“Did he get into my room?” demanded Beak.
“No,” returned Lucky. “That’s one break. Hunk and Goofy spotted him outside the door.”
“Then we’re all right,” assured Beak. “If he didn’t get those letters that were in my pockets. But if Goofy blew the place, The Shadow might go back there.”
“Goofy brought your duds with him,” stated Lucky. “I’ll tell him to look in the pockets.”
LUCKY spoke over the wire. At first he did not receive a response. Then Goofy’s voice clicked on the line. Lucky spoke. A pause; again Goofy’s voice clicked. Lucky turned to Beak and nodded.
“He’s got the letters,” assured Lucky.
“Great,” acknowledged Beak. “Tell him to burn them — in a hurry— right now—”
Lucky nodded. He gave the order to Goofy, adding comments of his own. There came another pause — a full three quarters of a minute. Then Lucky began to listen intently. He had one hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone while he reported Goofy’s words to Beak.
“Goofy’s read the letters,” he assured. “They’re both from Steve… He’s burned them. Ashes out the window… Wait a minute, I can’t get what he’s saying… Something I can’t get…”
Lucky suddenly dropped the receiver on the hook. He turned his masked face toward Beak. An oath came from Lucky’s lips.
“Goofy’s croaked!” was Lucky’s added exclamation. “He was telling me he was wounded — I could hear him coughing! Then he gasped and I could hear him clatter to the floor, the telephone along with him. The Shadow must have got him!”
“Come on!” snarled Beak. “We’re moving!”
GORILLAS seemed eager to go. They grabbed hold of Luftus and began to wind a rope about his wrists. The old man uttered a defiant protest.
“Shut up, you old fool!” snarled Beak. “You want a thump from the butt of my rod?”
“You can’t silence me,” crackled Luftus. “Never! I’ll tell what I’ve heard!” He was fighting free from the mobsters. “I’ll tell about Steve — about this man here — the one you called Lucky—”
Fiercely, Luftus broke loose. Springing forward, he hurled his clawlike hands at Beak’s throat. The attack was effective because of its unexpectedness. Beak went staggering back, trying to bring his gun into action. Luftus yanked at his mask while the gorillas fell upon the old man from behind.
Then came a sharp cry from Barry. The servant came leaping forward from the wall, to fling himself upon Lucky. Barry had seen that ruffian about to perform a murderous act. The servant wanted to prevent it; but his thrust came too late.
Lucky’s gat spoke straight for Luftus. The old man collapsed as the gorillas seized him. His body writhed upon the floor. Then Lucky went jouncing sidewise as a furious form landed on him. Ripping like a demon, Barry was clawing at this killer who had slain his master.
Lucky lost his gun as he sprawled on the floor. Barry, furious, seized it and tried to aim in vengeance.
Another gun spoke. This time it was Beak’s rod. Barry gasped; sidled to the floor and lay there groaning.
Beak ripped off his mask and hurled it into the open bag. He motioned the others to do the same. They complied. Hoisting the bundle, Beak tucked it under his arm. He snapped an order.
“Out by the service elevator,” he ordered. “The way we came in. Get going before they come up to find out about those shots.”
“I had to let the old duke have it, Beak,” declared Lucky. “He was on you — and he was going to squawk—”
“You don’t hear me crabbing do you,” broke in Beak. “Didn’t I give it to the flunky when he was on your neck? Couldn’t he blab, too? They had it coming — both of them.”
Four raiders hastened through the door. Silence followed their departure. Theobald Luftus was dead.
Barry’s groan had subsided. Death held sway in this antiquated room.
Murder had fallen despite The Shadow’s efforts to prevent it. Though rescue was already on the way, Theobald Luftus and his servant had succumbed. Had Luftus used discretion, he and Barry could have remained alive, waiting the arrival of the police.
But Luftus had used wild judgment. Murder had followed robbery. The track which The Shadow must from now on follow would be a trail of blood.
CHAPTER IX. THE ONLY CLUE
SIX minutes after the departure of Beak Latzo and Lucky Ortz, an elevator arrived at the penthouse level. From it stepped a swarthy, stocky man, who was followed by three others.
The leading arrival was Detective Joe Cardona, ace of the Manhattan force. The other men constituted a squad that Joe had brought with him.
The detectives went through the apartment. They arrived at the living room. A brief glance told them that they had come too late. They saw the bodies of Luftus and Barry; beyond the crumpled men the yawning front of the rifled safe.
Joe bent over each body in turn. He saw at once that Theobald Luftus was dead. But Barry’s form seemed feebly alive. Joe raised the servant’s head. The semblance of a groan came from Barry’s lips.
Glassy eyes stared at Joe Cardona. It was plain that Barry’s wound was mortal. Yet there was a chance that the servant could speak.
Joe’s gruff voice came in urging terms. Barry’s lips moved.
Slow, gasping words. Yet Cardona heard them as the faithful servant tried his utmost to explain what had occurred. The statement came with breaks.
“The — the funds,” gasped Barry. “Thousands of dollars — gone. Murson— Murson — the broker — he was here. He brought them — brought them all with him—”
A hideous cough. Blood showed on Barry’s lips. The servant sank in Cardona’s grasp.
Joe lowered the body to the floor. He came to his feet, drew out a pad and pencil and wrote down the words that he had heard.
Detectives were prowling about. They saw no sign of the departed raiders. One sleuth, out in a side hall of the penthouse, passed by the door of the service elevator, thinking it was the entrance of a locked closet.
By the time that Joe Cardona had called his squad together, their consensus was that the killers had made a deliberate get-away down through the regular elevator.
Joe went out to quiz the white-faced operator who was standing in the car, aghast at the news of murder.
“How long have you been on duty?” questioned Joe.
“Only half an hour,” answered the lad. “I have the night shift. Supposed to be on at nine o’clock — I came early tonight—”
“Any other cars running?”
“Only this one.”
“Your name?”
The operator gave it.
“And the fellow you relieved?”
The operator gave that name also.
“Where did he go?” asked Joe.
“To a movie, I think,” said the operator. “I don’t know which one. He had a date.”
“Did he say anything about bringing people up and down from this penthouse?”
“Not a word.”
THOUGH the shooting of Luftus and Barry had unquestionably been recent, Joe Cardona had no proof that it had occurred within the last half hour. In view of the operator’s testimony, he was inclined to believe that it had happened during the previous shift.
With this false start, the ace detective turned to routine. Unaware that there was a service elevator to the penthouse, he put in a call to headquarters. While waiting for the arrival of a police surgeon, Joe began an inspection of the death room. The other detectives watched him as he examined the safe.
Out in the hallway of the penthouse, a slight tremble occurred at the doors of the service elevator.
Peering eyes gazed through a crack; then the doors opened. A figure came into view. Tall, cloaked and sinister, The Shadow had arrived to find this mode of entry to the penthouse.