The Shadow - The Death Sleep Part 11

"Somebody knew I was coming to Currian's," blurted Throckmorton. "A servant there - one Currian was suspicious about - that's why he had armed the others. I had the d.i.c.k along with me. He was armed, too.

"But n.o.body - not even the d.i.c.k - knew why I was bringing those securities to Currian. Even Currian didn't know. He knew I wanted to borrow as much as I could get on them; he was giving me a check.

But he didn't know why I wanted the money. "I'll tell you why. Did you ever hear of Rufus Galder? Big millionaire who collects rare jewels? Well, he's selling some of them tonight. Going to have the whole lot at his apartment. Here in New York - Wednesday night - Rufus Galder."

THROCKMORTON paused for breath. He was defiant as he looked toward Barth and Lagwood.

They could not stop him now. He spoke again to Cardona.

"n.o.body knew I was borrowing money from Currian so I could show up at Galder's and bid for some of those gems. A friend up in Boston told me about the sale. Big banker there, Tony Sharman. He couldn't make it. Said to use his name when I called on Galder.

"Sharman seemed worried. Said Galder had been pulling these private sales too often." Throckmorton was talking in syllabic utterances. "Told me to hire a d.i.c.k. Said to call Galder. Advise him to have police there. Sharman's advice to Galder. As a friend.

"I never called Galder. Went to Currian's. Woke up here. When you came in, the whole thing came back. Idea hit me. Crooks must have got us at Currian's. If they knew there was money loose at his place, they ought to know there would be jewels at Galder's. Get it? Only a few people at Currian's - two of us, detective, servants. Lot of people at Galder's maybe. Crooks found out about Currian's -"

"And you figure," interrupted Cardona, "that there's a bigger chance they'd know about Galder's."

"That's it!" exclaimed Throckmorton, dropping back on the pillows.

"It's what I figure, too," a.s.serted Cardona, turning to Commissioner Barth. "We're up against hot crime.

The crooks are moving fast to keep ahead of us. There was an inside man at Currian's, a servant, and you can bet there'll be an inside man at Galder's."

Cardona turned to Doctor Lagwood. He indicated Throckmorton, propped in the bed.

"The patient's yours, Doc," declared the detective. "Hope he didn't overtax himself, but he looks better now he's got that worry off his chest."

Without further hesitation, Cardona strode toward the door. Commissioner Barth, excited, stalked after him. Barth had forgotten the insubordination. He was willing to follow Cardona's lead even further, in face of this possible crisis.

"You're calling headquarters?" questioned Barth, as they reached the hall together. "Getting some men up there?"

"You're the boss, commissioner," replied Cardona, stopping short. "But if you want a suggestion, I've got it. The first person to call is Rufus Galder. If you do that, to put him on guard - he'd listen quick to you - I can be on another phone starting the ball rolling."

"The radio patrol," nodded Barth, "all the available police in the vicinity, squad of plain-clothes men.

Form a cordon around -"

The commissioner had reached a room where a telephone showed on a table. Cardona kept on while Barth went in to send his call to Rufus Galder. Seizing a telephone book, the commissioner found the number that he wanted. Rufus Galder was listed as living at the Castellan Apartments. His phone number was Drury 8-3155. Barth picked up the telephone.

GERALD THROCKMORTON'S story was bringing prompt results. It was no shot in the dark. For the Castellan Apartments were located in the building that Spud Claxter's mob had already surrounded; andthe number of Rufus Galder's apartment was 4G.

Joe Cardona had found luck. The detective's insistence was bringing the forces of the law to a combat with Wolf Barlan's minions. Cardona had heard Throckmorton out. Following the Bostonian's hunch, Joe was getting somewhere.

Commissioner Barth had caught the contagious excitement of the ace detective. Instinctively, he was following the hunch. Like Cardona, Barth believed that crime was due at Rufus Galder's. The commissioner was out to stop it.

So was The Shadow. Whereas the law was springing to belated action, on the supposition that evil was impending, The Shadow had already learned the truth and was present on the scene.

CHAPTER XVI. THE RAID.

THE SHADOW had reached the fourth floor of the fire tower. Here he had found a steel door that opened outward. Its outer k.n.o.b would not turn. It was latched. Yet it had not troubled The Shadow.

Using blackened tools, he had removed the k.n.o.b, then probed within. The latch had yielded; The Shadow had ended its usefulness. Yet The Shadow, after entering, had paid but a short trip to the hallway.

