One minute of ferocious struggling proved that The Shadow had struck upon a foeman of unusual stubbornness. Laxley’s strength was surprising; he matched every hold that The Shadow used against him. Then came a token that inspired both fighters to harder action. It was a repeated buzz from the microphone.
Fierce gurgles came from Laxley’s throat, evidences that the man had no power of speech, although his hearing must be sound. Wildly, the signalmaster tried to wrench his hands free, so that they might grip The Shadow’s neck. For a moment, The Shadow’s grip relaxed. Laxley twisted away; croaking fiendishly, he bounded in to a new attack.
THE SHADOW’S action was a ruse. Instead of trying to ward off Laxley’s clutch, he jabbed a swift punch between those clawing hands. A tight fist drove against the chin beneath the matted beard. Laxley’s head jounced back; his body flattened inert upon the floor.
The Shadow reached the buzzing microphone and turned the knob. He gave a croak that was a perfect replica of Laxley’s. A suave voice sounded on the wire:
“Four. Have reached the apartment. Call there from One. He will join me later.”
The Shadow acknowledged with a croak and turned back the knob. He picked up the code books and found them marked with names as well as numbers, except for one, which bore the title “Chief.” This was the book that Laxley had used when he flashed The Python. The book contained a dozen codes, each marked with an identifying signal.
The Shadow had caught the idea from Laxley. He started with one code, first announcing it; then paused, in the middle of a word. He gave another identifying signal; then finished the short message with the second code.
Laxley was still slumped when The Shadow had finished flickering the lights. Knowing that microphone buzzes would announce new messages, The Shadow took time out to bind the bearded signalmaster. For this purpose he used a coil of stout insulated wire that he found in Laxley’s table drawer.
No response had come from The Python. Obviously, he had seen no reason to acknowledge the report of Number Four. The Shadow began a quick survey of order sheets on Laxley’s table. The Python, to avoid all mix-ups, had furnished his signalmaster with complete instructions. From these, The Shadow learned that when The Python acknowledged one signal, he would be ready for all others, until he came to the state where he was no longer able to watch the tower.
Much information lay available. The Shadow checked the numbers of the Coilmasters. Duronne was One; Hurdy, Two; Doc, Three; Thurney, Four. Number Five was listed under the name of Gunner. The title led The Shadow to believe that he was the Coilmaster who had commanded the ambushes at the Cambia Hotel.
Each had his own book, with varied codes. There was an extra book — a small one — that bore the figure zero. It had the name of Warthrope upon it. This fellow, apparently, did not yet rate as a Coilmaster.
Looking about the room, The Shadow found a knobless door in one corner. The door had a keyhole; searching the pockets of the groggy Laxley, The Shadow found a bunch of keys. He picked the right one and used it to unlock the corner door. The barrier slid sidewise, to reveal a tiny elevator. A careful examination showed that the unlocking of the door controlled the switch that would bring the elevator up or down.
Returning to the table, The Shadow pressed the knob below the microphone.
He knew that the loud-speaker must be located in the base; that the microphone itself received Laxley’s croak. As The Shadow waited, a woman’s voice came from the device:
“Number please.”
The Shadow had guessed correctly. This mechanism had replaced a telephone of the non-dial type. Outgoing calls could be made upon it; a privilege which Laxley could not abuse, for he had no power of speech. In a quiet tone, The Shadow called Burbank’s number and gained the connection.
Briefly, The Shadow stated his present location; and gave the probable location of the lower entrance to the elevator shaft. Holding Laxley’s key while he spoke, The Shadow ordered Burbank to bring keys H, I, and J of series seventeen. One of these, The Shadow had decided, would prove a close mate of Laxley’s.
One minute after The Shadow ended the call, the signal buzz sounded. Coilmaster Five was reporting. The Shadow gave the necessary croaks; then flashed a message to The Python. This time, a buzz responded. Hissed words came in answer to The Shadow’s perfect semblance of Laxley’s croak.
FOR the next half hour, The Shadow was busy with intermittent calls. Hardly had a new lull begun before a slight rumble from the wall told him that the elevator was descending. A pause; the lift came up again. Burbank had arrived.
The final touch came later, when this high room showed a strange scene. Laxley bound in a corner, with a gag to stop his croaks, was glaring at the back of a man who was seated at his table. That man was Burbank; he was emitting croaks that matched The Shadow’s duplications of Laxley’s guttural tone.
Beyond was The Shadow, his disguised face no longer visible. He had donned cloak and hat, from a bag brought here by Burbank. From his lips came a whispered approval of Burbank’s imitation of Laxley.
Burbank ended his vocal practice to make a final study of the code books and the orders. He nodded to signify that he was ready for lone duty.
The Shadow swept across the room and reached the elevator shaft. He entered; as he closed the door, he delivered a whispered, parting laugh. That tone gave final confidence to Burbank; it brought a glower from Laxley as the prisoner writhed helplessly in his bonds.
The Shadow, replacing Laxley, had gained many inklings of The Python’s coming moves. Burbank, substituting for The Shadow, had full benefit of that knowledge and would learn more. Meanwhile, The Shadow’s quest lay elsewhere.
CHAPTER XXII
MOVES BY NIGHT
“NINE-FIFTEEN, inspector. Time you were leaving, isn’t it?”
“I’m waiting for a call from the commissioner, Markham. He’s going to tell me where to meet him.”
“There’s the telephone bell now.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I hear it.”
Joe Cardona swung about at his desk. He picked up the telephone and spoke promptly.
“Detective headquarters. Acting Inspector Cardona speaking… Oh, yes… Hello, commissioner. You’re ready for me to start? What’s that?…”
Looking from the other side of the desk, Detective Sergeant Markham saw a rigid expression grip the usually steady features of Joe Cardona. The acting inspector’s eyes took on a bulging stare.
Markham saw Joe try to speak and falter. For the moment, it seemed as if Cardona were due for an epileptic stroke. Markham gazed astounded; he had never seen Joe exhibit such symptoms before.
Then the spasm ended. Though still tense, Cardona managed to control himself and regain his voice. In a hoarse tone, Joe stated:
“Yes, commissioner… Go ahead… I’m waiting for instructions…”
After that, Cardona listened. He was hearing a weird voice, a sinister whisper that had supplanted Weston’s precise tones. That was why Cardona had stared and faltered. He knew that whisper for the voice of The Shadow. The mysterious caller had first given a perfect imitation of the police commissioner’s voice; then, with Cardona’s attention captured, The Shadow had swung to his own inimitable tones.
“Yes… Yes…” With intervals between his affirmatives, Joe Cardona was punctuating The Shadow’s statements. “I understand… Yes… My cooperation? Absolutely… But if I am questioned later… Yes, that’s right. I won’t need to explain anything… Yes…”
A click had ended the call. Cardona sat holding the receiver to his ear. Staring across the desk, he saw Markham still watching him. Joe managed a smile and added: