“Take the money!” pleaded Marker. “Take the bonds — but — but you can’t use the rest—”
“We’re taking what we’ve got,” snarled Skeets. “Come on. Let’s scram.”
“Wait a minute,” Hawkeye interrupted. “We’re not goin’ to blow too quick. We don’t want no trouble comin’. Back that fat bozo into the vault.”
Hiram Marker was quaking.
“I’ll suffocate!” he gasped. “You can’t do this! You can’t murder me this way—”
“Don’t go goofy,” snarled Hawkeye, speaking to Marker while he still watched Cranston. “They’ll be here to help you. We’ll see to that. You can tap the combination when they come. We’ve got what we want — that’s all we’ve come for.”
Marker backed into the vault. He dropped to the floor of the little room and sank cowering. He was gasping in anticipation of the closed door.
“You next.”
A thin smile appeared upon Lamont Cranston’s lips as Hawkeye threatened with the gun. Marker’s guest stepped lightly back into the vault. Even then, Hawkeye did not relax his vigilance. He motioned to Tapper to close the door. The big fellow obeyed. It was not until the huge barrier had swung into position that Hawkeye lowered his gun.
“Jam that bar,” ordered Hawkeye. “We can fire a shot when we scram. That will bring somebody in.”
“Yeah?” Skeets objected. “You know what the boss told us about raising a racket.”
“Well, what of it?” retorted Hawkeye. “We’re not goin’ to let those mugs smother. We’ve got plenty of time for a getaway.”
“Call up on the phone,” suggested Tapper, as he pressed against the bar to clamp it into place. “From that store a block down. One of the servants will come to answer it. I’ll give him the combination over the wire.”
“All right,” agreed Hawkeye. “They can hold out that long.”
Tapper began to fume. He could not get the bar to wedge. He had closed the vault door tightly. Yet the mechanism refused to function.
“Can’t jam it—”
“Scram then,” ordered Hawkeye. “I’ll cover from the door. They’ll be scared to move for a while. Get goin’ with that swag. We ain’t got time to fool with a stuck door.”
Tapper picked up the bag. Accompanied by Skeets, the safe-cracker hurried from the study. Hawkeye stood at the door, staring as steadily as he had before. He could picture that calm countenance of Lamont Cranston beyond the barrier of steel.
Half a minute passed. The throb of a motor sounded outside. Hawkeye turned and dashed away. Twenty seconds later, gears ground as the waiting car started.
MORE minutes ticked past. The vault door swung open. Lamont Cranston’s tall form stepped into the study. The millionaire’s lips wore a smile as his eyes turned toward the huddled form of Hiram Marker.
“Come on,” suggested Cranston calmly. “We are free.”
Marker scrambled to his feet. He staggered into the study. He stared at Cranston.
“Who let us out?” gasped Marker.
“I did,” was Cranston’s quiet reply. “An excellent vault you have here, Marker. I took your word for it.” He stooped and picked up a paper match that lay at the bottom of the framework. “I dropped this from my pocket while the door was closing. I think a pencil shaving would have done as well. The slightest obstruction will keep a vault door from closing tight enough to lock it.”
Hiram Marker stared dumfounded at Lamont Cranston’s casual explanation. Then, suddenly, the bald-headed man realized that he had been robbed as well as confined in an empty vault.
“The police!” he screamed. “The police!”
He leaped for the telephone, just as it began to ring. He raised the receiver.
“Hello! Hello! This is Hiram Marker!”
There was a sharp click at the other end of the wire. Marker jiggled the hook excitedly. He began to blurt out the news as the operator answered.
A servant came running into the study. He had heard the loud phone bell and the cries which Marker had uttered.
The thin smile showed on Lamont Cranston’s lips. The Shadow had divined the meaning of that interrupted call. He had pieced the sequence of events — the method that the escaping robbers had decided upon to free their prisoners. Even though they had not locked the vault door, they had taken a precaution. Robbery, not murder, was their objective.
The Shadow had played a passive part tonight. He had divined, from a study of the robbery at Blogg’s, that the trio who served Slade Farrow were under orders not to kill. The Shadow had chosen to appear as a chance visitor at Hiram Marker’s home upon this night of crime.
Moreover, he had studied the methods of the crooks. He knew where their swag was going. He had formed plans that concerned its recovery. These were reasons for the thin smile; there was another reason also.
Hawkeye, the keenest crook of the lot, had shown intuition when he had picked Lamont Cranston as a menace. It was a recollection of the past — a hunch that Hawkeye had gained but had been unable to explain.
Hawkeye had met The Shadow; he had sensed the spectral master’s presence, but his hunch had gone no farther.
Hawkeye, shrewd though he was, had not penetrated The Shadow’s guise. He had failed to identify Lamont Cranston as The Shadow.
CHAPTER XVI
ROWLING GIVES ORDERS
“FIFTEEN men are all I have on the force. No wonder there’s been crime in Southfield.”
The speaker was Police Chief Alexis Kerr. Attired in uniform, he was seated at his desk in the city hall, facing a group of men before him.
Townsend Rowling was directly opposite Kerr. Beside him were Rutherford Blogg, Hiram Marker and Norton Granger. A short distance away, Lamont Cranston viewed the scene as spectator. Eric Griffel and three others were at the side of the chief’s desk.
“You two have been robbed.” Kerr wagged a pencil first at Blogg, then at Marker. “Now, Rowling, you come here and say that crime must stop. I say, give me a force of fifty men. That’s what Southfield needs.”
“You’ve talked that for two years, Kerr,” retorted Rowling. “All the while, Southfield has been free from crime. Why? Because of Eric Griffel and the work that he has done. You ask for fifty men. Griff can give you two hundred.”
“As policemen?”
“As deputies.”
“I’ve already sworn in two dozen of them.”
“Swear in the lot. Let Griff pick them. Not the youngsters, but men who can do the work. Some of those who were members of Blogg’s factory police.”
“To take orders from me?”
“Yes. Through Griffel. He’s their leader.”
The police chief grunted. He stared toward Griff and the three men who were with him.
“Who’s police chief in this town?” he demanded. “Am I — or is Griff? He’s here with his three lieutenants. What do they want to do? Take over my job?”
“Kerr,” declared Rowling, in a serious tone, “this is an emergency. It is no time for animosities. You and Griff have no quarrel. I have influence in Southfield. So have these men with me. Let us make a sane proposition.
“Give Griff and his picked crew the authority that they require. We want armed guards about this town. Let us set a time limit on the arrangement. When that is up, you will have two hundred experienced men to pick from.
“Then we can choose new members for your force. Have the fifty that you think you need. Southfield can stand the expense. Norton” — Rowling turned to young Granger — “I am instructing you to draw up the agreement. Attend to the legal angles of this matter.”