He had satisfied himself that all was well in apartment 4G. He had heard m.u.f.fled voices from within. Then he had returned beyond the steel door. It was opened only to a narrow slit. The Shadow, through this crevice, commanded a view of the hall.

The Shadow had deduced facts concerning the raid at Currian's. He was sure that the masked crooks had entered the millionaire's house ahead of the time appointed. That was why The Shadow had been too late. Tonight, The Shadow was sure that the cordon of outside mobsters had arrived in advance.

How did the crooks intend to enter? Not by the fire tower. Cliff would have been tipped to that fact; besides, the steel doors were too formidable. They must be coming either by the front door, where Spud could tip off Louie and Gabby of their arrival; or else they were already in the building.

This last supposition was a logical one; for apartments in this district were only partly tenanted. The squad of raiders could easily find a hiding place until the zero hour. That, however, did not matter. All that concerned The Shadow was the fact that the crooks attack through the hallway that he was guarding.

INSIDE Rufus Galder's apartment, nearly a dozen guests were enjoying a collation. Two servants were producing trays from a buffet, serving hors d'oeuvres and fancy liquors to the visitors. Most of those present were men; only three ladies were in the throng.

Rufus Galder, tall, portly and genial, was talking to two guests when a servant approached and spoke in a low tone. The millionaire put a question; receiving a cautious reply, he walked hurriedly from the living room and entered his study.

"Did you hear that, Huring?" questioned one of the two men to whom Galder had been talking.

"What?" inquired Huring, a tall, dark-browed fellow whose coa.r.s.e face seemed out of place in this group.

"What the servant said," repeated the speaker. "I didn't catch it, Pelman."

"He said" - Pelman's tone was a whisper - "that the call was very urgent. From the police commissioner, Mr. Wainwright Barth."

"Odd, wasn't it?" questioned Huring.

With that he walked away. Pelman, a pudgy, lethargic individual, showed sudden keenness. He watched Huring stroll toward the little entry that led from the living room to the outer door. A moment later, he noted a slight darkening from the entry, as though someone had extinguished the light. The glow came on again. Huring came back into the living room.

Pelman grew suddenly suspicious. He did not like Huring. The man looked like an interloper, despite his smooth fitting full-dress suit. He wondered how the fellow had crashed into this high social gathering.

Then he recalled that Huring was reputed to be a man of considerable wealth.

Several persons here were interested in the jewels which Galder shortly intended to display. The millionaire was anxious to dispose of part of his collection. That was the real purpose for the gathering.

Had Huring been invited here as a potential buyer? Probably. Was that a blind on Huring's part?

While Pelman was still pondering on this question, he kept his eyes toward Huring. Hence he did not see the cause of the sudden gasp that came from nearly everyone present. Pelman turned. Rufus Galder had stepped from his study, followed by a servant. Both the millionaire and the menial were holding leveled revolvers.

"No one is to move," ordered Galder sternly. "I am acting with authority of the police commissioner. My instructions are to hold everyone in place; and I have full right to take any measures that I believe necessary."

A hush fell over the group. Galder looked from man to man. The millionaire had grit. So had the servant beside him. Satisfied that he had full control, Galder resumed.

"Fortunately," he said, "I have not displayed my jewels. Hence the moment of danger has not yet arrived.

The commissioner has warned me that someone present may be the agent of criminals who plan an attack upon this apartment. The police are already on their way to offset such a raid.

"My servants are trustworthy. I can vouch for their honesty. I can do the same for certain of my guests.

But there are others whom I might suspect. I am looking for one man, some person who plans to make an escape when the crooks attack. If anyone can aid me in that search, I should be greatly obliged."

Pelman looked toward Huring. The heavy-browed fellow was calmly lighting a cigarette. In that very attempt to show poise, Pelman saw new suspicion.

"There's the man!" he exclaimed. "Huring! He heard the servant say the commissioner was on the wire."

Huring raised his head to stare at the accuser. His forehead furrowed. He was momentarily nervous; then he retorted quickly.

"I heard nothing," he growled. "You were the man who heard what the servant said. You heard him, Pelman, and you mentioned it to me -"

Huring broke off, suddenly realizing that this statement was a boomerang. He had admitted that he knew who was on the telephone. He shifted nervously. "And then," a.s.serted Pelman, stepping forward, "you went out into the entry. You turned the light off and turned it on again. I saw the reflection against the wall. It was like a signal."

"Enough!" exclaimed Galder. "Huring is the man we want. Cover him, Rinehart" - this to the servant - "and shoot to kill if he makes a move. Come, Huring. Let us hear you talk. Who are the others behind this game?"

