The Shadow - The Shadow Laughs Part 11

"Why should we sting you, Doc? It's a soft racket for us."

"You said it, Spotter."

"To tell you the truth, Doc, I was always kinda worried about you. I figured maybe you was makin' the phony mazuma right here."

Doc Birch snorted.

"You should know better than that, Spotter," he said. "If I had the plates and tried to print, I'd be nabbed quick. No, sir. Get it in, get it out. That's my method."

He went to a safe in the corner. As he did, his shadow loomed large upon the floor of the room. It became a huge black phantom that seemed to reach to the dim hall.

Spotter uttered an exclamation of fright.

"What's the matter?" asked Doc Birch, quickly.

"Nothin', Doc," answered Spotter.

THE gaunt man opened the safe and removed a stack of bills. He closed the safe and flashed the moneybefore Spotter's eyes, spreading it so the gangster could see the bills. They were crisp and new.

"All ten spots," said Doc Birch. "No phonies, either. These are real, boy. I'm paying them out for the stuff."

The p.a.w.nbroker wrapped a thick, red rubber band around the stack of currency. Spotter was unable to determine the amount of the cash.

"What made you so nervous?" questioned Birch, as he thrust the payment money in his coat pocket.

"Nothin'," grunted Spotter. "I just been kinda shaky to-night."

"Did that rub-out of Reds Mackin worry you?"

"No. Why should it?"

"Well, it was a lot of hullabaloo over just one guy. I wonder what Reds Mackin had been doing? They went out of their way to make sure of getting him."

Spotter shook his head as though the whole affair was a mystery to him. He glanced at the floor, and felt relieved. The huge shadow had disappeared since Doc Birch had come back to his place in the room.

Evidently it had been due to the peculiar position of the lights. Spotter was not anxious to be reminded of anything shadowy.

The bell rang twice. Doc Birch motioned to Spotter.

Then he went out in the hall.

Together they descended the stairs. A man was standing beyond the gla.s.s-paneled inside door. His hand was pressed against the pane, so three fingers showed. This was evidently a sign of some sort.

Birch opened the door. A package was thrust in.

There, in the darkness, with Spotter looking on, the p.a.w.nbroker gave the man the packet of ten-dollar bills. In an instant, the visitor was gone. The sound of a departing automobile came from outside.

"Come on," said Birch, picking up the package. He led Spotter through a short hall. They went down a flight of stairs into the cellar.

Birch turned on the bas.e.m.e.nt light. He laid the package on the floor, and burst it open. Stacks of twenty-dollar and fifty-dollar bills came into view. Birch examined one.

"Great stuff," he said. "Up to the usual standard. How do you want yours, Spotter? Twenties or fifties?"

"Half of each," replied the little man.

AS the p.a.w.nbroker stooped forward to count out the counterfeit cash, his shadow again performed its elongation. This time Spotter said nothing; but his face became drawn and tense. He watched Birch for a moment; then turned cautiously and looked about the cellar.

His inspection proved that they were alone. The edges of the cellar were gloomy, but no one was visible.

A pile of blackness at one corner proved to be a large heap of coal-evidently left over from the winter's supply.

Birch finished counting the money, and rose just before Spotter ended his survey of the cellar.The crafty-faced Spotter noted that the huge spot of blackness was no longer on the floor, now that the p.a.w.nbroker had arisen.

"Get going, Spotter," warned Birch. "I'll let you out as we go upstairs. The others will be here soon. I want to unload before midnight if I can. Pay me your split as soon as you finish pa.s.sing these."

The p.a.w.nbroker put the remaining counterfeit bills in a box, and covered them with paper. He and Spotter went upstairs. Birch turned off the light as they were leaving. Then, as an afterthought, he switched it on again.

"Duke will be here soon," he said to Spotter. "No use in my blundering around in the dark."

A full minute went by after the two men had left the cellar. Then a shadow began to grow on the floor. It extended from the coal bin in the corner.

Had Spotter been there, he would have screamed with fright; for from the blackness of the coal pile emerged a tall figure, clad entirely in black, cloaked beyond recognition.

The strange phantomlike being advanced softly across the cellar. It crouched beside the box where the counterfeit bills had been placed.

The cloak and hat dropped, and a man of medium height arose from the spot. He was attired in rough, ill-fitting clothes, with a shapeless dirty sweater to give him every appearance of a typical hoodlum.

Spotter would not have recognized the man; but he would have known the voice. For the roughly clad fellow laughed in a low, sinister tone.

His laugh, soft though it was, echoed weirdly from the bas.e.m.e.nt walls. It was the laugh of The Shadow-The Shadow whom Spotter believed to be dead!

CHAPTER XV. THE RAID AT MIDNIGHT.

THE disguised Shadow gazed curiously about the cellar. Then he again turned his attention to the box, removed the papers, and took out several counterfeit bills. He studied these under the light. He pocketed them; then rearranged the box exactly as Doc Birch had left it.

Although the p.a.w.nshop proprietor had stated to Spotter that he would soon return to the cellar, the roughly dressed visitor seemed entirely indifferent to the fact. He went from one part of the bas.e.m.e.nt to another; and finally stopped by the coal pile.

Taking a long stick that lay against the wall, he probed the depths of the coal pile.

Although he performed this operation with very little noise, the sound of the shifting coal was sufficient to drown other noises. Hence The Shadow paused in his work occasionally, and listened for any sound that might come from the stairs that led to the floor above.

A click sounded from the coal pile. Probing, The Shadow found a flat sheet of metal. He examined it under the light. It was a plate used in the manufacture of counterfeit bills.

