The Shadow, amazing as a specter, stood within the confines of the stonewalled room. His black cloak drawn close about him; his features hidden by the brim of the slouch hat, the master of mystery was alone.
This room had resounded with Socks Mallory’s gleeful chuckles. It was due to reverberate with a more sinister sound. Weirdly, the laugh of The Shadow cast its eerie whisper among the echoing walls.
The tall figure moved toward the desk. The Shadow made no effort to push the object aside. The millions were safe. He had no need to touch them now.
His gloved hand picked up the telephone. The same hand replaced it. The desk drawer opened at The Shadow’s touch. Out came the folded map of Manhattan which Socks Mallory had consulted on the previous night.
With it were other papers. The Shadow spread them before him. They were the plans which Carlton Carmody had brought into the consultation room. The Shadow noted the splotches of red drawing ink which the architect had applied to certain spots.
The plans went back into the drawer. It was the map of New York which intrigued The Shadow. His gloved forefinger traced red lines. The pointer stopped on certain spots.
The Shadow was following the very thoughts which Carlton Carmody had expressed. The Stellar Theater Building; the Hotel Gigantic; the Amalgamated Building. The Shadow kept on. His finger marked a red line that led to the new Galladay Building. Then, with final action, it pointed to a short line that terminated in a spot some distance from Times Square.
The Shadow knew that location. The Falconette Apartments — one of the most exclusive places on Park Avenue. Like the Galladay Building, the Falconette Apartments had been built by the Amalgamated Builders.
The Shadow’s laugh was like a dying whisper. Its echoes clung to stone walls even after the map had been folded and replaced in the drawer. Those sounds persisted after the departure of that black-garbed phantom. They continued when the final traces of his silhouette had vanished, in creeping fashion, from the floor.
The Shadow followed the corridor to the end; not the way that Socks Mallory had gone — that offered nothing new to The Shadow — but in the opposite direction. The door opened; the black form then disappeared down the stone steps.
Minutes later, the vague swish of a cloak announced The Shadow’s return. There was a passage to the right. The Shadow took it. The tall, ghostly shape was lost in the gloom.
Some time later, a man in evening clothes appeared in the quiet lobby of the Falconette Apartments. He carried what appeared to be an opera cloak upon his arm. Its folds concealed the odd shape of a slouch hat.
The lights of Park Avenue glittered in the drizzly night as Lamont Cranston hailed a passing taxicab. A soft laugh sounded as the passenger entered the vehicle.
The menace of The Red Blot was doomed.
The Shadow knew!
CHAPTER XXI
THE RED BLOT STRIKES
“CALL for you, Cardona.”
It was Detective Sergeant Markham who spoke from the door of Inspector Timothy Klein’s office. Cardona, standing beside Klein’s desk, whirled about angrily.
“I don’t care who it is,” he exclaimed. “Tell them there’s nobody here by that name—”
“Easy, Joe,” interposed Inspector Klein. “Don’t give up yet. I haven’t had orders to put you on the sliding board.”
“Some fellow wants to talk to you pretty bad, Joe,” stated Markham. “Funny sort of voice over the wire. Kind of quiet.”
“Wait a minute.”
Cardona sprang from the room and entered his own office. He seized the receiver and spoke quickly in the mouthpiece.
“This is Cardona. Detective Cardona.”
The voice that replied came in a strange monotone which made Cardona grip the telephone. He knew that voice! He had heard it before! The voice of The Shadow!
“Receive instructions,” came the solemn words. “Follow these orders exactly.”
“Go on!” exclaimed Cardona breathlessly.
“Inform Inspector Klein,” came the voice, “that you plan a final raid in the underworld. Request him to have raiding squads ready for your call. Tonight.”
A pause; the voice resumed:
“Take three men of your own. Ten o’clock is the zero hour. Be at the Hotel Gigantic. Occupy Elevator No. 9. Descend to the level below the basement. Enter passage. Advance one hundred paces. Await distant flare.”
“Elevator No. 9” — Cardona was repeating the instructions — “Hotel Gigantic — ten o’clock—”
“Advance after you see the flare. Reach large central room. Through open doorway. First room on left. Complete instructions will await you.”
A click came over the wire before Cardona could respond.
The Shadow’s call was ended. But the detective knew that this was no fantastic summons. The Shadow’s instructions could mean but one thing: that the master of darkness has found the way to offset the terror of The Red Blot!
WELL did Cardona know the need for secrecy. He glanced at his watch. It was five o’clock — this was the afternoon following the theft of the five million dollars from the office of the Amalgamated Builders. Five hours to prepare — then to be at the appointed place!
Assuming a poker-face expression, Cardona strolled into Timothy Klein’s office. Another detective had come in during his absence — Merton Hembroke. The rising sleuth welcomed Cardona with a friendly smile. Coldly acknowledging the greeting, Cardona turned to Klein.
“Well, inspector,” remarked Cardona, “I think I’ll stick it through until I get the bounce. If I’m slated for the skids, I might just as well make one last effort to redeem myself. I might get a break.”
“Play for one, Joe,” advised Klein.
“I’ve been doing a lot of investigation down in the bad lands,” continued Joe; “Never found anything yet. Just the same, something might come of it if we swooped in on those dives and hangouts.”
“So far, you’ve advised against the dragnet, Joe.”
“That’s right, inspector. I figured The Red Blot was too wise to be anywhere that we might be liable to get him. But he uses a bunch of mobsters who are hiding out. Another shooting up at the Club Janeiro last night. Talk about Dynamite Hoskins being in town. Socks Mallory is around — we’re sure of that. Maybe the dragnet would make a haul.”
“Go ahead, Joe.”
“I’ll start out with a few men. Have the raiding squads ready when I give the call. That’s my suggestion.”
“Approved.”
Klein began to make the arrangements. Cardona stalked from the office. When he reached his own desk, the detective turned to see Merton Hembroke beside him. The younger sleuth had followed him here.
“Say, Joe” — Hembroke’s tone was straightforward — “I wish you all the luck in the world tonight.”
“Thanks, Mert,” rejoined Cardona gruffly.
“I’ve been lucky,” observed Hembroke. “You haven’t. But if you think you’re on the skids, Joe, I can tell you that I’m headed the same way. The Red Blot has got me buffaloed. If I’m up against him alone, I’m licked.”
Cardona shrugged his shoulders.
“The commissioner called me in today,” continued Hembroke. “Told me you were through — that I’d have to carry on. I came right back at him, Joe. I told him frankly that if I’d been on the outside last night, I’d have been the goat — not you.”
“You told that to the police commissioner?”
“Sure thing. Why should I try to look big — then be made small afterward? Say, Joe, I’ll bet if we’d been teamed up together from the start, we’d have got The Red Blot by now! This independent working doesn’t get a man anywhere!”