THE purring tone was convincing. So much so, that it threw Cardona on guard. Joe was a veteran sleuth; he could recognize when a game was being overplayed.
He glanced toward Clyde Burke, who had come in with the raiders. The reporter shook his head; indicating his own disbelief in the story. That settled Cardona’s decision.
“Sorry, Mr. Ramorez,” he told The Python. “You’ll have to come along with us to headquarters and stay there until your friend Revoort is located.
“You stick here, Markham, with half the squad. If Revoort comes in, grab him. Get anybody else who may breeze in. I’ll call you from headquarters.”
Though Cardona had doubted The Python’s story, he did not think this one man could prove formidable. There was a mildness in the bearing of Carl Ramorez, that indicated he would not make trouble.
Cardona frisked the prisoner, but found no gun on him. The Python retained his smile. He had reasons for not needing weapons.
Pocketing his own revolver, Joe gripped The Python’s arm and urged him through the doorway. They started for the elevator, followed by two plain-clothes men. A second pair had remained with Markham. Clyde Burke was following the group as they went toward the elevator.
“I’ll keep the bracelets off you,” Cardona told The Python. “But remember, there’s three of us. Don’t try to give us the slip, or you’ll regret it.”
“Ah, senor!” The Python was smiling as Cardona pressed the elevator button. “It is not my part to make trouble. I have told you truth; I am only too glad to go with you to headquarters. I hope only that my friend Revoort has done nothing wrong.”
The elevator door was opening. Cardona felt an elbow slide from his grip. He swung about; as he did, he heard a fierce hiss. Joe’s eyes saw the face of Carl Ramorez, distorted into a fiendish scowl. That loud, startling hiss was coming from The Python’s lips.
JOE shot a hand to his pocket for his gun. As he did, The Python launched a swift, wide-swinging punch. The blow caught the side of Cardona’s face; it came just as the elevator door slid wide. The ace staggered sidewise and sprawled into the elevator. Women passengers screamed as Cardona landed on the floor, among them.
The Python’s venomous hiss had never halted. He was springing away, while Clyde Burke sought to stop him. The Python hurled the reporter aside and dashed toward a side corridor that led to a fire tower.
Cardona’s men yanked their revolvers and started in pursuit; close after them came Joe, recovered from his sprawl.
As they reached the corridor, shots broke loose. Bullets ricocheted from the walls. One detective staggered, clipped by a glancing slug. The Python had reached the fire tower; it was from there that guns were blazing. Men were loping forward. They had heard The Python’s call!
Grabbing the one man who remained with him, Cardona began a retreat, firing as he retired. Shouts issued from The Python’s crew; those henchmen dashed forward in pursuit. Backed past the corner, Cardona halted. Markham and two dicks had arrived; Joe signalled for the charge.
They swung suddenly into the side corridor, their revolvers snorting fire. Crooks returned the volley, then broke and scurried back toward the fire tower. Five in number, they had charged too far. Surprised by Cardona’s counter-charge, the thugs were no longer a match for a band of equal size.
Two crooks sprawled, dropped by the police fire. The others kept on, down the fire tower, with the detectives in hot pursuit. It was a running fight, with revolvers echoing down flights of gloomy steps. The retreat of The Python’s troop became a rout.
Reaching the ground pellmell, the surviving trio dashed for a sedan that was parked behind the hotel. A bluecoat came running up to halt them; but as he neared the front of the car, a stooped figure sprang forward and sprawled him in the alleyway. It was The Python, here ahead of his fighters.
Grabbing the officer’s gun, the disguised supercrook delivered a vicious barrage toward the bottom of the fire tower. The quick shots stopped Cardona and his fellow pursuers long enough for The Python’s henchmen to gain the car.
The sedan jolted forward; The Python leaped aboard, beside the driver. Cardona came from the fire tower, to deliver belated shots. The car was whizzing off to safety when Joe fired.
FIVE minutes later, sirens whined to the ears of those in the fleeing sedan. The man at the wheel was Doc, the Coilmaster; he was speaking tensely to The Python.
“They got Chuck and Tony, chief,” informed Doc. “That only leaves me, Bevo and Butch. We’d better ditch this car; I’ll let them scram and I’ll go my own way. Where’ll you drop off?”
“At the nearest elevated,” returned The Python, still using the voice of Ramorez. “I shall soon be where I can abolish my present disguise; but it will not be wise for me to tarry on the way.
“I shall let you report to Laxley at the signal tower. Tell him that I was with you. Order him to pass the word to Coilmaster Five. Do that promptly: Laxley will understand.”
The sedan jammed to a stop. The Python alighted; with long strides, he made for the steps of an elevated line. Doc watched the figure of his chief; he knew that The Python was again disguised. Doc had seen The Python in the guise of an old man; this time, he was viewing him as Ramorez. Never, however, had he viewed The Python’s true visage. That, at least, was Doc’s belief.
Doc had come to the Legrand with his men, to be ready for the removal of the swag. He had answered that call that The Shadow had seen the blue lights issue. Treasure had not been gained; but Doc had effected The Python’s rescue from the hands of the law.
Starting the sedan forward, Doc followed the elevated for two more blocks; then veered right, into a side street. Sirens were closer; but Doc gained the obscurity of a small, deserted parking place. He ordered Bevo and Butch to scram. As they piled from the rear seat and chose one direction, Doc took the other.
His own appearance presentable, Doc felt no qualms when he reached a corner by the elevated. He entered a small drug store, went to a telephone booth and dialed the same number that Albert Thurney had called that afternoon. In response to a croaking answer, Doc told briefly of The Python’s flight; then added:
“Pass the word to Five.”
Little did Doc realize the importance of that message; for he did not know that The Python had been tricked. It was The Python, alone, who had guessed the true details of The Shadow’s ruse, after the law had struck.
Coilmaster Five was the one in charge at the old Cambia Hotel, where The Shadow still remained within The Python’s trap. That order to Laxley, the signalmaster, was The Python’s death warrant for The Shadow!
CHAPTER XIX
ORDERS FOR MURDER
No sounds of wailing sirens had reached the eighth-floor room of the old Cambia Hotel. That spot was too far east of the paths that police cars had taken in chase of the fleeing Python. Silence persisted in the trap that held The Shadow.
During the time since The Python’s departure, The Shadow had persisted in his part of Louis Revoort. Any impatience that he had exhibited was of a natural sort. Louis Revoort, anxious for Carl Ramorez to return, would have logically paced about the room. Hence The Shadow, at intervals, began a nervous pace within the confining walls.
Glimpses of the closet door had shown him that its free edge was in his direction. The door was not quite shut; a proof that eyes were watching. It would take but a moment for revolvers to bristle through a widening space. The closet was large — overlarge — and could comfortably contain three men.
As for the door into the next room, that, too, was ready to swing open. Any number of The Python’s tribesmen could be located behind it. When The Shadow strolled half way between the main door and the window, he was directly between the swinging edges of the barriers that hid The Python’s minions.