After a close examination, The Shadow compared the plate with the sample bills that he had taken. His disguised face was impa.s.sive for a moment; then a slight smile appeared upon the thick lips.

The Shadow had detected almost imperceptible differences between the plate and the bills. He replaced the plate in the coal bin, upon others that formed a stack. He swept lumps of coal over the plates.

Suddenly he stopped in his work.He stood in an att.i.tude of attention for a moment. He wheeled with amazing quickness just as a man appeared from the far end of the cellar.

"Hands up!" snapped the newcomer, in a low, commanding voice. The automatic which he carried gave emphasis to the order.

The hands of the pretended hoodlum were buried in the fold at the bottom of his sweater. For an instant his fingers hesitated; then he raised his hands with feigned sullenness.

"Guess you got me, all right," he said, in a gruff, sulky voice. "But I ain't doin' nothin' here."

The new arrival sauntered into the light. He was a square-jawed individual, clad in dark blue, with a black hat. He pulled back his coat with his left hand, revealing a badge.

"Not doing anything, eh?" he commented. "We'll find out about that, later on. In the meantime, just keep your hands up.

"I'm a Federal agent, in case you don't know it. That coal pile is just as interesting to me as it was to you."

THE SHADOW did not reply. Still playing a part, he glowered wickedly at the man who had captured him. He stood there, with puffed lips and twisted nose, his shadow forming a huge blot on the floor before him.

"What are you doing here?" demanded the Federal agent. "You aren't in on the game. I know that.

Trying to steal something?"

"Why should I tell you?" came the sullen reply.

The Federal agent shrugged his shoulders.

"You'll talk later on," he said. "For your information, I'm not alone on this job. My pals are getting in upstairs. We're going to grab everybody in the place."

The prisoner remained silent. There were footsteps on the stairs.

"Here they are now," added the secret-service man.

He turned his head to stare into the barrel of a revolver carried by Doc Birch. The p.a.w.nbroker's face was distorted with anger.

"Drop that gun!" he snarled. "I'll shoot you clear out of the place!"

The Federal agent's automatic clattered on the cellar floor. Doc Birch studied him with keen eyes; then his gaze shifted to the rough gangster standing by the coal pile.

"This fellow isn't with you," observed Birch. "That's sure enough. Well, I'll find out the whole lay before I'm through with you. Government man, eh? Looking for some sort of evidence?"

The p.a.w.nbroker went to the box which held the counterfeit bills. Using his left hand he pulled the bundles out one by one and tossed them into the furnace near by.

"Always keep a fire going during warm weather," he said. "It's a good place to burn rubbish."

The secret-service man stared grimly while Doc Birch completed the destruction of the counterfeit bills."Sorry you came in so soon," said the p.a.w.nbroker calmly. He looked in the furnace and closed the door.

"Wait about five minutes. Then you can look around all you like and pick up anything you can find."

He stared toward The Shadow.

"You're out of luck, fellow," he said. "I've got a right to plug you. You're a burglar. Well, keep your mouth shut. Savvy?"

The secret-service man interrupted.

"You might as well give up, Birch," he said in his firm voice. "You're in for enough already, without using that gun of yours. My men are coming in your house now."

"That so?" sneered Birch. "Let them come. They won't find anything. You don't know what I burned, and you never will know."

"You can't get rid of the plates," replied the Federal agent. "So put your gun away. The jig is up."

"What plates?" Doc Birch's voice was filled with apprehension.

"The plates this fellow just uncovered in the coal pile," replied the officer.

Birch's face was livid with rage.

"So that's your game!" he exclaimed. "Sending a fake burglar in to plant some plates! You birds are worse than a gang of crooks. Well I'll chance it, just for that. It's curtains for both of you!"

HIS finger was on the trigger of the revolver as it covered the secret-service man. But before he could fire the threatened shot, the roughly dressed hoodlum sprang forward.

Seeing the sudden menace, Birch changed his aim. But the sweatered attacker had antic.i.p.ated the move.

He made a dive to the floor, just as the shots rang out. In another instant he caught the astonished p.a.w.nbroker by the ankle and jerked him to the floor.

Birch lost his hold on the gun. It clattered against the furnace.

The secret-service man took advantage of the opportunity. He owed his life to the timely intervention of the pretended rowdy; but he thought the fellow had acted merely to save himself.

Seizing his own automatic from the floor, where it had lain since he dropped it at Birch's command, the Federal agent swung it back and forth, covering both Doc Birch and The Shadow, who was now kneeling beside the box near the furnace.

"Hands up!" cried the Federal agent. "Hands up, or I'll fire!"

Doc Birch obeyed as he rose to a sitting position. But The Shadow did not follow the order.

In a single second he had changed his ident.i.ty. He had covered himself with the cloak and hat which lay beside the box. Like a flash he was behind a post; next he was on the stairs, moving toward the floor above.

The Federal agent's shots were wide. But as the fleeing form in black reached the head of the stairs, it encountered two men who were hurrying to the cellar. They were the expected reenforcements.

The new arrivals were ready for the situation. Their automatics were in their hands; but the closeness ofthe being in black did not allow them time to use them. Instead, they leaped as one upon the tall figure as it encountered them.

The result was surprising.

One of the agents crumpled beneath a terrific blow that struck him. His nerveless fingers lost their hold upon the automatic, and he sank helpless to the floor.

The other grappled with his antagonist; but the wiry figure in black broke his hold, and the man went tumbling down the cellar stairs.

A cry escaped his lips. It was heard by others. An entire detail of secret-service men were entering the side door, which had been opened for them.