The truck with its wheel-concealing banners came to a dead stop directly over the spot where it had paused on its way to Gwynnesborough. Other cars were adding to the jam. Dave turned off the motor; with Louie, he leaped to the street to argue.
A whining siren announced the arrival of the police chief’s car. Alexis Kerr, his square-set face grim above the blue collar of his uniform, leaped to the street to take charge of the situation.
THE chief arrived in the bank just as Griff’s deputies were throwing tear-gas bombs down the stairs. They followed this maneuver with a rattle of rifle fire. Kerr saw Griff standing in the clearing smoke and bellowed at the chief deputy.
“Why don’t you get men down there?” demanded Kerr.
“We can’t,” retorted Griff. “Too much smoke.”
“So you chucked tear gas, eh?” shouted Kerr. “Fine work. If the crooks can stand the fumes, they can stand the gas. Clear out these deputies. I’m in charge.”
Sullenly, Griff called off his men. A policeman was coming in from Kerr’s car, bringing a bag of gas masks. The chief donned one; three officers did the same. Griff followed suit.
Then men reached the floor below. Their flashlights showed the broken, rifled vault. The gaping hole in the floor was filled with broken debris. The stone base of the lower vault room had been crumbled by the second charge.
Police Chief Kerr waved his men upstairs. He saw that the robbers had escaped. He reached the street and went into conference with Griff and the latter’s lieutenants.
“Spread out!” ordered Kerr. “All over town. We’ve got to get these crooks!”
Kerr turned toward the street. He saw the jammed cars, among them Slade Farrow’s decorated truck.
“Get this traffic clear!” he instructed two policemen. “We want some space here.”
HARRY VINCENT and Cliff Marsland, watching from their post above, saw the traffic move. Cars were clearing from the street. Dave was jockeying with the crank of the delivery truck.
More than ten minutes had elapsed since Dave had stalled his bannered vehicle at that spot. When the truck moved away and pulled to the curb some sixty feet down the street, Cliff gripped Harry’s arm and pointed to the man-hole cover.
“A clean getaway,” he whispered.
“With the goods,” added Harry.
Both agents looked toward the truck. Dave and Louie were on the sidewalk, interested spectators of the chaos which still reigned about the bank.
“Look.”
Cliff followed Harry’s pointing finger. Slade Farrow had come from the front of the hotel. The Shadow’s agents saw him cross the street and gesticulate to Dave and Louie. His motions indicated that his men were to drive the truck around the block to the rear delivery entrance.
Farrow continued on to open the store. He had closed it just before the hour of nine. Dave and Louie still stood watching the scene on the main street, as though in no hurry to obey their employer’s order.
Lamont Cranston’s inflexible face was at the window of Room 401. A soft laugh came from the unmoving lips. The tall figure turned and stepped into deep darkness. Shortly afterward, a swishing sound occurred.
The door of the room opened. The Shadow stepped noiselessly into the corridor. His gliding form moved toward the fire exit.
Crime had reached its climax. The aftermath was due. Slade Farrow had completed his looting of Southfield’s coffers. The Shadow was faring forth to view the counting of the spoils. Three jobs had been accomplished; the next stroke would be The Shadow’s!
Phantomlike, The Shadow followed the rear streets. He crossed the main thoroughfare beyond the lighted zone. Unseen by prowling deputies, he reached the street behind Slade Farrow’s store.
Ascending the brick wall, The Shadow reached the darkened apartment. He descended by the stairs. He saw a light in Farrow’s office. Softly, The Shadow approached the door to the basement. It was unlocked.
As the door closed behind the black-garbed figure, a motor throbbed at the back of the store, then ceased. Dave and Louie had arrived. Slade Farrow, his face wearing a grim smile, approached the delivery door and unlocked it.
The final job was done. Successful henchmen were returning with the swag. Dave and Louie were unloading cases from the truck. Slade Farrow was triumphant.
The ex-convict’s smile would have faded, had Slade Farrow known that The Shadow lurked below!
CHAPTER XIX
GRIFF DECIDES
POLICE CHIEF ALEXIS KERR had returned to his office at city hall. His square-set face showed determination as he spoke orders through the telephone. A dozen police and nearly two hundred deputies were scouring the town in search of the bank robbers.
Footsteps clattered and Townsend Rowling strode into Kerr’s office. Behind him were Hiram Marker and Rutherford Blogg. Then came Eric Griffel. The leader of the deputies was followed by Norton Granger.
“What are you doing here, Kerr?” demanded Rowling. “Why aren’t you out on the job? Why haven’t you trapped those robbers?”
The square-jawed police chief stared coldly at the gray-haired millionaire. Kerr seemed to resent Rowling’s intrusion at this hour.
“I am directing affairs from here,” informed Kerr. “I am receiving reports from deputies as well as from police. I am in charge of the search.”
“More must be done,” stormed Rowling. “This is terrible. The robbers have cleaned everything from the lower vault.”
“At least they failed to break into the large vault. I understand that it contains practically all of the bank’s funds.”
“It does.” Rowling was reluctant with his admission. “The downstairs vault held all my private wealth. Cash, negotiable securities — and those are not all. In that vault” — Rowling’s tone was serious — “were deeds and titles. Also confidential papers that cannot be replaced. Something must be done, Kerr — at once!”
The police chief settled back in his chair. The situation seemed to challenge him. He became speculative; and in his chain of thought, he formed a theory.
“Odd,” asserted Kerr, “that the crooks should have blown the smaller vault. They must have known that the large one was upstairs.”
“They didn’t have time to blow both,” suggested Norton Granger.
“Then why the smaller one?” questioned Kerr.
“I’ll tell you why!” blurted Rowling. “It was a thrust at me — just like the robberies that occurred at Blogg’s and Marker’s. The crooks wanted to get my private property.”
“Ah!” Kerr sprang to his feet. “This gives me an idea. Those crooks, gentlemen, must be here in town. They have struck three times. They know enough about Southfield. Their very method of entrance proves that.”
“They came up through the ground.”
“Yes. We have not opened their path because they filled it with debris through another explosion. They must, however, have spent some time in preparing a tunnel—”
“I have it!” Hiram Marker interrupted with his exclamation. “I know how they entered! You don’t have to trace their tunnel!”
ALL eyes turned in the direction of the bald-headed speaker. Hiram Marker was wildly excited.
“The water conduits!” he exclaimed. “My company installed one before the new bank was built. It runs from beside the bank out to the main street.”
“That’s right!” nodded the police chief. “I had forgotten all about that conduit! We all know it’s there. The crooks could easily have learned about it. Where does it come out?”
“It’s blocked,” asserted Marker. “No longer in use. There’s only one entrance to it — the man-hole in front of the bank—”