Cronin decided to wait until the room was empty and there would be no danger from any remaining gangster. Then he would enter the private room to report that the coast was clear. So he lighted a cigar and leaned back in his chair, apparently indifferent, but actually keenly observant.
WITHIN the small private room, Savoli talked business with Borrango. He dropped the discussion each time the waiter entered; but when the man disappeared behind the screen that led to the outside dining room, the big shot immediately resumed his talk.
It had been only natural caution that had caused Savoli to cease talking while the waiter was present, for the man seemed dull-witted and harmless. But now the big shot talked with his enforcer, and they summarized the important events of the evening.
“This means a lot to us, Mike,” said Savoli. “You’ll have to follow it up.”
“Leave that to me, Nick,” replied Borrango. “I can take care of Larrigan. You will have to talk to him occasionally. As for the others — I can handle them alone.”
He pointed out the individual weaknesses of each man. He showed how they could be played against Larrigan, and against each other. The persuasion in his voice was convincing, even to the hard-boiled big shot.
“You see what it means, Nick?” concluded Borrango. “You are the master. You are the power over every gang leader. Should any one make trouble, he can be put on the spot. His gang will be yours.
“I am the enforcer. I can act. You can be out of town when a man is killed. Any examples which we are forced to make will impress the others.”
Nick Savoli nodded approvingly.
“You are bigger than the law, Nick,” continued Borrango with pride. “The cops mean nothing. You are the one big shot. The others do not count. There is no one person who can dare to fight you. There is no one whom you need fear.”
“You are right, Mike.”
“There is no one who can challenge you.”
“I fear no one,” said Savoli. “No one can challenge me. You are right.”
A LOW laugh came from the corner of the room. Mike Borrango was startled. He turned quickly. Nick Savoli also turned toward the direction of the sound, but there was no excitement in the big shot’s action.
A man was standing in the corner. A black cloak, with lining of crimson, enveloped him. He wore a large slouch hat, and the turned-down brim obscured his features.
The man’s arms were folded in front of his body; his hands were covered with thin black gloves. He laughed again, softly, but mirthlessly.
The sinister tone of his laugh seemed taunting. It ridiculed the words of Nick Savoli. It brought a tremor of fear to Mike Borrango. Then the man spoke:
“You fear no one?” he asked, in a low, even voice, that carried the same uncanny tone as his laugh. “There is no one who can challenge you? Look at me, Nick Savoli!”
The big shot looked. He stared as though fascinated. Yet there was no fear in his eyes. Instead, his face became grim and determined — almost brutal in its expression.
“Who are you?”
Savoli’s question was a demand. He recognized the challenge of this man in black.
“I am The Shadow!”
The reply was emphatic. The last word was sibilant and impressive.
The three men formed a tableau, as the seconds ticked by — Borrango, too alarmed to act; Savoli, unperturbed, yet indecisive; The Shadow, strange and sinister, master of the situation.
It was The Shadow who broke the silence. His words were firm and penetrating. There was no mistaking his message.
He pronounced a judgment against the man who believed himself greater than the law.
“Nick Savoli,” said the sinister voice, “you have led a life of crime. While you were one of many, you were ordinary. Now you believe yourself supreme.
“You are wrong. You are dangerous — that is all. You are mistaken when you believe that you are supreme.”
“Is this a warning?” asked Savoli, with a grim smile. “Or is it a threat?”
“It is a judgment,” said The Shadow sternly. “In your crimes you have not respected the individual. You are responsible for the murder of one man against whom you had no grievance. For this crime you shall lose the power which you claim to possess.”
There was no reply to The Shadow’s words. They carried a hidden meaning which neither Savoli nor Borrango completely understood. Yet the big shot and his enforcer both realized that their accuser was a man of tremendous power.
“You were responsible for the crime,” continued The Shadow, “although you did not actually commit it. Those who carried out your orders will pay the full penalty.”
SILENCE followed. Impressive silence. Nick Savoli, despite his pretense of confidence, was inwardly apprehensive.
With all his precautions, he had been trapped here, by a man who possessed a purpose equal to his own. If The Shadow had a loaded automatic, both the big shot and his enforcer could be killed in an instant — unarmed as they were.
Nick Savoli’s gaze wavered for an instant; then it was fixed upon The Shadow again.
Nothing in Savoli’s expression betrayed what he had seen. That brief glance had given him new hope and assurance. For Savoli had detected a motion beyond the screen that stood in front of the door, and his keen mind had responded immediately.
Some one had entered the room, in back of The Shadow. The door had been opened noiselessly.
Mike Borrango had not observed the action. Neither had The Shadow. Savoli alone saw it, and he was sure that he knew who was approaching.
Steve Cronin had been instructed to enter the private room when all the gangsters had gone.
“Is that all you have to say?” Savoli’s voice was quiet, yet defiant. Its commanding tones seemed to hold the full attention of the man in black — the very purpose which Savoli desired.
“That is all,” replied The Shadow.
Steve Cronin appeared from behind the screen. He had drawn his automatic. He leveled the gun toward the sinister man in black.
The gangster was trembling. Even the presence of The Shadow frightened Steve Cronin; yet he had more than one score to settle with the dread of the underworld, and his determination was supporting him.
Nick Savoli realized the situation in an instant. If he placed full reliance in Steve Cronin, he would have The Shadow at his mercy.
Yet Savoli knew that Cronin was frightened. He also knew Mike Borrango might betray a changed expression that would warn the black-clad figure of the menace that lay behind him.
Even as these thoughts moved through Savoli’s quick mind, he saw The Shadow begin to turn, and knew his enemy was conscious of the danger.
“Shoot!” commanded Nick Savoli, in a firm, harsh voice.
Steve Cronin pressed the trigger of his automatic. The roar of the gun was deafening in the small room. The gangster was trembling but his aim was sure, for the muzzle of his automatic was scarcely more than three feet from the form of The Shadow.
Nick Savoli expected to see the black-clad man crumple and fall. Instead, The Shadow laughed!
A gasp came from Mike Borrango. Steve Cronin dropped his automatic, and staggered back.
“When you play fair,” said The Shadow, addressing Nick Savoli, “you leave nothing to chance. A loaded automatic was smuggled in and placed beneath your table.
“If this man” — he swept one arm toward Steve Cronin — “had been able to examine the gun, he would have found the blank cartridges, which I substituted.
“One waiter was in your employ. Another waiter was — myself.”
The Shadow turned toward the screen; but at that instant the door burst open, and two men rushed into the room. They were Genara and Anelmo, the Homicide Twins. They carried automatics in their hands.