OUTSIDE, in the hallway, a door had opened on the side opposite to Galder's apartment. From it came three roughly clad men, wearing bandanna handkerchiefs about their faces. The Shadow could detect the bulge of gas masks beneath. Each raider was armed with gun and small bomb shaped like a pineapple.

The trio came forward with a suddenness. They were making for the door of Galder's apartment when a sudden hiss brought them to a pause. From the door to the fire tower came a figure cloaked in black.

Crooks stared as they saw The Shadow.

A fourth man was coming from the door of the empty apartment. His left hand held a revolver, his right a pineapple bomb. He did not hesitate for an instant. He threw the bomb. Its interior came lobbing down the hall and struck the floor three feet in front of The Shadow. A soft sh.e.l.l burst; a thick cloud of green vapor rose about the shrouded figure. Pungent fumes filled the end of the hallway as the cloud disintegrated.

The figure of The Shadow, back against the steel door, was standing as rigid as a statue. The crooks were silent; to have uttered a laugh might have meant inhalation of those paralyzing fumes. But elation seized them as they stared at the motionless automatic muzzles that projected from The Shadow's black-gloved fists.

These fiends knew the stilling power of the gas that one had loosed. They realized its shortcomings also.

There had been no occasion to deliver death to previous victims; but there was cause to slay The Shadow.

Almost with one accord, the three crooks in the hallway swung their guns, intent to riddle The Shadow with bullets that would spell his certain doom. The raid was forgotten in that moment. Death to The Shadow! The desire of every gorilla was about to be achieved. The pa.s.sword of the underworld could be made a reality!

As guns swung, the incredible happened. The Shadow's form moved forward. The automatics broke the silence before a single finger pressed trigger of revolver. As crooks staggered in the gas-filled room, the collar of The Shadow's cloak fell loose. The light revealed what lay beneath; but it did not show the face of The Shadow. Instead, it enabled the staggering mobsters to glimpse a gas mask that The Shadow wore. He, too, had prepared himself against the deadly fumes that he knew would play a part in tonight's raid.

As three wounded mobsmen went sprawling away from the door to Galder's apartment, the man at the opposite door managed to fire one quick shot in behalf of his overpowered companions. The bullets whistled past The Shadow's shoulder. An automatic spoke; the crook came tumbling head foremost into the hallway. Then came a slam of the door behind him. The Shadow stood triumphant. Two of the first three crooks had staggered to the far end of the hall. They had collapsed. The third lay moving weakly close by Galder's door.

THE SHADOW'S shots had meant destruction to the masked raiders. But to the crook within Galder's apartment, it had given inspiration. Hearing the shots in the hall, Huring made a sudden leap in that direction, yanking a revolver from his pocket as he fled. Rinehart fired. His shot went wide. Huring reached the door, yanked it open and staggered back. He was face to face with The Shadow. The master fighter had heard the shot from within. Cloak collar raised, he held an automatic straight between Huring's eyes. The crook moved backward; then dropped his gun. Rinehart and Galder pounced upon him.

The Shadow had reached the edge of the living room. He wanted to make sure that Galder's jewels were safe. He saw that the situation was in control. At that instant, he whirled as he heard a sound behind him.

The last wounded raider had risen and was staggering in dizzy, hopeless fashion. His hands were clutched to his body. He could not have aimed his revolver even had he held it. But as The Shadow wheeled, the crook performed a last, hopeless action. Sprawling forward, he launched one arm and sent a gas bomb hurtling into Galder's living room.

The missile sped low past The Shadow's forward sweeping form. It struck squarely at the feet of a milling group, where Huring had wrested free and men were trying vainly to clutch him. One second later, the shouts of the strugglers had died, with the screams of excited women. The Shadow stared.

Every person had stiffened. The few who were seated or who were close to the wall remained balanced, in the very poise wherein the gas had captured them. But the others could no longer stand. Bodies thudded to the floor and rolled into grotesque positions. The place looked like an overturned wax museum, with exhibits strewn w.i.l.l.y-nilly.

Crime had failed; but the death sleep had struck. Though The Shadow knew these victims would recover as had the others, the episode gripped him and held him, unmoving. Even to The Shadow, master of the impossible, the prompt and irresistible lull of the incredible death sleep was a sight that crowded out all other thoughts.

OUT in the hall, the mobster who had made the final thrust was crawling on hands and knees away from Galder's door. He reached the nearest of the other silent raiders and sprawled dead on the floor. The gas had cleared from the hallway; its action seemed as short as it was certain.

