Mechanically, Kendall reached down and plucked up the weapon. He stood, half dumfounded, while men came hurrying in from the corridor. The door from the ballroom opened, and others appeared to find out the cause of the shot.
“My word!” Silk Elverton was speaking excitedly. “What bravery! Fancy it — this bounder attacked Mr. Kendall with a deadly weapon. Mr. Kendall plucked it from him and shot the beggar!”
Kendall stepped back in momentary horror. His lips wavered as he stared toward Silk Elverton. He caught the crook’s steady gaze; he saw the trifling nod that Silk gave. A hoarse, nervous laugh came from Kendall’s lips.
“Sure I shot him,” admitted the millionaire. “It was in self-defense. I managed to yank the gun away from him just as he tried to kill me.”
Men who knew Kendall were crowding up with words of grim congratulation. It was known now that detectives had just broken the attack of robbers who had come to take the Russian plate.
“Served him right,” was the comment that passed along. “He’d have shot his way through here if it hadn’t been for Kendall!”
Some men formed a curious crowd; others were drawing away from the scene of death. Silk Elverton joined these. He neared the elevators.
Police detectives were now in evidence. One of them, a swarthy man who appeared to be the leader, was talking with the wounded detective who had been brought from the tier of rooms.
This was Detective Joe Cardona of the New York police. The sleuth strode away in the direction of the room where Kendall had remained. Silk Elverton and others who appeared to be of timorous mold remained by the elevators. It was several minutes before Cardona returned.
“All right,” he ordered. “Let these people go down. The whole mob has been nailed.”
People herded into an open elevator. Silk Elverton was forced to wait for the second car.
He noted that the detectives were looking over the crowd. He knew the reason. They were letting these men in evening clothes depart. The roughness of the mobsmen’s attire would point out any who might have slipped free from the fight.
“They got the big shot of the outfit,” Silk heard Cardona say. “It was Duffy Bagland. I knew that bozo needed watching. He bumped into a big silverware manufacturer while he was trying to make a get-away. Fellow named Kendall. He landed Duffy’s gun, and plugged him with it.”
“That’s a hot one,” returned another detective.
“I’ll keep Kendall for a witness,” resumed Cardona. “He seemed kind of worried, so I told him to forget it. Say — if there were a lot of millionaires like him to stop some of these tough bimboes, it would be sweet, wouldn’t it?”
The door of an elevator opened. Silk Elverton moved aboard unmolested. A smile appeared beneath the smooth crook’s mustache.
Foulkrod Kendall had taken the credit for nailing Duffy Bagland. The millionaire would be congratulated — not condemned. Quick headwork — that was Silk’s watchword. It was better for Kendall to talk to the police. He was known. He needed no explanations.
A GENTLEMAN in evening clothes was stepping from the elevator as Silk went aboard. The stranger threw a hawklike gaze about him. In that glance, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the smart crook’s face. The door closed. Silk rode downward. He alighted at the eighteenth floor.
Reaching his suite, Silk Elverton found Tim Mecke staring from the window. Packed bags showed that the fake valet had been attending to his work. Tim turned quickly as he heard his pretended master enter.
“What’s up, Silk?”
Tim could see the grim look on Silk’s face.
“Plenty,” returned the smooth crook, tossing his hat, coat, and cane on the bed. He had picked up these articles from a chair where he had dropped them in the corridor outside the ballroom.
“Yeah?” Tim’s tone was worried. “Say, Silk, I thought I heard some shots way off in the hotel—”
“You did, Tim. Listen. There were a lot of detectives up there, see? The gang must have been clumsy. I had the way open for them — but I figure they made a noise, and the dicks busted in. Anyway, they got the gang—”
“Got Duffy?” Tim asked, aghast.
“Yeah. They got him.”
Observing Tim’s reaction, Silk was pleased that he had avoided discovery as the actual killer of the gang leader.
“It all went sour, Tim. Only piece of luck was that they didn’t suspect me. We’re going to move out — like we told them at the desk. Come on.”
“But if Duffy’s dead” — Tim was apprehensive — “it puts me out of luck, Silk. I belonged to that gang. They’ll trail me if I stick around New York any—”
“You’re going with me,” informed Silk quietly. “I can use you, Tim. You belonged to Duffy Bagland; I’ll take you, now that he’s been killed. We’re going to another hotel, for tonight. That will be all right, because we’re supposed to be aboard ship. Tomorrow, we leave New York.”
“Say, Silk,” responded Tim, in a grateful tone, “you’re a real pal — a real guy—”
“Just finding that out, eh?” laughed Silk. “Well, you’ll be in the money, Tim, if you play along with me. Come on — help me on with that coat, just for practice, in case I need you for a valet again.”
Tim complied. Silk Elverton strolled to the mirror, adjusted his attire, and donned his silk hat.
“Call for the porter,” he ordered.
Tim obeyed. A few minutes later, the pretended Englishman and his phony valet marched from their suite, leaving the door open for the porter to enter.
“We’ll call a cab when we get downstairs,” said Silk, as they stood by the elevators. “Listen, now, Tim. I’m boss. Understand?”
Tim nodded.
“The first thing,” declared Silk, “is to forget all about this. No talk about Duffy. He’s gone. When a thing’s all over, it’s done. No mooching around looking at newspapers. I’ve seen plenty of wise birds go South because they fooled around with a little detail like that. If you’re with me — stay with me. Get it?”
“Right,” agreed Tim. “You’re a brainy guy, Silk.”
Silk Elverton agreed with the compliment. He was pleased with the way tonight’s work had turned out. It was best to have old associations ended, with the scheme that he now planned. Of all Duffy Bagland’s underlings, only Tim Mecke knew the connection between Silk and the dead gang leader.
Tim could be handled. He had been deputed to aid Silk. He was a useful man; one that would go along. The easiest course was to kill two birds at a single shot. By keeping Tim with him, Silk could prevent the man from becoming wise; with Tim in his employ, Silk could have an expert gunman in his employ when he reached Kendall’s headquarters at New Avalon.
UPSTAIRS, on the ballroom floor, the man who had arrived when Silk Elverton departed was strolling over the battle ground with other curious persons. The police were putting a clamp on this procedure, but the stranger had managed to edge his way through.
Moving along the floor beside him, shifting with every change of light, a blackened silhouette marked the walker’s progress. No one noticed that strange shadow. Yet it had appeared hereabouts not long before.
That patch of darkness was the mark of The Shadow!
The stranger reached the room where Joe Cardona was talking to Foulkrod Kendall. The millionaire was expressing his own bewilderment. He knew only that he had yanked a gun from Duffy Bagland’s grasp. He could not even remember firing it.
Cardona nodded. He understood. He had encountered situations similar to this.
“However it happened, Mr. Kendall,” he said, in a congratulating tone, “you deserve all the credit we can give you. This man was dangerous. He was a killer — the leader of a desperate mob. You may have saved innocent lives by your prompt action. You are staying at this hotel—”