They had jimmied a side window near the ground-floor kitchen. They had entered through the lower hallway and had picked a room near the front of the house.
The Shadow moved silently to the first floor. He paused as he neared the front vestibule. He waited. A man was coming through the dark. A flashlight flickered. It did not show The Shadow pressed against the wall.
The man made an inspection of the front door. He turned; no longer using his flashlight, he headed toward the doorway of a room. A dim light came through the opening. Stealthily, The Shadow followed.
A floor lamp was gleaming in the corner of a room — Brandley Croman’s library. The Shadow saw four men in the corner. They had pried open a panel between two bookcases. One rough-faced individual — The Shadow knew him for Marty Lunk — was growling to the fellow who had come from the front door.
“All right out there, Hokey?” questioned Lunk. “Front door closed up tight?”
“Sure thing.”
“Get out there then. We won’t need you here. Stick by the front door until we finish the job. We’ll come for you.”
“Yeah? What good’s the front? We ain’t goin’ out that way—”
“You heard me, Hokey.” Lunk was on his feet, with a big fist clenched. “I left two men watching the back — the way we’re going out — but I want one at the front. Get going.”
“All right, chief.”
The Shadow shrank back in darkness as “Hokey” lumbered past. The appointed guard was a powerful gorilla; one who possessed more strength than brains. His bulk, however, did not aid him in the unexpected attack that came half a minute later.
As Hokey reached the front door, he stooped to make another inspection of the bolts that he had examined before. His flashlight shone upon the woodwork. Then came oblivion.
With a swish, The Shadow pounced upon the mobster. A swift, black-gloved fist delivered a short jab to the side of Hokey’s neck. The big gorilla floundered without a grunt. His flashlight dropped on the carpet by the doorway. The Shadow extinguished it.
SLIDING the crumpled mobster aside. The Shadow drew the bolts of the inner door. Stepping into the vestibule, he used his own light as he undid the fastenings of the outer door.
Returning to the hallway, The Shadow flicked the light on Hokey’s face. The mobster was out — to stay in that condition for a while. Clicking off his light, The Shadow headed for the stairway.
A muffled buzz was coming from the bell box in the second-story hall. It was not audible until The Shadow reached it. Picking up the telephone, The Shadow raised the receiver. His voice came in a warning, hiss.
“Burbank speaking,” came the modulated tone in the receiver.
“Report,” whispered The Shadow.
“Report from Marsland,” announced Burbank. “Informant call to Cardona at ten fifty one; report made at ten fifty four and one half. Time now ten fifty six and three quarters.”
“Report received.”
A soft whisper sounded in the blackened hall as The Shadow hung up the telephone. The police were on their way, as The Shadow had anticipated. They would be here in less than ten minutes. It would take longer than that for Marty Lunk to crack the safe that he had uncovered. Hokey, The Shadow’s first victim, would not come to his senses after that scientific neck stroke. There was no need for another trip to the front door.
The flashlight glimmered with short blinks as The Shadow found the spot he wanted; the head of the back stairs. Descending with phantom-like tread, The Shadow reached a closed door. His steady hand turned the knob. Inch by inch, The Shadow opened the barrier outward.
Whispered voices. Two men were talking. They were the watchers whom Marty Lunk had stationed here. Dull light showed the opened window through which the crooks had come. The Shadow listened while men spoke in the darkness.
“How long do you figure we’ll be waitin’, Jerry?” came a question.
“No more’n half an hour, Beef.” was the reply. “Marty said somethin’ about havin’ a box to crack.”
“Say — who gives him these steers?”
“Don’t ask me. It’s got me beat. If I was him — workin’ with a set-up — I’d do the jobs alone.”
“Yeah? How about that one two weeks ago, when Hokey had to crown the chauffeur? Where would Marty have been, if he’d been workin’ alone?”
“Maybe if he hadn’t had a mob, the chauffeur wouldn’t have got wise. Anyway, Beef, it makes it easy for us, havin’ the crew along. There’s enough gats out in the street to make it hot for anybody that tries to crimp us.”
“Yeah — an’ you’d better be takin’ a squint out that window while we’re waitin’. That’s your job, Jerry. See what Rusty’s got to say.”
Jerry slouched through the darkness; and leaned from the window to engage in conversation with an outside mobster. Marty Lunk left nothing to chance. One man at the front; two along the path to the window; others in the space between the houses; waiting men on the streets.
But the cautious gangleader had not reckoned with a menace from within. One of his men — Hokey — had already succumbed to The Shadow. Another was due to follow. As Beef stood looking toward the window, something swept silently from in back of him. A long arm, winding around the mobster’s neck, caught Beef’s throat in the crook of a binding elbow.
Simultaneously, a gloved hand pressed firmly against the mobster’s back. Beef, gripped in a sudden stranglehold, did not have a chance to gulp. Soundlessly, his body slid to the floor as The Shadow released the powerful clutch.
Jerry was coming from the window. He was looking for Beef in the darkness. The mobster emitted a cautious whisper.
“Everything’s jake outside, Beef,” were his words. “Rusty is keepin’ tab on both streets—”
Hearing no reply, seeing no figure move to meet him, Jerry flashed a light. His back was toward the window. The rays were covered by his body. The mobster stopped short as the glimmer of his torch caught the reflection of a pair of blazing eyes that showed from beneath the brim of a slouch hat.
“The Sha—”
Jerry’s blurted gasp was not completed. With the speed and precision of a trip-hammer, a black fist shot from shrouded darkness squarely to the gangster’s chin. Jerry was lifted clear from his feet. He thwacked the floor and rolled over twice before he came to a stop against the wall.
A black fist shot downward to pick up the torch that had fallen from Jerry’s hand. The light clicked out.
Three of Marty Lunk’s henchmen had been dropped by The Shadow. The front door was open. The path to the rear was blocked.
MINUTES ticked. The Shadow was motionless as he waited in this strategic room. Neither of his felled opponents showed signs of recovery. The Shadow’s plan was nearing culmination. Marty Lunk, at work in the library, had no inkling of the danger which was coming.
“Jerry!” The low call came from the window. A pause; then another cautious utterance: “Beef!”
It was “Rusty.” The outside mobster was wondering why communication had ended.
“Beef!”
No response. Rusty pressed the button of a flashlight. A revolver muzzle came into view, moving with the beam. A shaft of light swept by the further wall. It passed the form of The Shadow, flattened beside a doorway. Rusty did not notice the black-garbed intruder.
Scant minutes only! Then the raid would be on. Police — action — crime shattered through The Shadow’s planning. The Shadow had chosen to wait; not to precipitate a struggle.
Rusty’s light lowered. It swept along the floor. It showed the prostrate form of Beef. A growl from the window as the light, moving sidewise, revealed Jerry against the base of the wall. Instinctively, Rusty swung the light toward the further door — to the very spot where The Shadow was standing.