CHAPTER XXII. THE LAW MOVES
MONTE AGLAND had reached the lobby. There was no haste in his manner as he strolled toward the outer door. He was in advance of the news that would soon be broadcast. Word of the battle on the twelfth floor had not yet reached the lobby.
As Monte reached the sidewalk, he was spotted. A crafty-eyed taximan — one who had driven Monte before — was watching from a space up the street. Moe Shrevnitz had delivered Hawkeye and Joland to a physician. Reporting, he had been ordered to cruise about the Hotel Wildebrand.
There was a cab parked in front of Moe’s; but the shrewd driver had allowed for it. His wheels were turned away from the curb; Moe had edged back just far enough to allow quick starting space. He was ready when Monte appeared.
Moe’s cab shot out from the curb. An approaching sedan squeaked its brakes. The cabbie in front of Moe had also seen the wave of the hotel doorman as Monte had called for a taxi. That fellow was starting, too; but Moe cut in ahead of him.
As Moe wheeled up just beyond the door, the other driver rammed his bumper. Moe’s foot slipped from the brake; the crash sent his cab ahead a dozen feet before he could stop it. Turning in his seat, Moe saw Monte about to enter the other cab.
At that instant, a bellhop came dashing from the hotel. Monte sprang into the cab and shouted an order to the driver. The startled jehu wished that he had let Moe take this passenger. Monte was yielding a revolver. The driver cut away in back of Moe’s cab.
The door was still open. Two men sprang into view. They were agents of The Shadow: Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland. With one accord they bounded upon the running board of the fleeing cab, just as Monte Agland slammed the door.
Moe swung out to block the escaping taxi. The wildly excited driver, frightened by Monte’s gun, swept wide of Moe. Then came shots. Not from Monte; but from spots along the other side of the street.
Jigger, the lookout in the hash house, had seen the escape. He figured Monte as a friend of Ruke’s.
A bullet stung Harry’s arm. Only a flesh wound; but it caused him to lose his hold. Cliff, about to thrust a gun in Monte’s face, grabbed Harry to keep him from falling into the street. Harry toppled. To save him, Cliff leaped also. He broke Harry’s fall as they struck the street. Monte’s cab swerved the corner.
Bullets crackled on asphalt. The Shadow’s agents were targets for the firing mobsters. But Moe was at hand. Almost at the corner, he jammed the brake and wrenched open the door. Cliff hoisted Harry into the cab and dived in afterward. Moe shot around the corner, grazed a trolley car and sped up the avenue while pedestrians scattered.
No chance to follow Monte. The crook had made a getaway. Moe’s effort had been to save Cliff and Harry. He had done well. Guns were still barking when his cab swerved from view. Jolted by their drop to the street, both Harry and Cliff had needed this prompt aid.
MOE had seen a rakish touring car coming slowly along the street. He had feared this vehicle, suspecting it was filled with mobsters. That was why Moe had kept on his rapid way. He wanted to avoid pursuit and he succeeded. The touring car did not take up the futile chase.
Police on the avenue had witnessed the mad flight of two cabs. They had heard the shots; suspecting that they came from within the hotel, three bluecoats dashed in through the avenue entrance. They arrived just as Diamond Bert Farwell came dashing from an elevator.
An officer grabbed the crook. Bert shook him off. Guests scattered for cover as the fugitive dived for the entrance to the side street. As cops pulled their guns, two gorillas stepped in to cover Diamond Bert’s flight. Revolvers barked. Bullets whined past bluecoats.
Caught in the center of the lobby, the policemen would have been victims of this new gunfire, but for the arrival of a new marksman. The lobby of the Wildebrand was high. A balcony topped it, a full story above the ground level.
The Shadow, hoping to cut off Diamond Bert’s escape, had stopped his elevator on that upper level. Too late to stop Farwell, he dealt with these gorillas instead. From above the balcony rail, he delivered a shot that clipped one mobster. The other, hearing the echo from above, raised his gun and fired twice. His frantic shots missed the high target. The Shadow, however, responded. The gorilla sprawled wounded beside his pal.
OUTSIDE, Diamond Bert had seen the touring car. Flashing a Chinese disk before the driver’s eyes, he clambered aboard. The car shot away. Revolvers spat hasty shots to ward off pursuers. Safe with the remnants of Ruke Perrin’s new mob, Diamond Bert was speeding to new shelter.
Cops in the lobby were looking toward the high ceiling, anxious to find out who had fired those timely shots. They never learned. The Shadow had vanished. Cutting back from the balcony, he found a flight of service steps. He descended toward the hotel kitchen; then turned and gained the street.
Pandemonium reigned throughout the lobby; and the excitement was carried to the twelfth floor when police headed there. They found Commissioner Wainwright Barth and Joe Cardona. The two were taking care of Markham. His wound was serious enough to require a prompt trip to the hospital.
Barth descended to the lobby. Like a field marshal viewing a battlefield, he took charge of police proceedings. Orders went out to patrol cars. A man hunt was on. But it was belated. The crooks had made good use of their head start.
Joe Cardona, remaining on the twelfth floor, was the man who obtained the real results. Entering Room 1216, Joe discovered Lennis, bound and gagged. Joe released the house dick. He sent Lennis in to see if Ranaud had been hurt. The dick came back to report that the Frenchman was all right but moping over the loss of his diamonds.
“The Frenchman says he’s sick,” stated Lennis. “He looks it, too. Wants to be left alone. I don’t blame him. A million bucks is plenty to lose. He’s calling it twenty million. Guess he’s gone goofy.”
“He’s thinking of francs,” explained Cardona. “Well, let him figure it out for himself. I’m going to get those rocks back. Here, Lennis. Go through this suitcase with me.”
The bag contained an odd assortment of clothing. But beyond the fact that the articles belonged to Diamond Bert Farwell, there appeared to be nothing that might mean a clue. It was only when Cardona ran his fingers deep into a pocket in the top of the suitcase that he found something. It was a card.
Joe produced the article. He recognized the name as he read it. The card gave the name of Marlin Norse, wholesale jeweler. It also carried Norse’s address.
“Huh,” grunted Joe. “I guess that double-crossing secretary gave this to Diamond Bert.”
“Who was he?” questioned Lennis.
“Fellow named Karl Joland,” replied Cardona. “We figure him in on the jewel robbery at Tatson’s. Norse — this is his card — was a dealer that Tatson had business with. Come to think of it, Lewkesbury mentioned Norse, too. Said the guy was one of the bunch that appraised his gems. Say—”
“What?” inquired Lennis.
“What,” replied Joe. “That’s just what I’m asking. What. What did Diamond Bert want with Norse’s card? He couldn’t be going to crack that guy’s place, could he?”
“Norse is a jeweler, isn’t he?” put in Lennis.
“Sure,” replied Joe, “but from what I heard, he handles cheap stuff. When he goes in for real sales, he acts as agent. I was sort of worried about fellows like him, on account of these robberies. So I checked up on them.
“Say — maybe I’ve got it! I’ve been wondering who tipped off Diamond Bert about that swag at Lewkesbury’s. It could have been old Marlin Norse! What’s more, he could have passed the word about Tatson’s. Maybe that’s why we’ve found nothing on the secretary, Joland!”