Why?
The Shadow had the answer. He wrote a single name above the brief column:
Eagle Tabrick
This name was The Shadow’s key. “Eagle” Tabrick was a crafty big shot. He was one who had long played a cagey game. Crime, racketeering, shady, crafty swindles — these were the triangle of Eagle Tabrick’s career.
Shifting from one practice to another, allowing intervals between his thrusts, Eagle Tabrick had long baffled the law by his cleverness. It was known that he ruled certain factions in the underworld; yet nothing had been definitely pinned upon him. The police had suspected six mobleaders to be lieutenants under Eagle. The Shadow, more thorough than the police, had definitely proved the connection.
These aids of Eagle Tabrick were represented by the six name list which The Shadow had formed. With Eagle as their chief, they formed a band which was unique; hence The Shadow’s laugh. Not one of the seven — chief or lieutenants — could be identified with The Crime Master’s organization.
This was important. The Crime Master, to control the underworld to perfection, must hold complete sway. Yet it was evident, from The Shadow’s findings, that he had not yet gained Eagle Tabrick as a vassal.
Six mobleaders — all would follow Eagle’s word so long as he commanded them. Hence, during this lull in the underworld, The Crime Master had a task which must be performed. To be secure, he would have to gain feudal power over Eagle’s small but well-organized group.
Two methods were possible. They represented extremes of action. One would be for The Crime Master to treat with Eagle. The other would be to eliminate Eagle. By either system, The Crime Master could force the six lieutenants into line.
In either plan, one fact was obvious. Through some agency, The Crime Master must reach Eagle Tabrick. Whether by friendly approach or by malicious action, there would be contact. To The Crime Master, the present must be most opportune.
Through his display of strength, The Crime Master had subjugated the underworld. He had won a mighty victory against the law. The capitulation of Eagle Tabrick would be an unparalleled triumph that would impress gangdom even more than the culmination of new crime.
A TINY light glowed suddenly from the wall beyond the table. The Shadow’s hands moved forward. They produced a pair of earphones. The instruments moved upward, toward The Shadow’s head. His whispered voice spoke from the gloom. A voice responded over the wire:
“Burbank speaking.”
“Report.”
“Report from Marsland. Back from a round. No sign of Eagle’s men. All keeping under cover.”
“Report received.”
A pause. Through Burbank, his contact man, The Shadow had gained word from Cliff Marsland, an agent who patrolled the underworld. Cliff’s report meant that none of Eagle’s six lieutenants had been in evidence at any dive frequented by crooks of their importance. This was significant. More was to follow.
Burbank spoke:
“Report from Burke.”
“Report.”
“Eagle Tabrick has not left his apartment. Constant observation by Burke since noon. No one has entered.”
“Report received.”
The earphones clattered across the table. The little bulb went out. The hands moved from beneath the bluish rays. A click from above; the sanctum was plunged in darkness.
The swish of The Shadow’s cloak came faintly through the solid blackness. A whispered laugh rose to a weird crescendo. It broke; then ended abruptly. Echoes came in answer, gibbering mockery from shrouded walls.
The ghoulish reverberations ended. The room was silent. Those echoes, dying into nothingness, had marked The Shadow’s departure. The sanctum was empty. Its sole visitant had fared forth into the night.
The Shadow had foreseen a move of The Crime Master. He knew that Eagle Tabrick must have reason for laying low. There was only one person whose opposition could keep Eagle under cover. That one was The Crime Master.
The Shadow was planning to attack the emperor of evil. He wanted evidence that would point to coming crime. He had found a way through which important information might be gained.
Following the clue which he had sifted, The Shadow was bound on an important mission. He was on his way to pay an unseen visit to the abode of Eagle Tabrick.
CHAPTER IX
THE ULTIMATUM
SITUATED on a secluded uptown street, an edifice of ornate structure rose, like a looming sentinel, amid an array of lower, unsightly buildings. This was the Mid Gotham Hotel; it specialized in suites and apartments. Among its residents was the notorious Eagle Tabrick.
Surrounded by garages, antiquated theaters and abandoned warehouses, the Mid Gotham had been erected as a pioneer in this locality. Other building operations had been delayed; hence the ornate hotel with its fancy facades and grilled balconies appeared incongruous in its ugly setting.
After a brief period of failing business, the hotel apartment had gone into receivership. It was at present but half filled with guests; the elite who had been expected to patronize it were missing.
The Mid Gotham’s loss had been Eagle Tabrick’s gain. Tabooed from entry into other pretentious hotels, the notorious racketeer had found a welcome at the Mid Gotham. Here, in a sumptuous apartment on the sixth floor front, the big shot dwelt like a king.
Clyde Burke had been right in his report that Eagle was at home. At the very minute when The Shadow was departing from his sanctum, Eagle was pacing back and forth across his luxurious living room.
Tall, ferocious of countenance, Eagle Tabrick was well-nicknamed. His eyes were sharp; his parted, downward curving lips gave him an insidious expression. His nose was a veritable beak.
Eagle was worried. He paused at times to stare between the side curtains of a wide, opened window. The railed top of a decadent warehouse showed white from across the street. The rumbles of the thoroughfare were audible as the big shot listened.
After each prolonged pause, Eagle would turn and pace impatiently across the purplish, tufted carpeting. Closed doors showed at two sides of the room; the third wall was marked by a curtained opening — beyond it, blackness.
Every action showed that Eagle was expecting some one. His paces toward the window were most indicative of that fact. The big shot, though he favored the seclusion of the apartment, seemed anxious to know what might be passing in the street below.
THERE was a small restaurant caticornered to the Mid-Gotham Hotel. There, seated in plain view at a table just within the plate glass window, was a young man who seemed in no hurry to finish the meal that lay before him. He was reading a newspaper as he ate; but all the while, his eyes were keeping intermittent watch upon the entrance of the Mid Gotham Hotel.
This was Clyde Burke, reporter of the New York Classic, secretly an agent of The Shadow. The table at which Clyde was seated had three chairs; its fourth side was drawn up against a ledge within the window. Clyde was in the central chair.
A thick-set man stopped at the entrance of the Mid Gotham. His face, though dark and thick of features, showed shrewdness, even at this distance. Clyde could not identify the fellow; yet he felt sure that the man was of the gangster type. He watched the thick-set arrival glance about; then he saw the man walk through the entrance of the hotel.
Clyde Burke reached beneath his chair. Methodically, he produced his felt hat and laid it on the table at his right. He reverted to the reading of his newspaper, still making short, brief glances through the window.
The reporter had set a signal. This center chair in which he sat was indication that Eagle Tabrick had not come out. Had the big shot appeared, Clyde would have moved to another chair.