He drew Ruff beyond a turn in the street. Bright lights glimmered not more than two blocks ahead. For the first time, Ruff realized where the chase had ended.
“Chinatown!” he exclaimed.
“That’s right,” laughed Snakes. “That’s where he’s gone. That’s where he’ll stay a while. That’s where we’ll smoke him out!”
“How?”
“Gray Fist will handle that.”
There was confidence in Snakes Blakey’s evil chuckle. Ruff Shefflin understood. The Shadow, wounded, would be forced to rest. That would allow time to act while he was still spent from the chase.
More mobsters were assembling when Ruff went back along the narrow street. With Snakes whispering instructions, Ruff barked his orders. Eager gangsters were ready with their services. Ruff sent them away like a general placing his troops.
Half an hour after The Shadow had entered the temporary safety of Chinatown, a cordon of mobsters had established themselves all about that well-confined district. Every alleyway was watched. No possible exit remained.
While hosts of the underworld awaited Gray Fist’s action, The Shadow was effectually bottled up in the limited section to which he had voluntarily traveled. A new focal point had been found. Chinatown was under a secret quarantine of the underworld.
While Ruff Shefflin remained in charge, Snakes Blakey departed. The sneaky go-between was off to see Gray Fist. There, he was to learn the means whereby The Shadow could be trapped in his last refuge!
CHAPTER XVII
CARDONA’S CLEW
EVENTS at the Mandrilla Apartments had not ceased with the departure of The Shadow. Gang land’s invasion to that section of Manhattan had brought trouble in its wake.
The Shadow’s quick escape had been gained before police had arrived upon the scene of gunfire, but uniformed men had come into sight a few minutes after The Shadow had driven away with Ruff Shefflin in pursuit.
Half a dozen officers came from different directions. A radio patrol car reached the scene. Frightened bystanders who had scampered to the shelter of doorways began to give their versions of the situation.
From these — and from persons who came from the apartment building — the police learned that the fight had been both within the Mandrilla and outside.
One searching policeman promptly found the body of the gangster who had toppled from the roof of the house alongside the apartment building. Two of his fellows entered the house and hurried toward the roof. Arrived there, they caught a glimpse of lurking snipers. The police opened fire on the snipers.
Meanwhile, others entering the Mandrilla encountered trouble on the stairs. A skulker shot at the first officer he saw. The policeman returned the fire. There were others here besides the ones whom The Shadow had downed, Moreover, a few of the dropped mobsters were still capable of fight.
As gangsters retreated up the steps, the advancing police realized that they were going into what might prove a trap. Wisely, they waited reenforcements. All the while, the gangsters were prepared to fight it out.
Somehow, the frenzy of the underworld persisted even here. The mobsters, not knowing that The Shadow had escaped, actually expected aid from Ruff Shefflin. They did not know that their leader had deserted them. If they had, surrender would have been their action.
A sniping fight was going on upon the roof next door. In the corridor outside of the apartment where Ruggles Preston lay dead, a squad of gangsters was awaiting attack by fire tower or by stairs. One mobster entered Preston’s apartment. Ignoring the dead body, he opened fire at the roof across the way.
This gave the police a key. They had located the hotbed of mob resistance. They did not know the full extent of the gunmen’s power; so they played the safe and cautious game. They closed every exit, and waited for the outburst that might come.
THE Mandrilla Apartments had become a veritable fortress. The siege was under way; and as in all sieges where the attackers hold the key, the invading police prepared themselves for a sortie. They were anxious to confine the coming gunplay to the apartment building and the roofs close by it.
Shrill whistles; blaring sirens — these encouraged the police to wait. Had the gangsters been in greater numbers, the sortie would have come. But the mobsmen, in their hopeless belief of possible aid, were cautious, even though they knew that a cordon was closing about them.
A police car drove up to the front of the Mandrilla. From it popped a swarthy man in plain-clothes — Detective Joe Cardona. The ace sleuth’s face was grim. He had heard of this trouble when he had reached headquarters. He had returned as swiftly as was possible.
For Cardona had a hunch that the trouble had broken at Preston’s. Though he had not voiced the thought, Joe had decided that the lawyer might be in danger. Joe had been deceived by Preston’s manner, but in believing that Preston was a real friend of Worth Varden, Cardona had felt alarm concerning the lawyer’s safety.
The police attack was in readiness when Cardona arrived. Pushing his way into the lobby of the Mandrilla, Joe joined the bluecoats. He heard the word of gunfire from an upstairs apartment. Joe recognized that it must be Preston’s. Stating that he would show the way, Cardona took the lead up the stairs.
As a fighter, Cardona was intrepid. The first shot that greeted him was a bullet that whizzed by his ear. Cardona returned the fire. Although his shots were wild, they brought the result that he wanted. A mobster dived away from cover at the head of the stairs.
Cardona and policemen dashed up. The gunfire opened along the corridor. An officer fell. Blazing police revolvers downed the gangster who had fired the shot. Mobsters scurried toward the fire tower. The door opened. A gangster came backing in to escape policemen who were coming from that direction.
With one accord, the few gangsters who were able leaped toward Preston’s apartment. Flocking policemen sent them staggering with a fusillade of shots. A lone gunman sprang into the corridor; seeing that he was trapped, he fired at random. Cardona, aiming true, picked off the last mobster.
The nest had been reached. Shots from the roofs of the building outside marked the completion of the police clean-up. Cardona saw that the police were aiding their wounded fellows, and that reserves were coming to take charge of the eliminated gangsters. Thrusting forward, the detective entered the apartment.
RUGGLES PRESTON’S huddled form still lay by the window. Cardona recognized it. He hurried to the body and turned it sidewise to view Preston’s face. The lawyer’s corpse rolled on its back. The hands seemed to swing upward, extending the crumpled list which they held.
Joe Cardona plucked the sheet of paper from the dead lawyer’s grasp. Standing by lamplight, he began to read the names. He recognized some, and wondered at them until he came to the final one. Then a grim look came upon Cardona’s face.
Worth Varden — at the bottom of the list — was crossed out! That fact meant much to Joe Cardona. It cleared the detective’s vision. Instinctively, Joe knew that he had been tricked by Ruggles Preston.
The lawyer was a crook! He must have been associated with Seth Cowry! The racketeer was gone. Worth Varden was gone. Now Ruggles Preston! At that moment, Cardona counted both Cowry and Varden as dead. He saw the hand of a superplotter.
Some one — a master criminal — had held all three within his clutch! That master mind had disposed of Cowry, Varden, and Preston in turn. All, perhaps, were men who had known too much!
Cowry had left no clew; nor had Varden. But Preston had supplied the information that he had been unwilling to give earlier in the evening. Others were tools of the supercrook whom Cardona must seek. The names of those others were here upon this list!