He reached his goal just as footsteps pounded downward from the eighth-floor level. The Python’s men had reached their upper windows to view the scene below. They were coming to halt the fugitive. A vicious pair of leaders had arrived with ready guns; but they found more than a mere traveler from danger.
THE SHADOW swung as his adversaries aimed. His heavy guns tongued instant flame. Each .45 boomed a message, a warning to others of The Python’s horde. Snarling foemen toppled; one sprawled upon a landing, the other pitched forward and somersaulted almost to The Shadow’s feet.
With the echoes of the automatics came a weird defiant laugh, The Shadow’s challenge to all comers. Again, his guns delivered blasts as uncautious enemies appeared upon the stairs.
One thug dived back to cover; another emitted a howl as a slug clipped his shoulder. Pursuers halted, The Shadow continued his passage down from the seventh floor.
More opposition came when he reached the lobby. Word had been telephoned below. The clerk and two elevator men were ready with their revolvers. They, too, were hirelings of The Python.
But they showed poor judgment in being away from cover. Aiming as they saw the figure of Louis Revoort, they were met by a strident laugh, its crescendo punctuated with roaring stabs from huge automatics. One fake elevator man floundered; then the other. The clerk cleared the desk, with a headlong dive. A clipping shot winged him in mid-air.
With smoking automatics, The Shadow swept unhindered to the street. He heard distant shouts; indications that the gunfire had alarmed the neighborhood. The Shadow had no time to linger. He was on his way to other missions. Word to Harry to join Cliff; word to Cliff to take Revoort and the treasure clear away from Cranston’s.
No trails must remain for The Python, supercrook, who still remained at large. Though The Shadow and the law had thinned the ranks of The Python’s henchmen, the supercrook still had hordes upon which he could call.
Counterstrokes would be forthcoming. The Shadow’s course was to nip them early. Balked, The Python would be forced to the defensive. Then could The Shadow seek The Python’s lair.
CHAPTER XX
CRIME’S SEQUENCE
TWENTY minutes after The Shadow’s departure from the Cambia Hotel, Joe Cardona arrived at that bullet-riddled establishment. Reports of a new conflict had brought the ace detective from his hunt for Carl Ramorez. Joe had come to learn of this later conflict; and he had brought Clyde Burke along.
A square-faced patrolman gave Joe a brief report; and in it were facts that pleased the acting inspector. The bluecoat had arrived promptly on the scene; he had found the moaning hotel clerk and had made him talk before the ambulance had come.
“He blabbed,” asserted the officer. “Told what he knew, inspector, although it wasn’t much. He said he was working for a fellow called The Python.”
“The Python!” Cardona swung to Clyde. “Say — remember what Markham just told us? About that fellow we plugged at the Legrand? The one called Tony? Just before he cashed in, he mumbled that same name — The Python.
“There’s a big-shot in back of this business, Burke. A big-shot called The Python. He was the one who pulled that funny business down at the new East River tunnel, too. How do I know? Because that fellow Tony was one of the bunch that tied up the watchmen there. He fits the description; we’ve been looking for him.
“What’s more, Burke, it fits in with this dirty work on board the Tropical. There was a torch in back of that blaze; and like as not he was working for The Python. And when we add it all up, we’ve got more. Those jewel robberies that left us groggy; we figured they were all staged by one big brain.
“The Python. That’s the name the big-shot goes under, so far as his crew is concerned. But we know more about him, maybe, than they do. We know who he is. Carl Ramorez.”
That decision rendered, Cardona finished a brief inspection and left the Cambia Hotel with Clyde in his wake. They entered a police car; Cardona instructed the driver to take them to the Balboa Apartments. While they rode, Joe talked.
“The Balboa Apartments,” he stated, “are only about three blocks from the Bragelonne. So here’s the way I figure it. Ramorez was on the watch of Jurrice. He saw him go out; so he went up there to Jurrice’s room. As luck had it, Jurrice came back. Ramorez strangled him.
“Then he went out to look for Revoort. He was waiting for him when we walked in. It was a nice surprise for Senor Ramorez; but he made a getaway. Anyhow, he didn’t find a chance to strangle Revoort.
“You know, Burke, I’ve got an idea why this crook calls himself The Python. That’s a big snake — a python — that can strangle anything up to the size of a tiger. Say — he’s got crust, this fellow, calling himself The Python!”
FIVE minutes later they arrived at the Balboa Apartments. When they had alighted, Clyde pointed to the nearest corner, where large, darkened windows indicated a drug store that had probably closed at midnight.
“That’s the place where Jurrice went in to telephone,” exclaimed. Clyde. “Say, that’s odd, isn’t it? Jurrice stopping off here so close to Ramorez’s apartment. There were other funny things about Jurrice. His keys, for instance: it seems he asked for one while he was carrying another—”
“Forget Jurrice,” interposed Cardona. “We’re going to take a look in on Ramorez’s apartment. I’ve got a man here; but he’s been waiting until I showed up. Well, look who’s here” — Joe paused as they were entering a quietly furnished lobby — “What are you doing up here, doctor?”
The man whom Cardona addressed was the police surgeon who had been on the Jurrice case. The doctor was rather testy when he answered Joe.
“I’ve been waiting at the Hotel Bragelonne,” he declared. “Expecting you to come back there. You walked out in such a hurry, I didn’t have time to check up my report.”
“I thought you had finished, doctor,” said Cardona.
“I had, practically,” quibbled the surgeon, “but how did I know that you were through with me? I called headquarters; they told me I could find you here.”
“Well, here I am. Sorry, doctor, to have kept you waiting. Come along with us while I look over an apartment. You can check up the Jurrice report while we’re there.”
Stepping from an automatic elevator on the third floor, Cardona and his companions found a detective waiting for them. The fellow produced a key that he had obtained from the janitor.
“Been here about fifteen minutes,” informed the dick. “This is Ramorez’s apartment — 3 H — but I haven’t gone into it yet. Haven’t seen anyone around.”
Joe took the key and unlocked the door. He stepped into a room that was pitch-black, because of lowered shades. Fumbling, Cardona found the light switch and pressed it. He looked about a tidy living room; then gazed suddenly toward the floor by an opened door.
“Look — look there!” exclaimed Cardona. “See it — that hand on the floor?”
DRAWING a revolver, Cardona bounded forward to the doorway, where only a human hand was visible, projecting from the next room. The light showed a sprawled body, when Cardona reached the edge of the doorway. A head was turned face down. Cardona stooped and tilted the face into the light.
“It’s Ramorez!” exclaimed the ace. “Carl Ramorez! Dead!”
“Strangled like Jurrice,” decided the police surgeon, methodically. “Hm-m-m. Step back, please, while I examine the body. Unless you want to go in and search the other room.”
“We’ll search the whole place,” affirmed Cardona.
They made the search while the doctor was examining the body of Ramorez. Finding no one, they returned and looked at the body. Cardona brought out his watch, noted the time and spoke to Clyde.