“Crooks are scared of The Shadow. He nails them when they’re working. Some of the biggest crimes have been solved and ended by The Shadow.”
“And The Cobra?” questioned Weston.
“I’ll tell you about him.” It was Crawler Gorgan who volunteered. “He’s muscled in on The Shadow’s game; and he’s pulling stuff The Shadow never did. He’s knocking off the big shots, commissioner. They haven’t got a chance to stop him!”
WESTON wheeled toward Caleb Myland. The criminologist had been a close listener to all that had been said. It was evident that Weston was seeking his opinion as that of a judge.
“What do you think of all this, Myland?” was Weston’s question. “What is the game behind it? The Shadow and The Cobra — what are they after?”
“The Shadow,” observed Myland, “has long made it his business to offset crime. His work has been notable in that direction. He has played a crafty game, from all that I have heard.
“It is apparent that The Cobra has chosen a similar purpose. He is outdoing The Shadow. From Gorgan’s statements, it seems obvious that The Shadow’s fame will wane while that of The Cobra rises.”
“Granted,” agreed Weston, “but what should I do about it? So long as The Shadow seemed a myth, I took it for granted that if he did exist, his purposes were to be commended. Now matters are different. Can I afford to keep hands off while two unknown individuals take the law into their own grasp?”
“So long as men such as Deek Hundell are the victims,” declared Myland, “it is to your advantage to let The Shadow and The Cobra alone.”
“To accumulate power,” added Weston. “Then, if they wish, to turn crooked. I want evidence, Myland — evidence that these fellows are on the level. Why should they fight crime to no gain? Answer that!”
Caleb Myland laughed. He leaned forward on the table and began to speak in the tone of a lecturer.
“There,” he said, pointing to Joe Cardona, “is a man who could head the detective force of a good-sized city, with twice the pay that he receives in New York. He prefers to retain his present job. Why? Because he likes to fight crime — the biggest that he can find.
“There is another.” Myland indicated Crawler Gorgan. “He has chosen to live in the underworld, posing as a dope addict, risking his life should his true status as undercover man be discovered. Why does he keep up that work? Because he, too, has felt the lure of fighting crime.
“You, Weston, are a man of high social standing. You could head a huge corporation. Instead, you retain the office of police commissioner. Why? Because you have felt the challenge that crime offers.
“Let me speak for myself. I have wealth. Look at this home. Behind that paneled wall, I keep thousands of dollars in my safe. I have fifteen bank accounts; and a private yacht that could take me anywhere.
“Instead, I stay here in New York, or visit other large cities; I go to prisons and view their conditions; I stroll through districts where crime is fostered; and I complete the chain by writing books on criminology. Why? Because I like to battle crime. Not for money — not for glory — but for the fascination that such work offers.”
WESTON was nodding. He was getting the point to which Myland was working.
“Four of us,” testified the criminologist, “are here in this room. We are all inspired by the same motive. We like to meet crime and defeat it. We can say the same for The Shadow; and for The Cobra. They are crime fighters. We must accept them as such — for the present.”
“You mean—”
“I mean that too close contact with crime may cause an individual to embrace it. There is always the chance of a crime fighter turning crook. For that reason, Weston, I always considered The Shadow as a danger. I feel now that the danger has been removed.”
“Why?”
“Because of The Cobra. There are two in the field. Should one of them turn crook, the other will combat him.”
“Ah!” Weston exclaimed in satisfied fashion. “You have struck it, Myland! Your statement is an excellent one. But how can we tell about their motives?”
“Easily. Two nights ago, The Cobra struck against crime. We know, therefore, that his motive was a good one. The Shadow was also present. We are in doubt concerning his motive.”
“That’s right.”
“We must, therefore, analyze each episode in which either or both of these strange characters figure. Should conflict arise between them, we can then tell which one has turned to crime. The law can side with the one who is in the right.”
“Excellent, Myland!” exclaimed Weston, rising. “Such shall be our course. There is your duty, Cardona; and yours, Gorgan. Learn all that you can regarding The Shadow and The Cobra. We must be ready for the climax”
“All right, commissioner,” said Cardona, grimly. “You can count on me. I’ll let Gorgan duck back where he belongs; and he’ll keep me posted right along.”
“You will bring him here again,” ordered Weston. “We are going to follow Mr. Myland’s advice throughout this new campaign. However, you must avoid all risk in bringing Gorgan.”
“That’s all right, commissioner,” interposed Crawler Gorgan. “I’ve got my own hide-out; and when I duck out of sight, nobody knows where I’m at. They didn’t hand me my moniker for nothing. When I want to see Joe Cardona, I call him; and nobody sees him meet me. I’ll keep him posted, commissioner.”
The detective and the undercover man made their departure. Ralph Weston remained a short while, to talk with Caleb Myland. Then the commissioner left also.
Caleb Myland, criminologist, remained alone behind his big table. A smile showed on his keen face. Myland chuckled in anticipation.
Brilliant student of crime, Caleb Myland scented the approach of a strange combat which would develop from the rivalry between the two unknowns: The Shadow and The Cobra!
CHAPTER VI
THE SHADOW MOVES
A CLICK sounded in a darkened room. A bluish light appeared in a corner; its downward shaded rays were focused upon the surface of a polished table.
Into that sphere of light came two long-fingered hands. Upon the left gleamed a sparkling gem that showed ever-changing hues. The Shadow was in his sanctum.
This was the hidden room which The Shadow had long used as his headquarters. Once men of crime had penetrated here; they had not lived to tell the location of The Shadow’s sanctum.
Somewhere in Manhattan — there lay the sanctum. The bluish light told the place; the sparkling gem, a matchless girasol, proclaimed the identity of its wearer — The Shadow.
Long fingers opened envelopes. Clippings dropped upon the polished table. These were the accounts which Caleb Myland had been reading in his study; they were amplified by later items. A day had passed since Myland had received Commissioner Weston at his home.
The Shadow studied news reports. They spoke of confusion in the underworld. Events were impending in the badlands. Big shots were in fear of their lives. The clippings failed to give the reason, but The Shadow knew the answer.
The Cobra!
Into the realm of gangdom had come a fantastic figure whose quick strokes had raised him to the summit. For years, The Shadow had been the unseen factor who had held the balance between justice and evil. His stern hand had always been ready to swing the scales to the side of right.
The Shadow’s course had been a wise one. Well did he know the value of keeping crime at bay. The Shadow’s strokes were body thrusts to the undying monster called crime. A being of retribution, The Shadow used tactics that had proven their worth over a prolonged period.
The Cobra, apparently, was attempting the impossible. He was out to lop off heads. Hydra-like, new ones would form where the old had been. To The Shadow, The Cobra’s course seemed futile.