SPARK arrived with a sour face. Malfort waved him to a chair. As Spark began apologies, Malfort introduced a silencing pur.
“Details are unnecessary,” voiced the master crook. “I have learned enough from Ku-Nuan and the newspapers. Barthow also reported.”
Spark nodded; then questioned, “What about Ku-Nuan? Is he O.K.?”
“Quite,” replied Malfort. “His mental attitude is the same as yours, Spark. He is anxious to get at The Shadow.”
Spark’s growl told that his urge for vengeance was as genuine as Malfort had supposed.
“I shoved my four gorillas back to the hide-out near the Maribar Hotel,” he told Malfort. “Figured that would be the best place for them. The cops won’t be looking for them around there. They’ll be all set when I show up; and the same if they get a call from Barthow.”
“Good!” approved Malfort. “We shall let them wait for Barthow’s call. Since it is now daylight, Spark, it will be preferable for you to remain here.”
Spark showed agreement. He had pictured trouble with police, if forced to travel to the hide-out. Nevertheless, there was one point that troubled him.
“How’re you going to get back at The Shadow?” queried Spark. “You’ll need me and the outfit, chief. What’s more, The Shadow is wise that we’ve got guys inside the Maribar Hotel.”
“He knew that long ago,” purred Malfort, smoothly. “Our plans, Spark, must be based on the situation as it now stands. We must analyze The Shadow’s viewpoint, as well as our own.”
Malfort picked up a pad on which Wardlock had penciled shorthand notes.
“Our motive,” declared Malfort, “was to intercept those men who came to visit Major Rowden; to eliminate them and acquire their wealth. You handled matters well with Blessingdale and Hessup. The trouble came with Furbish. That was where The Shadow entered.
“The man at the Royal Arms was not George Furbish. He was either The Shadow or a subordinate fighter, posted to meet an attack like the one Ku-Nuan delivered. Barthow saw the real Furbish last night, at the Maribar Hotel.”
“And Furbish made a get-away,” put in Spark, sourly. “You can bet The Shadow slid him somewhere that we’ll never guess.”
“Let us forget Furbish,” advised Malfort. “We have another man to think about. I refer to Lamont Cranston, the substitute purchaser who intends to buy gems originally held for Calhoun Lamport, of Chicago.”
Spark shot an eager query.
“Is Cranston going to buy?” he asked. “Where did you get that dope, chief?”
“From Barthow” answered Malfort. “Cranston called the major late last night. Barthow overheard him say that he would come to the penthouse tonight, with funds to make the purchase.”
“Then we can bag Cranston -”
“Not only Cranston. We shall settle scores with Major Rowden, as well!”
SPARK’S hard eyes showed their admiration for the scheme. Malfort purred the details.
“Since Cranston is the last man,” stated the master crook, “there is no need to intercept him before he reaches Rowden’s. We intended to concentrate upon the major, as soon as the money men were gone. Tonight, it will be a simple matter to eliminate both Cranston and Rowden, when they hold their meeting in the penthouse. I, personally, shall attend to that task.”
Malfort paused to study the fire flame. When he spoke again, his tone was harsh.
“So much for our campaign,” he declared. “We must now consider The Shadow as a factor. Let us assume that he knows everything. He has learned why we murdered Blessingdale and Hessup – to say nothing of Durlew. To show his strength, he arranged Furbish’s visit to Rowden, last night.
“Since he protected Furbish, he will also be on hand to safeguard Cranston. We can not chance an open battle with The Shadow. Therefore, I must see to it that The Shadow can not be present. Unless -”
Malfort stopped suddenly; his eyes revealed a cunning gleam. Spark listened expectantly.
“Unless,” concluded Malfort, “The Shadow and Lamont Cranston prove to be one and the same!”
Spark uttered an exclamation of astonishment. Finding his voice, he warned:
“You’ll have to look out then, chief. If The Shadow is Cranston, he’ll show up in the penthouse.”
“Let him,” retorted Malfort. “The penthouse will be a perfect trap! Better even than the one last night! That snare had a loophole, which Ku-Nuan did not cover. Rowden’s penthouse will have none. All that I shall need is four competent marksmen.”
“You’ve got them, chief. The gorillas at the hide-out. Barthow can smuggle them through when you need them.”
“I am depending upon those four. Cranston will be doomed, whether or not he is The Shadow. For the present, however, we must consider The Shadow independently. Suppose that we should block him completely; take him from the field beforehand. How would that appeal to you, Spark?”
“Sounds like a pipe dream, chief -”
“Perhaps it is,” Malfort paused speculatively. “Yes, it would depend upon luck – and luck is always uncertain. The Shadow had luck last night. Perhaps his fortune is due to change.”
Rising, Malfort paced before the fire, rubbing his hands in front of the flame, chortling softly to himself. His manner changed as he swung toward Spark.
“LAST night,” reminded Malfort, “it was The Shadow who tipped off the police. He wanted it to look like sheer coincidence; but there were too many police, to be there by pure accident. We must remember that The Shadow has one weapon that he can always invoke. That weapon is the law.”
“The cops aren’t wise,” objected Spark. “They don’t know that we were covering the Maribar Hotel.”
“Simply because The Shadow did not choose to tell them,” stated Malfort. “He knows that once the Maribar is attacked, I shall take to final cover with my spoils. Just as I have used Major Rowden as bait for men with money, so has The Shadow kept the situation intact, knowing that I must eventually strike at Rowden.”
“If The Shadow is Cranston, you’ll bag him -”
“But suppose he is not Cranston?”
“Then you’ll slip one past him, chief. He’ll do like he did with Furbish. Send him through and wait for him to come out again, particularly because he’s wise that I can’t show up with an outfit. Only Cranston won’t come out like Furbish did -”
“You are underestimating The Shadow, Spark. He will foresee that I may be planning to eliminate Rowden along with Cranston.”
“He’ll figure the pay-off will come tonight?”
Malfort nodded.
“Yes,” decided the supercrook. “The Shadow will foresee a final conflict in the penthouse. Therefore, I must act to thwart him beforehand. You will aid me, Spark – you and Ku-Nuan. First, though, I shall rely on luck.”
“You’ll be taking a long chance, chief,” expressed Spark, doubtfully. “If it goes haywire – this stunt you’re planning on – it may put you on the spot. It might put The Shadow wise to where you are. It might bring him here – to this house -”
“Possibly.”
Malfort’s smile, reddened by the fire, was the crimson leer of a demon. Spark gazed, speechless. He had seen that gloat before. He knew the results that it brought. Spark’s idea of odds changed suddenly. He was ready to place his wager on Malfort, against The Shadow.
“Go,” ordered Malfort. “Rest until tonight. I shall need you then, with Ku-Nuan.”
Spark arose, his bulldog face as rigid as if under a hypnotic spell. At the door, the lieutenant turned back to gaze again at Malfort. He saw the master plotter against the ruddiness of the fire. Leering features still held their satanic gleam.