Growls from the crooks.
“Been sort of sticking close to me, now that I remember it,” went on Ralder. “Used to be around my old hide-out; but I didn’t worry myself about him. Now I know why the bulls raided the joint. This gazebo put them wise.”
“Hold him until Hoot shows up,” suggested Dorry. “He’ll take care of the louse.”
“Not a chance,” laughed Ralder. “Do you think Hoot’s coming back here? Guess again. He don’t want anybody to know you fellows were with his outfit. No — I’ve got something better for this phony. Watch him a minute.”
The sawbones turned and went back into the front room. When he reappeared, he was carrying a hypodermic syringe. He held up the glittering object and chuckled.
“Triple loaded,” commented Ralder. “One shot would snow a guy under; this holds three full doses. That means curtains for Dopey Roogan. He’ll never come back to life after he gets it.
“Coney Laxter is coming up here tonight. He’ll take care of the body. So that settles it. A fake hop-head, eh?” Ralder chuckled as he stooped above Dopey’s body. “Well, he’ll get a shot of dynamite that he’ll never know about.”
WITH this remark, the sawbones pulled up the stool pigeon’s sweatered sleeve. Dorry and “Lefty” leaned forward, grinning, as they saw murder in the making. They did not see the window shade that rose behind him; nor did they hear the sound of The Shadow’s entry.
Like a portion of the night, The Shadow had materialized into a living being. An automatic loomed from his right hand as his left hand brought a second gun out from beneath the cloak.
It was at that instant that Doc Ralder paused. The sawbones sensed that eyes were watching him. He stopped, holding the needle point just above Dopey’s arm. The sawbones looked up. His gaze froze with terror.
The crook’s stared at the change on Ralder’s face. Then, together, they pivoted on their cots to see what had brought the transformation. Like Ralder, they became rigid as they stared into a pair of burning eyes that peered above the barrels of the leveled automatics.
Men of crime were too astonished to make move or outcry. The capture of Dopey Roogan had ended thoughts of police intrusion. It had given these men a feeling of confidence. They had been elated by the expectation of Dopey’s death.
But now the stool pigeon’s plight was a matter of the past. The present was all that concerned these cowering fiends. Three of a kind, Doc Ralder and his patients, they were quivering before the menace of The Shadow.
CHAPTER VIII. THE SHADOW DEPARTS
A WHISPERED laugh hissed through the room. Its echoes were sibilant responses that dwelt within the walls.
Gasps came from trembling lips. Stark terror gripped the crooks who faced The Shadow. They knew the repute of this unyielding master. No quarter to men who deserved to die.
The laugh died. Then came words, uttered in a sneering tone that sounded like notes of doom. There was stern justice in The Shadow’s statement; but it brought no hope as the trapped men listened.
“Creeper Trigg” — Ralder stared as The Shadow called him by his alias — “I have heard your plan. In your hand you hold the weapon that I shall use against you and these others. Rise. Do as I command.”
Ralder came up from the floor. The hand that held the hypodermic syringe was quivering. Dorry and Lefty trembled. They knew what was coming. One of them would be the first to receive the death-giving shot intended for Dopey Roogan.
Both knew that Ralder must have replenishment for the syringe. That would mean a second injection, so they thought. Ralder, as he trembled, could see further than that. He was sure that The Shadow would force him to jab the needle in his own arm after he had served the other two.
“Wait!” The Shadow had created the effect that he desired. “The contents of that syringe will do for three. Be sparing with it, Ralder. I may decide that sleep, not death, is suited to your needs.”
Sudden hope glowed on scared faces. Both crooks remembered what Ralder had said. Apportioned among them that dosage would mean only temporary oblivion. After that—
“The police,” hissed The Shadow, “have need of your testimonies. So I shall reserve you for their arrival. They will find you doped, here in this room. But on one condition only. Each of you must speak.”
That was the condition. Life or death. The three men sensed the firmness of The Shadow’s decision.
Stubbornly, they would have fought against a third degree; but this challenge offered no chance for bluff.
“I’LL talk!” blurted Dorry. “I ain’t done nothing! It was Hoot Shelling who pulled that job last night. I–I was only coming up to meet him. I jumped on the car. I–I got clipped. Honest — I don’t know nothing more!”
“Hoot pulled it,” added Lefty, eager to curry The Shadow’s favor. “I was in the outfit. Waiting in the car. He went back of the jewelry shop and got in. He planted the soup. Then he came out with us.”
“One man was murdered,” hissed The Shadow. “State the name of the killer who slew him.”
“I don’t know,” pleaded Dorry. “Honest—”
“We heard a shot,” broke in Lefty. “But it wasn’t Hoot who did it. He was in the car with us.”
The Shadow laughed. The mobsters trembled. The Shadow knew that they had spoken the truth. But he was not finished.
“Tell me where Hoot Shelling is at present,” came the sinister order of the hidden lips.
“I don’t know.”
Two men made the same reply, almost simultaneously. Dorry and Lefty were almost pitiful as they blurted the words. The Shadow’s gaze centered on Doc Ralder. The sawbones cringed.
“Speak!” ordered The Shadow.
“I–I heard Hoot on the phone,” gasped Ralder. “He — he was talking about a job tonight. But the gang’s not going with him. It’s — up on Eighty-eighth Street.”
“The address.”
“I didn’t hear it. The old house with the shutters. Third from the corner — but I don’t know the corner. Somewhere on the East Side—”
Ralder was trembling. He had given his jerky statements without need of further prompting. The Shadow knew that the sawbones was telling all that he had heard.
“He’s — he’s working for somebody,” added Ralder. “Some fellow with dough — that was who called him here. But — but he didn’t give the name. I’d tell if I knew. I’d tell!”
Silence. The Shadow’s eyes were glowing. The crooks were anxious to tell more. They were clutching at new straws of hope. But their wits were numbed. It took The Shadow’s order to bring words to their lips.
“You have been to Hoot Shelling’s hide-out,” sneered The Shadow. “Name its exact location.”
“I don’t know it,” pleaded Ralder, quaking before the burning eyes. “I don’t know it!”
The gaze turned toward Dorry. With trembling hands upraised, the cowered criminal spoke beggingly.
“I ain’t been there,” said Dorry. “I was going there last night for the first time. But Hoot — he brought me here. I–I got clipped.”
The eyes had turned toward Lefty. The second crook faded before the threat. His head, raised up from the pillows, began to nod.
“I know the place,” affirmed the cowed gorilla. “I was there — with Hoot. I’ll tell you — I’ll tell you where it is—”
As Lefty stared, he saw The Shadow make a sudden move. Hands before his face, the crook dropped to the pillows, fearing that the thrust was coming toward him. Ralder and Dorry sank back as they saw the black cloak swish. There was a flash of a crimson lining as The Shadow wheeled toward a door at the side of the room.