“Destination?”
“A touring car. Half a block away. Didn’t recognize none of them. But it looks like some guy — maybe Beak Latzo — was crawling from his hideout.”
“Report to Burbank,” ordered The Shadow. “Contact with Marsland. Vincent to be ready with coupe. Cover with Marsland. Join Vincent in emergency.”
A swish. Hawkeye blinked in the darkness. The Shadow was gone. No further sound marked the direction of his departure.
It was eerie, even to Hawkeye. Then, recovering from his momentary amazement, the little agent scurried off through the darkness to follow The Shadow’s orders.
FIVE minutes passed. Then came motion in an alleyway. It was the same narrow thoroughfare that Lucky Ortz had taken on his visit some nights ago, to Beak Latzo’s hideout. It was The Shadow’s turn to visit that secluded spot.
Invisible in the thick gloom, The Shadow reached the locked door. A probing pick came into his gloved hand. The Shadow inserted the tool in the lock and began a silent twisting. Gradually the lock yielded.
Opening the door by inches, The Shadow shifted his unseen form into the darkened hall.
He closed the door behind him and locked it. So far, his work had been amazingly silent. Moving through darkness, The Shadow found the stairway. He ascended. A stealthy, noiseless figure, he arrived in the upper hall.
A short way off, The Shadow discerned two slight traces of light. They came from the cracks of door frames, one on each side of the hall. Moving forward, The Shadow listened at one door. He could hear the slight murmur of guarded voices.
The Shadow chose the other door. It was locked. He probed it; the barrier yielded and opened as he turned the knob. Light glimmered into the hall; then The Shadow blocked the illumination with his body.
He stepped into the room and eased the door shut behind him.
The Shadow was in Beak Latzo’s hideout.
Tall and spectral, the master investigator loomed like a being from some fantastic world. Close by the door, he used his pick to lock the barrier. It was a timely action. For, as The Shadow lingered, he heard a door open on the other side of the hall. Some one came across and tried Beak’s door; then went back again.
Goofy and Hunk were on guard, their job to see that no one entered. They had been stationed in the room opposite. They had not heard The Shadow enter; but they had gone through the routine of trying Beak’s door to make sure that it had not been disturbed.
THE Shadow looked about Beak’s hideout. He opened drawers in a lopsided bureau; there he found nothing but odd items of clothing. Softly, he opened the door of a closet. A dressing-gown was hanging there; also a new suit of clothes.
The Shadow reached into pockets. His hand encountered crinkly wads of paper. The Shadow drew them out and spread each in turn. He looked at the first sheet. It was the note that Lucky Ortz had brought from Dangler’s.
The second letter was more recent. It, too, was from Steve Zurk. The scrawl was brief but pointed. The Shadow read it quickly:
Beak:
First lay: Theobald Luftus, Monday night. Penthouse, Swithin Apartments. Grab everything. Hold off until nine bells. Go the limit. Steve.
The Shadow thrust the first note back into the pocket of Beak’s discarded suit. He took the new note — the one just read — to a table. There he found a sheet of paper. He produced a pen and began to duplicate the message.
Though his procedure was rapid, The Shadow produced a remarkable imitation of the scrawl. The ink dried; The Shadow placed the original sheet beneath his cloak. He crumpled his duplicated message and went to the closet, where he placed it in Beak’s pocket.
The Shadow had gauged the time. He had arrived here at quarter past eight. It was not yet eight-thirty.
He still had opportunity to reach the penthouse at the Swithin Apartments.
Leaving everything apparently as he had found it. The Shadow went to the door and unlocked it.
Stepping into the hall, he closed the door behind him and carefully relocked it. Cautiously, he began to draw the pick from the keyhole. It was at that moment that a warning came: the opening of a door across the hall.
Light flooded the hallway as The Shadow wheeled backward from Beak Latzo’s door. A sharp oath sounded as a tough-faced man yanked a glimmering revolver from his coat pocket. The fellow who spat the challenge was Hunk Robo.
At the very moment of his stealthy departure, luck had tricked The Shadow. Ready to fare forth on a mission against crime, he was confronted by the watchers who had remained to guard Beak Latzo’s hideout.
CHAPTER VII. THE BAD LANDS RISE
HUNK ROBO had gained a remarkable opportunity. Stepping from the room across the hall, he had spotted The Shadow at a most timely moment. For The Shadow, cautious in action, was fully occupied in removing his pick from Beak Latzo’s door.
Coming up with his rod, Hunk fired for the spinning form in black. But in his aim, Hunk calculated that The Shadow would whirl to face him. He failed to gather that The Shadow would also perform a fading movement.
Quick in his twist. The Shadow had dropped away from the door. He did not dive in the direction of the stairs, as Hunk might have figured. Instead, he made his sidling movement toward the front of the hall.
Hunk’s shot, a quick one, splintered the face of the door where The Shadow had been. But the bullet was inches wide. Glimpsing the direction of The Shadow’s fade-away, Hunk aimed again. This time he was too late.
The Shadow had neither dropped nor put away the pick that he still gripped in his right hand. Instead, he used his left to whisk an automatic from beneath his cloak. Hunk beat him to the first shot; but The Shadow gained the bulge on the second.
The automatic roared its answer to Hunk’s first thrust. The mobster paused, finger on trigger, then gave a sickly snarl. He slumped straight to the floor, a victim of The Shadow’s deadly aim.
Behind Hunk was Goofy Ketch. This gorilla was quick with a gat. He had come up with Hunk’s first shot. He was aiming as his pal collapsed. But Goofy gained no chance to fire. The Shadow did not wait until Hunk’s body was clear away. He fired a second shot while Hunk was on his way to the floor.
The bullet clipped Goofy. The mobster dropped his gun and staggered backward. Doubled, he blundered against the edge of the door; then, just as The Shadow expected him to sprawl, Goofy gave the door a slam.
A moment later came the sound of a turning key. Hunk lay dead, in the hall; Goofy, wounded, was in the room beyond the barrier. The Shadow’s laugh sounded sinister in the new darkness that had come to the hallway.
No time to deal with Goofy. The Shadow had other work. Confident that his enemy was severely wounded, he headed for the stairs and made a quick descent. As he reached the ground floor, he heard pounding at the outer portal.
There was reason for The Shadow’s swift departure. This building lay on the fringe of the bad lands.
Thugs were abroad tonight. Others, apparently, had been stationed close to the empty hideout.
One inkling that The Shadow was engaged in combat would mean the hue and cry of hordes. The Shadow did not fear such opposition; but he did not want to entail the delay that new fights might produce.
Turning, The Shadow headed for the rear of the building. He reached a closed door. His gloved fingers found a bolt. He drew the fastening and yanked the door open. Air whiffed into the hallway from an outer court.
Then came blinding light. Some one, stationed outside, had spotted the opening door.
As The Shadow stood revealed by the glare of a powerful flashlight, hoarse cries of recognition came from a pair of outer watchers. Revolvers barked as The Shadow dropped back from view. Vengeful forms leaped forward.