The door of the opposite apartment opened. A crouched figure emerged. This man, like the other raiders, was wearing a bandanna handkerchief about his eyes. His gait told his ident.i.ty. The man was Skeet. There had been five raiders tonight. Skeet, canny and cautious, had sent the others ahead.

Skeet stared toward the far end of the hall. It was from there that he had heard the shots that had laid low his crew. He saw the closed steel door. He formed an opinion that was only partially correct. He was sure that The Shadow had stopped the raiders, but he believed that the master fighter must have done his shooting from the edge of the door in order to avoid the gas fumes. Skeet had no inkling that The Shadow, too, had worn a mask.

The raid was off. Flight was the only course. But Skeet had a quick task to perform. Stooping, he loosed the gas masks from his dead comrades. He seized their unused bombs. The work was quick. Within a half minute, Skeet had gained these objects. He scudded along the hall, heading for the stairway inside the building.

The Shadow broke suddenly away from the strange sight which his eyes commanded. He swung out into the hall. He saw the unmasked raiders, their bandannas tumbled above their heads. Swiftly, he started in pursuit, knowing that someone must have escaped. Skeet had reached the stairs before The Shadow arrived. His pursuer heard his footsteps pounding downward. The Shadow followed.

Whistles were shrilling round about the apartment building. Barking revolvers; shots outside. Spud's outfit had spotted the arrival of the police. They were taking it on the run. As Skeet came plunging down into the gloomy lobby of the apartment building, the front doors swung open and half a dozen policemenarrived face to face with the fleeing mobster.

Revolvers spat. Skeet ducked back. The gas masks went bouncing down the steps. An officer sprang for them, recognizing what they were. The others fired wildly. Then Skeet chucked a bomb. It burst in the center of the lobby.

Bluecoats became rigid. The stooping man held his position; the others toppled, all save one who was just within the door. He wavered sideways and stood leaning in crazy fashion, revolver leveled, finger on trigger.

Skeet scudded forward. He grabbed the gas masks and sprang toward the door, just as The Shadow arrived at the head of the stairway. An automatic barked. Its shots, clipping downward from an angle, was deflected by a bra.s.s bar just above the door. That bit of luck saved Skeet's life.

A taxicab was standing in the street. Skeet pounced into it and rammed a revolver against the driver's neck. The cab shot away as The Shadow reached the door. A radio patrol car was rounding the corner.

The Shadow waited as it swung in between him and the cab. Revolvers barked from the patrol car; then came a burst of greenish smoke.

The car went skidding across the street and smashed against the wall, just as the cab rounded the corner.

Skeet had tossed another bomb. The men in the patrol car had pa.s.sed out instantly. They were seated rigid in their wrecked car.

Skeet had eliminated the police squad. He had stopped the patrol car. For the moment, no other forces of the law were near. The Shadow took that opportunity to make his own departure. Swiftly, he glided across the street and chose a darkened spot between two buildings.

A SINISTER laugh sounded through the gloom. It carried no mirth. The Shadow had held the winning hand tonight; yet his efforts had not brought the full success he should have gained.

Men of crime were still at large. Shattered hordes would rise again. More grim work lay in The Shadow's path. The fading laugh, however, carried a foreboding note.

Strategy had served The Shadow well. He had used the unexpected to defy the gas bombs and strike down the raiders. His methods of surprise were not yet ended. The Shadow could foresee new ways with which to quell the rising foe.

He would not wait for men of crime to strike. The next thrust would be The Shadow's own. After that would come the settlement. With underlings eliminated, The Shadow would force the hand of the master who had designed this evil game.

CHAPTER XVII. THE BIG SHOT DECIDES.

ON the following morning, Wolf Barlan was seated by the window of his living room reading the torrid details of last night's raid. An involuntary snarl came from the big shot's lips. Wolf knew that crime had failed; he could not, however, understand all that had happened.

The latch of the door clicked softly. Wolf looked up and gripped a short-nosed revolver that he carried in the pocket of his dressing gown. The door opened. It was Spud Claxter. The mob leader had a duplicate key to the apartment.

"What's the idea?" quizzed Wolf, as soon as Spud had closed the door behind him. "I told you to stay away from here, didn't I? Say -" "It's all right, Wolf," interposed Spud. "I used my bean. n.o.body followed me here. Listen, Wolf - I couldn't give you all the low down over the phone. I had to get here, to tell you about last night."