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But Mike Borrango would have been surprised had he remained there. The man in the hallway moved the vacuum to the entrance of Howard Blake’s apartment. There another man joined him. They removed the cleaner from the hose; in its place they put a strange machine. A lever was turned, and a hissing sound followed.

The two gunmen in the third-floor apartment that was directly beneath Nick Savoli’s library were unaware what had taken place outside. It was their duty to challenge any one who might enter their apartment. They were watching for human beings; not for more subtle, invisible invaders. While they talked together, one was surprised to see the other gasp, and sink to the floor.

The remaining man was astonished for the moment. Then he bent to aid his companion. He, too, gasped, and fell unconscious.

Meanwhile, Mike Borrango had joined the others in Nick Savoli’s library. The big shot took charge of the meeting. He outlined what had been accomplished, and what was to be done.

Other mobs worked in haphazard fashion. Savoli’s organization was compact. Every event of consequence was reported to headquarters.

Savoli announced a reapportionment of territories; some to be governed by commanders of larger districts, until new appointees could be named.

This was a big day for such henchmen as Machine-gun McGinnis, Brodie, and Steve Cronin. They were advanced to lieutenancies, as a reward for their recent endeavors.

ALL were intent upon the plans; so intent, in fact, that a new arrival entered the room unannounced. The first sign of his presence was his voice.

Nick Savoli looked up. For once the big shot expressed surprise. Monk Thurman stood before him. The man seemed friendly. Borrango took charge.

“Hello, Monk!” Savoli exclaimed. “Where have you been? We have been looking for you?”

“I’ve been out of town,” responded Monk. “Larrigan’s mob was after me — that’s why I didn’t have a chance to go with McGinnis that night. I hopped out in a hurry. I just came back. Hear you’ve been having some big times while I’ve been gone.”

“We needed you,” said Savoli.

“Yeah? Perhaps you can use me now.”

“We can.”

“All right. Suppose you give me the South Side, or some other place to handle for you. I’ll show you what can be done in this town.”

Nick Savoli eyed the gangster narrowly.

“If you had been here this past week,” he said, “you might have done something to get what you want.”

The other Savoli henchmen were surly as they looked at Monk Thurman. They resented the tone in which the New Yorker had spoken.

“So I don’t deserve a share, eh?” questioned Monk.

“No,” replied Savoli.

“You owe me plenty,” retorted Monk, with a harsh laugh. “Plenty! Get that?”

“For what?”

“For double-crossing me with Larrigan!”

As Monk Thurman shot forth this accusation, Nick Savoli slipped his hand toward his jacket pocket. But he was too late. He was dealing now with Monk Thurman — not with Anelmo or Genara.

Before the astonished gangsters could realize what had occurred, Monk had produced two businesslike automatics. The guns appeared in his hands as if by magic. He drew them in a fraction of a split-second, and both of the guns were leveled toward Nick Savoli.

“Move your hand one inch,” threatened Thurman, “and you get all that is in these!”

Nick Savoli’s fingers trembled on the verge of his jacket pocket.

Monk Thurman stepped backward a few paces. His sharp, keen eyes were alert as they turned in different directions. He observed every gangster who was before him, and each man knew that a single motion would mean death.

“Double-crossers,” said Monk. “You, Savoli. You, Borrango. You, McGinnis. The three of you. Your game didn’t work, did it?”

He centered his gaze on Machine-gun McGinnis, who was seated beside Brodie, the chauffeur.

“You, at least, made up for it,” he said. “You mowed down Larrigan, didn’t you?”

“Sure I did,” retorted McGinnis proudly.

“You’ve mowed down a lot of people, haven’t you?”

“Sure.”

McGinnis was defiant. He wondered what Thurman’s game might be, and he was stalling for time.

“Remember one you killed outside of police headquarters? A New Yorker? Do you remember his name?”

McGinnis smiled sourly at Thurman’s question.

“Sure I remember his name’” he said. “I read the papers. His name was Claude Fellows — “

Monk Thurman smiled reassuringly.

“You killed Claude Fellows?”

“Sure, I killed Claude Fellows.”

“Who was with you?”

“Brodie, here.”

“You remember it?” Monk asked the chauffeur.

“Sure thing,” replied Brodie.

“You saw McGinnis kill Claude Fellows?”

“I did.”

Nick Savoli had been looking at McGinnis, urging the machine-gunman to answer the questions. Any stall for time would help. There was sure to be a break in favor of the big shot and his henchmen, for they outnumbered Monk Thurman seven to one.

“That’s all I wanted to know,” said Monk. He started at Nick Savoli. “Now I have something to tell you. I didn’t bump off Hymie Schultz and Four-gun Spirak.”

“You didn’t — “

“I didn’t kill them. Anelmo and Genara did the job!”

There was the silence of amazement at this revelation.

“One week ago,” said Monk, “I told Anelmo and Genara that I knew who killed Larrigan’s men. I told them that I would tell you — tonight. It is nearly evening now. I am telling you a few hours in advance.”

A sudden dawn of understanding seemed to come over Nick Savoli. The big shot opened his mouth in astonishment. He was about to speak; for a moment words failed him.

“You — you told them,” he repeated. “You told Anelmo and Genara that you knew. You — Monk Thurman — “

“Monk Thurman is dead,” responded the one with the masklike face. “He was dead before I came to Chicago. He was put on the spot in New York. I am not Monk Thurman.”

“You are — ” Savoli stopped.

For from those straight masklike lips came a mocking laugh — a blood-chilling laugh — a laugh which Savoli had heard before. It was the laugh of The Shadow!

THE gangsters were like frozen images. To Nick Savoli and Mike Borrango, this strange turn of affairs seemed beyond belief. Then, gradually their brains functioned; their recollections returned.

They realized the stunning truth; that no one had ever seen Monk Thurman and The Shadow at one and the same time. They realized that this amazing man had gained their confidence and had thwarted them at every move.

The crucial moment had arrived in the career of Nick Savoli! The fate of his underworld empire hung by a thread!

There was only one course to save it; to overpower that terrible man who held the big shot and his six henchmen beneath the muzzles of his automatics!

It was Steve Cronin who acted. He was nearest to The Shadow. The gaze of the man with the masklike face had shifted. With a sudden impulse, Cronin leaped forward, and as he hurled himself against his enemy, he pulled a revolver from his pocket.

The Shadow laughed. He stood motionless, his automatics still holding the others at bay. It was as though he felt himself protected by an invisible power.

In that brief moment, Nick Savoli and the other gangsters wondered at the calmness of the pretended Monk Thurman.

A cry of triumph came from Steve Cronin’s lips as he swung the automatic upward. But his shout died as a revolver shot echoed from the side of the room, and a spurt of flame came from the bookcase.