In the labyrinth of the second floor, The Shadow weaved a cunning course. The traps were different here. In one spot, The Shadow encountered a delayed opening. A click suddenly told him that the floor that seemed solid was about to swallow him. His quick hand caught the top of an opened door. The Shadow clung there while the flashlight showed the trap break downward; then rise and click solidly back in place. He resumed his journey.
The steps to the third floor were untrapped. The Shadow reached the last stage of his journey. Burbank had mentioned that the swag was in a top room of the house. The Shadow, as he weaved safely through the final maze, was coming close to his goal.
He arrived at the door of the anteroom. It was locked. There was no keyhole. The Shadow probed panels with his fingers. He found one that began to yield. He laughed softly. His hand stopped as his foot tapped the floor.
Pressure of that panel, which any searcher could easily have found, would have meant the release of another trap. The Shadow knew that the crafty designer of this door would not have resorted to so simple an artifice. He knew that this was not the actual one that controlled the door.
It took The Shadow three minutes to solve this Chinese puzzle. At last, he delivered a twisting inward pressure to the left. Something clicked. The door swung open. The Shadow stood peering into the dimly lighted anteroom.
THERE was no sign of Foon Koo. The Chinaman was probably inside the inner room. The phantom visitant could see the closed door ahead. His eyes spied something else: the switch upon the wall. The Shadow entered the anteroom and let the door swing shut behind him.
The laugh that came from beneath the umbra of the hat brim was soft and whispered. The Shadow had reached the switch. He had divined its purpose. He knew that no one had been expected to pass the traps below. This was the control that rendered the devices safe for welcome visitors to pass.
By pressing that switch, The Shadow could nullify the snares that he had passed. That meant that his retreat would be prepared, should he desire it. This was the proper action to perform before seeking entry to the final lair, where an enemy must be lurking. His laugh still quivering, The Shadow pressed the switch.
It was then that he learned the greatest subtlety of Foon Koo. The Shadow’s conjecture had been correct. The switch was the one that locked the lower traps. It served a double purpose, however, when Foon Koo so arranged it.
As the switch clicked under The Shadow’s pressure, the floor of the anteroom dropped downward in two sections. The only portions that remained firm were those where broken chairs were resting. The Shadow was too far from solid floor to grasp it.
Out went the lights. Downward shot The Shadow, into a mammoth funnel. His cloaked figure whizzed twisting through a polished tube of metal, like those that he had previously avoided.
Sliding helplessly at breakneck speed, The Shadow sped past the openings of other tubes. All led into the same main artery. Gloved fingers could gain no hold at any place along the slippery route. Only the curve near the bottom of the main chute sufficed to slow The Shadow’s breath-taking skid.
The end was reached as speed slackened. The Shadow was precipitated through a vertical stretch of tubing. He reached the end of the course just as he had come into Grolier’s relic room — with a thudding tumble to a solid floor.
The drop was more dangerous than at Grolier’s; but it was broken by the padding that covered the stone floor. Slumped, half-stunned by the thump, The Shadow was in the middle of the cell room at the bottom of the house. He was trapped within the snare that had awaited him.
GLOATING eyes were peering into the padded room. Slug Bracken and his mobsters were staring through the bullet-proof glass. Before them lay the archenemy of crime: The Shadow. Eager fingers trembled upon the triggers of guns that were thrust through loopholes.
Slug knew the temper of his mob. He also had instructions from Tyrell — orders that he intended to obey. He growled a command to wait.
“Don’t plug him!” warned the mobleader. “Hold it, unless he tries to make trouble. I’m boss here. Watch him — that’s all.”
The Shadow was rising. He stood with shoulders stooped and head bowed, recovering from the force of the fall. Vicious gorillas waited his next move. Slug Bracken was most tense of all.
Slug half expected The Shadow to try some incredible attempt at escape; he half expected him to offer a futile challenge. The mobleader, however, was totally unprepared for the action which came.
The Shadow’s eyes turned upward. Their glow was hidden by the hat brim and the fact that they did not face the light. Hands deliberately peeled away black gloves and let them drop to the floor. The right arm raised and loosed the sable-hued cloak. It fell to reveal a tall form clad in evening clothes. The right hand swept upward and sent the slouch hat tumbling back.
Slug Bracken gasped as he recognized the face that he saw through the glass. A suave smile showed upon lips that were topped by a short-clipped mustache. In an astonished tone, Slug Bracken identified the prisoner who stood within the celclass="underline"
“Mark Tyrell!”
CHAPTER XVII
DEATH DELIVERED
MOBSTERS had backed from their guns at Slug Bracken’s cry of recognition. Though these gorillas had never dealt with Mark Tyrell, they knew the man by reputation and description. They also knew that Slug was expecting Tyrell here to-night.
Slug, staring through the glass, remembered that Tyrell had said something regarding a possible change in plans. He had also recalled Tyrell’s remark that he might test Foon Koo’s traps for himself. These thoughts in mind, Slug saw Tyrell make a nudging gesture toward the front of the cell.
“All right, gang,” ordered Slug. “Ease back into the outer room. This is Tyrell — I’m letting him out.”
Stooping, Slug unbarred the low doors. He stepped back while Tyrell advanced; then stooped and came through to join him. A door had opened away from the glass window. Mobsters were filing into a lighted room.
“Come along,” Slug heard Tyrell say. “We can talk in there. It’s all right for your crew to hear.”
THE two men joined the gorillas. Pop-eyed mobsters were seated on benches, watching this conference between Slug Bracken and the man who had so unexpectedly transformed himself from the guise of The Shadow.
“What’s the idea?” questioned Slug.
“Plans have gone wrong,” responded Tyrell.
“You mean The Shadow didn’t come?” inquired Slug.
“No,” was Tyrell’s easy answer. “He did come here; but he balked. I was watching.”
“In his get up?”
“Yes. I thought that since The Shadow found it so effective, as a covering in darkness, I could make use of it also.”
“A good gag. But why did you come in? To test Foon Koo’s traps?”
“Yes. The Shadow rang for entry. Then he hesitated. He suddenly departed. I was afraid that he might be lingering. So I acted on the spur of the moment. I was well hidden under cloak and hat. I chose to enter in his place, feeling that it would be the quickest plan.”
“Did you see The Shadow working on the knob?”
“Yes.”
“How many times did he ring?”
“Five.”
“Foon Koo heard him all right. He set the traps. Well, if The Shadow comes back. Foon Koo will drop him through. But there’s one thing, Tyrell, that—”
“You’re wondering why I didn’t plug The Shadow while I was watching him?”
“Yes.”
“Suppose,” — a crafty smile was on Tyrell’s lips — “that the visitor had been a fake, like myself. I would have killed some person of no consequence; and The Shadow would have been warned.”