This time, consequences would differ from those which had occurred at Perry Trappe’s. The Shadow, the master who battled crime, was on the scene to meet the fiends within the silent house.
CHAPTER VIII. WITHIN THE HOUSE
THREE men were seated on the enclosed veranda of Tyler Bogart’s home. The millionaire and two friends formed the trio. The night was mild and ice clinked in cold glasses as the three conversed.
This was the side of the house that faced the Sound. A spacious lawn, with widespread trees, formed a pleasant, dimly-outlined vista beyond which sparkled the moving lights of vessels that were passing this portion of Long Island.
The atmosphere was one of serenity, with no menace of approaching danger. Hence the three men, as they chatted, gave no thought to the unexpected. Not one of them saw the door that slowly opened from the house; nor did they observe the keen, brilliant eyes that watched them.
The Shadow, studying this scene, saw that Tyler Bogart and his companions were set to remain on the veranda. This formed a temporary refuge. Brodie Brodan and his crew of mobsmen were on the other side of the house. Cliff Marsland at the back; Bozo Griffin at the front; neither of their squads would appear at this spot.
The one method of attack, should Tyler Bogart’s life be sought, would come directly through the house.
Stealth would be the method chosen by the crooks tonight. The Shadow held a key position; from this door he could block anyone who tried to come to the veranda.
The Shadow, however, was on the watch for dual crime. He had linked this approaching trouble with the affray at Perry Trappe’s. Theft, as well as murder, must be the motive. Cliff had informed, through Burbank, that two men would be in the house. The Shadow, now that he had established the point of contact between house and porch, had other work to do.
Somewhere in the house, criminals might already be at work. The Shadow, when he battled crime, forestalled his enemies. Such was to be his plan tonight. From the darkened doorway, The Shadow moved inward. He reached a gloomy hallway. There he stood in mystic outline, a tall black-garbed figure of sepulchral appearance.
Keen, burning eyes stared along the hall. The Shadow saw a passage at the rear. It led deeper into the house. It formed the natural path to search. The Shadow moved from the blackness of the wall; then stopped short.
Footsteps were coming down a flight of stairs. The Shadow eased back into the gloom. His keen eyes watched as a servant appeared. The man walked within five paces of The Shadow. He did not see the singular form of blackness that stood so foreboding. The Shadow, however, studied the man’s dull, passive features. He saw that this menial was no minion of crime. He watched the man pass onward toward the porch.
SWIFTLY, The Shadow moved out into the narrow hall. He reached the corridor that turned left. He followed it until he came to a blocking door. The side of the broad-brimmed hat pressed against the barrier. The Shadow listened. His keen ear detected the sound of whispers.
Two men were in the room beyond. Crooks were at work. The Shadow had discovered them.
Slowly, a black-gloved hand turned the knob of the door. The barrier did not yield. A tiny metal pick clicked almost inaudibly as The Shadow applied it to the keyhole. The lock gave without a sound. With black form pressed against the door to mask the slight gloom from beyond the turn in the passage, The Shadow opened the door by inches.
Clicking footsteps came faintly from the house. The Shadow waited, knowing that the servant had come back from the veranda. The Shadow heard the footsteps die. The door was open wider now. With keen eyes, The Shadow studied a circle of light that was shining upon the door of a safe.
“Got it, Fingers?” came a whispered query.
“Not yet, Croaker,” was the cautious reply. “Easy. Keep a watch on the door. We want it clear to get out by the side — where Brodie is.”
“Right. I’ll do a sneak to see that you can make it. I’m just waiting until you get this tin box open. You make a getaway. I’ll do the rest.”
“All set for Bogart?”
“You bet. He’s the fat bimbo. I got a squint at the three of them on the porch. I’ll plug him and then cut out the way you went.”
Momentary silence. Fingers was working at the dials of the safe. A soft click sounded; then came a low expression of satisfaction from the lips of the smooth-fingered crook.
“Got it!”
The door of the safe opened. Fingers threw the rays of his flashlight into the interior. Croaker, somewhere in the darkness behind the safecracker, saw the same object that Fingers had spied — a square panel of gold engraved with Chinese characters and studded with sparkling gems.
It was the second of Cecil Armsbury’s fake treasures which the old man had unloaded on unsuspecting collectors. The golden panel that had supposedly come from the Temple of Heaven in the Forbidden City of old Peking.
THE SHADOW, from the spot where he was standing, could not see into the safe, for the door was opened in his direction. Fingers Keefel clicked off his flashlight. The Shadow could hear the safecracker dragging a clanking object from the safe. Then came a whispered buzz.
“Stick here.” Croaker was the speaker. “I’m going out to see that it’s all clear. Wait—”
“Naw.” Fingers put a protest. “I’m sliding straight out, Croaker. There’s nobody around. You stick here by the safe. Wait until I’m clear. Then you can head for the porch. Savvy?”
“All right,” agreed Croaker.
Pitch-darkness reigned. The Shadow was edging through the door that he had opened. His action was a careful one. The doorway was low; The Shadow’s tall form covered the opening between door and post.
The blackness of his shape killed all light from the distant hall.
Crooks in the dark! The Shadow was entering with them. Despite the blackness, he could tell the exact positions of the men. Fingers Keefel was sneaking toward a farther door. Croaker Mannick was on the other side of the opened front of the safe.
Theft was reaching its accomplishment. Murder was due to follow. The Shadow, from his strategic position, was ready to frustrate them both. Fingers — a moving target — would be the first. He could be stopped when he reached the door; for that was a spot which he must certainly pass. Croaker, the potential murderer, could come second.
“I’ll give you time, Fingers.” Croaker’s hoarse whisper was coming from the other side of the blocking door of the safe. “I’ll finish Bogart and beat it for the side line, after you’ve made a good getaway—”
Fingers sent an answering growl from near the farther doorway. That, and the clank of the object which he carried, drowned other sounds. Then came a muffled exclamation. Fingers had encountered something in the dark.
Click!
The room was flooded with light. Standing within the doorway, his hand upon the switch, was a portly, grim-faced man who held a glistening revolver.
It was Tyler Bogart. Some unexpected suspicion had brought the millionaire to the strongroom. His gun was pointed toward Croaker Mannick.
Beside the millionaire, almost at the doorway, was Fingers Keefel, crouching as he held the flat shape of the golden panel close against his body.
By the little door stood The Shadow, revealed as a tall, sinister figure in total black. He was the fourth member of this unexpected tableau.
Crooks were at bay; yet the sudden change that had brought the present emergency was to their benefit.
Tyler Bogart, by his unexpected arrival had produced a strange dilemma.
The millionaire who had come to protect his property had, by his appearance, thwarted the plan of The Shadow!