side door. The Shadow wouldn’t have been likely to have tried it.”
“Unless he was takin’ a long shot,” inserted Digger.
“Or crossing the dope,” agreed Matt. “After all, you can’t tell just what The Shadow’s likely to spring. But my guess would be that he’d hit the front.”
“Why?”
“On account of the hall being clear. If Duncan’s tipped him, The Shadow would know that the wiring don’t begin until the foot of the stairs. Anyway, that’s beside the point. If we haven’t got The Shadow, we’ll know it when he comes here.
“The only thing we can do is plan what to do if he does come. He can’t get by those stairs. Nobody can. So he’ll have to beat it, and not knowing we’ve Cranston, he’ll go back to New Jersey.”
“And we’ll snatch him there?” queried Digger.
“Sure thing,” agreed Matt. “Understand, of course, this is all figuring that The Shadow’s still due. If he comes and goes, we’ll know where he’s gone then—”
“And then,” interposed Jark, dryly, “you will perpetrate a deliberate kidnapping. A mistake, Theblaw. A bad mistake. We have done too much already, seizing Lamont Cranston. We must cause no more furor.”
FOR a moment, Theblaw fumed. He glared angrily at the professor, who met his gaze steadily. Then the dark-browed crook laughed. His mirth was an admission that the professor had spoken wisely.
“It won’t be a snatch, prof,” assured Theblaw. “I’m glad you brought it up. It’ll work different, and I’ll tell you why. We can drop the real Cranston, if we have to grab the phony. Both at the same time, see?”
From a hallway outside the room, came the jangle of a muffled bell. It was ringing in steady fashion.
“The front alarm!” exclaimed the professor.
“That’s it!” acknowledged Theblaw, grimly. “Stay here with the prof, Digger. I’m moving out to shove those other gorillas on the job. It’s The Shadow!”
With that, the tall crook darted for a door. The barrier opened just as he reached it. A dark-faced mobster thrust his visage into the doorway. Theblaw motioned the fellow back into the hall.
Then Theblaw shouldered through and closed the door behind him. Digger grinned as he turned to the professor. Old Jark was staring toward the door, half puzzled, half expectant.
“Matt called it, didn’t he, prof?” chuckled Digger. “Said maybe The Shadow was still comin’; that if he was, he’d be due. Take it easy, prof. There’s nothin’ to worry about. Matt an’ them gorillas will take care of him, if he don’t get a hot shot from the stairs.”
Professor Jark nodded, smiling. With an expression of relief, the old man resumed his chair. Like Digger Wight, he was content to await the outcome of Matt Theblaw’s impending battle.
CHAPTER VI
SHADOW’S STRATEGY
Across the street from the house on Delavar Street, two men were crouched in the doorway of a half-empty loft building. They were watching another man whose figure they could scarcely discern. He was huddled against the front door of the house that bore the number 18.
“Tapper’s working slow tonight, Cliff,” whispered one of the crouched men. “Say — I don’t figure why he’s here picking that lock, unless The Shadow is around at the back—”
“Psst!” Cliff’s warning was an interruption. “Keep your ears open, Hawkeye. Hear that? Sound like a bell!”
A faint jangle was barely audible. It probably could not be heard at the front door of number 18. The location that Cliff and Hawkeye had taken must have placed them on a line with an opened upper window in Professor Jark’s present residence. They were listening to the same alarm that Jark and his companions had heard.
The faint tingling ended. Hawkeye gripped Cliff’s arm and pointed across the street. The huddled figure was moving down the steps. The front door opened an inch or two; a streak of light could be seen at its edge.
“Tapper’s got it!” whispered Hawkeye. “He’s easing back, like he was going to be ready to join us. Say, Cliff — The Shadow must’ve ordered Tapper on the job so’s both doors would be ready—”
Again, Cliff stopped his companion’s words. Blackness had appeared against the grimy whiteness of the house steps. An outlined figure was moving upward. The door swung wide; against the light from the opened portal, The Shadow’s agents saw the cloaked figure that represented their chief.
“Come on, Hawkeye!” ordered Cliff. “That’s our cue. Orders to follow The Shadow into the house. Don’t worry about Tapper. He’s got his own instructions.”
A beckoning motion from a cloaked arm. Running forward, Cliff and Hawkeye saw a turn of the slouch hat that topped The Shadow’s garb. Then the cloaked figure strode straight into the house. The agents reached the steps a few seconds later.
As Cliff and Hawkeye edged into a vestibule, someone came up behind them. It was “Tapper.” Like the other agents, he held a ready automatic. He apparently had the same orders — to remain upon this threshold while The Shadow ventured into the house itself.
THOUGH they themselves were in semidarkness, The Shadow’s agents could see the scene before them. Straight ahead was a lighted hallway. Across it rose a flight of stairs. In the center of the uncarpeted hall was the cloaked figure of The Shadow, weaving warily forward.
Almost at the stairway, the figure paused. Cliff saw the black shape wheel about; he caught a glimpse of cloak collar muffled high about the face beneath the slouch hat, giving no chance to discern the hidden features. Then again, The Shadow’s form turned toward the stairs. Sweeping arms suddenly displayed a pair of heavy automatics.
The weapons were a challenge that came as the advance ended. The Shadow had stopped short of the stairway. Harsh shouts sounded above. The cloaked figure swung backward just as wild shots broke out at the head of the stairs.