The Shadow - The Death Sleep Part 7

"On the grand?"

"Half of it," responded Luke, eyeing Cliff warily. "Half a grand is yours. The other half goes two ways.

You an' me, fifty-fifty. Worth it, ain't it, for the tip?"

"Maybe," said Cliff.

"Say," argued Luke, "if Spud come to you straight an' wanted to talk turkey, you'd hook up with his outfit for half a grand, wouldn't you? Well - I'm tellin' you how we can both split half a grand besides."

"When are you going to see Spud?" questioned Cliff.

"That's the tough part," growled Luke. "There ain't no chance of your hookin' in on this first job, because we're goin' out tomorrow night an' the outfit's all set. But there's more jobs comin'.

"Same dough for each job. All right. Tomorrow night I buzz in Spud's ear. Fix it for you. You'll be in the outfit next trip - an' I figure Spud'll have plenty more dough by then. You get the grand. We split half of it -".

"On the first job I'm in on? Only that one?"

"All right," agreed Luke, reluctantly, seeing he could get no further. "Are you in?"

"Yes," replied Cliff, "if you tell Spud that I won't work for less than a grand."

"I'll fix that. Listen. Spud wants me to be here tomorrow night. This is where I'll get word where to meet him. See? I'm to be here every night, because this is the joint where I hang out most of the time.

"Tomorrow, I go out with Spud's crew. The next night, I'll chew the fat with you. Right here, at this table."

Cliff nodded. He made a warning gesture; then arose and strolled from the Black Ship.

Luke smiled approvingly. Good business, not to be seen with Cliff any longer. The gorilla crinkled his roll of bills. He was looking forward to the rest of his five hundred; then another payment, plus a cut from Cliff Marsland. Outside, Cliff sauntered along until he reached a dilapidated store some distance from the Black Ship. He entered, found a battered telephone booth and put in a call to Burbank.

LATER, The Shadow entered his sanctum to find the tiny bulb glowing on the far wall. His invisible hands lifted the earphones. He heard the prompt voice across the wire: "Burbank speaking."

"Report," ordered The Shadow.

The word came through. The earphones moved to the wall. The Shadow did not turn on the blue light after the call was finished. Instead, he uttered a whispered laugh; the token that brought the silence of his departure.

Two reports. Harry Vincent had admitted failure; Cliff Marsland was counting on prospects only. Yet The Shadow's laugh denoted satisfaction. His keen brain had divined the reason for the theft made by Skeet Wurrick. The information gained from Cliff Marsland was sufficient for his plan of campaign.

The Shadow knew that crime was due. It would strike tomorrow night. When crime arrived, The Shadow would be present at the scene of action.

CHAPTER X. OUT OF THE DARK.

EARLY the next evening. Newsboys were shouting the merits of the final editions when Lamont Cranston sauntered from the entrance of the Cobalt Club. The millionaire purchased a newspaper. He entered his limousine, gave an order to Stanley, then turned on the dome light and began to peruse the journal.

The big feature of the day's news was the recovery of the four patients at the Talleyrand Hospital. Doctor Seton Lagwood had gained an unprecedented triumph. He had varied his treatments during the preceding evening and results had followed.

Shortly before midnight, one of the death sleep victims - Mrs. Tanning - had shown definite signs of life.

Her cataleptic condition had relaxed. Respiration had become normal. The trance had changed to peaceful slumber.

At intervals of less than half an hour, the other patients had shown similar response. Then they had awakened, one by one, to stare in bewildered fashion at their surroundings. Doctor Lagwood had remained in attendance. At nine o'clock in the morning, he had allowed Seth Tanning to make a brief statement. The others had also spoken before noon.

Though the recovered victims showed but little ill effect from their experience, none of them could shed light upon the strange event that had overpowered them. They could only remember that they had been playing bridge. It seemed evident that they had lost all recollection of the time period just prior to the fall of the death sleep.

Doctor Lagwood's statement was a brief one. He declined to discuss the cases until later. He was fatigued and ready for sleep himself. He left instructions to be called if any of the patients showed signs of relapse. Otherwise, he was not to be aroused until eight o'clock in the evening. According to the final newspapers, no call had been necessary. The patients had improved constantly during the day.

Lamont Cranston turned off the dome light as the limousine neared a glittering East Side thoroughfare.

When the car rolled beneath the steel structure of an elevated, black cloth came tumbling from abriefcase in the back seat. When Stanley pulled up beside a secluded curb, Cranston's voice gave new instructions.

