MAJOR ROWDEN had expected something startling from Cranston’s visit. He realized that the surprise had come. He immediately played the proper part, even though he did not suspect that the supposed Helmedge was Kenneth Malfort.
“Excellent. Mr. Cranston,” commended Rowden. Then, shrewdly: “You will value the gold according to the face value of the coin?”
“Certainly,” replied The Shadow. “After all, I shall gain its former worth. You can have it melted in China, major. As gold bullion, it will naturally be worth much more, under the new gold standard.”
Rowden seemed pleased. So did Malfort, although he restricted his satisfied expression to a slight gleam of his eyes. Idly puffing his cigarette, The Shadow saw that the scheme was working. He was playing upon Malfort’s insatiable desire for every bit of wealth that could be captured. The master crook was secretly gloating at the thought of gaining gold.
All the while, The Shadow was looking for a snare. He was sure that matters would rest safely until the armored truck arrived. Malfort would want to see the gold; then his trap would spring. Malfort must have henchmen ready.
Where were they located?
The Shadow’s mental question remained unanswered while Major Rowden was opening the corner cabinet that contained the jewels. He brought out the flat box with its supply of gems. Malfort, like The Shadow, saw Rowden’s stacks of silver dollars. On top of the coins were stacks of currency: the money that Furbish had left in place of jewels.
Rowden displayed the gems on a taboret. Pretending to examine them, The Shadow still kept searching for the trap. He saw the hallway curtains, leading to the interior of the apartment. They would not do. Peju went through that hallway frequently. The Siamese would discover any lurkers.
Attack from the elevators could not be timed. Nor would Malfort rely upon outside men to smash the windows and fire through the bars. Knowing the cunning of the master crook, The Shadow was positive that the danger lay actually within the penthouse.
The telephone rang. Major Rowden answered it. His tone was careful; he knew that spies would be on the wire.
“A coffer?” queried Rowden. “From an armored truck… Yes, we expect it… What is that?… I see…Yes, I shall have Mr. Cranston send down a written order…”
Hanging up, Rowden turned to The Shadow, who nodded quietly and produced a slip of paper from his pocket. He produced a fountain pen and tried to write with it. No ink appeared.
“You have a pen?”
Rowden nodded. He called Peju, who brought pen and ink.
The Shadow wrote a few lines; signed the name of Lamont Cranston. He let Malfort see what he had written. It was a simple order for delivery of the chest. The master crook never guessed that The Shadow had written other words.
The Shadow’s own pen contained a colorless fluid, that had dried almost instantly. The simple passage of a match would bring out the first scratches that he had made with his supposedly empty pen. Coded words would show instructions to The Shadow’s agents. Harry Vincent had by this time contacted the men who had brought the armored car.
THE SHADOW’S notations were a swift call for action. He was ready for emergency; for he had guessed the only lurking spot where Malfort’s men could be. That was behind the big tapestry that covered the far wall.
Previously, The Shadow had sounded that wall, to find it solid. Nevertheless, he knew that Malfort had prepared this penthouse as a trap. That solid wall must be mechanical; there could be no other answer. Without Major Rowden’s knowledge, the wall had been lowered to the floor below, in elevator fashion. The remnants of Spark Ganza’s thuggish crew were behind the tapestry ready with leveled guns.
All this was theory; yet The Shadow regarded it as a certainty. He watched for proof as Peju walked from the living room, to ring for an elevator and send down the order that carried the signature of Lamont Cranston. As the Siamese passed the tapestry, the great cloth wavered when his shoulder brushed it. Peju did not notice the occurrence. The Shadow did.
The motion of the tapestry told him that he had divined the truth. He understood Malfort’s confidence that crime would succeed. One rasped command – guns would bark, to down The Shadow and Major Rowden. Peju would simply be another victim.
One false move – those guns would burst without command. If The Shadow chose to draw an automatic, he would lose the fray. He could not spray four marksmen with pot shots at the tapestry, in time to prevent their fire. The cloth was thin enough for them to see every one within the room. Yet the silver dragons and their darker background hid the men beyond.
Calmly, The Shadow finished his cigarette. Tight though the mesh was drawn, he was still secure. Like Rowden and Peju, he was protected by Malfort’s avarice. The money-mad schemer wanted gold. He would wait until it reached the penthouse, where it could be captured at a single stroke, along with Rowden’s gems and the currency left by Furbish. The stacks of silver dollars were small change to Malfort.
More than that, the master crook was confident. The appearance of Lamont Cranston had given him new surety. He thought that he held Henry Arnaud prisoner; even Malfort’s scheming brain could not grasp the idea that Arnaud and Cranston were one. All that Malfort did guess correctly was that either Arnaud or Cranston must be The Shadow. Thinking that both were helpless, Malfort did not care which of the two happened to be his master foe.
AN elevator door had closed while Peju waited in the little anteroom. The written order had gone downstairs. Again, a door clattered; the men in the living room heard Peju directing arrivals to carry a burden from the elevator.
The Shadow arose, to meet four men who were lugging a small, heavy chest. Two of the carriers were uniformed men from the armored truck; the others were employees of the hotel.
The Shadow pointed to a low, wide Oriental bench that stood directly in front of the silver dragon tapestry. The men placed the chest upon the bench; then went back to the elevator. The door clanged shut.
The Shadow glanced indifferently toward Malfort; he saw a gleam of evil eyes. Those optics were the only part of his visage that the master crook could not disguise. The satanic flash told that the plotter foresaw triumph.
Malfort’s moment of final crime would come when he gave the word.
CHAPTER XXI – THE LAST STROKE
“I SHALL show you the gold.”
Speaking calmly, The Shadow stepped toward the chest. Major Rowden approached, with Peju beside him. So did Malfort. The disguised crook darted a quick look toward the tapestry. Malfort was pleased because The Shadow had placed the chest so close to the silver dragon cloth. Marksmen could riddle their victims at short range.
The Shadow unclamped the lid of the chest and raised it on its hinges. Black cloth was spread beneath the cover; The Shadow pulled it carelessly aside to reveal a smaller, inside coffer that almost filled the chest. The cloth had prevented the inner box from jarring.
The inner coffer was made of solid steel. Centered upon its lid were five dials, that formed a graduated series of circles. These were marked with the letters of the alphabet; an arrow pointed from the center, to indicate one row.
“An unbreakable lock,” remarked The Shadow, in the deliberate tone of Cranston. “The combination, of course, depends upon a special word of five letters. It took me a long while to decide upon a suitable word that could be easily remembered.
“I finally chose a word that seemed appropriate, because it was one that a thief would naturally ignore. The word that opens this coffer is -”