They went up the steps together, into total darkness. Harry could not see the strange figure that walked beside him. Only the firm, steadying grip enabled him to know that The Shadow was still there.
A coupe was parked by the curb, behind the sedan; but The Shadow ignored the smaller vehicle. He helped Harry into the front seat of the sedan, and gave him the key, which he had evidently taken from the helpless Anelmo. Then The Shadow placed a slip of paper in Harry’s hand. The sheet was folded.
“Drive straight ahead,” came the whispered voice, “until you reach the boulevard. Then follow the instructions that are on the paper.”
As Harry slipped the sedan into gear, he glanced backward. The door had closed; there was no sign of The Shadow. The man of darkness had vanished into the thick night.
Harry Vincent gripped the wheel, and piloted the powerful automobile along the narrow street. He wondered what the instructions would be; but more than that, he wondered what mission The Shadow had chosen.
BACK in the underground room, the Sicilians struggled to free themselves from their bonds. It seemed a hopeless task. The Shadow had tied them quickly, but well. Anelmo nearly managed to free one hand; then he could get no further.
At that moment, assistance arrived. A man stumbled into the room. He was still partially bound with ropes. His face and hands were covered with mud. In one fist he held an automatic, and he blinked his eyes as he came into the light.
Anelmo recognized Monk Thurman.
“Where is he?” demanded the gangster, in his rasping voice. “Where is he?”
“Who?” questioned Anelmo.
“The man you captured.”
“He is gone.”
“What? You let him go?”
“The Shadow took him.”
An exclamation of disgust came from Monk Thurman. He freed himself from the ropes that still bound him, and glared contemptuously at the helpless Sicilians.
“You let him get you?” he cried. “Two of you? Here in the light?”
“He got you, didn’t he?” retorted Genara.
“He hit me from behind, in the dark. If you had opened the door more quickly, I would have been safe. But he knocked me cold while you were fooling with those bolts.”
The gangster drew a knife from his pocket. He cut the bonds that bound the other men, and Anelmo and Genara rose.
“He drove away in my car,” declared Monk. “He came back and tied me up, just as I was coming to my senses. I didn’t have a chance to fight him. I heard him drive away, after that.”
“Well, you botched things up,” said Genara accusingly.
“I botched things up?” retorted Thurman. “You fellows were to blame. Why couldn’t you make that guy talk?”
Anelmo shrugged his shoulders, and Genara made a similar gesture. They had nothing more to say.
They were antagonistic toward Monk Thurman, but they knew it would not be wise to continue the argument. They left the underground room with the New York gangster. When they reached the street, Monk uttered an exclamation of surprise.
“So they pinched your buggy!” he said. “Well, you have to ride back with me. Funny they didn’t take both of them. I guess you crippled that fellow Vincent so he wasn’t able to drive a car. Well, come along.”
IT was a silent trio that drove back toward the Loop. Monk Thurman turned into a street that led to the Escadrille Apartments. He stopped in front of Savoli’s residence, and motioned toward the door.
“Go on in,” he said. “Tell the big boy all about it.”
Genara and Anelmo alighted from the coupe.
“What about you?” demanded Genara. “He sent you. Are you coming in with us?”
“Tell him I’ll be there to-morrow. I’m going to be busy tonight. I’m out to get The Shadow!”
“Yeah? What if you don’t find him?”
“I’ll come in to-morrow anyway. I’m giving you fellows a break. Tell your story first. I’ll spill mine later.”
The Sicilians talked as they stood on the curb, after Monk Thurman had driven away. They muttered low words in Italian, and their conversation took on an unusual tone.
One fact had impressed them more than any other. That was the warning given by The Shadow.
“One week from tonight — ” said Anelmo.
“One week,” repeated Genara. “But before then — “
CHAPTER XXIII
LARRIGAN IS SATISFIED
MONK THURMAN did not appear at Nick Savoli’s apartment the next morning. Instead, he telephoned, and spoke to Mike Borrango.
The enforcer demanded to know where the gangster was. Monk replied evasively, saying that he had a new clew that might enable him to trail The Shadow. He added that he would call at the apartment at four o’clock in the afternoon.
Nick Savoli was not pleased when he received the information. He had held a hectic conference with Genara and Anelmo the night before; the Homicide Twins had blamed Monk Thurman for everything that had happened.
Savoli was only partially convinced that the fault was Thurman’s; at the same time he felt that much of the responsibility belonged to Monk.
At one o’clock another visitor arrived, and the announcement of his presence caused questioning looks between the big shot and his enforcer.
Mike Larrigan was outside, anxious to see both Savoli and Borrango.
“You know what he wants?” asked Savoli.
“He wants to know where Monk Thurman is,” responded the enforcer. “What will we tell him?”
“Tell him we’ll get Thurman for him!” Savoli snapped out impatiently. “Monk slipped on the job. We’ll make him pay for it!”
Mike Larrigan was ushered into the library. The attendant opened the door for him.
At that moment, a strange thing happened. While the attendant was turned toward the door — the direction in which Larrigan also faced — a form appeared at the gate that blocked the way from the elevators. The attendant had not yet locked the gate.
Silently, the new arrival slipped into the anteroom.
This man was dressed in black. Those who had seen The Shadow would have recognized him immediately. Yet his actions were more amazing than ever before.
With catlike stealth, The Shadow glided across the room to the corner nearest the door. There he slipped behind a table which bore a large flower pot, and in an instant, his presence was indetectible.
His form seemed like some motionless shadow against the wall. Only a close observer would have noted that the mass of blackness was a solid object.
With Larrigan in the library, the attendant returned to lock the iron gate. While he was busy with that action, the mass of blackness moved from behind the table. It went to the door of the library. The Shadow opened the door and entered the large, gloomy room.
The attendant did not hear the click of the door. Perhaps the noise he made in locking the gate drowned out the slight sound; but it was more probable that the noise made by The Shadow was negligible. For Larrigan, seated in the chair that visitors usually took, heard nothing.
THE SHADOW moved across the room, behind the gang leader’s back. The mysterious man made no noise whatever. He reached the bookcase, still out of Larrigan’s vision. There he stood, still as a painting, until he was sure that the Irishman was not observing. Then, slowly and carefully, he opened the swinging bookcase.
The Shadow waited. The man in black knew that a sudden motion would attract Larrigan’s attention.
The door at the other side of the room opened. Larrigan arose expectantly; and The Shadow glided like a living phantom through the opening of the bookcase. The swinging portal closed behind him just as Savoli and Borrango entered the library.