The Shadow stopped by the large chimney. Wind whistled about his cloak. Rising to the top of the chimney, The Shadow moved downward into the chimney itself. His feet and hands found ladderlike niches. He descended.
The perpendicular passage came to an ending. The Shadow’s flashlight revealed the interior of a fireplace; but there was no opening at the front — the bottom of the shaft was solid on all four sides.
The Shadow’s gloved right hand twisted a lever that projected within the chimney. The wall in front of him began to move downward. Then came an opening — with light. The floor of an illuminated room came into view, and settled on a level with the bottom of the fireplace.
The Shadow had produced Mox’s secret lair, with all its furniture and decorations!
The Shadow stepped into the lighted room. He laughed. The low desk, the short-backed chairs, the small bookcases; all these were part of the scheme. Only The Shadow had managed to uncover the ingenious secret of Mox!
The two secret rooms which the police had discovered were dummies. The wall between them was thick; it moved up and down within a hollow wall below. It was actually the plunger of an elevator, operated by mechanism in a sub-basement which had no entrance except the small shaft that ran straight down through the movable wall at the spot where the anteroom was located.
The anteroom was part of the large room. Its pit was funnel-shaped, to give thickness to the wall beneath it. The victims who had plunged to doom had gone into a smooth-sided vortex — a hollow, inverted cone — that took them like a trap catches helpless flies.
Leaving or entering, by the fireplace, Mox had only to press the lever, and his secret room would rise beneath the attic, forming two smaller — and lower — rooms beneath. When up, the center wall — the plunger of the elevator — blocked both fireplace and panel in the hallway.
The panels on each side of the central one were mechanically blocked by a short, ledgelike inner wall when the furnished room was down. When the room was up, there was still sufficient space for the low ledge and the furniture.
IT was the lowness of the ceilings in the dummy rooms that had given The Shadow the clew to something above. He had entered the chimney the night of his investigation, and had found the secret room.
The Shadow opened the drawer of Mox’s desk. There he found cards intact. These contained the names and histories of victims. They also gave information regarding Hoyt Wyngarth and Irving Salbrook; facts which told The Shadow of their connection with Mox.
Thousands of dollars were in the desk drawer. It was for the cash that Sulu had tried to enter the house at Mox’s bidding. The dwarf had failed to pass the police cordon. Well did The Shadow know that Mox himself would return now that the police were gone!
The Shadow moved swiftly across the room and raised the inner panel of the anteroom. Clanking sounds announced work that he was doing; the blackness of his cloak obscured his actual motions. When The Shadow arose and turned away, no change was apparent. The laugh of The Shadow echoed weirdly from the walls of Mox’s secret room!
Back to the fireplace went The Shadow. His form entered the opening; his hand pressed the lever. The secret room began to rise; not even the slightest sound of mechanism was audible. The lifting apparatus was muffled in the subcellar far beneath the house.
Out from the chimney; down the roof; the shed; and then the ground. The shape of The Shadow had blended with the darkness of night. The master sleuth did not intend to await the coming of Mox. He had chosen to find the fiend within the lair.
A blotch of blackness passed beneath the illumination of a street lamp near Junius Tharbel’s home. The county detective’s house was dark. Every one had apparently gone to bed.
On went The Shadow, like a silent ghost of the night air. He stopped at a distance from the Darport Inn. There, he watched the lighted window that indicated Clyde Burke’s room.
IT was nearing midnight. Clyde Burke, watch in hand, noted the time at fifteen minutes before the hour. He wondered about Cardona’s alarm clock. The reporter opened the door of his room. He heard the alarm clock begin to ring.
The sound was intermittent. A short ring, then silence; after that a repeat. When three rings had occurred, Clyde realized that Cardona should have turned off the clock. The fourth ring came as Clyde stole along the hall.
The reporter, sensing something wrong, knocked upon the door. There was no response. Clyde seized the top of the door frame, got his foot on the knob, and raised himself to peer through the transom. The room was empty!
Joe Cardona had evidently awakened before quarter of twelve, and had gone out quietly. He had left a light burning in the corner; he had forgotten to push the silencer of the alarm clock.
Dully, Clyde Burke realized that he had failed in an important duty. Cardona’s life might be at stake! Then the reporter remembered the emergency instructions of The Shadow. Dashing back to his own room, he turned off the light and paused. Then, rapidly, he turned the light on and off three times in quick succession.
In the outer darkness, The Shadow saw the signal. His laugh was a grim whisper in the cool night air. The Shadow understood. Joe Cardona was already on his way to keep his arranged appointment with Mox, the murderer.
Swiftly, silently, The Shadow swept away through the night, taking the trail which he knew the detective must have followed. The Shadow was on his way to save Cardona from Mox, the superfiend. There was time — for Mox had the hour at which he preferred to strike.
Death was due at midnight. The Shadow would arrive before the fatal hour! It would be his task to stay the fiendish hand of Mox, the monster, should Joe Cardona fail.
Joe Cardona’s beliefs were vague. The Shadow’s knowledge was complete. At midnight, Mox, the murderer, would stand revealed.
The Shadow knew!
CHAPTER XXI
THE FATAL HOUR
JOE CARDONA was entering the old house at almost the exact minute when Clyde Burke’s signal had reached The Shadow. The detective was carrying a flashlight. He flickered its rays through the downstairs hall.
Three figures arose as one. Before the sleuth could use his revolver, his enemies were upon him. They muffled the detective’s cries. They threatened him with revolver butts unless he maintained complete silence. Joe Cardona subsided.
The detective’s own handcuffs clicked upon his wrists. Joe’s hands were behind his back. His keys remained in his vest pocket. He could not reach them. Gruff voices told him that his captors must be gangsters.
By the glow of flashlights, Joe was led upstairs. One of his captors stopped at the center panel in the upper corridor. He raised it. Joe Cardona was unceremoniously thrust into the little anteroom.
The panel clicked behind him. Silence followed. Joe could not hear the trudge of the gangsters who were going downstairs again.
A click. Up came the barring panel in front. Joe Cardona staggered into the lighted room. He stopped, bewildered, as he faced the man with stooped shoulders, gray hair and beard, who sat behind the table, his eyes glittering evilly at Cardona.
The detective could see that the make-up was false, when viewed from close range. With anger on his face, Cardona looked squarely at this fiend, who chose to hide his own countenance under the false guise of Mox.
“So!” The word was followed by Mox’s cackled laugh. “You have come to see me, eh? That is good. Very good.”
Cardona remained silent. He knew that the voice, like the face, was a pretense. He could see the clock above Mox’s head. It showed the time as being eight minutes before twelve o’clock.
“You like my den?” Mox was chuckling with sarcasm. “Others have liked it, before you. All of them have died. But not as you will die. I have reserved for you the keeping of my secret room — for tonight is my last visit here.”