With consummate caution, Zipper listened to make sure that there were no sounds from outside. He arose from the floor and crept to the door of the room. He softly opened it a few inches and listened for sounds in the adjoining room. There were none. Zipper returned to his job.
The star safe-cracker knew that all were in his favor. He had come here to-night, prepared for a job that required a specialized type of skill. Zipper had never encountered a safe which he could not, by sheer manipulative effort, open within a reasonable length of time.
Not the safes, but the surroundings were the conditions that commanded Zipper’s chief attention. He liked secluded, easy spots; to-night he had one. When Zipper had entered to-night, he had found the path clear.
He had not come alone, however. He had been followed by a picked band of stalwarts who had bestowed themselves at strategic spots both without and within the house.
Thus Zipper had double protection. He was free from surprise attack. Should he be forced to beat a hasty retreat, he would be covered by a valiant rear guard.
These factors accounted for Zipper’s ease of mind. Without them, he might have been hurried and nervous; with them, he was calm and painstaking. Therefore, as Zipper reasoned it, he could do a more efficient job.
THE contents of the safe were, of course, of great moment to Zipper Marsh. It was not his policy to pry open an empty crib. He had no idea of the exact value of what might be inside this strong box, but he knew that the spoils would be worth having.
Adolph Grayson, who had closed his house before leaving New York, was a man of great wealth. His wife owned many valuable jewels, which she frequently wore in public.
She might have taken some of these with her; or she might have placed some in a safe-deposit vault. But Zipper had a decided hunch that many of the gems rested within this safe.
His hunch was logical. The safe was the accustomed resting place of the gems. It was a modern type of container. Two watchmen were stationed on the premises.
In addition, Zipper fancied that Adolph Grayson himself might have left items of value within this steel-fronted contrivance. Fine safes meant fine contents. Rarely, in Zipper’s experience, had the rule failed to work.
Only one disturbing thought spoiled the tranquillity of the safe-cracker’s mind. That was the death of Dobie Wentz, who, until a few days ago, had been Zipper’s pal.
It was not that Zipper grieved Dobie’s passing; on the contrary, Zipper preferred that Dobie should be no more. It was not that Zipper felt worried because the police suspected him of being Dobie’s killer; that meant nothing to so toughened a thug as Zipper Marsh.
The real source of his annoyance lay in the fact that he did not know the cause of Dobie’s demise.
The snuffing out of a mobsman who knew as much as Dobie knew was sufficient to make all associates of such a dead man wonder.
Who had killed Dobie Wentz? Zipper wanted to know.
Why had the killer slain him? That was another question that Zipper felt should be answered.
Did the killing have anything to do with to-night’s work? That was the most important item of all.
Every successful specialist in crime has qualms regarding those who may some day muscle in upon his chosen field. Zipper possessed an enviable reputation as a crib-cracker. Time and again he had refused offers of partnership, believing that he was better off working by himself.
Were some of those rejected offers to become demands? Or were they the beginnings of plans of vengeance on the part of hidden enemies?
These thoughts crowded Zipper’s mind as he continued at the safe. They did not retard his operations, however. Only one thought did that — a thought that came at the very moment when Zipper’s job was on the border of completion.
Was The Shadow mixed in the death of Dobie Wentz?
ZIPPER had often heard mention of The Shadow. Well did he know the threat that the master of the night swung over the denizens of the underworld.
The Shadow!
Zipper had been informed that The Shadow could do anything. The Shadow was even reputed to be a master at opening safes.
Was The Shadow a crook, himself — a lone wolf of crime? Zipper had heard that supposition. If it were true Zipper must regard The Shadow as a rival. As the king of all New York safe-crackers, Zipper could expect trouble from The Shadow.
A coarse laugh came from Zipper’s lips as he placed his fingers against the dial before him. The Shadow! Why fear him? The Shadow fought the greatest of mobsmen, not skulking rats like Dobie Wentz.
When the small fry suffered doom at The Shadow’s hands it was when they tried to protect the big shots; not when they were out to double-cross. Dobie Wentz was a double-crosser — too pitiful a figure to gain more than The Shadow’s scorn.
Zipper resumed his work; then paused as he heard a foreign sound. He recognized it in an instant — the chime of a clock telling the half hour. He had consumed thirty minutes in his work of opening the safe, for it was now half past two.
Zipper turned to his job with new ardor, forgetful of all else. He was anxious to make this a half-hour proposition. He succeeded.
Within a minute, the door of the safe loosened at his touch. Zipper opened the steel barrier. It moved silently on its heavy pivot hinges. The light of the table lamp showed the interior. Zipper reached forward and began a thorough inspection.
Jewels! Here they were, packed in special boxes. Zipper laughed as he saw the sparkling gems. He laid the boxes, intact, upon the carpeted floor beside him.
Now came documents. These appeared to be negotiable securities. Any items that seemed to have value were of intrinsic interest to Zipper Marsh.
In the safe, Zipper discovered an empty metal box. He removed it, and padded it with a stack of bonds. Upon these he dumped the contents of the jewel boxes.
He added more paper. He bent forward to continue the rifling of the big safe, but his shrewd glance showed him that the work was now complete.
A good haul, thought Zipper, as he carefully wiped the jewel boxes and replaced them, empty, in the safe. He closed the heavy door, and the lamplight glistened upon it once again.
With his silk handkerchief, Zipper polished off the surface of the door and the knob. No telltale finger prints would remain as evidence of to-night’s operations.
WHILE Zipper was engaged in this last bit of precaution, the metal box that contained the spoils was lying within three inches of his right knee. Finishing the shining touches on the safe, Zipper used his left hand and let his right drop to his side. His fingers grazed the cold top of the metal box.
The gangster raised his right hand as though about to take the silken rag. Then he changed his mind and let his hand fall.
Where it had rested upon the metal box a moment before, it now touched nothing!
It was only a flash of sudden warning — one of those rare, untraceable impulses that made Zipper note the fact his hand had encountered emptiness where it should have met solidity. Acting upon quick thought, Zipper turned and stared directly at the spot where the box had been.
A startled cry came from Zipper’s lips. Scarcely more than a fierce gasp, that sound reflected the consternation that had struck the cracksman’s brain.
The metal box was no longer where Zipper had laid it! Instead, it was several feet away, rising slowly in the air, within the grasp of a black-gloved hand!
Beyond that hand and its attached arm, just out of range of the lamplight’s circled glow, was a solid patch of blackness that loomed above the floor. Raising his gaze upward, Zipper saw the flash of two sharp eyes that peered toward him like creatures of the outer darkness.
There was no time for action. Zipper was helpless. In one brief instant, he knew all. He had planned this job, he had opened the safe, he had taken the spoils — only to be thwarted by a ghostly hand that had come from nowhere!