The Shadow - Death's Bright Finger Part 4

A glance at the tire made his mouth tighten. Queer that a tire should flatten at this particular time: just when The Shadow was urgently anxious to rea.s.sure himself about the safety of Jonas Lee.

It was lonely in the narrow street downtown when The Shadow parked opposite the grimy old tobacco shop. Everything looked the same as it had earlier that night.

But there was one sinister change. The light in the shop window had been turned out. The Shadow happened to know that Jonas Lee allowed that window light to burn all night.

The Shadow opened the shop door slowly--just a s.p.a.ce wide enough for him to slip through. By so doing he kept the door mechanism from ringing the bell that always announced the arrival of a customer.

Step by step, The Shadow moved soundlessly ahead in the blackness. Then suddenly his body stiffened.

His questing foot had stepped on something.

The motionless hand of a man!

Suppressing the faint hiss of breath in his throat, The Shadow bent slowly. He could make out the dim blur of a face.

It was Jonas Lee. His face was horribly smeared by blood. His throat had been cut from ear to ear!

The Shadow straightened. His alert ears recorded a faint sound. It was so faint that it was almost inaudible. It came from the direction of the shop's counter.

Suddenly, The Shadow was amazed to see a thin streak of moonlight. It was a queer thing to see; in fact, an impossible thing! The sky outside was covered with clouds. There was no moon tonight. How, then, could there be a thin streak of moonlight inside this dingy old tobacco shop?

A whisper like a dry chuckle came from behind the counter where the moonlit streak projected. Moving closer, The Shadow could see a figure watching him from the darkness: a man with a pointing finger.

It was from that pointing finger that the light came! The thin streak of milky light issued directly from thetip of that extended finger!

The Shadow could see eyes that seemed aflame with an inner glow. Teeth showed through the figure's parted lips--teeth that seemed to be phosph.o.r.escent.

"The Light!"

IT was a wordless identification in the brain of The Shadow.

Twin .45s jerked into his hands. But before he could pull a trigger, a horrible thing happened.

The streak of light from the Light's pointing finger changed to a vivid silver glow. It was a glow so dazzling, that The Shadow was almost blinded.

As he threw himself desperately aside, The Shadow was conscious of terrific heat. The brilliant ray missed him. It projected across the shop and bathed the dusty wall with an incandescent glow. The whole wall seemed to writhe and dissolve. Flame crackled.

The shop was instantly ablaze!

The horrible heat ray jerked away from the wall. The finger of the Light was trying to stab at the body of The Shadow. But The Shadow had realized his peril.

Guns were useless against this h.e.l.lish weapon in the possession of a supercriminal! Safety lay only in instant flight.

In his backward leap, The Shadow had fallen to the floor. He rolled toward the door as the Light leaped over the counter with a pointing finger that spewed silver death. The Shadow plunged out the door to the dark sidewalk.

Running for his life, he fled across the street to his parked car. He flung open the rear door of the car and slammed it behind him before the Light leaped through the tobacco-shop door to the street.

The brilliant finger ray pointed like glowing silver across the street.

The Shadow, however, was gone. He had left his parked car as swiftly as he had entered it. Screened by the car, he had escaped through the opposite door.

He crawled swiftly across the sidewalk, hidden from sight. He sought the nearest avenue of escape, rolling headlong down a flight of cellar steps.

The moment he hit the bottom he crouched against a dusty bas.e.m.e.nt door. His guns were ready for a desperate final defense against something he knew couldn't be fought with guns. But he had no choice.

The cellar door was locked on the inside. The Shadow was at bay!

He waited. Minute after minute pa.s.sed. Nothing happened. Finally, The Shadow began to move.

Up the cellar flight he crept, step after step. He waited, crouched below the top step for a long time before his head lifted cautiously.

He saw nothing. The s.p.a.ce where his car had stood was now completely empty.

The Shadow divined what had happened. But it still seemed incredible, monstrous! The car had been dissolved into complete nothingness by the ray from the Light's finger! An examination of the pavement proved it. The asphalt was melted as if it had been swept by a blowtorch. A curious film of blue-gray soot covered the softened pavement. The curb alongside it was blackened.

