Viewing the Hotel Moselle, The Shadow saw it to his liking. The front portion of the building held the Roof Cafe. Then came the two-storied bulwark that bulged straight upward on the south side. Solid walls housed the storeroom; above were the shuttered windows and the solid door of Rook’s hideout. These were partly obscured from The Shadow’s view, because of the railed promenade.
The Shadow was almost on a line with the rear wall of the little tower. This was due to the frontward pyramiding of the Hotel Framton. Behind the tower atop the Moselle was another portion of the Roof Cafe. This was an open-air garden for diners who wanted exclusive surroundings. It carried a cover charge.
As a result, that portion of the roof was practically deserted. Moreover, it had taller and closer cedars than did the front portion of the roof. There was little chance that any of the people there could see The Shadow’s moves.
Looking upward, The Shadow studied the rail that surrounded the penthouse promenade. Whitened against the dark sky, the stone posts showed plainly. At the corner nearest to The Shadow was a heavier, higher post, that marked a join of two balustrades.
This post rose above the rail. From each of its sides glowered griffon heads with long, protruding upper jaws. The architect who had designed these unnecessary decorations had unknowingly performed a service for the future.
PRESSING hard against the steplike wall of the Hotel Framton, The Shadow lifted an object from the package at his feet. It showed yellow against the dull white edge of the roof. The object was a cross-shaped boomerang. Its two cross-bars were joined by a bolt that projected an inch beneath the surface of the lower piece.
Clinging to a block-shaped roof projection, The Shadow delivered a short underhand throw. The boomerang whistled sadly as it whirred upward across the street. Its yellow blades enabled The Shadow to observe its course. The boomerang spun above the rail of the promenade. Circling lazily to the right, it rounded the griffon-headed post; then gathered speed as it zoomed back through the still night air.
Clinging to the block, The Shadow reached out and plucked the boomerang from space. His trial throw was satisfactory.
He produced another object — a tiny spindle wound with a threadlike coil. The spindle had a hollow center. The Shadow pressed it to the bolt that projected beneath the boomerang. The spindle clamped there.
Drawing off a length of the thread, The Shadow retained the end in his left hand while he again grasped the block. Once more, the boomerang whizzed from his expert right. This time it clipped close to the parapet above the Hotel Moselle. It barely passed the pillar with the griffon heads.
Then the missile skimmed back from the night. Again, The Shadow took it deftly upon its return. Only a few coils remained about the spindle. The Shadow had encircled the corner of the parapet with a line of strong thread that remained invisible, so slender was its form.
The boomerang’s work was done. To the outer end of the thread, The Shadow attached a reel of stout fish line. Drawing in the free end of the thread, he made this new, stronger connection as a bridge between the Hotel Framton and the pillar of Rook Hollister’s unused promenade.
This line completed, The Shadow could trace it through the slight glow that reflected from the sky. He produced a coil of wire that was as strong as thin cable, despite its pliability. He hooked that wire to the fish line and drew in the cord. The result was a double-wired bridge, across and upward. Two lines of glistening steel, each capable of sustaining a greater weight than that of a human being.
The Shadow attached the outer end of the wire to the stone projection that formed a block above the cornice of the roof whereon he stood. His task however, was not yet complete. He gathered up another object and hooked it beneath his cloak. Hands free, the loose end of the wire about his wrist, The Shadow pressed against the steplike wall.
Projections offered holds for hands and feet. Like a mammoth beetle, The Shadow scaled the bulwark to the next step of the roof, one floor above. Again he climbed; a second story — a third — a fourth. When he stopped, he was perched upon the inset of the twenty-fourth floor. Two stories above the top of the tower that raised itself from the roof of the Hotel Moselle.
His line with the corner post of the promenade rail was a direct one. He could see the lower wire coming up around the post. The upper strand of steel continued to where The Shadow stood.
The stone griffon heads, carved portions of the granite post, had served as The Shadow had planned.
The wire had originally lain loose upon the tops of the rails. Drawn taut, raised upward, it had hooked into the yawning, ornamental mouths.
The single wire that extended downward was firmly held by the ornamental heads. The Shadow wound the loose end around a second block of the Framton cornice; one which corresponded to the block on the twentieth floor.
He brought out the object that he had placed beneath his cloak. A small, six-inch car, with roller-bearing wheels. The Shadow unclamped one side; affixed the carrier to the descending wire, then closed the clamp. Hands gripping a bar below the wheels, he poised upon the edge of the roof, ready for a swift flight downward.
ON the brink, The Shadow paused. Another venturer might well have hesitated, through doubt as to the safety of the trip that lay ahead. Not so The Shadow. Calmly, he was making a last moment survey of a scene which interested him.
He was looking at the front portion of the Roof Cafe, viewing portions in from the parapet, which he now could see from this higher lookout. Clear across the roof, at the further front corner, he discerned two men at a table. One was Cliff Marsland; the other, whom The Shadow could see below the top of a small cedar tree, was Harry Vincent.
As The Shadow watched, he saw Cliff leap to his feet. Harry followed. The two sprang across the open garden, heading toward the inner corridor. Some alarm had stirred the agents to sudden action.
Circumstances had ended the blockade. At the very moment of The Shadow’s foray, his aids had found cause for action. A double attack was underway against Rook Hollister. Men from below; The Shadow from above!
CHAPTER XXIII. THE RECKONING
HAWKEYE had sounded the alarm. From his obscure station, the little spotter had been watching Prexy Storlick. He had seen the cafe proprietor stop at the center of the corridor to answer the telephone upon the table.
A harsh curl had come to Prexy’s lips. Banging down the receiver, the tall man had stepped hastily into the passage. Key yanked from pocket, he had started to unlock the door that led to Rook Hollister’s hideout.
This was the emergency for which Hawkeye had been prepared. At all costs, The Shadow’s agents were to prevent Prexy from passing any news upstairs. Rising, Hawkeye had signaled to Cliff. Confident that Cliff and Harry would be behind him, the little agent sprang forward into the corridor.
A simple game; but a sure one. A wild brawl that would bring trouble; but that did not matter. For all of The Shadow’s agents were prepared to complete one task. That was to deliver a decisive knockout to Prexy Storlick.
They could answer for the consequences afterward. But with Prexy eliminated, their cause would be safe. He was the one go-between from the roof cafe to the hideout. Prexy must be downed.
Hawkeye, barging inward, was the first to reach the passage. As the little man plunged into view, Prexy heard him coming. Furiously, the proprietor whirled from the door that he had unlocked. Hawkeye, in the corridor itself, was starting a flying dive to cover the last dozen feet.