THEN a rear door opened silently; a phantom shape emerged and glided off into darkness. Stanley was holding a watch. Two minutes pa.s.sed. The chauffeur started the car and headed back toward the Cobalt Club.

Narrow alleys; grimy street lamps; fronts of buildings where streaks of light issued through cracked window shades - such were the surroundings that The Shadow had chosen. Skulking forms were moving through the gloom. Pasty, ratlike faces showed at every corner. Yet none of these furtive pa.s.sers spied the cloaked figure that moved with the stealth of night.

The Shadow had reached the heart of the underworld, that district where every person was his enemy.

Yet he remained unseen in the midst of this hostile terrain, moving stealthily toward a desired destination.

Had any pair of beady eyes glimpsed that shrouded pa.s.sing shape, the alarm cry would have risen on the instant. Rats of the underworld dreaded The Shadow; yet the cowards felt security within their own domain. It was in these parts that The Shadow had been hunted; where he had been forced to use every possible measure to escape the hordes that sought him. A soft laugh, whispered in the darkness of a secluded alley, formed The Shadow's mirthful recollection of those desperate adventures.

For The Shadow, his presence unknown, expected no molestation. Only when shrewd crooks had scented his approach had he been forced to combat in this region. Tonight, he was on a mission of stealth. Though ready, on the instant, to match any challenge that the underworld might offer, The Shadow was deliberately keeping clear of all encounters. Those would come later - else where.

The Black Ship. The Shadow paused in darkness opposite the notorious dive. His keen eyes, closed to narrow silts, kept tabs on those who entered and left the joint. At last a bulky figure appeared upon the steps. The Shadow recognized Luke Gonrey. Someone had slipped the word to the gorilla. He was on his way to join Spud Claxter's crew.

Luke was cautious. He looked over his shoulder as he stalked along the street. But he did not spy the black-garbed form that followed him. The Shadow, stealthy as ever, was lost in the surrounding blackness. Even when he glided past lighted corners, The Shadow remained unseen. The only manifestation of his presence was a splotch of blackness that moved across the lighted sidewalk.

The Shadow was working alone tonight. He had left Cliff Marsland out of the game. The agent's turn would come later. It would have been impossible to bring Cliff along the course that The Shadow - no one else - could follow.

Luke Gonrey reached the back of an old garage. The place was supposedly empty; its sliding doors had long since been ripped away and used as firewood. But the garage was not empty tonight. Luke seemed to know that fact, for he entered through a blackened door.

Edging from a brick wall, The Shadow followed. This course was to his liking. Mobsters had chosen pitch-darkness for their rendezvous. Unknowingly, they had formed ideal conditions for The Shadow.

LUKE blundered into the back of a touring car. A gruff voice challenged him. Luke made reply and was recognized. A group of men cl.u.s.tered close together. Silently, The Shadow approached and stood within five feet of the a.s.sembled mob.

"We're goin' out in two cars," announced one mobster. "Louie's drivin' the first. Gabby follows with the second. Four in each boat. Louie's goin' to pick up Spud. We follow where he leads." Growls of approval. Then came a final admonition from the spokesman: "No lights 'til we get out of this joint. Get that, Louie? An' you, Gabby?"

Grunts of understanding. Mobsters entered the touring cars. Louie's automobile coasted down an incline of planks; the motor did not start until the car had reached the street. Gabby's car followed with its crew.

As motors roared in the street, lights came on. The two cars filed through narrow thoroughfares, with cautious mobsters slouched deep in the seats. The back of Louie's car was revealed by Gabby's headlights. But the rear of the second automobile was visible to none.

Hence not one of the armed mobsters knew that a stranger was accompanying them. The Shadow had chosen his course. His cloaked form was resting upon the rear b.u.mper of the second car, huddled motionless over the spare tire, unrevealed by the tiny glare of the tail light.

The Shadow had chosen this perch with the a.s.surance that the gangster cars would keep away from thoroughfares where traffic was heavy. This proved correct at first. While the two machines were rolling along an isolated street, a coupe suddenly appeared in front of them. Blinks of the tail light told Louie that this was Spud Claxter's car.

The touring cars fell in line. A half mile more along the almost deserted street. Then came the contretemps that forced a change in The Shadow's mode of travel. The three cars were nearing the approach of a huge bridge across the East River.

As the touring car slowed for a traffic light, The Shadow dropped to the street. He quickly glided toward the curb. He saw that the three cars were about to make the turn on to the lighted suspension bridge, where rows of cars were thick in both directions.

A taxicab was parked near the corner. The Shadow entered it. The driver, half-asleep, was surprised by the quiet voice of an unexpected pa.s.senger. The Shadow ordered the jehu to drive across the bridge to Long Island.

