Caught flatfooted by shots from two directions, the last of the imported mobsters took to flight. All save Hobey. He thought that he had found The Shadow’s range. He fired across the street. His bullet flattened against a brick wall. An answering report from an automatic. Hobey rolled from his doorway.
Hawkeye was out of the cab, firing at two mobsters, the last of the tribe. One sprawled. The other turned to aim past Hawkeye. An automatic roared. The last crook fell. Turning, Hawkeye saw The Shadow.
A hissed command. Hawkeye leaped into the front seat of the cab. Whistles — sirens — cops were coming up from the block below. With a mocking laugh, The Shadow entered the cab.
Hawkeye, an improvised taxi driver, stepped on the gas. The cab shot away.
WHEN officers arrived, they found only dead and wounded crooks. Those who were still alive could do no more than utter incoherent gasps. Then, from the back of the rickety truck came Jericho.
Feigning fright, the big African talked with chattering teeth. Fighting mobs. Crooks against crooks. That was his story. The police believed it. Some had come and gone in the taxi, Jericho said. Others had started trouble in the cigar store across the way.
But Jericho told no more than that. He gave no mention of the touring car that had sped away before the departure of the cab. His story told, Jericho went back to his truck. The cops told him to wait around a while.
As he waited, Jericho pondered. He shook his head doubtfully. He knew that The Shadow was all right; but he was thinking of the men in the touring car. Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland; the assailant whom Jericho had not seen.
Two against one; Moe at the wheel. The odds had been with The Shadow’s men. Yet Jericho feared that they were not enough. He was sorry that he had not gone along, for he had witnessed the power of the enemy.
Mentally, Jericho could picture the tables turned. Cliff and Harry staggered by swift blows. Moe going down beneath a grasping clutch. The touring car stalled in darkness. An enemy escaping while agents of The Shadow lay helpless.
Jericho could only hope that his fears were false. Impatiently, he waited for the police to send him on his way.
CHAPTER XIX. DEATH RESUMES
THE new note from the Unseen Killer had specified a repetition of the procedure that he had previously prescribed. Wallace Norgan was to place all the required funds in Findlay Warlock’s safe or suffer the penalty of death.
Worried, Norgan had decided to go through with it. Commissioner Barth had agreed not to interfere with the Unseen Killer’s action. Shortly before eight thirty, the commissioner had arrived at Warlock’s accompanied by Joe Cardona.
Findlay Warlock and Marryat Darring were already there. Norgan arrived very soon, under the guard of six detectives, headed by Markham. With him, Norgan had a box that was larger than the one which he and Amboy had brought.
Norgan opened the box to display actual securities. He removed them from the box in bundles and carefully arranged the stacks inside the open safe. Others stood away, watching him. The task completed, Norgan himself closed the safe and turned the knob.
The group went downstairs, leaving Joe Cardona in charge under the same conditions as before. No message had been required in an envelope. Warlock had not changed the combination. Doors to the study were left open. At nine o’clock they were closed. At nine fifteen, they were reopened.
It was almost nine thirty. That was the time specified for a return to the study. While waiting for the dead line, Commissioner Barth began to pace about. He stopped in the middle of the living room to eye the others.
Warlock was seated placidly before the fire. Darring was leaning against the wall. Norgan was nervously resting in a corner. Barth made an anxious comment.
“I left word for Cranston,” he declared. “At the Cobalt Club. I wanted him to be here. I wonder what is keeping him?”
Barth would have been amazed had he known. To-night, Lamont Cranston had been temporarily nonexistent. But The Shadow had been in action. He had found it more important to visit Ninth Avenue than to come to Findlay Warlock’s.
The Shadow knew that Norgan would be safe, so long as he actually delivered the funds. Moreover, The Shadow knew that Norgan would not welch to-night. The Unseen Killer was too potent an enemy to bait for a third time.
Nine thirty. Time for the doors to open above. Wallace Norgan, suddenly restless, arose and walked from the living room. Barth had not posted a detective in the hall to-night. Norgan started upstairs.
“Call him back,” ordered Barth, suddenly, as he glanced toward the clock. “It’s not after nine thirty. We must not clip the time too close.”
Marryat Darring responded. He strode from the room and ascended the stairs in Norgan’s wake. When he reached the open door of the study, he found Norgan comparing watches with Cardona.
“Nine thirty,” announced Norgan. “I have followed the conditions. I am going in.”
Before Cardona could stop him, Norgan pressed past and hurried into the study. He crossed the room and reached the wall safe. He began to unlock it. Warlock had openly mentioned the combination at the time the funds had been placed within.
Cardona had followed Norgan. Darring was close behind Joe. They saw the door come open. A snarl from Norgan. The wall safe was empty! As with the black box, the real wealth had been removed.
WILDLY, Norgan began to reach about inside the safe, pressing his hands against the walls, bottom, top, and sides. He seemed to be looking for something other than his purloined wealth.
Had the man gone mad? Cardona looked at Darring, who shook his head in a puzzled manner.
Norgan wheeled. Excitedly, he pushed his way past the other men. He started for the door; when he reached the hall, he began to shout for the commissioner. Never pausing, he dashed down the stairs, heading for the living room.
Darring turned and hurried in the same direction, anxious to know what had happened.
Cardona was about to follow; then he paused to bark instructions at the dicks who were stationed outside the doors. The Unseen Killer had grabbed a bundle of big dough. Joe did not intend to meet with new criticism for negligence. It was bad enough to have had Norgan in the study, opening the safe on his own. But, after all, the cash had been Norgan’s.
Downstairs, Wallace Norgan had reached the living room. His square-jawed face was hideous with rage.
There was no semblance of fear remaining. Wainwright Barth stood amazed. So did Findlay Warlock.
“The money is gone!” shouted Norgan. “All my wealth! The safe is empty, commissioner. I have been tricked!”
“Tricked?” questioned Barth. “You knew what happened to the box you put there before. The Unseen Killer—”
“A double cross,” sneered Norgan. “The Unseen Killer is not alone in this game. Some one is working with him. You can arrest his pal.”
“His pal?”
“Yes.” Norgan pointed to Warlock. “There’s the culprit. He knows what happened to my millions.”
“I?” parried Warlock.
“You!” accused Norgan.
“What do you mean, Norgan?” quizzed Barth. “Have you found some evidence?”
“No,” jeered Norgan, “I’ve lost some. The case and securities weren’t all that I put in that box. I put in something else— unnoticed — something that proves my—”
“Look out!” gasped Warlock, pointing.
Norgan swung about. Barth turned. The shining muzzle of a revolver had come between the edge of a curtain and the side of the doorway. Before Norgan could spring forward, the gun belched flame.