Harry mapped his course. He would wait until nine o’clock. The Shadow would probably give him advice. Yet, the situation was much more complicated than he had indicated in his report.
If The Shadow said to wait until tomorrow, the situation would be difficult. An order to send another report, and to discuss matters direct by wireless, would be the best way out.
One thing about The Shadow. He liked to see his men act independently in an emergency, provided they worked with intelligence. That left a way open for Harry.
His final resort came to mind as he approached Blair Windsor’s house.
If the enemy appeared ready to strike, Harry could tell everything to Windsor — eliminating any direct reference to The Shadow. With Buckman and Harper, they would have a force equal to the enemy.
Good old Blair Windsor! — thought Harry. A likable chap, who had had a lot of trouble lately.
His brother accused of murdering his friend, Frank Jarnow. Perry Quinn an attempted suicide. Now, this unknown danger hovering over him — enemies at work with a secret entrance into the very cellar of his home!
Entering the house, Harry found the four men playing cards. It was eight o’clock. He joined them.
He watched Bert Crull as the game began. The man’s face betrayed nothing. He was clever, and therefore doubly dangerous.
Vernon was there, too. The gray-haired servant was attending to trifling details in the room. His face, like Crull’s, was impassive.
Harry Vincent became tense as the minutes ticked by. He could scarcely wait until the hour of nine — the time when he would receive his message from The Shadow!
CHAPTER XXIV
THE DEN OF LOO LOOK
The hop joint of Loo Look was one of the most notorious dives of the underworld. It was a rendezvous of dope fiends, the spot chosen by the flotsam and jetsam of the criminal circle.
This den was one of very few that had survived the forays of the police. It was located in an obscure part of Chinatown, in a basement beneath squalid buildings. Its entrances were difficult to find. These facts appeared to be the reason why it managed to exist.
But it was rumored among crooks that Loo Look, the idol-faced keeper of the place, had a pull with the police. No one had ever proven that point. But no one had ever put the question to Tiger Bronson.
It was a significant fact that the overlord of gangdom had known of the hop joint, and had instructed Spotter to appear there nightly.
Spotter, in turn, knew very well why he had been delegated to the mission. He was to serve as a decoy, to lead The Shadow to his doom.
Tiger Bronson, despite his feigned ignorance and indifference, knew well that The Shadow was a menace. Now he had planned a trap that he believed would be a sure one.
Spotter was too wise to go openly to Loo Look’s. He knew that The Shadow could pick up his trail despite great obstacles, and that the surest way to bring The Shadow was to act secretively.
Spotter did not relish the thought of luring The Shadow. It was not comforting to realize that the terror of the underworld was on his trail.
At the same time, Spotter realized that he was useful to The Shadow at times, and he felt sure that he would be allowed to live.
Such existence was uncertain at the best. Hence Spotter, as much as Tiger Bronson, hoped that The Shadow would enter the snare prepared for him.
Last night, The Shadow had apparently visited the home of Tiger Bronson. This indicated that he had trailed Spotter there, despite the clever ruse that the little gangster had employed.
Tonight, Spotter avoided the Black Ship. Instead, he was at the Pink Rat. There were unfamiliar faces present. Spotter chose an excellent opportunity to steal away, and was seized with conflicting joy and terror when he saw an uncouth rowdy watch his departure. He suspected that the man was The Shadow.
But at that precise moment, The Shadow, guised as Lamont Cranston, had just left a group of millionaires at the exclusive Cobalt Club.
It was after eight o’clock. Both Spotter and The Shadow were late.
It was only a few minutes from the Pink Rat to Loo Look’s. Spotter chose a somewhat indirect route; but he arrived soon, nevertheless; and he slipped into the door of a deserted building that was one of the entrances to the hop joint.
Descending some steps, Spotter came into an underground corridor. His path was barred by a Chinaman.
“Me see Loo Look,” said Spotter.
“All lightee,” replied the man. He had seen Spotter before.
The little gangster wondered how The Shadow would pass the Chinese guard. Probably in some disguise. The Shadow could get in anywhere.
Spotter came to a door. He tapped three times. It swung open, and the little man faced another guard. Spotter raised his hands in a sign of friendliness, and was allowed to pass.
He always had qualms on the threshold of that doorway. He suspected that there was a trap in the floor that would drop any dangerous visitor to his doom. If so, much trouble would be avoided if The Shadow failed to impress the guard. Spotter gloated as he imagined The Shadow falling through the trap.
There were three entrances to Loo Look’s, the little gangster knew. All presented the same hazards.
The Shadow would have to pass two guards. It seemed probable to Spotter that The Shadow would choose this particular entrance, if The Shadow chose to enter at all. That was the only proviso that was discouraging to Spotter.
The stoop-shouldered crook pursued his path along a turning corridor. He was in a veritable catacomb. Now two other passages joined this one. All terminated before an iron-sheeted door.
This was the final barrier. Spotter had reached the heart of Loo Look’s domain. He was at the entrance to the opium den.
The door opened as though invisible eyes had witnessed the little man’s approach. Spotter stepped into a long, low room. It was a squalid place; but its filthiness was somewhat less noticeable because of the dim lights.
A slender, wiry Chinaman stood by the door. He was Loo Look’s most trusted watchman, the keeper of the inner den. He motioned Spotter forward.
The walls of the room were lined with dirty curtains. These hid the bunks in which the slaves of the poppy reclined, smoking their pipes.
The room was like a corridor, with berths on either side. No attempt had been made to make the place attractive. That was unnecessary.
Those who came there cared nothing for the appearance of the den. Why should they? When the pipes began to smoke, dreaming minds would supply the grandeur that was lacking. Spotter knew all this.
The guardian of the den steered Spotter to a bunk. The curtains closed on the little gangster. He was provided with a pipe, and he lay silently waiting.
Spotter was not addicted to the use of opium. Yet to-night he decided to try a few puffs — something which he had done before.
Vague minutes went by. The little, stoop-shouldered man peered from between the curtains. The room seemed strangely silent. Spotter avoided further puffs on the pipe. He was wise enough to avoid too much of the influence of the overpowering drug.
He could see the wiry guardian standing by the door of the den. The man’s shadow sprawled on the floor behind him.
He was like a statue. The black silhouette annoyed Spotter. It was not an unusual shadow, but Spotter did not like shadows.
Suddenly, the little gangster gripped the curtains of the bunk. Another shadow had appeared on the floor. It was long, black, and ominous. It was approaching from the other end of the room.
A figure came into view — it was the form of a personage in black. It stood still, seemingly a part of the curtains that covered one of the bunks, not five feet from the listening Chinaman — a silent shape that had come from nowhere.