The roof of the warehouse was visible from here. The Shadow spied a trapdoor opening that showed beneath the glare from the sky. Again the laugh as The Shadow looked beyond the parapet. It was less than twenty feet from warehouse to apartment building.
The Shadow descended. He resorted to the suction cups after he had passed the third-floor balcony. He merged with the darkness of the paved space between the buildings. From then on, The Shadow’s course was untraceable.
A CLICK in a darkened room. Bluish light shone upon a polished table. The Shadow was in his sanctum. A white hand began to move from the darkness; holding a pen, it inscribed words upon a sheet of paper. Written inscriptions faded as the blue ink dried. Such was the way with the special fluid that The Shadow used when putting his deductions on paper.
The first jotted words were notations of the testimony that The Shadow had heard. Then came agreement that no one had entered Tanning’s apartment. After that, The Shadow marked down the result of his own findings.
Outside factor.
The Shadow was thinking of the warehouse roof. He was visualizing a lurker there. The opened window was an easy target for the projection of some substance from the parapet. The Shadow knew that this alone could account for the simultaneous effect that had been produced upon the victims.
Gaseous substance.
This was a logical assumption. The stickiness had indicated a wide range. A disintegrating bomb, loaded with poisonous gas, could well have overpowered the people at the card table. The interval between that occurrence and the arrival of rescuers had given the atmosphere time to clear.
A soft laugh from The Shadow’s lips. Visualizing the person upon the roof, The Shadow could see two reasons why he had chosen to attack from that range. First, because it made entry into the apartment unnecessary; second, because it kept the attacker free from the effects of the gas itself. The Shadow’s next statement was a follow-up.
Choice of victims.
Nothing indicated any reason for an enemy to overpower the four persons who had been in the apartment. It followed, therefore, that the deed had been of an experimental nature. This fitted with The Shadow’s deductions. No better spot could have been chosen for a test.
The attacker had evidently found it necessary to keep out of range of the gas. That meant the tossing of a bomb. Why had he picked this one apartment? The answer was simple — to The Shadow. Only apartments on the fifth floor of the Vanderpool were accessible to the bomb-tosser. Only two of those apartments were tenanted; and of the two, only Tanning’s had been occupied this evening. Handley Brooks had not returned until after midnight.
The telephone calls.
Again, the whispered laugh. The Shadow had correctly analyzed the ringing that Doring had heard. Cardona had been right, the bell should not have made its pauses. But the detective had failed to guess the truth.
Those calls had been prearranged to follow the zero hour at which a lurker had tossed his projectile, namely, at midnight. There had been three calls — not one — but all by the same person. The man on the roof had not waited to see the effects of his work. Instead, he had relied upon some other worker.
That person had dialed Tanning’s number, probably from a pay station. Receiving no response, he had hung up, waited a few seconds, then put in another call, perhaps from a different booth. He had again hung up; then repeated the procedure.
In this manner, he had assured himself that the victims had succumbed. He had used three calls to be positive that he was ringing the correct number. Thus the effect of the experiment had been learned. The Shadow laughed as he wrote down the name of Handley Brooks and crossed it out.
The arrival of Brooks might have meant complicity. Brooks could have come to see if the scheme had worked. But the telephone calls cleared him. They proved that a simpler and less dangerous system had been used to check up on results.
The location.
With these words, The Shadow linked his thoughts to his first written statement. Why had Tanning and his guests been overpowered? Why had these four been chosen? The accessibility of the apartment did not account entirely for it. There were many other places in New York where victims could have been found.
WAS it random choice; or did it have a meaning? The fact that the Vanderpool Apartments were located close to a hospital had resulted in a prompt and definite removal of the victims. This was a point that impressed The Shadow. His soft laugh indicated that he intended to observe events at the Talleyrand Hospital.
Motive. Crime.
There were the final words. They disagreed with the decision of Commissioner Wainwright Barth. The Shadow had found a motive where Barth had failed. For the commissioner had been considering the present; while The Shadow was looking toward the future.
The Shadow saw purpose behind the loosing of the death sleep. Some evildoer had gained possession of a formidable instrument that could mysteriously overpower those who might oppose him. Not only that: the method, itself, had baffling features.
Seth Tanning and his guests had been chosen as victims for various reasons. The accessibility of the apartment, its location were two points. The fact that the bridge players had been persons of some social consequence was another factor. The apparent absence of a criminal motive was a feeler to learn what the reaction of the law might be.
So far, the law was baffled. That would please the perpetrators of the outrage. Somewhere in New York, men of crime would be sitting back, watching and waiting. They knew that the appearance of the death sleep would crash the front pages of the newspapers. Posted, these evildoers would be ready for new action.
A grim laugh sounded in the sanctum. The Shadow was planning a counterstroke against impending events. He knew that the death sleep would be delivered to new victims. More than that, when it again appeared, crime would follow in its wake.
A tiny light appeared upon the wall beyond the table as The Shadow reached for a pair of earphones. Burbank’s voice came over the wire. The Shadow’s whisper sounded. Through Burbank, the master who battled crime was giving orders to his agents. Those relayed messages would reach capable operatives.
The Shadow, too, would be active. Foreseeing unparalleled crime, The Shadow was launching his campaign. Evil would be due. It might strike, despite The Shadow. But the perpetrators of crime would meet opposition other than that of the baffled police. Before their schemes were completed, they would face the power of The Shadow.
Whispered orders ended. The tiny light went out. The earphones clattered to the wall. Then came a click; the sanctum was plunged in darkness. From the Stygian gloom came a sardonic laugh that cleaved the blackness. Shuddering echoes answered.
When the last sounds had died, the sanctum was empty. Deductions ended, orders given, The Shadow had fared forth from his secret abode.
CHAPTER IV
THE BIG SHOT
NOON in Manhattan. A short, stocky, ugly-faced rowdy was seated by the window of an apartment living room, chuckling over a newspaper. He was attired in a garish dressing gown with bright green trimmings that clashed with the dull maroon furnishings of the room.
The ugliness of the fellow’s countenance was increased by the grin that he wore. Fanglike teeth showed between bloated lips. They gave the man an expression that an observer would easily remember. In the parlance of the underworld, no one could have failed to “spot that mug.” The man by the window was “Wolf” Barlan, notorious racketeer.
Seated a short distance away was a well-dressed, crafty-faced fellow whose shrewd eyes watched the expression on Wolf’s face. This individual was also known in the bad lands. He was “Spud” Claxter, suave, persuasive mouthpiece who had served a dozen masters. His presence here had double indication: first, that Spud was working for Wolf; second, that no one knew that the pair had teamed.