THERE was another door at the back of the room. Near it, in a corner, The Shadow saw a heavy steel safe of obsolete pattern. Helmedge beckoned; they approached the safe. There, with his saggy shoulders forward, the old man clapped his hand against the safe.
“Old, perhaps,” clucked Helmedge, “but this safe has seen long service. It is where the jewels will be some day. A bargain, those jewels! I have waited long for them, Mr. Arnaud! Tell me” – his voice rose angrily – “why does Major Rowden refuse to sell me the gems?”
“He does not refuse,” replied The Shadow, quietly. “He merely wishes to postpone the transaction. He feels that it would be dangerous to sell the jewels here in New York.”
“Dangerous to himself?”
“Yes. He would like to have you go to Boston; to await him there with the money.”
Helmedge’s lips twisted scornfully.
“I go to Boston?” he queried. “Because of danger to Major Rowden?”
“Danger may threaten you, as well.”
“Danger threaten me?”
Helmedge’s head tilted back. A dry laugh came from his throat. He seemed to relish The Shadow’s statement as a huge jest. Choking with cackled merriment, he wagged a finger at his visitor; then managed to utter loud words:
“Danger threaten me! Why should I be in danger? Look! For forty years this safe – with all my wealth -”
Laughing more heartily than before, Helmedge gripped the door of the safe and pulled it open, to show that it was unlocked. Within the safe were stacks of bundled currency. The Shadow saw crisp bank notes: bills of a thousand-dollar denomination. Stooping, Helmedge lifted bundles of cash and spread the notes to show their value.
“Who would come here to rob me?” he guffawed. “Me – a poor old recluse, who never even paints his front door! Too poor to have electricity, or a telephone! Just a miserable old man, barely able to keep one servant in the house!
“Bah! I never trouble to lock this safe. Why should I? Who would bother to look for it? There are thieves in this world, yes, but they pick persons who have visible wealth; not an old man, who they think has nothing.
“Major Rowden may be in danger, yes. He is a man who has gone where there is danger; hence danger may have followed him. You, too, may be a man in danger, Mr. Arnaud. Yes” – pausing, Helmedge straightened; clutching his stack of money in his left hand, he pointed straight with his right. “Yes, you are in danger! Great danger, Mr. Arnaud!”
The last phrase was almost a shout. The Shadow wheeled instinctively; even as he turned, he knew that he was too late. For an instant, The Shadow paused for a spring; then subsided, letting his hands come upward.
MEN had entered from both doors. One was a moon-faced man, with silent tread. He was Wardlock. Malfort’s soft-footed secretary, carrying a leveled revolver. The Shadow had never seen Wardlock before; hence he did not recognize the man. But he knew the fiend that had bobbed in from the other door. That arrival was Ku-Nuan, his right hand raised, gripping a gleaming knife. The Mongol’s arm was ready for a quick swing that would send the blade with arrow speed. The tension of his wrist showed his impatience for the throw.
Another man swung into view – one who had waited while his sneaky companions had made their surprise entry. The third intruder was Spark Ganza – a grin above his bulldog chin, a gun below the level of his glaring, bulgy eyes.
The Shadow was trapped by a murderous trio. A purred laugh from behind him was indication that a fourth party enjoyed the scene. Half turning, The Shadow looked toward the safe. He saw the face of Tobias Helmedge no longer.
The old man had shed his age. From his head he had ripped his shocky wig. A streaky line that edged his own dark hair proved that the brownish tinge to his face was nothing more than artificial stain.
Facial muscles had relaxed. Instead of a contorted face, The Shadow saw a craggy countenance – well-formed, but malicious in its natural expression. Straight lips were as evil as if they had formed a leer. The man was laughing from those lips.
The Shadow needed no introduction to this satanic foe who held him helpless.
He knew his captor to be Kenneth Malfort.
CHAPTER XVII – A CROOK PLAYS SAFE
MALFORT had drawn a revolver of his own. He was taking no chances with The Shadow. He nudged the weapon forward, a dangerous glare in his eyes. The Shadow raised his arms higher.
“Search him!”
Malfort purred the order to Wardlock. The secretary started to pocket his gun. Spark Ganza reached forward and took it from him. Spark, too, was wary. He was afraid that the prisoner would snatch the weapon from Wardlock’s pocket.
Wardlock frisked The Shadow. He turned to Malfort and gave a puzzled shrug.
“No gun on him,” stated Wardlock. “Maybe -”
The secretary paused; but The Shadow understood. It was puzzling to find The Shadow gunless, even though his mission here had been a peaceful one. Perhaps crooks should have known from The Shadow’s failure to resist that he was weaponless; nevertheless, the situation went against what they had expected.
Even Malfort showed doubt. That fact pleased The Shadow. He knew that bluff would be his only course. He had gained a good start.
“Bind him!” ordered Malfort. “You, Wardlock; and Ku-Nuan.”
Reluctantly, Ku-Nuan put his knife away. He and Wardlock went for ropes. They returned and thrust The Shadow to the couch. There, they began to tie his wrists behind him. For a moment, The Shadow offered resistance; but curbed it quickly. The knots tightened into a double binding.
Wardlock added other knots, while Ku-Nuan held a rope ready. The secretary took the rope; stepped toward The Shadow’s feet, while Ku-Nuan set his teeth into the knots that bound The Shadow’s wrists. The Mongol had his own method of adding to the tightness of the bonds.
The Shadow rolled as Wardlock wrapped the rope about his ankles. His feet crossed; the secretary tied them as they were. Ku-Nuan arrived to bite the knots and tug them. The two henchmen rolled The Shadow on his back.
Approaching, the master crook faced The Shadow. He eyed the visage of Arnaud; then spoke to Ku-Nuan.
“This was the man?” queried Malfort. “The one who fought with you at the Royal Arms?”
Ku-Nuan nodded promptly.
“And on the roof of the Maribar Hotel?” questioned Malfort. “And at the trap last night?”
Ku-Nuan stared but made no immediate remark.
“Take a good gander at him,” put in Spark. “We want to know whether this mug is The Shadow, or some stooge. Look him over right, Ku-Nuan.”
THE Mongol shook his head as he turned to Malfort. The gesture indicated that he could not positively identify the prisoner as The Shadow.
Malfort showed an ugly grimace. He stepped toward The Shadow.
“There is no need to make you talk,” sneered Malfort. “That would prove nothing within the short time that I have to question you. Whoever you are – whether The Shadow or some one who serves him – you have worked against me. Therefore, you shall pay the penalty!
“You came here, thinking to find Tobias Helmedge. It may interest you to know that he is dead – slain weeks ago, before either Blessingdale or Hessup. I had been informed of Helmedge, through my correspondents in China.”
Pausing, Malfort gestured upward with his thumb.
“Helmedge had dismissed his old servant,” he stated, “in order to live more cheaply. For years, he had kept the second floor closed off, as a form of economy. After Helmedge died” – Malfort’s tone showed irony – “I became his heir. I occupied the second floor and modernized it. We enter it by the back door.