The driver shrugged his shoulders. He started the cab and obeyed the unusual instructions. The taxicab fell automatically into line behind the gangster cars. When the far end of the bridge was reached, The Shadow ordered the taximan to keep on.

After a journey of about two miles, the gangster cars swung from the main highway. They followed a street where traffic was lighter than on the boulevard. Peering from the cab, The Shadow saw Spud's coupe pull up in preparation for a left turn. He hissed an order to the driver. The taximan stopped at the curb, thirty feet behind the last of the two touring cars.

A ten-dollar bill fluttered into the driver's hand. While he was examining it, the door opened silently on the street side of the taxi. Traffic had cleared; Spud's coupe was waiting only for a swift car that was approaching from the opposite direction, beyond the intersection. Quickly, The Shadow glided across the street and merged with the darkness of signboards on an unbuilt corner.

Spud's coupe swung left. The touring cars followed. As the last one swung past the corner signboards, a bolt of blackness sprang from its lurking place. With swift strides, The Shadow gained his former perch - the rear b.u.mper of the final car.

From then on, The Shadow's position was secure. Spud was leading the way along secluded roads.

When the cars finally came to a stop, they were on a dirt lane beside a hedge that marked someone'sestate. It was here that gangsters dropped to the ground to hear their leader's orders.

"Through the hedge," growled Spud. "Keep clear of the house. We're going to cover the bunch that's going in. Let 'em get away an' don't use no rods unless you have to."

Mobsters responded their understanding. They scrambled through the hedge and gained positions as Spud had ordered. Louie and "Gabby" remained in the touring cars, watchful, while Spud went with the crew. It was shortly afterward that The Shadow followed.

Unseen, unheard by either Louie or Gabby, The Shadow glided through the hedge. He paused in a darkened spot to view the bulk of a huge, square stone house that occupied the tract of ground inside the hedge.

DIM lights from lower windows indicated hallways. Upstairs, blocks of light showed an occupied room.

That spot, The Shadow knew, must be the point of attack. Moving forward, slipping past the forming cordon of mobsters, The Shadow reached the side of the looming house.

He knew that he must reach that lighted room. He decided that the best mode of entry would be from the back of the house. Moving along the wall, The Shadow reached a secluded spot where a darkened window showed above. Clinging vines of ivy offered a rapid means of ascent.

The Shadow knew Spud Claxter's scheme of action. Chosen workers were due to enter this house and perform some crime. Meanwhile, the squad of gorillas that included Luke Gonrey were posted as an emergency crew. They would cover the escape of the actual raiders.

The Shadow's plan was to enter; to surprise the raiders on their arrival. Working from the inside, he could throw terror into the ranks of mobsters. After driving the raiders back, he could resist any invasion by the outer cordon.

The Shadow had started up the wall. He paused suddenly. From within the house, he caught the dull sound of a slamming door, the scuffle of feet upon a stairway. The Shadow recognized the noise. It meant that men were going down - not coming up.

Instantly, The Shadow dropped from the wall. Instinctively, be swung along the ground, heading for the far side of the house. As he gained the corner, he heard a crash near the front of the building. Swinging doors were hurled open from a sun porch. Out from the house leaped four ruffians, masked and carrying boxes.

These were the raiders. They had come ahead of the cordon. There had been some mistake in timing.

Spud Claxter and his gorillas had arrived after crime had been consummated - not before. The Shadow's scheme of defense was balked.

As the scurrying raiders landed on the ground, they swung toward the front of the house and turned a stone corner. This course was a lucky one. Had they cut across the side lawn; had they headed toward the back of the house, they would have been targets for The Shadow's aim. As it was, they gained an immediate protection.

An automatic barked. The last of the four raiders staggered but dodged on beyond the front wall. The Shadow's quick shot had wounded the raider but had not dropped him. Thus it was due to cause new complications. The flash of the automatic had been seen by two of Spud's outside crew; the report of the gun had been heard by all.

As The Shadow sprang forward to pursue the raiders who had rounded the front of the house, revolversbarked from all about. Powerful flashlights glimmered toward the stone walls of the house. Shouts arose as mobsters sprang inward across the lawn. Half a score of gorillas were ready to trap the enemy who had delivered the surprise shot.

The Shadow, balked in his plan to frustrate crime, was enmeshed within the sharpshooting cordon that Spud Claxter had summoned from the underworld.

CHAPTER XI. THE SILENT HOUSE.