Across the street, the two-story building owned by the unfortunate Jonas Lee was now a blazing torch.

From a distant corner the whistle of a policeman was blowing a shrill blast. Presently, the siren of a fire engine was audible.

The Shadow faded into the darkness as the street began to fill with people. He had met with a crushing defeat. But the Light had made two mistakes.

The Light didn't know that his henchman, Nick, had been cremated in that parked car. Nor did he know that The Shadow had escaped. The Light would learn nothing about Margo from Nick.

Margo's life was safe. The Shadow was still alive to battle against the most deadly master of crime he had ever faced.

It was a battle that would call for every ounce of courage The Shadow possessed!

CHAPTER V. MASTER OF EVIL.

Six men were sitting in conference in an underground room. All of them had contempt for the law. All of them were professional criminals.

Five were frightened. Their faces showed it. Hands fidgeted. Sweat beaded their foreheads. Eyes blinked nervously as they listened to the sixth man.

This sixth man had called the conference. His mouth was twisted in a sneering grin. He was trying to bait these fellow crooks into regaining some of their lost courage.

His name was Pug Mallon.

Pug had been a criminal all his life. He wasn't very old, but he had gone far. Bit by bit, he had slugged and killed his way to a nice spot in the numbers racket. He was the right-hand man of Flash Snark. The five men whom he had called together in this steel-protected, windowless room underground were all key men in the mob which Flash Snark had organized.

"A fine bunch of saps you are!" Pug snarled. "You call yourselves tough? I say you're yellow! Every one of you!"

For an instant, anger replaced fear. Fists clenched. Crooks moved restively in their chairs.

This was exactly what Pug wanted. The angrier they got, the more likely they'd be to forget fear and listen to his proposition.

"It's no use," one of them grunted. "I'll go as far as any guy for a chance at dough. But the mob is washed up. Flash Snark is doing a five-year stretch. The numbers racket is busted. Most of our collectors and strong-arm men are on trains right now, heading for other towns. The heat is on!"

Pug Mallon hesitated. He licked his lips. He knew what these henchmen were thinking about. He tried to turn their minds to something else.

"Worried about cops?" "You know what we're worried about," one said. "You can't beat a guy who's got all the chips. You can't fight the Light!"

"You can fight anybody if you've got guts!"

Another crook spoke.

"Flash Snark was plenty tough. He was tougher than anybody in town--but he couldn't battle the Light.

He took a five-year rap. He busted up his own racket. He didn't do that because he liked it. He did it because the Light made him do it!"

They were wavering again. Pug set his jaw, tried another approach: an appeal that crooks always understood. Greed!

"Forget about Flash. Think about me--and you. How would each of you boys like to split a million bucks every year? I mean a million net?"

They liked the idea. The glitter in their eyes proved that. But they didn't believe it.

"Flash never took in a million bucks net," a harsh voice growled. "It was always less than half that. How do you figure to boost the split?"

"Easy! I know how Flash worked. I was his lieutenant. He played safe. He gave the suckers an even break. When a number came up, Flash paid off, on the level. That's why we never split any real dough."

"It was necessary," another crook growled. "It built up good will. The suckers who won brought in thousand of others who didn't. There was no double-crossin' and no squealers. The police couldn't hang a thing on us. It was good business. It was smart!"

"The h.e.l.l it was," Pug Mallon snarled. "It was dumb! And Flash was yellow! That's why he let the Light frighten him into jail and ruin a sweet graft."

"You can't fight anyone a gun won't kill." There was horror on the crook's sweating face. "I know what Flash looked like when he paid us off. I know what he told us--the things he heard, the things he saw.

We're up against something that ain't human!"

"Listen," Pug said fiercely. "He's just a highjacker, ain't he? I've handled highjackers before, and I can handle the Light if he tries to muscle in. You guys can quit if you like. But I'm taking over the numbers racket, see? I'm gonna run it the way it should be run. For dough. Big dough! Rub out anybody, or anything, that gets in the way! It's up to you to come in or stay out. I can use you, but I don't need you-- Well?"

