THE vehicle stopped in front of Wesdren’s. Three men alighted: Releston, Marquette and Knight. They ascended the steps and rang the bell. The door opened immediately; Hamilton had given the visitors prompt admittance.
Blackness stole from the wall as the door was closing. The taxi driver did not see it; he was counting change at the wheel. Pocketing clinking coins, he drove away from Wesdren’s.
One block from the brownstone mansion, that driver experienced a surprise. A quiet voice spoke through the window from the rear seat, while the cab was idling at a traffic light.
The driver blinked: then nodded as he heard his new passenger give a destination. The light changed, the taximan drove ahead, still wondering how his fare had entered the cab unheard.
The Shadow’s vigil had ended. He had left Caleb Wesdren’s with a purpose. He was moving forth to action and his immediate plans concerned the man who had just left the mansion.
For The Shadow had sensed the imminence of crime. His period of waiting had ended with the moment that Craig Jollister had departed from Caleb Wesdren’s. The Shadow knew that crooks had also been waiting; from now on, they were free to move.
True, they could wait longer; delay might serve their purposes as well as promptness. But The Shadow knew the ways of crookdom. He expected action undelayed.
CHAPTER XV. THREE IN A ROW
MIDWAY on an arc between Wesdren’s and the Union Depot stood the Medallion Apartments, where Craig Jollister lived. The Medallion was a modern building; but it stood in a portion of the Northeast section that was inconvenient to reach except by taxi.
Jollister had chosen the Medallion for two reasons. First, because he liked quiet; second, because he had been offered a month-to-month lease. The Medallion, because of its location, was only half-tenanted.
An old abandoned house stood at one side of the new apartment building. Jollister had taken an apartment on that side; he lived on the third floor; and his wing was practically deserted. Sometimes Jollister used the automatic elevator in the center of the building; on other occasions, he went up by a fire tower that served as direct entrance to the wing in which he resided.
A slight rain shower was beginning as a taxicab pulled up in front of the Medallion Apartments. The taxicab skidded a trifle as it stopped. The driver swerved it from the curb. As he turned about to speak to his passenger, a five-dollar bill fluttered from the window between front seat and back.
“Don’t think I’ve got change, mister,” began the driver. “If you’ve got something smaller—”
He stopped abruptly and gaped through the window. The passenger was gone. As singularly silent as when he had entered the cab, the mysterious rider had effected a disappearance.
The taximan stepped out and looked about. He saw no one going in the gloomy entrance of the apartment building; nor could he discern a single passer on the sidewalk. The man stepped back into his cab, pocketed the money and drove away, mumbling to himself.
A TRIM coupe was parked below the Medallion, directly in front of the deserted house. It was away from street lamps. The young man at the wheel of the parked car was huddled, so that no passers would notice him.
It was this man who gained the next inkling of a mysterious presence. Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow, hunched suddenly as he heard a whispered voice speak through the open window on the street side of the coupe:
“Report.”
The Shadow had approached from darkness; his advent had proven startling, even to the agent who served him. Speaking into the darkness outside the window, Harry whispered:
“Jollister arrived three minutes ago. I saw him go in. The lights just came on in his apartment. Also a report from Marsland. A high-powered touring car is parked in back of the apartment house. Marsland is watching for the lights in Jollister’s. He should he due here—”
Harry broke off as a man stepped from the sidewalk and opened the door on the right side of the coupe.
Cliff Marsland clambered aboard and closed the door behind him.
“Listen. Harry,” he began. “There’s two men in the touring car; they—”
Cliff stopped as Harry nudged him. Then came The Shadow’s whisper; this for the benefit of Cliff:
“Report.”
“Hawkeye and I spotted two men in the touring car,” stated Cliff. “Hawkeye sneaked up and listened in.
One’s Cady, the bell hop that Hawkeye was too late to trail from the Skyview Plaza. The other’s Cooler Caplan, a fellow that Hawkeye used to know.
“They’re going up by the fire tower; whether they’re just allowing a few minutes, or whether they’re waiting for a signal, we don’t know. Hawkeye ducked away so they wouldn’t spot him. But they’ve been watching for Jollister’s light.”
“Instructions.” The Shadow’s whisper was sinister. “Join Hawkeye. Remain clear of the fire tower. Watch for four blinks of Jollister’s light. Then come up by the tower.”
“Instructions received.”
With that acknowledgment, Cliff left the coupe and crept through the rain toward the spot where Hawkeye was awaiting him.
“Instructions.” The Shadow spoke to Harry. “Remain here until further order.”
“Instructions received.”
Watching the front of the apartment house, Harry caught a fleeting glimpse of blackness that moved out of the rain. A tall shape momentarily obscured the gloomy light from the front entrance. Then the manifestation was gone.
UP in his apartment, Craig Jollister was standing by the telephone. He had just completed a call; he picked up some papers from a table and thrust them into an open suitcase. He closed the bag and added it to three others that formed a stack beside the wall.
Jollister had packed everything. He was leaving this apartment for good and the thought seemed to please him, for his sallow features wore a look of contempt as he glanced about the room. Window shades were half drawn. Two lamps alone were lighted. One was on the table near the window; the other was a floor lamp by the door. Jollister glanced at a big watch that he drew from his pocket. The time was half past nine. Reaching out, Jollister clicked the desk lamp and extinguished it.
After peering briefly through the closed window, Jollister paced back and forth across the room. He stopped, facing the window, and stood with head lowered. The door behind him began to open inward, slowly and without sound.
Jollister had a habit of peering upward; it was one which occupied him at the moment. His deep-set eyes blinked suddenly as he saw a reflection in the blackened window. Jollister was observing the slow, inward progress of the opening door.
Nothing else showed in that night-made mirror. No visible form in reflected blackness; simply the door, in its mysterious motion. Jollister stood, watching; then, with a quick swing to action, he whirled about and sprang directly toward the opened doorway.
By the light of the floor lamp, Jollister saw a living personage — a figure cloaked in black. One that stood plain when viewed directly. By catching the reflection of the opening door, Jollister had been warned of The Shadow’s entry.
An upraised arm came from the cloak. As The Shadow’s eyes met Jollister’s, hidden lips hissed fiercely.
Unarmed, The Shadow sought to stop Jollister’s drive through sharp command alone. But The Shadow’s action was too late.
A furious cry spat from Jollister’s livid lips. With a mighty leap, the big-limbed man hurled himself upon the cloaked intruder.
The Shadow wheeled as Jollister’s hands came shooting for his throat. Grappling, the two struck the half-opened door and sent it slamming shut.