The trip was a short one. When they alighted from the cab, the Melrues decided to wait at the neatest corner, where anyone looking for them would recognize them immediately. Their wait was less than three minutes.
A man stepped from the crowd and spoke to them. They recognized Louis Caudrey.
George was not sure that Caudrey was the friend whom the message meant, until the droopy actuary motioned them into another cab. In a low tone, Caudrey informed:
"Reddingham received your letter. Right after that, he heard from some mysterious party who had made arrangements for tonight. What it's all about, I don't know; but Reddingham asked me to meet you."
Caudrey's tone was frank. It fooled George effectively. Francine's details had not included the names of criminals who sought the three million dollars. Hurden, of course, was linked; but George knew nothing of the proxy's connection with Caudrey.
It looked as though Caudrey had been deputed as a reliable person by both The Shadow and Reddingham.
"We're going to see a big insurance man named Marvin Bradthaw," explained the actuary. "Whatever your business is, Reddingham says you can show full confidence in Mr. Bradthaw."
Caudrey was watching both his companions as he spoke. If either of the Melrues had shown distrust, Caudrey would have flashed an emergency signal.
Thugs were close at hand, ready to spring to action if needed. The cab was away from the corner, in a spot where smart trigger men could board it instantly and subdue the occupants without fuss. The driver, too, was in the game.
It happened, however, that both George and Francine took Caudrey at his word. The actuary closed the cab door and gave an order to the driver. The cab started off.
Watchers slid away to put in a telephone call. The news would reach Strampf long before the Melrues reached the downtown Solidarity Tower.
Within fifteen minutes after the false message had been broadcast from WNX, the Melrues were within the meshes of the far-flung network controlled by Marvin Bradthaw.
THAT quarter hour had proven a troubled one for Burbank.
First, Ace Gandley had introduced an underworld brother named Kelvey as the fellow who had imitated Burbank's voice to fool The Shadow's agents. With a grin Kelvey put on his act for Burbank's benefit.
Kelvey's own tone was a raspy one. He used it first.
"This is Kelvey," he spoke. Then in methodical fashion, he added: "Burbank speaking."
"Pretty neat huh?" gloated Ace, to Burbank. "Maybe I ought to send Kelvey in to pull it on those other lugs. Give 'em a laugh before they croak."
Ace eyed Burbank but saw no effect. Angrily Ace added:
"You think I'm waiting until Strampf shows up at nine o'clock! You got another guess. That's been switched! All Strampf's waiting for, is word that the radio stuff worked. When he gets that, he'll call here.
We'll be set!"
Two of Ace's thugs were bringing out the black-ray machine. They had dismantled it; Burbank saw them stack the parts in the crate. The pair opened a long padlocked box. From it they produced three submachine guns.
"We're doing it right," informed Ace. "We're going to spray those pals of yours! When that's done, we pull the big switch and beat it. This whole joint will cave!
"You're lucky, Burbank. Strampf needs you to work on that machine. That's why you're going along with us. I'm telling you this so you'll have sense enough to lay off any dumb stuff."
The importance of the next few minutes loomed upon Burbank. Desperately, he sought some way to aid his fellow agents. For the first time Burbank was ready to believe that The Shadow had been eliminated, as crooks claimed. Still there was a chance that his chief was still alive.
Despite his desire for mad action, Burbank retained his methodical manner. He looked across the room; calmly arose from his chair and started in the direction of the crate that held the ray machine.
"What's the idea?" snarled Ace roughly. He sprang across to grab at Burbank's shoulders. "Who told you to fool with this thing?"
"You said that Strampf wants me to fix it," returned Burbank. "It will be ruined, the way these men of yours packed it. Since my life depends upon it. I naturally want to keep the machine in good shape."
BURBANK started to remove portions of the apparatus from the crate. He reached the base and began to untangle its wires. A moment more and Burbank would have had them connected to send a message by the radio beam. A call for The Shadow, stating that nine o'clock would be too late.
Burbank had worked a message under Strampf's nose. He could fool Ace as easily. Unfortunately, the necessity of unpacking some of the apparatus had put another idea into Ace's head. The mobleader guessed that something was up. His conclusion, though erroneous, defeated Burbank.
"I get it," jeered Ace. "You're trying to stall things so we can't rub out your pals as soon as Kelvey gets that call from Strampf! Smart gags like that don't work with me!"
Roughly, Ace hauled Burbank from the crate and shoved him back to his chair. As Burbank sprawled, he could see the loose wires dangling from the side of the crate. He had not even managed to hook up the connection to send an unbroken beam.
Kelvey was at the telephone. Murderous men were ready with their machine guns. All that was needed was Strampf's call, plus Ace's order. One would bring the other; and both were due at any minute.
Quarter past eight. As Burbank figured it, there would be fifteen minutes more before The Shadow arrived outside to stay on watch for Strampf. If The Shadow could come and did arrive, the most that he could accomplish would be revenge upon departing crooks.
Through Burbank's brain flashed sounds of the future. He could picture the drill of machine guns; a titanic blast that would sink this prison into a ruined tomb.
Such would be the finish of The Shadow's agents.
CHAPTER XX. CHANGED DEATH
IN his hopeless picture of the future, Burbank had also visualized the outside darkness that surrounded the prison house. Silent, vacant darkness as Burbank imagined it. Gloom that covered Ace Gandley's lurking lookouts, and enshrouded no one else.
That picture was half right. The darkness was silent; but it was not vacant. Figures were creeping close to the walls, unnoticed by the thugs stationed there as pickets.
The front door of the house offered poor approach, for there was a street lamp opposite it. There was a side door, however, that could be reached by a short passage from the street. That door was well sheltered by darkness.
The back door, opening into a rear space behind the buildings on the next street, was completely darkened. Like the side door, it offered a possible route of entry.
At the side door, close against the darkened barrier, a cloaked figure was at work. Black-gloved fingers were handling a tiny probe in expert, noiseless fashion. The Shadow had arrived ahead of schedule. He had been in this vicinity since eight o'clock.
The back door was also yielding to an expert worker. The Shadow had brought along an aid to handle the second route. The man at the back was Tapper, whom The Shadow had mentioned when talking with Slade Farrow.
When it came to getting into places that served as strongholds of crime, Tapper recognized only one superior: The Shadow.
This task, however, involved more than the act of entry. As The Shadow's probing pick released the lock, there was a sound from the wall beside the door. One of Ace's lookouts was making his inspection.
The fellow had approached with stealth. As The Shadow turned, a flashlight glimmered.
For a half second, the guard saw The Shadow. Then, a gloved hand clamped over the lighted end of the flashlight. The lookout tried to spring away in the darkness, whipping out a revolver as he shifted. The Shadow's other arm was already on its way. A gloved fist sledged a heavy automatic straight to the lookout's head.