Until tonight, white pieces alone had constituted The Crime Master’s opposition. A new factor had entered; the old man was prepared. The Shadow, like the law, was to be his foe. Black had joined white!
The Crime Master was ready for The Shadow!
CHAPTER XII
TUESDAY NIGHT
ON the following evening, Commissioner Ralph Weston left his office after working late. His austere features were firmly set as he reached the street and looked about for signs of a signal. A hand was raised from the window of a light coupe.
Weston crossed the street. He stepped into the car. At the wheel was Grady, the commissioner’s confidential man. Grady shoved the car into gear. They rolled along the street and turned a corner northward.
“A good car, Grady,” observed the commissioner. “I am playing a cautious game tonight. I should not like to be seen — where we are going — either in my regular car or with my usual chauffeur at the wheel.”
“I understand, sir.”
The car rolled along. It finally made a westward turn. Weston pressed Grady’s arm — a signal to slacken speed. The coupe was in the block where the Fergis Building was located. All was quiet.
Weston nodded to himself. His orders had been followed. No officer was in sight along this block. He knew that detectives had long since stationed themselves in buildings opposite. They would be on watch. Open signs of police protection were absent.
The coupe took the next corner. It went one block, then veered left. Here, Weston, shrewdly peering, saw the signs that he wanted. A few extra officers were on duty. As the car turned right, continued a few squares and kept on skirting the vicinity of the Fergis Building, the commissioner became more satisfied than before.
Everywhere — added men. Scattered detectives. Patrol cars a few blocks further away. At no one spot was their indication of police activity. Nevertheless, a powerful array of the law could close in at short order. All was ready for the formation of a cordon.
The coupe rolled past the Fergis Building for a second time. Weston noted a trio of parked cabs; a fourth came up behind them as the coupe passed. These meant nothing to the commissioner, however. He ordered Grady to leave the vicinity.
NOT long after the coupe had departed from the block, a figure appeared a few doors below the main entrance to the Fergis Building. Its form was hazy; its motions swift and shifty. Stopping by the closed entrance of a ground floor shop, the figure merged with blackness. A pick clicked in the lock.
A minute later, The Shadow was inside the deserted shop. Here he found a more formidable barrier; an entrance to the building itself. In the darkness of the store, concealment was an easy task. The Shadow worked with precision. He forced the barrier. He reached the deserted lobby of the building. His form moved up the stairway.
The big building was empty. Moreover, its doors were firmly closed. Only The Shadow could have made an unseen entry. So far, the place seemed immune from attack. The Shadow knew well that a search must have been made — in routine fashion — at the time the building closed.
Reaching the third floor, The Shadow made his way to the front. Here he found the dim panel in a glass door; the name showed by dull light that came through the street windows:
ASSOCIATED IMPORTING COMPANY
The pick began to work. The door opened. The Shadow entered the office and closed the door behind him. Beyond, at the side, he saw a heavy door of steel that bore the statement:
PRIVATE
This was obviously the way to the strongroom. Again, The Shadow set to work. The locks of this heavy door were formidable; yet it required only a few minutes for The Shadow to unloose them. The black-garbed investigator entered a room that was windowless. Its furnishings consisted only of table and two chairs. In the far wall was the door of a heavy, built-in vault.
After a brief inspection, The Shadow returned to the outer office. He left the door of the strongroom ajar. He reached the windows and peered to the street below. There, he observed the taxicabs that Weston’s coupe had passed. The row now numbered five.
A soft laugh came from The Shadow’s hidden lips. He saw significance in those cabs. He watched while another drove up and joined the line. Softly, The Shadow raised a window and peered directly below.
He could not see the sidewalk. This office was directly above the entrance to the Fergis Building. A marquee extended over the sidewalk just above the door. It was thirty odd feet to the street; the projecting surface of the marquee was more than half way down.
Like a slightly sloping roof, the marquee consisted of a heavy metal frame in which were set a grillwork of thinner metal, filled with panes of glass. The Shadow’s inspection ended. The black form moved into the office.
Apparently, the Fergis Building had entrances only in the front. Old, but well-built, it was set between a smaller and more ancient office building on the left; a low garage on the right. The strongroom was built against the left wall. Narrow and with open stairway from ground floor to the top — the tenth — the Fergis Building was the type of structure in which any sound could be heard.
Could The Crime Master’s workers enter from the front? The Shadow had done so; but crews of marauders would surely encounter trouble. The Shadow, as he waited, sensed that the unusual was due to occur. Then came evidence — sounds from outside the office.
MUFFLED clicks. The noise of chipping stones. Softly, The Shadow stole to the outer door. He peered through a crack; he saw the results of what he had heard.
At the end of the hallway — from the side where the other office building was located — pieces of plaster were breaking from the wall.
A gaping hole was coming. Workers from the other side were finding an easy way into the Fergis Building. The Shadow closed the door of the office. He moved back to the strongroom. He worked upon the locks of the metal door. He entered and closed the barrier behind him.
There was not long to wait. Lurking in total darkness, The Shadow heard slight clicks from the other side. The Crime Master’s men were here. They were trying to break in. They were going to succeed without much difficulty, thanks to The Shadow.
He had loosened the locks to make their progress easy. The Shadow was anxious to lose no time in meeting The Crime Master’s horde. He was ready with a surprise that they could not anticipate.
The door swung open. Creeping men moved forward. Then came a weird sound that chilled them to immobility. With eerie mockery, The Shadow’s laugh burst from the strongroom. Members of the advancing mob halted. A flashlight gleamed from a gangster’s hand. The answer was the thunder of an automatic.
The Shadow had chosen a danger spot. He was opposed to criminals — potential murderers — the flower of The Crime Master’s cohorts. This was no time for parley. Bullets were the arguments that counted. Tongues of flame spat from The Shadow’s guns, squarely into the ranks of the massed raiders.
Gangsters broke for cover. Leaving their companions sprawling, those in the rear dashed for the outer door of the office. Reaching the hall, they turned to give battle. Until then, they had not fired a shot.
But The Shadow was still prepared. Firing with one hand at the fleeting mobsters, he had yanked the metal door almost shut. A gun wedged in the crack between door and frame, he was ready for those who turned to fire back.
Gangster bullets smashed against the metal door. The Shadow answered, directing each shot toward spots where revolver flashes had shown. Gangsters fell, groaning. The remainder turned in final flight. It was then that The Shadow issued forth. He headed for the outer door to take up the chase.