“Report.”
Burbank responded to The Shadow’s command.
“Further report from Burke,” came his quiet statement. “Acting Inspector Cardona is taking charge in Chinatown. Will remain there until the section quiets.”
“Report received.”
This new information did not surprise The Shadow. He knew Cardona’s methods; they were usually direct and efficient. Cardona had unquestionably linked the missing Fate Joss with disturbances in the Chinese quarter. Stationed there in person, Cardona would be on the lookout for further trouble.
Patrolling policemen would be less in evidence. Plain-clothes men would relieve many bluecoats. Though the Chinese would know that they were being watched, they would not suspect the extent to which the law was ready. This was to The Shadow’s liking. Should time arrive for action, he could bring the police into the game.
This was in keeping with The Shadow’s standard. Whenever possible, he gave the law its share of action. But until the game had opened, he preferred to work upon his own. The cause of justice frequently demanded a wait until proper opportunity had arrived. The Shadow’s first concern still involved the Fate Joss and its shipment from this scene of trouble.
UPON The Shadow’s table lay a letter that had accompanied Clyde Burke’s written report. The letter was a message from Rutledge Mann, who had arranged for a tramp steamer to take the Fate Joss aboard. Mann had written that the steamship Eastern Moon would be laying to, outside of New York harbor, beginning with tomorrow night. The freighter would await word regarding the port where it would find its expected shipment.
Burbank was delivering another report. His methodical voice concerned Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland.
“Telegram received this morning, at the Howland Garage,” stated Burbank. “I called the garage and named myself as Mr. Middleton. The wire stated that the truck had been left at its Scranton destination. It was signed Dyke.
“Telephone report from Marsland received tonight at 9:48. Report that he and Vincent are back in New York. Ready for duty, outside the hiding place. Marsland suggested that Hawkeye and Jericho drive out in Vincent’s coupe, as sign that all was well.”
Burbank paused. The Shadow hissed a sudden question. Such a move, though seemingly an incidental one, had not been included in original instructions. Burbank’s voice, for once, was slightly hesitant. The contact man seemed troubled in his tone; but he calmed and stated exactly how he had handled Cliff’s request.
“Instructions given to Hawkeye by telephone,” declared Burbank. “He and Jericho to leave at once in Vincent’s coupe. Time of order was 9:56.”
“Further reports,” ordered The Shadow.
“No further reports,” stated Burbank. “Hawkeye and Jericho off duty. Marsland and Vincent should be on guard at present; but neither has reported.”
“Contact them at once,” ordered The Shadow.
The earphones slid across the table. A tiny signal light went out. Three minutes later, it gleamed again, a proof that Burbank had called the old garage where the Fate Joss had been hidden. The Shadow picked up the earphones.
“Report,” he ordered.
“No response,” stated Burbank, his tone solemn and deliberate. “Vincent and Marsland apparently not on duty.”
“Report received.”
Earphones slid away. The bluish light blinked off. A swish sounded as The Shadow moved through the darkness of the sanctum. Then came silence. The master of the night had fared forth on another mission.
FIFTEEN minutes later, a tiny flashlight blinked along a wall. It stopped upon the door of the abandoned garage. The door was slightly opened; its strong lock was broken. With hammer and wedge, some intruders had forced an entry to the place. Cautiously, The Shadow slid the door aside. His light went out as he edged into darkness. Silently, he moved through the gloom of the old garage.
Nearing the door of the little side room, The Shadow stretched his gloved hand forward. It encountered no barrier; the door was open. Creeping inward, The Shadow crouched low on the floor. He raised his left hand and blinked the torch.
Furious snarls sounded within the room; a knife whistled from darkness and skimmed past The Shadow’s arm. Had a body been behind the light, it would have received the whizzing blade. Instead, the knife clattered far out in the main room of the old garage. As it clicked the floor, a flashlight gleamed from within the side room; its blaze showed the crouched figure of The Shadow.
The cloaked arrival was already springing forward. Hurling himself upon the man with the flashlight, he hoisted the fellow backward. The flashlight shot up in the air; its whirling beam showed a yellow face and a gleaming dirk as another fighter sprang toward The Shadow.
Dropping as he turned, the cloaked battler swung below the knife thrust. Gripping his antagonist, he hurled the fellow over his shoulder, out through the opened door.
The Shadow had encountered two Chinese, stationed here in place of his agents. Attacking them, he had avoided gunfire, in order not to arouse the neighborhood. That fact gave both Mongols a lucky chance for flight. Babbling wildly, the first Chinaman sprang past The Shadow in the darkness and dashed for the outer door. His companion had been fortunate enough to land unhurt despite the long heave that The Shadow had given him. Scrambling to his feet, he scurried after his companion.
A chase was useless. The Shadow’s task was here; to guard the Fate Joss, to hold it in case of a mass attack. Swiftly, The Shadow crossed to the inner storage room. He found the padlock broken; the door partly open. Entering, he gleamed his torch. No glitter reflected the beam of light.
The Shadow had reached the spot too late. Since the time that his agents had supposedly returned, a change had taken place within this inner room. As Satsu had stared that night at Laudring’s, so did The Shadow gaze at present.
Barren walls were all that his eyes discerned. The Fate Joss was gone; with it, the squatty War Dogs. Those trophies which belonged in Jehol had slipped from The Shadow’s ownership. Once again, the Fate Joss and its twin cannons had gone on a mysterious journey.
TO The Shadow, the answer was plain. One hour had passed since Burbank, tricked, had ordered Hawkeye and Jericho to leave in Harry’s coupe. That time had been sufficient for invading Chinese to make away with the Fate Joss and the War Dogs. The men whom The Shadow had encountered were a rear guard, posted to deal death should any one come here.
Had Harry and Cliff actually entered here, to be captured when the Joss was taken? The Shadow’s grim, whispered laugh told that such was not the answer. Invaders could have attacked Hawkeye and Jericho as readily as Harry and Cliff. The true solution was that Cliff, like Burbank, had fallen for some deception.
The Shadow was sure that his men remained alive. So long as they lived, they might prove useful to their captors. While The Shadow, himself, remained at large, his agents would be held as bait. Hawkeye and Jericho were probably safe; unneeded as prisoners, they had merely been drawn away, that entry might be clear without the danger of battle.
There was something baffling about these circumstances; yet The Shadow’s mirthless whisper told that he had grasped a possible solution. To move, he must know more; that was his immediate mission as he glided from the darkness of the rifled hiding place.
The Shadow knew where the answer could be found. In Chinatown, where action, instead of watchfulness, would be the needed course. With the idol now in other hands, The Shadow had no cause to wait before he dealt with men of crime.