“Outside, Curley,” he ordered. “Time you sobered up, too. Lay off the booze, you guys. I’m waitin’ for a call — an’ we’re goin’ to move when I get it.”
Another glance at Cliff. Bullet leered contemptuously. To all appearances, Cliff was out. Bullet’s suspicions were completely ended. He believed that Cliff had probably forgotten all that he had heard; of a certainty, Cliff was in no condition to repeat or make use of anything that Bullet had told him.
If Heater Darkin should encounter trouble tonight, it could not possibly be of Cliff Marsland’s making. So Bullet Conray reasoned, totally oblivious to the fact that Cliff had already passed the word!
ONE block from the Black Ship, a fleeting patch of blackness passed beneath a blinking street lamp. A cloak swished as a living form sought the shelter of a doorway. A tiny flashlight gleamed upon a crumpled scrap of paper that lay in a black-gloved hand.
The keen eyes of The Shadow were reading Cliff Marsland’s coded message. The flashlight went out. A whispered laugh sounded while gloved fingers tore the slip into tiny bits.
Each lamp along that street showed a passing splotch of black. The Shadow, informed of the spot where crime was due, was on his way to Old Growdy’s.
It was a dozen minutes after ten o’clock when keen eyes peered toward a block of old and dingy buildings. Between these dilapidated structures was a passage of cracked cement. As The Shadow watched, he saw a square-set man pause at the entrance to the alley, then pass on toward the other side of the block.
The Shadow knew the identity of this watcher. A detective from headquarters. Some tip must have been received there that Old Growdy was in danger. The Shadow was unperturbed. The forming of a police cordon did not hamper his plans for the present.
Swiftly, the tall form glided across the street. It reached the cement passage. The Shadow moved noiselessly through the dark. He reached the back of a house which he knew to be Old Growdy’s.
A squidgy sound came from the wall. The Shadow, equipped with suction cups attached to hands and feet, was rising to the second floor. Crawling upward, The Shadow reached his goal. His form showed like that of a mammoth bat, clinging to the surface in the gloom.
Window fastenings yielded noiselessly. The Shadow’s form moved over the sill. From the second floor of Old Growdy’s obscure home, The Shadow was ready to begin his exploration in search of crime.
Somewhere in this house, Heater Darkin was at work. The Shadow was out to find the spot. He was planning a new and daring counter-stroke against fiends of crime.
Yet even The Shadow did not know the surprising events that were already in the making!
CHAPTER X
AGAIN THE COBRA
THE SHADOW had chosen to enter Old Growdy’s by the second floor because of the presence of the loose police cordon. From Cliff Marsland’s brief report, The Shadow knew that any hiding place of wealth would doubtless be below ground. Hence his cautious course — rendered so because police were in the offing — was headed in that direction.
The cordon which caused The Shadow to exert caution had a directly opposite effect upon two others who were already in the house. Commissioner Ralph Weston and Detective Joe Cardona had begun a rapid investigation.
While The Shadow was coming in the second-story window, Weston and Cardona were descending a flight of steps that they found leading to the basement. They had spent several minutes on the ground floor before discovering these stairs; Weston was eager to proceed downward.
The commissioner’s flashlight was blazing its path to the darkened cellar. Cardona, close behind, was whispering a protest against Weston’s speed: one that the commissioner did not choose to heed.
“Come along, Cardona,” ordered Weston, briskly. “I’ll handle the light; you be ready with the whistle. We can take care of ourselves if there’s trouble below.”
Weston was handling a revolver as he spoke. Cardona also had a gun in readiness. There was no arguing with the commissioner. Cardona kept pace with him as they reached the cellar.
A passage stretched off to the right. It showed a door, opened inward. Weston moved forward and reached the door. He turned off his flashlight and gripped Cardona’s arm.
A light showed dimly as the two peered past the doorway. It came from the right. This doorway was the entrance to a second passage that led in that direction. Beyond was an illuminated room. Weston and Cardona could hear voices, but no one was in sight.
“Move up to the door,” whispered Weston. “We’ll cover them in there.”
Cardona nodded.
Near the door, the commissioner paused. Then, with Cardona, he began to edge forward. He whispered instructions; Cardona began to nod in reply. Suddenly both men stopped short as a footstep clicked behind them. Nudging muzzles of revolvers pressed into their ribs.
“I got ‘em!” snarled a rough voice. “Drop them gats, youse mugs, before I plug you!”
INSTINCTIVELY, Weston and Cardona let their revolvers fall. Their hands came up in response to the menace from in back. At the same time, a grinning, hard-faced man popped into view beyond the door.
Joe Cardona knew him. It was Heater Darkin.
The big shot held a revolver with which he covered Weston and Cardona from in front. His grin turned to a fang-like laugh as he ordered the prisoners to move into the room.
The scene that greeted commissioner and detective was a strange one. This room, buried below the level of the street, was fitted like an office. Quivering in a chair behind a battered, flat-topped desk, was an old man with white whiskers, whose eyes showed fear.
It was Old Growdy.
Cornered by one wall was a trembling young man whose hands were upward. He was covered by a gangster, who was also watching Old Growdy. This prisoner was evidently Old Growdy’s secretary.
As Cardona and Weston backed against the wall at Heater Darkin’s order, they saw the man who had covered them from the passage. He was a two-gun mobster who flourished his gats in businesslike fashion.
“Cover them, Luke,” ordered Darkin.
The two-gun gorilla obeyed. Heater Darkin chuckled. Pocketing his own revolver, he strolled across the room and seated himself on the desk. He laughed in contemptuous fashion.
“Visitors, eh?” he scoffed. “Joe Cardona — the smart dick — and say! Well, if it ain’t the police commissioner!”
Heater’s eyes hardened.
“Come here to make trouble, eh?” he snarled. “Well, you’ll see it — but you won’t make it. You know who I am. They call me Heater Darkin. I’m the boy that gives the heat. I’ll let you watch me hand it.
“Dumb clucks! Coming down those steps with a flashlight. Luke here saw the flash. That’s why I stuck him behind the door in the passage — just to trap you guys. If there’s any more of you, it’ll be bad for them. I’ve got another guy laying out there for any more smart mugs.”
Heater laughed raucously. Then, continuing to relish this situation that had brought the police commissioner and the ace detective into this predicament, he again became loquacious.
“I guess Old Growdy suspected trouble,” he scoffed. “Sent word out and you came down here to see what was the matter. Well — there’s one thing Old Whiskers kept to himself. That was his own private entrance to this place.
“That door you just came through has a steel front. It was locked and Old Growdy and this bird Tomkins, his secretary, were here in this room. Going over accounts. Safe behind a steel door — and very safe because of that other way out — over there.”
Heater Darkin pointed to a panel at the side of the room. Weston and Cardona could see that it might be the entrance to a secret passage.