From the adjacent block, The Shadow had guessed the direction of the explosion. His tall form merged with darkness. His footsteps led him toward the passage behind the row of houses in which Lyken’s jewelry store was located.
At that particular moment, another figure was moving along a street two blocks to the rear of Lyken’s house. Gold teeth glittered from a grimly grinning mouth as Ed Mallan stepped into the light close by the steps to an elevated station.
The detective took to the steps, chuckling as he went. He joined a group of waiting passengers who were speculating upon where the muffled explosion had occurred. The dick heard the whine of a police siren from the avenue beneath the elevated.
Then a downtown train rumbled into the station. Passengers stepped aboard; the dick was with them.
The private detective, like the crooks, was decamping from the scene of crime.
CHAPTER VI. THE SHADOW HEARS
WHEN Detective Joe Cardona arrived at Philip Lyken’s, he found a solemn-faced policeman stationed at the front entrance to the jewelry store. The door had been broken open; Joe entered to find a scene of chaos.
The hallway led to the inner door that formed the entrance to the jewelry shop. It was this door that had been blown. Though strong and sheathed with metal, the barrier had been ripped to pieces by the terrific explosion.
More than that, the blast had left its mark on other places. Huge portions of the wall had cracked and tumbled to the floor. A gaping break showed through a rear room behind the jewelry shop. The banister of the stairway had broken from its moorings. The steps themselves were tilted at a crazy angle.
Two policemen were in the jewelry shop. Cases and shelves had tumbled; the place was strewn with glass. Yet Joe could see that robbery had failed. Glittering rings were scattered on the floor. A safe — doubtless the depositor for items of real value — was obviously untouched.
Voices from the second floor. Cardona turned and ascended the crazy steps. He reached the top and entered a little office, where a sagging floor indicated that beams had yielded beneath. A light showed through an opened doorway; Cardona entered the rear room.
Two men were standing in Philip Lyken’s bedroom. Both were uniformed; one was a patrolman, the other the lieutenant of the precinct. The latter looked up and nodded to Cardona.
The detective had come here in the capacity of acting inspector. Then the lieutenant pointed to the bed.
There, clad in nightgown and wearing slippers, was the body of Philip Lyken. The jeweler was sprawled upon the bed; a splotch of blood upon the nightgown was token of his fate. Lyken had been shot through the heart.
“LOOKS like he never had a chance,” commented the lieutenant. “Somebody walked in on him and shoved the gun against his ribs. Look close, inspector. You can see the singe from the shot.”
Cardona nodded. He studied Lyken’s body and listened to the other statements that the lieutenant had to make.
“You saw what they did to the door downstairs,” declared the lieutenant. “They got in through a cellar window, out in back. Sawed away the bars. That’s how they made it. Then some of the bunch made a getaway from the side street.”
Cardona wheeled. This was information that had not come into headquarters. The lieutenant indicated the patrolman.
“Tell him about it, Casey,” he ordered.
“I heard the explosion,” stated the patrolman. “I came up to the corner on the run. Just then the car shoots out and I was going to fire when I saw a tough bird hanging from the side door.
“I was spotted where I was, so I jumped back to the curb. There was a couple of shots come from down the street. One clips the guy on the side of the car; another pots the next fellow that was aiming at me.”
“Shots from down the street?” inquired Cardona.
“Yeah,” replied Case, with a nod. “I don’t know who fired ‘em. The car whizzes by and I open up, plastering the rear of it. Thought maybe I’d stopped ‘em, so I followed on the run. But they got away.”
“These shots from down the street,” queried Joe. “Who fired them?”
“That’s what I don’t know,” admitted Casey. “I thought some other cop had come up. That’s why I chased after the touring car. When I got back, there wasn’t nobody around, until the patrol car showed up.”
“Looks to me like somebody was gunning for the crooks,” put in the lieutenant. “That’s the only way I can explain it, inspector.”
Cardona nodded. He was sober. His thoughts had reverted to the preceding night. He remembered the shots that had served so well in the battle with Luke Zarby. Joe knew the hand that had delivered those shots. Often before, this star sleuth had gained The Shadow’s aid.
Keenly, Joe was piecing this new event with the old. Luke Zarby’s dying words — a statement concerning Hoot Shelling — new crime in the making. Had The Shadow heard those words as well?
Cardona knew that The Shadow must have picked up Zarby’s trail last night. In so doing, The Shadow had scored in a task where police had failed. It seemed logical that The Shadow had again moved ahead of the law. He had been near here tonight, tracking Hoot Shelling.
“How about those two guys in the car?” questioned the detective, suddenly. “Are you sure they were clipped?”
“You bet they were!” responded Casey. “But it wasn’t curtains. The one guy would have fallen off if he’d been killed. He managed to hang on until the rest of the bunch yanked him in.”
Cardona smiled. He was about to make another statement when footsteps sounded in the outer office.
The police surgeon had arrived; in his wake were two reporters.
During the examination, Cardona spoke to the newspaper men. One was a man toward whom the detective was most friendly: Clyde Burke, of the Classic.
Joe accompanied the reporters to the ground floor. After they had looked into the jewelry shop, they descended the rickety cellar steps and found the window at the back. A policeman, stationed there, brought the sawed-off grating into view.
Leaving the reporters in the cellar, Cardona clambered through the opening and began an inspection of the rear alleyway. While he was engaged in this examination, a call came from the cellar. Cardona went back. Burke informed him that the police commissioner had arrived and was upstairs.
THREE minutes later, Cardona arrived in the second-floor office to find a tall, crane-necked man awaiting him. This was Wainwright Barth, police commissioner in the absence of Ralph Weston. With eyes that gleamed through pince-nez spectacles, beneath a high bald head, Barth stared in expectant fashion.
“Not much of a case, commissioner,” stated Cardona. “Plenty bad enough— murder and burglary — but it doesn’t come up to the reports that we got at headquarters. First rumor was a dynamiting outrage.”
“How do you account for that report?” questioned Barth.
“Too much soup,” responded Cardona, laconically. “The crooks wanted to cripple a door; instead, they nearly brought down the house.”
Producing a sheet of notations, the detective gave the details to the commissioner. Then, at Barth’s request, Cardona formed his summary. Burke and the other reporter listened.
“Experienced workers,” explained Joe. “They sawed the grating neatly. The explosive charge must have been well planted. They probably sent one man up here to cover Lyken; it looks like he was keeping the jeweler quiet when the blast went off.
“Too big a charge. The fellow covering Lyken must have known it when the house shook. So he plugged Lyken and ran after the others. Officer Casey retarded their getaway. Two of the mobsmen were wounded.”