BORRANGO scrawled a series of directions on an envelope, and gave the paper to Monk. The New Yorker read the notations carefully, and nodded.
“I’ve got a car outside,” he said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. What is the signal?”
“One quick rap,” said Borrango, “then two slow ones. When you hear two quick raps, give two slow ones. They will let you in when they hear that.”
“Correct.” Monk Thurman repeated the directions, as though to make sure of them. He rose from his chair, and left the den.
“He is a smart man, this Monk,” declared Savoli.
“He has the right idea,” said Borrango enthusiastically. “Maybe he will not be able to make this fellow Vincent talk; but his plan to hold him is a good one. He is very smart. Very smart.”
“Yes — but” — there was a hidden thought in the big shot’s voice — “let us hope that he succeeds — for his own good.”
“It means five grand for him.”
“Five grand. But if he fails — “
“If he fails?” echoed Borrango.
“If he fails,” repeated Nick Savoli, “Larrigan will be happy.”
The meaning of Nick Savoli’s final statement was clear to Mike Borrango.
Monk Thurman had gained his point. Should he succeed in making Harry Vincent talk, he would be too valuable a man to sacrifice. Monk Thurman, successful, would be the one man to combat the menace of The Shadow.
But Monk Thurman, unsuccessful, would be just another gangster — a man whose death would cement the new alliance between Nick Savoli and his former antagonist, Mike Larrigan.
Monk Thurman and The Shadow. Somehow, Borrango felt that a fierce conflict was impending between those two men of Manhattan, who had made new history in Chicago’s underworld.
Death to The Shadow would mean safety for Monk Thurman!
CHAPTER XXII
THE SHADOW STRIKES AGAIN
WHEN John Genara returned to the room where Tony Anelmo guarded Harry Vincent, the prisoner had regained full consciousness. The arrival of the second persecutor caused him to anticipate a new series of tortures.
But Genara had something to talk about before that work commenced. He spoke to Anelmo in Italian, and the other man responded with surprised questions.
One name entered their conversation. They repeated “Monk Thurman” time and again.
Harry could not grasp the connection. He had seen Monk Thurman in action; he had witnessed the power of the New York mobster. Then he recalled that Monk Thurman was the reputed killer of Hymie Schultz and Four-gun Spirak.
Could it be that Monk Thurman was coming here, to aid the two Sicilians?
Nevertheless, the Homicide Twins were not yet willing to abandon their efforts. Their long discussion concluded, they turned their attention to Harry.
Anelmo began the twisting of the iron bar, and Harry again experienced that extreme torture that had previously unnerved him. But now he was obdurate. He maintained complete silence despite the agony. He chewed his lips; then gasped, and let his head fall forward as he groaned.
The ruse worked. Both his captors thought that he had again weakened beneath the strain, and they stopped the torture to let him regain strength.
Harry was too wise to extend his period of rest too long. He knew that an overindulgence in that practice would give the game away. Yet why was he waiting at all? He had no hope of rescue.
The Shadow had no inkling of his distress. When Monk Thurman would arrive, some new and more drastic punishment would follow.
Harry showed some signs of life, and Anelmo began the torture again. This time he worked more slowly. At first it was agonizing; then Harry managed to brace himself against it. But at length Anelmo gave the iron rod a peculiar twist, and gained an unexpected result.
Harry screamed despite himself. Genara spoke rapidly. Anelmo tried the new twist with the same result. Harry could stand no more. He was about to give up all his efforts to conceal The Shadow’s secret phone number, when he saw Genara raise a warning hand. The Sicilian was listening.
Silence pervaded the room. Genara opened the inner door, and went out into the dark passageway.
Harry could hear the sound now. A quick rap; then two slow raps. He could barely see Genara in the darkness. The Sicilian rapped twice in response. His raps were quick. Then came two slow taps from the other side.
Genara fumbled with the bolts that held the heavy door. Then he turned the key in the lock. The door opened outward; but no one entered. At least, neither Harry Vincent nor Tony Anelmo could see any one enter.
They stared at John Genara. The Sicilian killer seemed to be backing away from the door. He came into the light of the room. His hands were raised above his shoulders.
Then a gasp of gladness came from Harry Vincent. As Genara turned sidewise, in response to some inaudible command, another figure came in view — the black-clad form of The Shadow!
THE sinister man of the darkness held two automatics. One was pressed against Genara’s ribs. The other was pointed past Harry Vincent. It covered Anelmo, who was standing beside the torture chair, and as a hissing command came from The Shadow, the second Sicilian raised his hands in obedience.
The Shadow laughed — softly. The sibilant sound filled the room, and the stone walls seemed to laugh in return.
As the uncanny laughter died away, The Shadow spoke, and his words were weird and ominous.
“Against the wall,” he hissed. The automatic moved in his hand. Anelmo backed against the wall, and Genara was lined up beside him. The Shadow dropped one gun beneath his cloak.
Still covering the Sicilians with the single automatic, he reached forward with his free hand, and with a quick, swift movement, pulled away the iron rod that held the twisted rope behind Harry’s back. Then a knife came into view, and The Shadow cut the binding ties.
Harry arose, free. But weakness overcame him. He collapsed. The Shadow’s hand plucked him before he toppled to the stone floor.
Harry dropped into the torture chair, and lay there, limp and exhausted.
When he regained consciousness, he was amazed by what he saw. Genara and Anelmo were seated against the wall, each bound with ropes.
How The Shadow had accomplished it, Harry did not know. He imagined that the man in the black cloak had commanded one of the Homicide Twins to bind his companion.
But now The Shadow was speaking. He was addressing the helpless men who lay against the wall, and his words carried a note of warning.
“This is twice that we have met,” he said. “So beware!”
The sinister voice made Harry shudder in spite of the fact that The Shadow was his friend.
“You were waiting for another man. You will find him outside — unless he finds you here first. He rapped, and you answered. But while you unbarred the door, I came from the darkness and overpowered him.
“He was sent here by Nick Savoli. You will take your instructions from him. Perhaps he will ask you what has happened to your prisoner. You will not know. You will never learn.
“I leave you now; and remember: I know your secret. I know who killed Larrigan’s men.
“One week from to-day, Nick Savoli will know, also. For I shall tell him!”
The Shadow stood like an accusing specter from the other world. The two killers quailed as they heard his dread words.
THE SHADOW approached the chair where Harry Vincent sat, and raised the young man’s head. He drew a vial from his cloak, and placed the small bottle against Harry’s lips.
The pungent liquid was unlike anything that Harry had ever tasted. It seemed to revive him, and give him sudden strength. His step was almost firm as The Shadow guided him to the door.