The Shadow turned, to head back for the side on which his own room was located. He was ready for the descent to his room on the fourteenth floor. To cover his course, he circled toward the water tower, to merge with its long shadow that stretched across the roof and past the penthouse. For one brief stretch, The Shadow was visible in the city’s glow. It was that fact that made him pause as he reached the covering darkness below the water tower.
Instinctively, The Shadow looked toward the one place that offered nearest danger; namely, the roof of the warehouse across the narrow street. The Shadow was just below the level of the concrete rail that adorned the top of the warehouse.
The Shadow’s instinctive precaution was all that saved his life. A grotesque figure had risen above the concrete rail. As The Shadow saw it, he noted a spidery arm driving downward to hurl some object with terrific speed.
Instantly, The Shadow whirled about, to gain protection as well as cover. He was beside a post of the water tower. His twist brought him just beyond that thickset pillar.
A whirling blade drove point foremost into the wooden post. The air whistled in echo; the knife quivered, buried almost to the hilt. The spider-armed creature on the warehouse roof plopped below the solid concrete rail before The Shadow could draw an automatic.
The would-be assassin was Ku-Nuan. The Shadow had foiled the Mongol killer’s thrust. At forty feet, Ku-Nuan could find a target with a knife as accurately as a sharpshooter with a gun. All that the blade lacked was a bullet’s speed. In a split-second, The Shadow had been able to choose the post as refuge before the straight-aimed blade arrived.
Ku-Nuan had made his thrust; he had taken to flight, unready to face The Shadow’s guns. The Mongol would spread the alarm; there was time, however, for The Shadow to make his departure. He wanted no forced battle with thugs tonight. Combat would not fit with his coming plans.
REACHING the side edge of the roof, The Shadow swung over the cornice. Swaying back and forth, he brought his feet in to the wall and gained a toehold above a window. The cornice offered inner projections beneath it. Gripping them, The Shadow worked his way down to the twentieth story ledge. Sidling along, he found an unlocked window.
Out through a corridor, down a stairway, The Shadow gained the fourteenth floor with speed. Whisking off his cloak and hat, he spread the garments over his arm. He did not return to his room; the empty suitcase that he had left there was of no use. His cloak and hat masked to look like ordinary garments, The Shadow rang for an elevator.
Riding down to the lobby, The Shadow strolled from the hotel. There was no sign of commotion; no excitement on the street. The Shadow had departed, almost unnoticed, before Ku-Nuan had gained opportunity to get word to Malfort. Stepping aboard a taxicab, The Shadow rode from the district that was infested by the master crook’s thugs.
The Shadow stopped at a telegraph office. There, he sent a wire to Calhoun Lamport in Chicago, signing the name of Major Rowden. That done, The Shadow boarded another taxi that had a sleepy driver slouched behind the wheel. In quiet tones, he ordered the man to take him to the Cobalt Club.
As the cab wheeled along, The Shadow dug finger tips deep into his disguised face. Puttylike make-up came away. The Shadow’s visage took on a more hawkish aspect. Special touches were needed. The Shadow applied them in the darkness; for his fingers were accustomed to the task.
When the cab reached the Cobalt Club, The Shadow stepped forth and nodded to the doorman. The fellow bowed and said:
“Good evening, Mr. Cranston.”
A slight smile fixed itself upon The Shadow’s newly disguised lips. His next move was to wait until he received Major Rowden’s call.
CHAPTER IX – THE COUNTERPLOT
THOUGH Ku-Nuan’s speeding knife had missed The Shadow, that thrust from the dark foreboded other trouble. It proved that Ku-Nuan had learned a fact which The Shadow had sought to conceal; namely; that The Shadow had attempted contact with Major Rowden.
Ku-Nuan had not been sure of The Shadow’s identity at the Royal Arms; but it was certain that, this time, the Mongol would carry positive word to Malfort. Ku-Nuan had recognized that the cloaked prowler on the roof of the Maribar Hotel must be The Shadow. That fact would reach Kenneth Malfort.
Nevertheless, The Shadow had proceeded with his plans. He had sent the wire to Calhoun Lamport. Shortly after eleven o’clock, The Shadow – as Lamont Cranston – received a telephone call at the Cobalt Club. Across the wire, he conversed with Major Rowden, using a quiet, even-toned voice that the Englishman did not recognize. As Cranston, The Shadow heard Rowden’s offer of Chinese gems. He promised to consider a purchase. That done, The Shadow promptly left the Cobalt Club.
The aftermath to these episodes occurred at Malfort’s not long after midnight. Ensconced in his sumptuous living room, the master plotter held conference with a trio of others: Ku-Nuan, Spark Ganza, and the moon-faced secretary, Wardlock.
“Take notes of these reports, Wardlock,” purred Malfort. “Ku-Nuan observed The Shadow near Rowden’s penthouse. Barthow reports from the Maribar that a guest named Henry Arnaud has left. Barthow also reports a telephone conversation between Rowden and a man named Cranston.”
A pause, while Wardlock made the notes in shorthand; then Malfort added:
“Lamport is no longer interested in the gems. Rowden wants Cranston to become a purchaser.”
While Malfort paused again, Spark Ganza inserted a growled remark. “Take it from me, chief,” volunteered the lieutenant, “this mug Arnaud is the same guy who called himself Furbish up at the Royal Arms. Barthow lamped him pretty close when he registered. But it didn’t mean anything to Barthow right then; he wasn’t checking on anybody except Rowden.”
“I have Barthow’s report,” returned Malfort, testily. “I have already formed my conclusion, Spark. It is the same as the one that you have offered.”
“I figure something more, chief. This Arnaud bird was The Shadow!”
“Perhaps,” remarked Malfort. “We must not be too sure upon that point, however. The Shadow has agents, Spark; and they are competent ones. He may have had another man pose as Furbish; then as Arnaud. Remember The Shadow has many purposes; moreover, he chooses often to keep his own activities hidden.”
MALFORT reached for Wardlock’s pad. He studied the secretary’s notations; then gazed toward the firelight. Evil eyes shone; a satanic smile besmeared itself upon Malfort’s countenance. Spark copied his chief’s leer, while Ku-Nuan delivered a hissed snarl.
“The Shadow did not contact Major Rowden,” purred Malfort, studying the firelight as though to find the answer from the flames. “Ku-Nuan was posted long before. He saw The Shadow only once. We may assume, therefore, that The Shadow was seeking entry to the penthouse when Ku-Nuan spied him.”
Despite his confidence, Malfort had begun with a mistaken statement. The error was to have its effect upon his coming campaign.
“Our position is the same as before,” continued Malfort. “We must watch for George Furbish. Keep men posted near the Royal Arms, in case he comes there. Meanwhile, Spark, make your own headquarters near the Maribar Hotel, as you did tonight. Whether Furbish arrives at the Royal Arms or not, he will eventually visit the Maribar. We shall allow him to call on Major Rowden.”
Spark delivered a surprise grunt. Malfort turned and fixed his cold eyes upon his lieutenant.
“We shall permit Furbish to buy his gems and depart with them.”
Spark stared incredulously. Malfort’s smile showed a depth of shrewdness. “Does it matter whether Furbish carries cash or jewels?” queried the supercrook. “Particularly when the money that he brings will be left with Rowden, instead of the jewels that Furbish takes away?”