The Shadow had arrived at Cobleton’s. He had instructed Cliff Marsland to contact with Hawkeye, through Slade Farrow. Cliff had done so; his introduction to Tinker Furris had been in pursuance of further instructions from The Shadow. With that settled, The Shadow was timing his own plans.
The far wall of the garage showed a blackened space that was to The Shadow’s liking. The tall figure glided across the street and merged with darkness. Then came soft, squidgy sounds. With the aid of rubber suction cups, The Shadow was scaling the wall of the garage. He reached the roof; then proceeded toward the pawnshop.
A side window opened toward the garage roof. It was locked; but The Shadow pried the catch by inserting a thin piece of steel between the portions of the sash. He raised the window and entered; then found a stairway that led below.
A metal-sheathed door barred entrance to the front room of the pawnshop. The rays of a tiny flashlight showed other doors that led to storage rooms. The Shadow entered a storeroom where stacks of trunks and crates of theatrical equipment formed a medley that no burglar would attempt to remove.
Threading his way to a far corner, The Shadow discovered a locked door that apparently led to a storage closet. This was a spot that an ordinary prowler would have passed up; the very weakness of the door indicated nothing of consequence beyond.
With a skeleton key, The Shadow unlocked this door. His soft laugh told the wisdom of his move.
Beyond the opened door, the flashlight showed a tiny office. In a corner past a small desk was the front of a heavy safe that took up nearly a quarter of the room space. It was a formidable strong-box, this safe that old Cobleton had installed in an obscure room.
The Shadow approached the safe. His left hand came into the range of his flashlight. A quick gesture, and a black glove slipped from agile fingers. While a resplendent gem — the Shadow’s girasol — was glimmering in changing hues, that deft left hand worked on the combination.
Minutes passed amid stillness. A click. The door of the safe swung open. Studying the interior, The Shadow noted a stack of jewel cases. He did not open them; instead, he closed the safe door.
The left hand took the flashlight. Leaning close to the safe, The Shadow produced a tiny magnifying glass and adjusted it to his right eye. Then he produced an engraving tool. His steady fingers made minute markings upon the combination knob. These gave the semblance of a slight scratch, quite similar to others that were already on the metal knob.
A soft laugh as the light went out. Then a slight swish. After that came silence. The Shadow was lingering in the darkness of the little office. Another step had been completed in the game.
OUTSIDE the building that housed the pawnshop, Cliff Marsland and Tinker Furris were crouching by the rear fence. A patrolman had just passed. They were ready to proceed. Tinker gave a whispered growl.
“That flatfoot’s out of the picture,” he informed. “Boost me up this fence. It ain’t going to take long for me to jimmy a window.”
Cliff complied. Atop the fence, Tinker set to work. Muffled sounds finally ended. Leaning down, Tinker aided Cliff in an upward scramble. They crawled through the window that Tinker had jimmied.
Using a flashlight with caution, Tinker led the way downstairs. He pointed out the storeroom with the trunks.
“It’s through here,” he growled. “That’s what the ham told me when he described the joint. Said there was a door that led into an inside room. Look — there it is—”
Tinker broke off as he reached the door. He saw that the lock was simple. Producing a ring of skeleton keys, he found one that did the trick. He and Cliff entered the office. Tinker flashed his torch on the door of the safe.
“Can you crack it, Marsland?” he questioned, anxiously. “It looks like a tough baby.”
“Leave it to me,” returned Cliff.
Moving into the range of light, Cliff leaned in front of the safe. He drew a microscope from his pocket and held it in front of the knob while he motioned Tinker to come closer with the light.
“Say,” whispered Tinker, “that’s a new wrinkle! What’s the idea of the glass, Cliff? It ain’t going to give no tip on the combo—”
“I’m looking for finger prints,” interposed Cliff, quietly. “A gag of my own, Tinker.”
“Finger prints? What for?”
“So I can leave them if they’re there. The cops will look for them, won’t they? All right — let them find them. All they’ll have will be old Cobleton’s.”
“That’s neat, Cliff! Most guys would polish up after finishing. You don’t, eh?”
“Not by a long shot. Yeah, there’s prints here, all right, just on the edge of the center. Cobleton must have smudged it when he closed the safe. All right, I’ll leave that for the bulls.”
While he was speaking, Cliff was keenly noting the scratch near the center of the knob. Highly magnified, it showed a series of numbers that were barely discernible. Cliff put away his lens. He began to turn the knob.
Faking the job for Tinker’s benefit, Cliff took a full five minutes before he utilized the combination that he had learned from The Shadow’s markings. At last came the click that Tinker had desired. The door swung open. The flashlight showed the stack of jewel boxes.
“Hold it, Tinker,” whispered Cliff. “I’m going back in the storeroom. To pick up one of those suitcases. We can load the swag in it.”
“Oke,” agreed Tinker. “I’ll open up them boxes. Boy — they look like they ought to show some sparklers!”
CLIFF moved away while Tinker was speaking. Eagerly, Tinker drew boxes from the safe. He opened the top one and chuckled as he saw the glitter of a turquoise necklace, with diamonds set at intervals.
Holding the flashlight with his left hand, Tinker raised the necklace with his right and let the gems sparkle before his eyes.
Fancying that Cliff had returned, Tinker spoke as he noted a slight sound behind him. He raised the dangling necklace that his companion might see it.
“Look at it, Cliff,” he whispered. “How’s that for a first grab?”
There was no response. Tinker’s forehead furrowed. Puzzled by the lack of a reply, the crook wheeled and turned his flashlight upon the spot where he thought Cliff was standing. It was then that a hoarse gasp came from Tinker’s bloated lips.
Cliff Marsland had not returned. Another, however, had entered. The necklace dropped from Tinker’s numbed fingers. The flashlight wavered in his trembling hand as its glare revealed the form that Tinker had encountered.
Looming squarely before Tinker Furris was a figure cloaked in black. Burning eyes focused their fierce gaze upon the quivering crook. Just below those blazing optics, Tinker saw the huge-mouthed muzzle of a .45 automatic.
No gasp came from Tinker’s frozen lips. But the pitiful blink of the crook’s eyelids told that he had recognized the intruder who had trapped him. A laugh, barely audible, came from hidden lips. Tinker quailed as he heard that sinister taunt.
For Tinker saw death looming with that gun muzzle. A man of crime, caught in the act, he was faced by the archenemy of evil. Tinker Furris was trapped by The Shadow!
CHAPTER V
THE SWIFT SEQUENCE
TO Tinker Furris, hope was ended. Like others of his ilk, he had bragged that he did not fear The Shadow. But when the crisis had arrived, Tinker, like those same others, found his courage gone.
Through his terrified brain ran a medley of thoughts. Hawkeye’s warning of “Tapper’s” fears. Tinker wished now that he had heeded them. The merciless gaze of The Shadow told him of his folly.
No chance to pull a gun. No courage even to plead. Such was Tinker’s state. On the floor lay the incriminating necklace. The Shadow had him with the goods. Tinker could see no out.