The faint trace of a smile appeared upon Lamont Cranston’s thin lips as Thaddeus Harmon moved away.
Little did Harmon realize that he had been talking to the one person whose timely stroke had saved a fortune.
Well had The Shadow concealed his hand tonight. As for the detectives, their presence was a matter of regret. Without their interference, The Shadow might have gained a complete triumph over Ping Slatterly and his mobsmen.
The Shadow, master of darkness, had used the black hush to his own advantage. It had been the covering shroud from which he had brought down two desperate crooks — one of them the jewel carrier.
Now, as Lamont Cranston, The Shadow strolled to the spot where the bodies lay.
He studied the faces of the dead gangsters. He recognized immediately that neither was Ping Slatterly.
The leader was among those who had escaped.
The menace of new crime still loomed in full intensity, for Ping Slatterly was unquestionably the only one of tonight’s invaders who could be regarded as a cogwheel in the schemes of those who controlled the weird black hush.
LAMONT CRANSTON joined the people in the living room. The jewels were back in their cabinet.
Guests, still quivering from excitement, were gradually regaining their composure. Lamont Cranston idled while the confusion died away.
Time drifted by; at last, the door of an elevator opened and a stocky, swarthy-faced man stepped forth.
One of the private detectives noticed him and went to greet him. He brought the arrival to Thaddeus Harmon.
“Detective Cardona, from headquarters,” was the announcement.
Thaddeus Harmon shook hands with the star sleuth. Cardona began a questioning. He turned to men who were with him and sent them to investigate the fire tower. He called downstairs and ordered the manager of the apartment up to the penthouse.
Only a few guests still remained when Cardona had completed his investigation. The star detective, about to leave, paused to speak with Thaddeus Harmon.
“This shows you how crooks work,” vouchsafed Cardona. “A couple of nights ago, some gangsters tried to put Goldy Tancred on the spot. They managed to get at the main switch in the Olympia Hotel. Then they bungled by killing the wrong men.
“Now here comes another gang that’s out for burglary. They heard about the stunt at the Olympia. They knew we hadn’t spotted anybody monkeying with the switch. So they tried the same gag when they came after your jewels.”
“But the telephone — the alarm” — Harmon’s reply was insistent. “They managed to eliminate those, also—”
“They were just more thorough, that’s all,” interposed Cardona. “We’ve gone over the whole works; we’re going to make another electrical inspection. We’ll find out—”
A puzzled frown appeared upon the detective’s brow. To Cardona’s ears had come a strange, mysterious sound — a whispered echo from the past. The sibilant note of a faint laugh — a mirthful tone that the detective recognized.
The laugh of The Shadow!
What did it mean? Cardona knew that laugh. He had heard it under strange circumstances. He knew that it meant doom to crooks; that it had intervened more than once in his own behalf. Whence had the laugh come?
Cardona turned quickly. He half expected to see the sinister shape of a tall, black-garbed being. He stared at the walls — at the floor — almost believing that The Shadow would materialize from nowhere.
But the only person whom Cardona noted was a dignified man who was standing a few paces away.
Cardona glanced at this person’s face. The detective had never seen the visage of The Shadow, but he did know the power of The Shadow’s eyes.
No, this man could not be The Shadow. Cranston’s gaze was mild, despite its steadiness. Cardona shrugged his shoulders as he turned away and headed toward the elevator. The detective tried to convince himself that he had imagined those faint echoes of a laugh.
The effort was difficult, for as Cardona strode along, he fancied that hidden eyes were watching him. The detective did not turn; instead, he tried to forget this new effect that was disturbing him.
HAD Cardona turned; had he again studied Lamont Cranston’s face, then would he have known that facts, not fancy, were at work. An amazing change had come into Lamont Cranston’s eyes. Those mild orbs were burning with a weird, uncanny light.
The elevator door clanged behind Joe Cardona. Lamont Cranston stood alone by the door of Thaddeus Harmon’s living room. A soft laugh came from thin, unmoving lips. Its whispered echoes were an eerie aftermath to that stirring hush which had so recently pervaded his penthouse.
There was knowledge in The Shadow’s laugh. The strange mockery that had derided Cardona’s decision was something that spoke of higher deduction. By hand, The Shadow had thwarted crime; by brain, he was seeking an explanation of the protection which had so effectively aided the burglars up to the time of his arrival.
Where Cardona had overlooked the minor facts, The Shadow, in the guise of Lamont Cranston, had studied clues. He had heard one of the private detectives commenting upon the fact that his flashlight had failed to function in the darkness.
The sleuth, however, had forgotten the matter as promptly as Cardona had disregarded the insufficiency of his own flashlight on the night at the Olympia Hotel.
To The Shadow, this was an important clue. It brought him the knowledge that he needed. The finger of The Shadow was on the throbbing pulse of mystery. Inspections of the electrical equipment in the apartment building would be useless.
The Shadow knew that some blanketing force had counteracted all electric devices during the invasion of crime. He had felt the lull of the black hush; he had detected in it a strange significance of the unknown.
To find the mysterious, scientific power that had produced the unaccountable phenomenon was the mission that lay ahead. The Shadow knew that the source of crime must lie in the secret of the black hush!
That weird force had lifted, but it was due to fall again. Not here, where crime had failed, but at a new spot where its menacing power would cover the perpetration of another lawless outrage.
Wherever the black hush might strike next, there must The Shadow be to meet it.
The Shadow knew!
CHAPTER XII. NEW ORDERS
“PING’S outside.”
“Show him in, Curry.”
Goldy Tancred’s teeth were glittering when he gave the order, but it was not a smile that displayed those shining molars. An evil scowl showed on the big shot’s face when Ping Slatterly entered.
“Well?” questioned Goldy harshly.
“Things went flooey,” growled Ping. “That’s all. It wasn’t my fault, Goldy. It was too tough a job.”
“Maybe you weren’t tough enough to spring it!” rasped Goldy. “Did you try to figure it out from that angle?”
“It was all in the bag, Goldy,” protested Ping. “All in the bag—”
“But you left the bag there, eh?” interposed the big shot, with a sarcastic leer.
“I didn’t leave it,” declared Ping. “Somebody winged Goofy Zelleno. He had the bag in his mitt. I thought he had scrammed. Some dick plugged the light. Then we had to dive out in the dark.”
“So that’s that,” commented Goldy. “Well, I’m giving you a break, Ping. You’ve got the mob all set — so you can do a new job tomorrow night.”
“Sure thing.”
Goldy Tancred produced a sheet of paper from the jacket of his showy dressing gown. He unfolded the paper and handed it to Ping Slatterly.
“Read it over,” ordered the big shot. “That gives you the whole layout of the new job”