“No. It worries me a trifle. Suppose that you remain here, Cranston, while I call Okum. He is very methodical but taciturn. It would be better if he talked more often at times. However, I have taught him to be silent.”
“Perhaps” — Cranston’s tone was speculative — “it might be wise to call Okum.”
“An excellent suggestion,” agreed Satruff. “If you will excuse me for a few moments, I shall do so.”
The gray-haired man walked from the room. He paused at the head of the stairs. He called below. There was no response. Satruff glanced back into the living room. Seeing Cranston calmly smoking, he decided to go downstairs.
AS soon as Satruff had taken this course, Lamont Cranston sprang to his feet. In action, if not in appearance, he had become The Shadow. With catlike stealth, he reached the head of the stairs and stood there, his tall form clinging within the gloom of the dimly lighted hallway.
Folsom Satruff was in the hall below. The millionaire’s figure was plain to the watcher from above. Satruff was looking about as though he expected to see Okum. The Shadow saw Satruff gaze toward the side of the house on which the strong-room was located.
Satruff started in that direction, then paused. With furrowed brow, he opened the drawer of a hall table and brought out a revolver. He seemed more confident when he turned and went in the direction of the strong-room. It was evident that Satruff had become disturbed by Cranston’s subtle suggestion that something might be wrong with Okum.
As Satruff passed from view, The Shadow stepped to the stairs. With silent tread, he began a quick descent. He reached the lower hall and followed Satruff’s path. He came to a short passage and paused there. Satruff was less than a dozen feet ahead, carefully opening a door which The Shadow knew must be the entrance to the strong-room.
Gloom pervaded the passage. With amazing stealth, The Shadow moved forward. Folsom Satruff, intent upon the door ahead, did not sense that the tall form of Lamont Cranston was almost at his shoulder. The eyes of The Shadow, burning as they stared, were watching the door ahead. As Satruff opened it, a complete tableau lay before The Shadow’s eye.
In the center of a square-walled room stood a flat-faced, glowering ruffian. The Shadow knew that this must be Pug Hoffler. With the gang leader were four other rowdies.
Bartlett Okum was backed against the farther wall, his face aghast. One of Pug’s gangsters was covering Satruff’s servant.
It was Pug who turned swiftly as Satruff opened the door. With a quick move, the gang leader covered the millionaire before Satruff could raise the revolver that he was holding. A warning growl came from Pug’s thick lips.
“Stick ‘em up!” Pug’s challenge meant business.
Satruff made no motion. He seemed petrified. His hand still gripped its gun, but showed no effort. The sight of his vault, as yet unopened, seemed to withstay the millionaire from yielding to Pug’s demand.
“Up with ‘em!” Pug’s growl was a final warning. “We’re tapping this box of yours, old million-bucks, and if you don’t want to hand us the combination, we’ll blow it. Come on! Up with your dukes!”
SATRUFF’S reply was a surprise. With one leap, the millionaire hurled himself straight toward Pug Hoffler, swinging his gun arm upward as he plunged. Instinctively, Pug side-stepped the onrush. Satruff’s revolver barked. The bullet missed its mark as Pug Hoffler swerved.
With a fierce laugh upon his evil lips, Pug regained his aim before Satruff could turn in his direction. The gang leader’s left side was toward the doorway through which Satruff had come. His right hand held the revolver close to his body as he steadied his finger for the shot. The other mobsters watched their chief.
Then, from the hallway came a booming shot. It was the powerful roar of an automatic, held in the waiting hand of Lamont Cranston. The Shadow, in the guise of a leisurely man of wealth, still possessed his perfect aim. A cry came from the lips of Pug Hoffler as the mob leader collapsed sidewise to the floor, a bullet in his left shoulder.
With the instinctive action that characterized mob fighters, Pug’s quartet of gangsters swung toward the spot from which the shot had come. They caught a quick glimpse of Lamont Cranston, framed within the open door. As they saw the challenger, the automatic spoke again. Down went the nearest gangster.
There was no laugh from the doorway. The Shadow was playing Cranston’s part to the limit. With his second shot, the tall fighter dropped away, only to thrust his gun hand forth and deliver a third burning bullet at a gangster who had just fired too late.
Folsom Satruff was acting with the same speed as the mobsters. Swerving, the millionaire encountered one directly. He fired while the gangster was aiming. The crook fell; his own shot went wide.
The Shadow had dropped two men; Satruff, one. The fourth, the last to turn, was the fellow who had been guarding Okum with drawn gun.
As this mobster aimed at Satruff, Okum made a leap forward and snatched at the gangster’s arm. The servant failed to stop the shot as the mobster shifted.
The gangster fired at Folsom Satruff. Simultaneously with his pressure of the trigger came a blazing roar from the doorway where The Shadow stood. A winging bullet caught the mobster’s gun hand just as its finger completed its task.
The gun, shifting in the wavering hand, failed in its purpose. The mobster’s shot went wide. Howling, the man grabbed his right wrist with his left hand.
Then came a burst from Satruff’s revolver. The mobster plumped upon the floor as the millionaire’s bullet found its target in his body.
Five raiders had come to Satruff’s. Two lay motionless upon the floor. Another pair was writhing helplessly. One alone was glowering fiercely, although he made no move to action. This was the leader, Pug Hoffler. His right hand still grasped its gun.
THE tall form of Lamont Cranston appeared within the room. With a welcome cry, Folsom Satruff turned toward his rescuer. The smoking automatic in Cranston’s hand was proof that he had fired the much needed shots.
“Great work, Cranston!” exclaimed Satruff. “It’s lucky you followed me here. I walked into a trap. These men had come to rob me.”
“So I observed,” stated Cranston calmly. The eyes of The Shadow were upon Pug Hoffler, who cowered as he saw them.
“I don’t know their game,” decided Satruff, “but this man” — he indicated Pug — “looks like the leader—”
“He is!” exclaimed Okum. The servant had seized a gangster’s revolver from the floor and was waving it wildly. “He’s the one who rang. He cornered me here.”
“Burglary,” announced Satruff coldly. “Attempted, at least. It means the penitentiary for these ruffians.”
These were the words that stirred Pug Hoffler to action. Lamont Cranston had stepped slowly back.
Freed from the searching gaze, Pug raised his head and shouted defiance.
“The pen for me?” The gang leader’s question was a snarl. “Maybe! But before I go there, you’ll get yours — from me—”
The gang leader raised his revolver as he spoke. It covered Satruff, waveringly. The millionaire, his own gun ready, was waiting. Okum, wildly excited, held his revolver pointed toward Pug Hoffler.
Under double coverage, Pug sank exhausted. His face was grimy with dirt from the floor; his snarl was evil as he let his gun click against the stone.
“You’ve got me,” snarled Pug. “Got me on the spot. The bulls will have me next. I’ll go up the river, but when I go, I’ll see to it that there’s another bird goes with me. Wait’ll I squawk. Wait’ll I tell what I know about—”
The gang leader’s gun was rising with new effort. Folsom Satruff was waiting steadily for the danger point. So was Lamont Cranston. Only Bartlett Okum, still excited, was on the verge of losing control.