THE SHADOW had received Burbank’s message. He was on the scene. He had chosen the same course as Foon Koo. When he dealt with the thrusts of mobsters, The Shadow preferred to work from the inside.
A blackened shape appeared against the white wing of Grolier’s mansion. It edged toward a gloomy section of the wall. The Shadow had decided that the corner, with its projections, was too open a spot. Like a gigantic bat, The Shadow’s cloaked form moved upward. Squidgy sounds marked his ascent.
The Shadow was utilizing rubber suction cups. His hands and feet were equipped with these devices. Direct pressure made each cup adhere to the marble wall. A twisting motion caused a prompt release. With steady progress, The Shadow moved upward toward the roof.
Though The Shadow had received no word of Foon Koo’s activity, he had recognized the natural spot that would be chosen for crime. He realized that the roof would afford the only mode of entry to the interior of this wing. He was choosing this path to arrive ahead of the waiting crooks.
In the meantime. Foon Koo had gained access. Scarcely had The Shadow disappeared beyond the parapet of the roof before a motion occurred at the rear gate. Mark Tyrell, glancing along the passage, saw the sign. He gripped Harry Vincent’s arm. The two men moved toward the gate.
Foon Koo was awaiting them. He whispered brief words to Tyrell — a statement which Harry Vincent heard only in part.
“All velly good,” informed Foon Koo. “Me open way. Me findee ladder in closet. Shutee top tightee. Puttee ladder back. Foon Koo waitee at old house.”
“All right,” whispered Tyrell. “Good work, Foon Koo.”
As the Chinaman padded along the alleyway, Tyrell urged Harry through the gate. They found an opened back door. A little entry showed another opened barrier to the left. It led into the wing, up a short flight of steps.
Tyrell’s flashlight glimmered along the floor. The wing was totally dark inside. A turn of the brief steps served to keep the flashlight guarded. The rays revealed an opened door at the side of a long passage. Tyrell and Harry entered.
Glimmering light from Tyrell’s torch showed that Foon Koo had unbarred the door of the relic room. There was another floor leading into an adjoining portion of the museum. Evidently the custom was to bar the relic room from the inside; then to pass through the other exit and lock it.
This had simplified Foon Koo’s task. Tyrell chuckled as his flashlight fell upon glass-fronted cases. Sparkling jewels glimmered in the rays. Coronets, heavy buckles, necklaces — decorations of all sorts were ready for the thieves who had entered.
Harry Vincent eased his hand into his pocket. He was ready to balk Mark Tyrell’s game. It was a whisper from the other man that made him pause. Tyrell had turned his light up toward the ceiling, nearly twenty feet above.
“Hear anything, Vincent?”
“No.”
“That skylight’s a bit off center.”
“Only a trifle.”
“Yes. I guess Foon Koo barred it hurriedly.”
“Perhaps he damaged the fastenings, Tyrell.”
“That’s possible.”
Tyrell lowered his light. Harry began to draw his gun. Then came another interruption. Other flashlights appeared suddenly from the hall. Harry swung; Tyrell stopped him.
In that instant, Harry realized that his chance was gone. He had thought that this was to be a two man job. Instead, others had arrived. Tyrell was whispering to the arrivals. Harry recognized names: Slug Bracken — Pug Halfin — Chopper Hoban — Muff Motter.
Cliff Marsland was absent. Evidently he had been left with guards outside. Harry’s dwindling hopes were ended. His only course was to play along with crime. Along with the other raiders, he helped at the glass cases. Bags had appeared in the glimmering field of the flashlights. Men were loading them with jeweled relics.
THE job was a brief one, thanks to Tyrell. The chief crook had already picked the particular cases which contained items of real value. He seemed remarkably familiar with the objects that he wanted.
“All right,” came Tyrell’s order. “Hold those lights at the door. I’ll take one more look; then we’ll be on our way.”
Of the five men aiding Tyrell, three — including Harry Vincent — were standing with loaded bags. Harry was actually within the room. He was beside the opened door. The others were in the outer hall. Beside them were the two who held the brilliant flashlights. Mark Tyrell was also part way in the room. The steadied torches were gleaming from either side of him. The angles of their focused light joined at the center of the roost and showed the rifled cases at the opposite wall.
As Tyrell paused to look about, he heard a scraping sound from the ceiling. He looked upward. His right hand tightened on a revolver that he was holding pointed to the floor.
“What’s that?” he questioned, hoarsely. “Turn a light up, Pug—”
Before Pug could respond, something swished from above. A shape of blackness dropped squarely to the center of the room, directly in the range of the flashlights. Long, spreading arms stretched outward upon the floor, to break the fall. A head swung upward from a pair of cloaked shoulders. Burning eyes reflected the glare of flashlights.
Like a creature from the night, The Shadow had plunged through the skylight. Delayed by the fastenings that Foon Koo had replaced, the master of vengeance had arrived just in time to check the escape of the robbers.
A snarl came from Slug Bracken, who was holding one flashlight. Pug Halfin — he held the other glimmer — emitted a frenzied grunt. The men with the bags paused dumbfounded, all except Harry Vincent. He was ready to drop his bag and spring to The Shadow’s aid.
Before Harry could act, a startling climax capped the unexpected arrival of The Shadow. Mark Tyrell was the man responsible. He had seen his archenemy drop out of space. He saw The Shadow, instantly recovered from his plunge, rising upward with a pair of automatics swinging in his black-gloved fists. Quick as a flash, Tyrell swung his revolver upward and pressed the trigger.
THE SHADOW had risen with a swinging twist. It was the uncanny shift he made while aiming, to trick opponents into missing their mark. At the same time, his automatics were on their way to cover Tyrell. The Shadow, marksman extraordinary, was an adept at beating enemies to the shot.
Tyrell, however, gained the advantage. His revolver barked as The Shadow’s automatics pointed. More than that, Tyrell showed surprising skill. As The Shadow shifted, Tyrell followed with his aiming gun. The bullet from his .38 found its mark in The Shadow’s left shoulder.
Harry Vincent saw The Shadow’s feinting twist end in a sprawling fall. An automatic blazed a spilt second too late. The bullet whistled over Tyrell’s head as the crook fired a second shot. This blast from Tyrell’s gun was high. The crook dropped his aim, as The Shadow, crumpled on the floor, loosed another shot that went wide because of his weakened aim.
Before Mark Tyrell could fire a third time, Harry Vincent acted. Instinctively, he chose the most effective plan. Instead of dropping the bag, he clutched it tightly. Driving madly toward the door, he jostled Tyrell squarely and sent the chief crook staggering backward to the hall.
“The Shadow!” cried Harry, hoarsely. “The Shadow! Get going! It’s The Shadow!”
Harry had blocked Tyrell perfectly.
His thrust had sent the suave crook completely from the room. The other bag carriers leaped for safety as they heard Harry’s shout. Pug Halfin sprang along with them. Slug Bracken, yanking out a gun, remained to aim. He, unlike Pug, had been holding his flashlight in his left hand.
Flat from the floor, The Shadow fired his right hand automatic. His target was the flashlight. His cramped position spoiled his usually perfect aim. The bullet whistled half an inch from Slug’s wrist. Instinctively, the gangleader sprang back as he returned the shot. Through his sudden haste, Slug missed his mark.