HAD The Shadow paused to fire from a spot along the side wall of the house, his predicament would have been magnified. The revealing flash of an automatic would have betrayed his exact position. Had he dashed on in pursuit of the fleeing raiders, he would also have become a target for the closing cordon.

Mobsters were everywhere, acting with skillful promptness. Those who had seen the flare of The Shadow's first shot were shouting the news to their comrades. Bullets were flattening against the side wall. A barrage was forming; mere seconds alone promised safety to The Shadow.

Ducking as he pa.s.sed the dull light of the sun porch, The Shadow gained the front corner of the house.

Here an open porch extended, with a stone parapet. It was the bulwark that The Shadow needed. With a quick spring, The Shadow gained the top of the wall. There, his temporary flight changed to challenge.

Upon the parapet, The Shadow paused. At that spot, he delivered a mocking laugh. The taunt rose high above the scattered gunfire of the sniping cordon. Stout gorillas paused as they heard the gibing tones.

They knew that laugh - the mirth of The Shadow!

Wild, eerie mockery, clear through the night air. Notes of sinister merriment that brought shuddering echoes from the gray walls of the house. From about came snarled curses, the responses of aroused mobsters who knew the mettle of their hidden foe.

The fleeing raiders had gained the front of the lawn; they were diving into a clump of trees, carrying their swag and aiding their wounded comrade. The Shadow had no thought for them. He was concerned with the surrounding foemen who had placed him in a trap.

A flash of the automatic would have revealed The Shadow's position. Hence he had delivered his sardonic laugh instead. Its tones did more than spur the escaping raiders to swifter flight. It brought Spud Claxter's crew out toward the front of the house. Their flashlights spun toward The Shadow.

The laugh had given them an idea of The Shadow's position. It had also made them stay their shots for the moment. They wanted to locate this dread enemy. Individual mobsters who would have cowered at the sound of The Shadow's taunt were relying upon ma.s.s strength. They knew that they had put The Shadow on the run. This burst of defiant mirth incited them to solid attack.

"Hold it!" came Spud Claxter's cry. "Hold it until you spot him. It's The Shadow -"

At that instant, a swinging flashlight found the corner of the front porch parapet. There, half crouched, was The Shadow. A laugh came from his hidden lips as wild revolvers barked. Then The Shadow dropped suddenly behind the parapet; and upon that instant, his weird mirth lost its crescendo. Silence followed the laugh.

MOBSTERS came piling forward toward the corner of the porch. Their object was to scale the wall, to pounce upon their common enemy. Suddenly, their shouts of triumph changed to snarled oaths. From the corner of the parapet came tongues of flame, accompanied by the echoed roar of automatics. Dropping flashlights marked the spots where cursing gorillas crumpled. They had learned The Shadow's strategy too late. The Shadow had known that the first shots would be wild. He had deliberately been waiting for a chance light to reveal him on the parapet. With the first shot, he had dropped. Other bullets had whistled above, after he was safe behind the wall.

The Shadow worked in split seconds. His fall had been with the shots; not after them. The breaking of his laugh had been the final touch. The end of the strident mirth had given the mobsters the impression that they had clipped The Shadow.

All had chosen the shortest route to the front porch parapet. They had scurried in from the open. Then The Shadow had changed his method. He had lured the enemy into a frontal attack. All but a few late gorillas were in the spot he wanted them.

The Shadow's position had become a stronghold. It was a perfect redan, where two parapets met in a salient angle at the front corner of the porch. The Shadow covered an area equal to three quarters of a circle.

Mobsters dropped to the ground. Heaving their betraying flashlights, they opened vicious fire. Bullets chipped chunks of stone from the walls that formed The Shadow's bulwark. Shifting, gaining new vantage points, The Shadow returned the fire, choosing the spots where revolver flashes showed.

Gorillas groaned. Their fire lessened. Half of the crew was silent. The others faltered. One of the men leaped to his feet and fled. Others copied the example. The Shadow's laugh rose high as his head and shoulders came up from the wall. His automatics thundered as they sent slugs after the scattering crooks.

Mobsters turned in flight, to deliver wild shots in response. Whenever a revolver barked, The Shadow's probing aim chose the flash for a new target. Ensconced in his chosen stronghold, The Shadow had won the fray. From the moment that he had coaxed the mobsters out into the open, the victory had been his.

Yet The Shadow sensed other danger. He had ended the frontal attack. Some of the gorillas lay motionless; others were crawling, wounded, for cover. The Shadow wheeled to face the unprotected area of the long porch. He was expecting an attack from the parapet at the other end.

THE SHADOW'S action was well timed. During the fray, two fighters had escaped the frontal attack.