Joe Cardona was the first to realize The Shadow’s presence. Groggy, the detective felt himself lifted bodily from the cot. As other men raised their heads to stare at the spectral form, the figure was blotted out behind Cardona’s body. The Shadow dragged the half-conscious detective from the prison, and shoved the door shut. The padlock clicked.
The Shadow had rescued Cardona alone. There were other prisoners; they were safer here at present. In blackness broken only by a silvery disk that lighted up the steps above, Joe Cardona felt himself being forced toward the upper regions.
The detective was too groggy to resist. Puffs of fresh air were reviving him; yet he kept on blindly. He knew that someone was aiding him. Dimly, he thought of The Shadow. Then came the lighted corridor, as an unseen hand opened the door at the top of the steps.
Joe Cardona wavered. Powerful hands came under his armpits. With rushing stride, The Shadow swept the detective forward — into the stonewalled office, and plopped him in the chair by the desk. The jar brought Cardona to his senses.
Then came a momentary relapse. As Cardona caught himself toppling to the desk, a black-gloved hand picked up the telephone that rested there. A whispering voice spoke in the mouthpiece.
“Burbank speaking,” came the reply over the wire.
“Unavoidable delay,” returned The Shadow, to his agent. “Is connection still established between this wire and the outside line?”
“Connection established with telephone in Apartment 4-C,” came Burbank’s response.
The Shadow hung up the receiver and produced a small vial. He placed it to Cardona’s nostrils.
The detective’s frame shook. His grogginess was dispelled. As he gripped the arms of the chair, Cardona fancied that he heard the sound of a fleeting laugh. He turned quickly, but saw only a fading splotch of blackness at the door.
The detective’s eyes went to the map upon the table. His fingers picked up the envelope. They tore it open. With startled gaze, Cardona read blue-inked lines. He dropped the paper and began to tap the map with his forefinger.
He referred again to the note. To his amazement, the writing had vanished! The momentary surprise faded. Cardona did not need those instructions any longer. The map was sufficient!
GRIMLY, the detective seized the telephone. He clicked the hook and heard the operator’s response. He called for detective headquarters. He heard the voice of Inspector Timothy Klein.
“I’m in The Red Blot’s hideout!” growled Cardona. “His mob has gone to raid Galladay’s jewelry store. They’re after a ten-million-dollar haul!”
“Get men there — quick! Surround the place. No… No… Not from the outside… They’re blowing their way up through the cellar… Dynamite Hoskins is with them… Smash in from the outside…”
Cardona paused. Over the wire he could hear Klein barking out instructions to detectives who were near at hand. Quickly, Cardona gave further news.
“There’s places where you’ve got to block them!” he exclaimed. “Club Janeiro — in the office — an outlet there. Hotel Gigantic — Elevator No. 9… Got that? Wait… There’s more… Conference room in Amalgamated Builders’ office… Now get this one — most important of all — emergency exit East Side subway, one hundred yards south of Eighteenth Street station… Yes… Yes… Get those places. Hold them!”
The receiver clattered on the hook. Cardona sank exhausted. There was one spot which he had not mentioned; that was the lobby of the Falconette Apartment. There was an answer. The Shadow’s hand had obliterated that station from the map!
Minutes went by. Cardona’s relapse was followed by a slow revival. Half rising, the detective heard a sound which brought him to his feet. It was a distant blast — the boom of an underground explosion.
The raid had begun! Soon The Red Blot’s cohorts would be returning! Cardona had been told to bring other men with him, that they might hold this spot. Cardona realized that he was alone! He reached for his pocket, realizing as he did that his revolver must have been taken from him. To his amazement, his fingers brought forth an automatic!
On his feet, Cardona found his other coat pocket heavy. He brought out a second automatic! Doubly equipped, Cardona knew his duty. He was to defend this outlet! He was to drive the returning hordes into other passageways, where the police would be ready to stop them!
The Shadow, returned to darkness, had equipped Joe Cardona for the fray that was to come!
CHAPTER XXIII
THE END OF THE BLOT
CROUCHING mobsmen were waiting in a widened portion of an underground passage. The report of an explosion was still ringing in their ears. Smoke and fumes were dispelling up ahead, where the gleams of flashlights were focused.
“That’s all.”
The words came from Dynamite Hoskins. They meant that the explosion was over; the way was clear ahead. Socks Mallory gave his command.
“Come along!” he ordered. “Inside there; cover the doors while we grab off everything. It will be twenty minutes before the bulls can begin to crash in!”
The horde followed Socks. Three men remained; Dynamite Hoskins stood in darkness; behind him, the bomber knew, was The Red Blot and the other lieutenant who ranked with Socks Mallory.
Little did this waiting trio realize that already a raiding squad of police was arriving at Galladay’s jewelry store! Joe Cardona’s tip-off was to have startling consequences tonight.
Silence persisted for long minutes. The trio waited patiently. Then a flashlight glimmered from along the passage. A frenzied mobster came staggering forward. He fell as he reached the widening of the passage. His flashlight dropped from his grasp. The man rolled over dead.
A light glimmered from the waiting trio. It was held by the man who stood beside The Red Blot. The searching rays seemed to ask regarding this sudden return; but the man whose form that light illuminated could give no answer from his death-frozen lips!
Cries — revolver shots — into the widened space came more men. With them was Socks Mallory, and the mob leader uttered a wild shout that told The Red Blot all.
“The bulls!” cried Socks. “They busted in on us! We had to scram! They’re coming along — never mind the rest of the gang — they’ve been bumped! Block the way — quick!”
A stern voice came from the darkness. The Red Blot gave his order to Dynamite Hoskins.
“Pull the switch.”
Hoskins responded.
Less than ten minutes ago, he had released a charge to blow an upward hole at the end of the passage which curved a hundred feet ahead. Now came his second release.
An explosion thundered in the curving passage. Walls caved in, entombing luckless gangsters who had staggered, wounded, after those who had escaped.
Powerful fumes, driving dust. The Red Blot and his defeated remnants of a gang staggered away from the widened space, heading back to the central cavern. They had effectively stopped any progress on the part of the police.
SOCKS MALLORY heard commands as they hurried along. He understood The Red Blot’s order. He was to lead the dozen men who remained; to conduct them through the best avenue of escape from the cavern.
“The subway,” growled Socks. “We can pick up any way we want from there.”
The word went to the gang. The mobsters hurried ahead, while The Red Blot and his other lieutenant followed at their leisure. Reaching the central cavity, Socks chose one of the passages and ran in that direction with his men close behind him.
The long drive ended at a barricading wall. Socks turned his flashlight on the crowd. His horde had numbered nearly twenty; of these, twelve remained. They were ready to do their leader’s bidding in this getaway.