“I feel that I am being watched!” he exclaimed. “I can’t talk now. I–I am summoned to a meeting at midnight… If I remain here after eleven, anything may strike… You don’t know the desperation that I feel… I want to confess, to tell all… Yes, come here at once — before I die!”
A brief pause; then, in a final begging tone, Salwood gasped a last request.
“Come through the back way,” he pleaded. “The little door — behind the shop. There is a bell there… Yes; ring it and I will open the door from my office… Every minute now is vital…”
Cardona was still talking over the wire when Salwood hung up the receiver. The man was trembling more than before. He licked his lips and stared about in every direction, as though he expected enemies to spring from each wall. Still, The Shadow watched and waited.
Salwood had lost his nerve. A crook who evidently feared the man who dominated him, he had decided to turn yellow rather than face what lay ahead.
The Shadow could see the reason. Salwood had been a pawn in the game that now was ended. He must be reasoning that since he was of no further use to his chief, he could expect nothing but danger or doom.
The Shadow had seen men of Salwood’s ilk before. The Shadow knew the ways of superminds of crime. He knew that Salwood’s fears might be well founded. Some one — a lurking crime master — was behind the game that had now been abandoned. That one must be merciless in method.
The unexpected had arrived; yet as it stood, The Shadow held a strong advantage. Joe Cardona would arrive to hear Compton Salwood’s story. The Shadow would hear it also. While Cardona was making plans, The Shadow would be acting. Once Salwood gave the game away, The Shadow would be swift to move.
MINUTES trickled by. Salwood was looking nervously at his watch. The Shadow remained in quietude. Eleven o’clock was rapidly approaching. It was the hour that Salwood feared.
The interior decorator was a rascal of ability; as such, he would not be subject to imaginary qualms. Hence The Shadow knew that the menace which Compton Salwood feared must be one which could stretch out and grip him here.
Salwood’s watch was on the desk. The man was pacing back and forth across the room; each time he neared the desk, he tightened his fists in nervous tension. The Shadow could see the dial of the watch. It had reached eleven.
A buzzer sounded. Compton Salwood started. Then his frame shook in sudden relief. It was the sound that he had awaited; coming at this tense moment, it had startled him. The man fairly staggered to the desk.
As the buzzer sounded again, he panted and placed his hand upon the woodwork. He was trying to regain his composure before he pressed the button that would admit the detective whom he had called here.
The Shadow, standing beyond the partly opened front door of the office, was completely shrouded in darkness. Only a tiny wedge of light showed above his head. All was gloom in the front of Salwood’s shop.
The entrance to the office was in a little alcove, hence the front of the shop was beyond The Shadow’s view. In fact, The Shadow stood in a little world of his own, from which he could view events in Salwood’s office as one would see through the lens of a microscope.
Salwood was about to press the button; then the way would be clear, for the rear door of the office had remained unlocked since Salwood had come in. A watcher in The Shadow’s situation would naturally have been keyed to a state of high intensity and therefore be neglectful to other events that might be happening.
Not so The Shadow. Ever alert, this being who dwelt in darkness was always expecting the unexpected. Even in this important moment, his keen ears were listening for sounds that would have been unheard by others.
Something caught The Shadow’s attention. Swiftly, silently, he glided away from the door of the office. Moving backward, he made a rapid turn the moment that he reached the outlet of the alcove.
A hiss came through the gloom. It was like a warning signal. At the same instant, the flood of a flashlight broke through the gloom. The Shadow, standing at the edge of the front shop, was staring squarely at the glare.
A cry burst from a man behind the light. Vague figures leaped forward simultaneously. Then, in a split second interval, came a mighty roar from the spot where The Shadow stood. Another cry sounded amid the echoes of the shot and the shattering sound of glass.
With calm precision, The Shadow had drawn an automatic. His shot had been the answer to the flashlight’s revealing beam. With perfect aim, The Shadow had shattered the torch that had caught him in its glare.
Amid the snarls of foemen whom The Shadow’s hand had balked, came the sinister sound of a surging, whispered mockery. The laugh of The Shadow was the answer to these men who had invaded Compton Salwood’s shop!
CHAPTER XII
DEATH IN THE DARK
WHATEVER had been the motive of the invaders who had crept into the front of Salwood’s shop, none had expected the surprise which The Shadow had given them. The mode of entrance had unquestionably been through the window that The Shadow had left unbarred. The invaders must have found it and used it to their own advantage.
They had been creeping toward the door of Salwood’s office, ready to catch the interior decorator unaware. Instead, they had met The Shadow; and the advantage had been theirs until his counterstroke had been delivered.
Men were already surging toward the spot where The Shadow stood. They had leaped instinctively; The Shadow had beaten them at the start. A revolver shot roared through the little alcove; a bullet flattened itself against the wall. Other outbursts followed. Stealthy at the start, the invaders had thrown caution aside once The Shadow had fired.
Another flashlight gleamed. Its rays showed the alcove empty. The Shadow had expected the direction of the fire. He had not waited in the alcove. A voice cried out a warning to retreat. The leader of the invaders wanted no more firing. The admonition, however, came too late.
As the cry was uttered, the man who held the flashlight swung it along the wall of the front shop. By haphazard luck, he spotted the exact direction that The Shadow had taken. Venomous oaths burst forth as a group of concentrated gangsters swung to fire at the phantom shape before them.
Those shouts showed The Shadow’s enemies to be mobsmen. Their leader no longer held them under his control. To all villains of the underworld, The Shadow was a menace. Met under circumstances such as this, his power seemed beneath a curb. This was opportunity for those who sought his doom.
The Shadow had not sought this encounter. He had tried to delay it, pending the arrival of Joe Cardona. The Shadow had plans concerning Compton Salwood; he did not wish them to be disturbed.
In the face of emergency, however, he acted promptly. The moment that the second flashlight revealed his form against the wall, The Shadow dropped toward the floor.
He fired as his figure dwindled. His target was the flashlight; this time, however, The Shadow chose to eliminate the torch by picking the man who held it. These enemies had aimed to kill. There was naught to do but give them hot lead in return.
THE first roar of the automatic dropped the man who held the flashlight. Then came other bursts of flame; in answer, revolver shots broke from the guns of gangsters.
The odds were now with The Shadow. His targets were the flashes of revolvers. Similarly, the mobsters had the chance to guide their shots by the bursts of fire that came from The Shadow’s automatics.
But in this form of fighting, The Shadow had no equal. His form was moving swiftly through the darkness. His shots were like a boxer’s feints. Where others fired blindly at splashes of fire, The Shadow timed his shots with cool precision.