-"
"I know. George and I have not been on the best of terms. That does not matter. I received a message that George wanted to see me here at once."
Fred had a shrewd idea. Wally had probably cleared out and called Duke. This could be a stunt to shift the blame elsewhere. Stepping from the elevator, Fred remarked:
"Maybe it was Mr. Melrue that Eddie took up to the sixth."
"Of course!" exclaimed Deedham. Then, to Francine: "Possibly your brother is upstairs in the apartment."
Fred took Francine up to the sixth floor. Obligingly, he kept the elevator there. Fred expected the girl to come hurrying out with screams about a robbery. Fred was due for a surprise.
As soon as Francine opened the apartment door, she saw the lighted living room. She looked about as she entered, and spied Harry a moment later.
The girl stopped short, as she viewed the masked face beneath the derby hat. She saw Harry's gloved left hand with its load of gems.
Instead of faltering, Francine showed spunk. She sprang across the room to snatch at the jewels and the mask.
Harry, faking that he was surprised by the girl's entry, was up against a real predicament. He solved it by pushing Francine away with a quick arm-thrust. Harry started for the door of the bedroom.
On the way, he whipped off the derby hat and poured the jewels into it. Holding the bowler like a football, nestled in his left arm, Harry reached to his pocket with his right. He brought out Wally's revolver, to bluff a threat against Francine.
Harry's shove had sent the girl against a corner table. When Harry turned, Francine had opened a drawer. The girl was pointing a .32 in Harry's direction. She had him covered before he gained a chance to aim Wally's gun.
"STAND where you are!" ordered Francine, in a strained tone. "Drop that gun!"
There was bravery in the girl's voice. Harry saw the determined chin that Wally had admired. He knew that Francine had nerve enough to shoot. Harry dropped the stubby gun.
"Now the jewels." Francine spoke louder, more briskly. "Put them on that chair!"
She nudged her revolver toward the center of the room to indicate the chair. A moment later, she again had Harry covered. Slowly, Harry started to obey the girl's order. As he did, he heard sneaky steps in the hallway.
Harry guessed right when he decided that some crook was making an approach. It was Fred. The finger man had heard Francine's voice and knew what was up. This was something not in The Shadow's plans.
Harry was supposed to be away, with the jewels, before any others came. It was a tight spot for Harry; in the emergency, he thought quickly.
Francine had brought her gun from deep in a lower table drawer. There was a chance that the girl had kept it there unloaded. There was also a possibility that whoever had inspected this room some time ago had found the gun. A smart finger man might have unloaded the weapon, just in case something like this might happen.
Chances were even, as Harry saw them. He was ready for the risk. He gave a shrug as he put the derby on the chair. His motion was slow, reluctant; it suddenly changed to speed. Twisting from the chair, Harry made a dive for Francine's gun hand.
He had the girl's wrist before she could press the trigger. The gun went upward, its muzzle pointed wide.
Francine managed a tug. The gun went off.
Harry was wrong in his guess; but that no longer mattered. The shot had missed. Harry was plucking the smoking weapon from Francine's fingers.
Francine still showed bustle. She grabbed for the lost gun. She clawed for Harry's mask. Her evening wrap fell as she grappled; with arms free, Francine showed determined opposition until Harry caught one of her wrists in a backhand grasp. He spun the girl around; held her helpless beside him.
Panting, Francine glared upward at the silk mask, trying to guess the features that it covered.
Past the girl, Harry saw Fred at the door. The finger man had drawn a revolver. Harry shook his head, to indicate that the gun would not be needed. Thinking the masked man to be Wally, Fred put away the weapon.
Though Harry regretted it, there was only one way to handle Francine and keep her safe from actual crooks. That was to put her far enough away for Harry to manage escape by the window. Harry relaxed his grip.
As Francine twisted away, hoping to free her arm, Harry propelled her across the living room. Spinning as she went, Francine finished with a tumble that crushed the empty hatbox.
Grabbing up the jewel-loaded derby, Harry wrenched open the door to the bedroom and dashed through, pocketing Francine's revolver as he went. One-handed, he pulled up the window sash and swung over the sill. The adjoining roof came flush with the wall of the apartment house, one floor below.
Hanging with one hand, Harry stretched downward and dropped.
FRANCINE had found her feet. She started for the bedroom; on the way, she saw Wally's gun, where Harry had dropped it. Francine grabbed the revolver and aimed for the dim outline of the opened bedroom window. With that move, she put herself in a predicament that Harry had not foreseen.
Fred, at the outer door of the apartment, thought that Francine had actually spotted the masked man who had gone through the bedroom. Fred yanked his gun; aimed quickly for Francine, to drop her before she could fire.
From the corridor behind Fred's back came solid darkness that swallowed the crook. The Shadow had trusted nothing to luck. He had come here beforehand.
His viselike fingers clamped Fred's gun. His other arm encircled the fellow's neck with the power of a python's coil. Fred's chin went up. His eyes bulged; his lips failed in a gargly cry. When The Shadow gave him a forward pitch, the crook sprawled senseless on the apartment floor.
Francine furnished staccato accompaniment with shots from Wally's revolver. Her fire was unless, for Harry had long since left the window. Francine turned about to see The Shadow finish Fred. As the girl stared toward the doorway, The Shadow tossed Fred's gun beside its senseless owner.
The gesture told Francine that The Shadow was a friend; that he had saved her from a treacherous foe.
Before she could express her thanks to the black-cloaked rescuer, The Shadow pointed to the telephone. His burning eyes carried a command that Francine understood. She made a quick call to the downstairs office, telling Deedham to summon the police.
When Francine turned from the telephone, The Shadow was gone.
Francine thought she understood. The Shadow intended to leave the finish to the law. Francine was right; but she made a mistake in thinking that the finish was already due.
Crime's thrust was not over. Francine Melrue was to witness more of The Shadow's prowess.
CHAPTER IV. CARDONA SOLVES A CRIME
THE sound of Francine's shots had carried outside. They were heard by lurkers beside the hotel. That produced a result that Duke Unrig had always wanted to avoid - action from the cover-up crew that the big-shot had posted in the vicinity.
Half a dozen rowdies made a prompt appearance in the downstairs foyer headed by a rangy, hard-eyed fellow whose flattish nose and long jaw made him conspicuous. Any headquarters detective would have recognized that profile.
The leader of the thuggish invaders was "Nogger" Tellif, long wanted by the law. Nogger had been Duke's lieutenant for the past three months, but this was the first time he had come out in the open.
Deedham heard the clatter of the invaders and peered from the little office to see Nogger at the head of the mob. The intruders had drawn their guns; that was enough for the clerk. He made a dive through an inner door and bolted it behind him.
Nogger stopped at the counter; he delivered an ugly scowl when he saw the plugged switchboard.
"That mug's tipped the coppers," growled Nogger. "We gotta work fast. C'mon! We're going after the moll!"