A soft laugh from the lips of Lamont Cranston. It was like an echo of The Shadow’s mockery. For The Shadow knew where crime would strike. To-night. He knew it from Blefflinger’s list. Among the customers who had been supplied with special vaults, The Shadow had read the name of the International Mining Syndicate.
CHAPTER XIX. AT THE LAUNDRY
THE SHADOW’S visit to Blefflinger’s had necessarily been late in the afternoon. Dusk was approaching as the limousine neared the Cobalt Club. Time would soon bring word from The Shadow’s agents. It would be phoned to Lamont Cranston at the club.
Already events were in the making. Moe Shrevnitz, cruising about under his right name, had stopped his cab near Chinatown. He had chosen an appointed spot. There, two solemn-faced Orientals had entered the taxi. The men were dressed plainly, in American clothes.
Moe had taken orders. They had given an address near an uptown corner of Sixth Avenue. Arrived there, the two had left the cab to enter a Chinese restaurant. They had given instructions when they left.
Instructions that were almost a query. Moe had nodded his understanding.
Parked in front of the restaurant, the taxi driver could see a full block ahead. Off beyond an elevated structure, he made out a uniformed figure standing in a doorway. It was Jericho. Moe kept his eyes fixed upon the distant man.
Upon Jericho’s actions depended Moe’s next step. Moe, in a sense, was a contact between Jericho and the two Chinese who were lingering in the restaurant. A signal from Jericho; Moe would stroll into the chop suey house to ask the Celestials if they still wanted his cab. They would then return to the taxi. After that, Moe’s duties would be definite.
Yet two hours had passed since Moe’s arrival here. The taxi driver was getting impatient. It seemed as though the signal would never come. Jericho was still visible, but dusk was gathering. Soon Moe would have to count on the street lights to make out the shape of the huge African.
Meanwhile, Hawkeye was also waiting at an appointed spot. The little man was in the vicinity of the Castellan Apartments. He, like Moe, was becoming anxious. But his impatience ended when he saw a solemn-faced man come from the big building, carrying a bundle under his arm. It was Hubert, the valet.
Hawkeye took up the fellow’s trail. Hubert reached Sixth Avenue. He took a turn at the corner of the street where the laundry was located. Hubert’s destination was obvious. Hawkeye moved ahead, sidled through a passage between two buildings and reached the back of the house where the laundry was located.
Stepping into a recessed doorway, Hawkeye found a locked portal. He produced a skeleton key and shoved it into the keyhole. An inner key twisted loose and fell. Hawkeye opened the simple lock with his skeleton key. He entered a dingy hallway.
A door on the right proved to be unlocked. Opening it a trifle, Hawkeye gained the view he wanted. He was looking into the back room of the laundry. Almost immediately, a Chinaman appeared from the front. The Mongol was carrying a bundle that looked like Hubert’s. Hawkeye saw him open it. From the folds of a Tuxedo shirt, the Chinaman produced an envelope.
A message from Monte Agland. One that was to be forwarded. Positive that Hubert had gone out again, Hawkeye decided upon prompt action. Moving into the rear room, the trailer produced a revolver and shoved its muzzle against the Chinaman’s ribs.
YELLOW hands went up. The Chinaman made no outcry. Helplessly, he stood there until Hawkeye gave a low-voiced order. Then the Chinaman turned around to face his captor. Hawkeye grinned. This Chink had been easy. The man’s helplessness was ludicrous. Hawkeye backed him toward the wall. He intended to hold him there; then wait for the other Chinaman to appear.
Suddenly, Hawkeye’s prisoner sprang forward. He grabbed for Hawkeye’s wrist. Taken by surprise, the little man twisted away. He swung to aim his gun; but he was too late. A form came leaping toward him.
It was the second Chinaman. Hawkeye went down in a heap. His gun clattered on the floor.
The Chinamen leered as they made Hawkeye prisoner. To the invader, both Celestials looked alike. He could not tell Loon Goy from Hoy Wen. Nor did their chatter tell which was which. It happened that Loon Goy had been the first whom Hawkeye encountered. Hoy Wen had been the one who had remained out front. But this distinction did not concern Hawkeye for the present. The two were just Chinamen to him; and he liked neither of them.
Hoy Wen drew a long-bladed knife and held it above the half-huddled form of Hawkeye. He looked to Loon Goy for an order. The second Chinaman was about to speak when a clink came from the front of the shop. With a motion that meant for Hoy Wen to wait, Loon Goy went out through a curtained door.
There was a counter just beyond. Loon Goy came face to face with Jericho. The uniformed card-passer was holding a bundle that he had brought from the doorway across the street. Loon Goy had observed the African during the past several days. He suspected nothing.
“The doctah’s laundry,” remarked Jericho. “Open it up and tell me how much you want to charge. Doctah’s particular about the price.”
Loon Goy complied. That was the simplest way to get rid of this customer. But as he was opening the bundle, the Chinaman suddenly looked up. Jericho had raised the hinged portion of the counter. He had stepped through to reach the Chinaman’s side.
With an evil grimace, Loon Goy shot his hand beneath his coat. He was after a knife; but he never reached it. Jericho’s huge arms shot forward and caught the Chinaman in a powerful grip. Then, with unconcern, Jericho twisted Loon Goy underneath his left arm and dragged the struggling Celestial into the back room.
Hoy Wen, knife in hand, was poised above Hawkeye. Coming up as Jericho dragged Loon Goy into view, Hoy Wen leaped forward, with the flashing blade in motion. Jericho’s massive right paw swung through the air. As one would catch a mosquito, Jericho plucked Hoy Wen’s driving wrist and twisted it upward.
Hoy Wen delivered a sharp outcry. The knife dropped from his fingers and fell upon an ironing board.
Hoy Wen twisted his wrist free. Loon Goy pulled one hand out from under Jericho’s arm and clawed at the African’s face.
Viciously, Hoy Wen leaped forward, thinking that Loon Goy could aid him. It was just what Jericho wanted. Hoy Wen’s clawing hands reached the collar of Jericho’s heavy uniform; then the second Chinaman found himself struggling in the grip of a powerful right arm.
Hawkeye, half-dazed, came to his feet to aid. Then he sprang from a corner of the room as three milling forms came lurching toward him. Jericho’s arms were loosening. Four Chinese hands were at his throat.
His case looked bad. Backing away, Jericho was gripping each Chinaman by the back of the neck.
It seemed a futile process. Hawkeye, diving across the floor, found his revolver and turned toward the three fighters. He saw the face of Jericho, wearing a broad grin, framed in the wildly driving arms of the Chinese. He saw the powerful grip that the African’s hands had gained upon the back of each Oriental neck.
Then, as Hawkeye stared, the finish arrived. Laughing as he leaned back to avoid swinging fists and clawing fingers, Jericho brought his outstretched hands together. Two Chinese pates cracked sharply as they met. Jericho’s hands relaxed. Slumping, the released Chinamen rolled side by side at Jericho’s feet.
“Boy!” exclaimed Hawkeye, in admiration. “That was somethin’. Bouncin’ their conks together. Say — both of them Chinks is out cold!”
Jericho grinned as he surveyed Loon Goy and Hoy Wen. He saw that there would be no trouble from either of them for a while. He nudged Hawkeye’s gun, indicating that it would not be needed. Then, with a chuckle, he strolled out through the front of the laundry.