Two of Ruke’s four mobsmen sprawled. The other pair turned and boomed quick shots at the doorway, while Ruke, in a front corner of the room, kept up the fire toward the porch.
The mobsters who aimed in The Shadow’s direction were hasty. Their first shots splintered the woodwork of the door-frame. Their second efforts might have been more damaging, had they gained the opportunity to follow their improved aim with gunfire. But those smoking revolvers were doomed to sudden silence.
The Shadow’s automatics roared. Slugs from the .45s found human flesh. The last gorillas rolled to the floor, snarling futile oaths. Only Ruke Perrin remained for combat. Ruke turned yellow. As the last of his henchmen sprawled, the racketeer hurled an empty gun toward the porch door and dived from the big room into the front hall.
Cliff and Hawkeye came to their feet. They dashed along the porch and fired parting shots as they saw Ruke legging it from the house. The range was too great to get the racketeer. Guns emptied, Cliff and Hawkeye stood side by side. Cliff shrugged his shoulders and began to reload his automatic. Hawkeye did the same with his revolver.
MEANWHILE, The Shadow had turned for his original goal. With smoking automatics in his fists, the master fighter whirled from the rear doorway and made for the stairs to the second floor. Halfway up, he heard men dashing across the house. Weaving his way through a gloomy hall, The Shadow found an empty room and spied an open window on the farther side.
This was the course that Diamond Bert and his companion had taken. They had leaped from the window to the ground below. The upper slope of the hillside had lessened their jump. The Shadow peered from the window. He saw no one.
Shots from off beyond the house front. The Shadow knew the course that the crooks had taken. Cliff and Hawkeye were pursuing them. Wheeling from the window, The Shadow found a front room. Dull moonlight showed two figures running along a quarter mile driveway, spurting shots at two others, fifty yards ahead. The fleeing men dashed off through a clump of trees. Cliff and Hawkeye kept up the almost hopeless chase.
Footsteps were pounding up the stairs from below. The Shadow turned. People were coming, but not in his direction. They were headed for a side room of the house; the spot where Hawkeye had seen the lights. The Shadow moved out into the hall.
Peering from a corner, he saw Nicholas Lewkesbury and three male guests entering the strongroom. At the far side was an alcove. This was protected by a triple-locked grille, a most formidable array of ornate bars.
“The locks are all right,” Lewkesbury was gasping. “I–I knew they would be all right. They — they’re fitted with alarms. The rogues — didn’t — didn’t get in.”
Guests were clattering the heavy bars. Drawing closer, The Shadow saw that the barrier was unscathed.
Lewkesbury, nevertheless, was working the combinations of the door in the center of the grille.
The millionaire swung the door wide. He entered the alcove and advanced to a small vault that showed in the wall. The Shadow was closer than before, waiting. It seemed certain that no robbery had been effected, with the short time involved. Nevertheless, he lingered.
“They couldn’t crack this vault,” decided Lewkesbury, speaking proudly to his audience. “It’s one I had built specially. A Blefflinger. Just the same, I’m going to open it. There’s a half a million dollars’ worth of gems inside this vault!”
The announcement brought startled comments from the guests. It told the reason for the armed attack.
Apparently none of the guests had known that Lewkesbury had such wealth in his home.
“Half a million,” repeated the millionaire, as he worked the combination. “That’s the estimate of the experts. There was a wholesaler among them, too — old Merlin Norse — and he said the same as the rest. Half a million doll—”
The vault door opened. Light glimmered into it from a bulb that shone at the top of the alcove. A hoarse cry of dismay came from Lewkesbury’s lips. Papers were strewn upon the floor of the vault. Upon them were emptied sliding drawers. Vacant spaces in the back of the vault showed that the massive strong box had been rifled.
“Call the police!” blurted Lewkesbury. “I’ve been robbed — robbed of half a million. The police—”
The Shadow had turned. He was on the deserted stairway, sweeping downward. He reached the floor below, picked a hallway, and moved out into the night. There were guests about; but most of them were in the big room, or close to the house. None saw The Shadow make his silent departure.
TWO hours passed. A light glimmered in the sanctum. A white hand made inked notations as The Shadow talked with Burbank. The contact man was delivering reports. Diamond Bert and his companion had escaped, following Ruke Perrin. They had apparently fled in two automobiles, leaving a third behind.
Clyde Burke had supplied a brief report from Lewkesbury’s. This agent, as a reporter for the New York Classic, had visited the scene of crime. Various gorillas had been identified. Some were dead; the others, badly wounded, had refused to talk. Joe Cardona had expressed the opinion that they knew nothing.
Footprints of two men had been found in the soft ground outside the opened window. Those and the automobile were the only physical clues. Vault and grilled door had been locked after the burglary. The car, Clyde added, was a stolen vehicle.
Then came the last report. This one was from Harry Vincent. Harry had spotted Monte Agland at the night club. The young man had dined and wined with a convivial group who were evidently habitues of the place. Harry had learned the names of several men in the group.
One, a bearded Frenchman, was named Gautier Ranaud. Harry had learned from the headwaiter that Ranaud was the representative of some concern in Paris. More than that, Ranaud, himself had talked, loud enough for Harry to hear from a near-by table.
The bearded man had spoken of jewels. He had stated that he had made purchases through the International Mining Syndicate; that a supply of uncut diamonds would be in the syndicate office by to-morrow night, so that Ranaud might take the gems to France.
No mention had been made of money. Harry had gained no idea concerning the value of the diamonds.
Ranaud, at Agland’s suggestion, had suddenly nodded and decided to talk no further. The bearded Frenchman seemed on friendly terms with the suave young American.
THESE reports concluded, The Shadow produced two envelopes that he had gained from his secret post-box on Twenty-third Street. He opened them and read fading messages from Rutledge Mann. Both envelopes contained enclosures.
The first was from Slade Farrow. It concerned Tapper. The ex-crook had encountered difficulty in entering Tatson’s; he had made too much noise on his first attempt. So he had waited until a later night.
Then he had entered.
The wall safe had proven too formidable. Tapper had never struck a box like it. He admitted that his ability had failed him and he was high in his admiration of Blefflinger safes. What puzzled Tapper was how any one could have cracked the box.
The second enclosure was a message from Yat Soon. It was written in quaint Chinese characters, which The Shadow read quite easily. The message must have contained suggestions, for the soft laugh that came from The Shadow’s lips was a quiver of appreciative mirth.
Plucking earphones from the wall, The Shadow put in a call to Burbank. He delivered instructions for the morrow; word that must be passed to waiting agents. Methodically, The Shadow made his whispered statements. The orders were of his own making; yet among them came a repetition of the name “Yat Soon.”
The earphones clicked. Burbank’s bulb darkened. The blue light went out. A final laugh rose through the sanctum; then faded into strangely ebbing echoes, as though unseen beings were joining in The Shadow’s mirth.