Maddox reached in his pocket to pull out his automatic. The gun caught as he hurried.
The old lawyer picked up his revolver. He was on his knees, steadying himself with one hand as he fired hastily with the other. Had his aim been sure, he would have ended the fray. But the old man’s strength had gone; his hand wavered and the shot went wide.
Then came an answering report as Maddox loosed a bullet into the lawyer’s body. Zachary Mitchell collapsed upon the floor.
Excitedly, Maddox picked up Mitchell’s revolver. He gathered the sheet of paper with its mapped symbols, the letter and the key. He stood uncertainly in the center of the room; then spied a small rug near the door.
He stooped forward and turned down one corner of the rug. Then, he hurriedly left the apartment.
Scarcely had the door closed before the man on the floor began to move. Bob Maddox, fearful of further shots, with their attendant noise, had taken it for granted that Zachary Mitchell was dead.
In that he was not far wrong. The old man was dying. But he groped forward along the floor to the chair where Maddox had been sitting.
There his hand encountered the pencil with which the young man had been tracing the plan of the map. With an effort, Mitchell raised himself to the table. On a sheet of paper, he wrote the name of the killer — the name he had learned in the telephone warning.
Maddox shot me.
Mitchell’s hand faltered. The pencil dropped from nerveless fingers.
With a final effort, Zachary Mitchell reached for the telephone. He could do no more than push the instrument from the table. The receiver came off the hook as the telephone fell to the floor.
The old man lay prone, gurgling incoherently into the mouthpiece of the telephone. Then, he lay still.
The door of the room opened an instant later. Into the apartment strode a tall man in a black cloak, his features hidden by the brim of a slouch hat.
The keen eyes, peering from their shelter, saw everything. The man in black leaned over the body of Zachary Mitchell. The old lawyer was dead.
The Shadow had arrived — too late!
CHAPTER XXI
IT was twenty minutes past five o’clock the following afternoon. The day was gloomy; overhanging clouds had brought on a premature evening. Lights were twinkling in the busy streets.
The upper stories of the mammoth Royal Building showed glimmering windows, which were steadily diminishing in number.
From the portals of the mighty skyscraper, the home-going throng of workers was pouring into the traffic-jammed thoroughfare.
High up, as far as the eye could see, were the rows of irregularly lighted windows. Thirty-four stories from the street, the building tapered to a single, monolithic tower.
Where the side portion of the building joined with the central edifice, a keen eye could detect a blank wall atop the thirty-fourth floor. It seemed a trivial bit of space, viewed from the street below. Actually it was eight feet high.
From the street, on this gloomy afternoon, that portion of the building was practically invisible in the gathering gloom and swirling fog.
A man sidled through the throng that was emerging from the building. His overcoat was muffled about his neck. In his hand he carried a large suitcase.
He was not the first who had thus entered the Royal Building during the past quarter hour. Like those who had gone before him, the man was inconspicuous in the crowd.
“Three — four — two — eight,” the man muttered.
He entered an express elevator, which had just discharged a load of living freight. In a few seconds, the man was whisking upward, to leave the elevator on the thirty-fourth floor, nearly four hundred feet above the street below.
He walked along a corridor, reached its end, and paused before a door which bore the number 3428. He tapped lightly. The door opened.
The man joined a group in the unlighted room. He threw aside his overcoat. The face of Bob Maddox showed dimly in the dusk.
THE men talked in low whispers. There were five in the room, now; five arch-plotters men of evil deeds and brutal methods.
Hiram Mallory stood in a corner, a quiet, deceiving smile registered upon his face. Beside him was Briggs, expressionless. The others were Moose Shargin and Garry Elvers.
The gang leader was hard-faced. His bodyguard appeared pale.
“Easy, now,” came Hiram Mallory’s whisper. He looked approvingly at the suitcases which the men had brought. “This is the clean-up, tonight. After this — we go our own ways.”
A low buzz of approval greeted his words.
“We have tricked The Shadow,” declared the evil old man. “I shall report for myself and Briggs. Then let me hear your statements.
“Last night, Briggs was captured by The Shadow. He was bound in a vestibule of the old Galvin house. He escaped and came to me.
“I had heard, by that time, of Robert Galvin’s escape. I decided that young Galvin had been taken back to his uncle’s home and was protected there. That proved to be correct.
“Briggs and I slipped away from my home. We have baffled all pursuit. We came here a few minutes ago, confident that we have not been followed.”
Mallory turned questioningly toward Moose Shargin.
“Garry and I have been hiding out,” declared the gang leader, in a low, gruff voice. “We got pulled out of that tunnel in Wing Toy’s place. I phoned you about it.
“You told us to lay low. We did. Nobody, The Shadow included, could know where we’ve been. We got here tonight, O.K. We’ve slipped it over on that wise guy!”
Hiram Mallory looked at Maddox.
“Don’t worry about me,” said Maddox. “I hit out for my hideout as soon as I got away from Mitchell’s joint. I dodged plenty, too. Maybe I left something for the bulls to find, but I don’t think so.
“I tipped you off, Chief. I’ve laid low, like you said, after I left the key where you told me.”
“You left no bit of evidence concerning this place?” Mallory ascertained.
“Not one bit!”
“You saw no sign of The Shadow?”
“None. Only a call that made Mitchell suspicious — a phone call. Maybe it was The Shadow.”
“That would mean he was a long way off,” commented Mallory, in approval. “You acted wisely, Bob. Do not worry about the police. Have you seen the evening newspapers?”
“No.”
“Robert Galvin has been arrested for the murder of Zachary Mitchell.”
“What!” exclaimed Bob.
“Certainly. The Shadow has played into our hands,” Mallory went on. “It is well that we let Galvin live.”
“How did they come to get him?”
“Robert Galvin announced his name when he entered Mitchell’s apartment house. He was also seen to leave hurriedly.”
“That was me!” Bob informed.
“Certainly,” Mallory continued, “but the police don’t know that. Inspector Zull made the arrest. Galvin is in jail. Getting the third degree now, in all probability.”
Bob Maddox chuckled. This was the final touch!
THE gloom had thickened in the room; Mallory could scarcely see the faces of his companions now.
“Raise that shade higher,” he ordered. “We need more light, but we don’t want to turn on the electricity.”
Briggs obeyed.
“To work,” ordered Hiram Mallory.
Bob Maddox took one side of a desk and signed to Moose Shargin to do likewise. They moved the piece of furniture to a spot indicated by Bob, who mounted upon the desk.
The room had a low ceiling. It was fitted with panels. Maddox pressed his hands against a spot above. As he pressed, a panel budged upward and slid to one side. A dark hole was revealed.
Briggs was on the table now, hoisting Maddox into the opening. Hiram Mallory, displaying remarkable agility, came next.