Harry stole from the filing room. He approached the door of Delhugh’s study. He rapped softly and received no response. He opened the door and entered. Harry looked about, puzzled. No one was in the room.
Had Harry not been convinced that The Shadow was still here, the finding of an empty study would not have troubled him. Delhugh, in leaving, did not care whether or not Harry chose to prowl about. For Delhugh was convinced that Harry thought the house was empty.
Harry, however, thought otherwise. His perplexity became anxiety. He went to Delhugh’s desk, picked up the telephone and put in a call to Burbank. He made a brief report.
Burbank’s quiet voice showed no alarm; yet it was questioning. For Harry’s report was not the first that Burbank had received. There had been another, previously, from Cliff Marsland.
Yet Burbank had tried both the sanctum and the Cobalt Club without response from The Shadow. Until now, that had not troubled Burbank. Sometimes The Shadow deliberately let reports rest until he needed them.
Harry’s report, however, placed a most unusual angle to the situation. Burbank, like Harry, could not fully understand the reason for the dismissal of Lamont Cranston’s limousine. Steady questions came across the wire. Harry answered them.
Burbank gave directions. This was within his province. There had been times when Burbank had directed the work of agents during The Shadow’s absence. His present orders were ones that Harry could carry out without causing damage to any plans that The Shadow might have.
“Orders received,” acknowledged Harry, when Burbank’s voice had finished. “Will report back every fifteen minutes.”
Hanging up the receiver, Harry went from the study. In the hallway, he drew a revolver from his pocket.
He closed the door of the filing room; then stole to the head of the grand stairway.
The place was filled with oppressive silence. Not a living sound disturbed the massive residence. The home of Perry Delhugh seemed like a house of doom.
Tensely, Harry proceeded down the stairs, clutching his revolver as he went. Something was wrong within these sullen walls; and to Harry Vincent belonged the task of learning what it was.
CHAPTER XXII. SQUADS SET FORTH
A SINGLE light was burning in a stone-walled room. One dozen hard-boiled ruffians were seated about on battered chairs and benches. Facing them was an ugly-visaged rogue whose big, flattened nose marked his identity.
Beak Latzo was talking to his mob of gorillas.
“At last you mugs know who you’re working for,” announced Beak, in a growled tone. “Some of you thought you were in with Lucky Ortz. The rest of you didn’t know who was paying you. You hadn’t even met Lucky.
“Well, Lucky was handling things for me. While I kept under cover. Except when the jobs were on; then I was there. Two guys helped me and Lucky on the first job while some of you were guarding my old hideout. The whole bunch was in on the second. All except those of you who are new guys with the outfit.”
Beak paused. He was bringing up ominous recollections. Only two of this mob were survivors of the original battle with The Shadow. Only three others— Rungel, Cliff and Hawkeye — were leftovers from the second fray.
“We ran into some tough breaks,” stated Beak, “but tonight’s a cinch. The job we’re doing could be handled by me and a couple of torpedoes. But we’re all going along, so’s to take no chances.
“A house out on Long Island. Belongs to a guy named Joseph Daykin. An importer. He’s got a storeroom loaded with a lot of fancy swag. Savvy?
“Well, this room of his is easy gotten into from outside. Down through the cellar. Daykin thinks nobody knows about it. That’s why it’s soft. A few of us are going in to bring out the swag.
“The rest of you will be around. Covering. Whoever we hand the swag to brings it here. Savvy? Because I’m going in with the torpedoes to see what else we can grab. Daykin’s got a safe upstairs that we can hit after the big swag’s gone.
“We’ll have all the buggies we need for a get-away; but we want the heavy stuff riding clear before we start after the box upstairs. Lucky’s coming here to join us—”
Beak broke off as five taps came from the only door of the room. Striding over, Beak opened the door and admitted Lucky. He started to speak to the lieutenant.
Lucky stopped him and motioned outside. They left together; while Beak closed the door, Lucky produced an open envelope.
“Lamp this!” he exclaimed, in an eager whisper. “I got it from Dangler, just now. From Steve. It was left in Dangler’s office. I opened it riding in a cab. Steve’s got The Shadow!”
BEAK grabbed the letter. He read the scrawl. He chuckled as he tore the paper to pieces and lighted the fragments with a match.
“Bagged The Shadow up at Delhugh’s, eh?” chortled Beak. “Well, Steve’s smart, however he managed to do it. Guess he must’ve nabbed him without anybody around there getting wise. Should have bumped him, though.”
“Probably he couldn’t,” put in Lucky.
“Well, it fixes things the way we want ‘em,” decided Beak. “I’ll only need three gorillas for that Daykin job. You take the rest and pull it the way Steve says. Get The Shadow and that other guy. Make it look like you were pulling a big job at Delhugh’s.”
“Leave that to me,” grinned Lucky.
Mobleader and lieutenant went into the room where the gang was waiting. Beak looked about.
Roughened faces were quizzical. Beak laughed.
“We’re changing things,” he stated. “Two jobs instead of one. Both easy. I’m taking three guys with me. Stolly, Fresco and Marsland. No, not Marsland. I’ll take you, Rungel, for the third. Lucky may need you, Marsland.”
Beak did not specify why he made the change. The reason was that he remembered something he had heard about Cliff in the past. Once it had been noised about that Cliff Marsland was gunning for The Shadow. Cliff had not succeeded in that quest, for it had been a bluff, part of The Shadow’s strategy to build up Cliff’s reputation in the underworld.
But the fact that Cliff was still alive had always impressed Beak Latzo. Mugs who talked about getting The Shadow usually disappeared mysteriously from the bad lands. Apparently, Cliff was too tough for The Shadow to get. Beak decided that it would be best to have him present at the kill.
“The rest of you go with Lucky,” ordered Beak. “Split up now; then we’ll start.”
MOBSTERS arose and followed their respective leaders. The gangs went from the stone-walled room, followed a darkened flight of steps and came into the gloom of an abandoned East Side garage.
Here they entered touring cars and sedans, black vehicles that stood hazy in the darkness. Motors chugged. The cars rolled in procession from a curving outlet. Lights did not come on until they were clear upon a dismal, secluded street.
A few blocks on, cars separated. Cliff and Hawkeye, seated together in the rear of Lucky’s sedan, kept silent. But both were thinking; and each was puzzled.
Cliff and Hawkeye had been tipped to the fact that a job was due tonight. Cliff had phoned that word to Burbank. Then Mike Rungel had met them and taken them directly to the rendezvous beneath the old garage. There had been no chance to get new word to The Shadow.
Cliff had been counting on some opportunity to call Burbank again. He had been working toward that end from the moment when Beak Latzo had announced that their objective would be the home of Joseph Daykin.
Then, out of a clear sky had come the changed plans. Cliff and Hawkeye were being whisked away to an unknown destination. There was nothing to do but play along and hope for luck. The fact that tonight’s rendezvous would also be storeroom for the boodle was a piece of knowledge that could be used later.