THERE was an uneasy silence. Pug grinned calmly under the scrutiny of five pairs of greedy eyes. He knew they were looking him over as a new leader, taking stock of him.

He didn't mind their inspection. There wasn't a thing on earth that Pug Mallon feared. His courage communicated itself to the other crooks. He could see a jaw harden here, a slumped figure tighten there.

"O.K.!" a voice said suddenly.

"Me, too. I'm in!"

The other three hesitated; then they followed suit.

Pug drew a sigh of relief. He really needed these five experts. His talk about running the racket alone wascold bluff.

"How are you going to battle the Light?" a voice asked in the uneasy silence.

"Why worry? That's his problem. If he's looking for trouble, he's gotta come to me, ain't he? When he does--I'll blast him to h.e.l.l!"

"Are you quite sure of that, Mr. Pug Mallon?" a voice asked.

It was a quiet voice, but the devilish menace in it made terror jerk back onto every face in the windowless underground chamber. They could see no one. The voice came from outside the steel conference room.

Eyes jerked toward the locked steel door that guarded the room.

Suddenly, a figure stepped through the door!

That door was like the barrier of a bank vault. It was made to resist police raids. Yet it dissolved like thin black paper as the figure strode through. It was as if a clown had stepped calmly through a paper hoop at a circus.

"The Light!" a mobster cried.

Hands moved swiftly toward guns, then froze. Every eye in the room was riveted on the pointing forefinger of the raider.

"How do you do?" the figure said mockingly. "I'm glad we won't have to bother with introductions."

He was tall. He leaned forward slightly, as if he were a hunchback. But that was illusion. No hunchback could be as tall as that. He was certainly no cripple. He moved with a lithe step toward the huddle of frightened thugs.

It was impossible to tell much about his face. It looked shiny, as if he had rubbed grease on it. The shine gave a peculiar optical effect. It was as if every criminal in the room was nearsighted. Details of nose and chin and ears were strangely blurred.

The Light's finger pointed steadily toward the group of racketeers. A pale beam of light issued directly from the tip of that pointing finger. It looked like a pale beam of cloudy moonlight.

Crooks cringed as the harmless ray flicked swiftly from the face of one man to another.

Pug Mallon didn't utter a sound. He stood motionless against the wall of the room, his hand frozen close to his hip. He didn't move a muscle.

"I came here," the Light said in a horrible purring whisper, "to remind you gentlemen that I meant what I said!"

He waited. No one breathed. He spoke again.

"I ordered Flash Snark to break up his racket and go to jail. Flash obeyed. Flash was smart. I'll repeat that warning, in the hope you'll all be as smart as Flash: Don't try to revive the numbers racket. It's finished! You're finished, too! Get out of town! Every one of you! No later than tomorrow morning!"

The beam of moonlight from his pointing forefinger rested briefly on the face of one of the mobsters. "You--Snake Ca.s.sidy! Go to Chicago and stay there!"

He gave similar orders to each of the others, including Pug Mallon. To each he mentioned the name of a different city.

"If any of you disobeys me--death! You understand? From now on, I am the supreme ruler of the underworld in New York. No mobs will operate except the ones I license. Not a penny of criminal profit will be made, unless I receive my cut. And I will be the only judge of how big that cut shall be."

His laughter was softly vicious, ominously amused.

"You said I'd have to come to you, Mr. Pug Mallon. All right. I'm here--in spite of your underground fortress and your chrome-steel door! Pug Mallon, you're through!"

PUG'S face was pinched, his cheeks were dirty white. He was scared, but he was desperate, too. He could see a million dollars in yearly profit evaporating. Worse that that, he could see his prestige as an underworld big shot ruined forever. If he quit now, he was finished. He'd be ruined as utterly as Flash Snark was.

It nerved him to action. His hand moved like a streak of lightning. The gun leaped from his hip. The barrel jerked swiftly in line with the body of the Light.

But the shot was never fired. Before Pug's finger could jerk the trigger, an amazing change took place in that pale moonbeam that projected from the pointing finger of the Light.