The cloaked shape gained the touring car just as Gabby gave it the gas. Once more, The Shadow was riding with the mob. Like Cliff, he had sensed that the end of the journey was close. Along this darkened street, he could risk another trip on the rear bumper.
THE three cars swung right. They came to a stop upon a short, wide street — one of those peculiar, little-used thoroughfares that run parallel with the upper avenues in Manhattan. Mobsters came to the sidewalk. They followed Spud’s lead through a passageway between two old apartment buildings.
It was here that Spud gave his instructions as he pointed ahead. He was explaining the location of an old-fashioned apartment building, the corner of which was just visible from this spot. Spud was terse.
“We’ve got to cover it all around,” said the mobleader. “Muggsy and Marsland pick the fire tower. The rest keep farther off. Two of you opposite the front door. Louie and Gabby will do. We don’t need you in the cars tonight.”
Mobsters moved toward the designated positions. Cliff found himself with “Muggsy,” in a short, blind alley that was by the bottom of the fire tower. Muggsy moved forward to inspect the darkness. Cliff was about to follow when a soft hiss restrained him. Cliff caught a whispered command. It was from The Shadow, unseen in the darkness.
Muggsy returned, passing the lighted entrance to the tower. Cliff put a prompt question, one that The Shadow had inspired by his whispered command.
“Say, Muggsy,” suggested Cliff. “Get out to Spud and ask him what floor the job is on. We ought to be posted. Somebody might start a fool racket upstairs. If we don’t know the floor, we won’t know what to do about it.”
“Guess you’re right, Cliff.”
Muggsy sidled out from the alley. Cliff caught sight of a blackened shape that moved swiftly into the fire tower, unseen by the departing gangster. Once inside, The Shadow’s form became unseen. Muggsy returned. He had found Spud across the street.
“Fourth floor,” informed Muggsy. “Side toward this street. Number 4G, Spud says.”
Within the fire tower, The Shadow moved into the blackness of the stairs. Silently, his form was gliding upward. His keen ears had caught Muggsy’s words. The Shadow was moving to his post.
CHAPTER XV
CARDONA FINDS LUCK
WHILE The Shadow was trailing mobsters bent on new crime, Commissioner Wainwright Barth and Detective Joe Cardona were concerning themselves with old events. The two representatives of the law were at the Talleyrand Hospital, in conference with Doctor Seton Lagwood.
The first of the death-sleep patients had recovered. The others were showing signs of life. Doctor Lagwood’s hopes had been realized. As with the first group of victims, the time element of forty-eight hours had done its helpful work.
“My former patients” — Doctor Lagwood was speaking from his chair in the experimental room — “recovered at midnight. We allowed them until morning before they were questioned regarding their experience.”
“Would you advise the same in this case?” asked Barth.
“I would,” nodded Lagwood. “Unquestionably their minds will be clearer then. Of course, if it is imperative, we could allow one or two of them to speak. But I advise the utmost caution for the present.”
“Very well,” decided Barth. “Come, Cardona, let us leave.”
“Just a minute, commissioner,” insisted the detective. “I want to find out which one of that bunch woke up first. Which one was it, doctor?”
Doctor Lagwood picked up a chart from the table. He consulted it carefully, then made his reply.
“Gerald Throckmorton,” stated the physician. “Let me see — he is the man from Boston, is he not?”
“Yes.” Cardona turned to Barth. “Commissioner, I’d like to ask that fellow just one question. Why he came down here with a private detective.”
“Could we allow that?” Barth asked Lagwood.
The physician pondered. At first, he seemed on the point of refusing the request. Then, after giving more thought, he decided that it would be allowable. He conducted Barth and Cardona along a hallway and into a private room. There they saw Gerald Throckmorton propped, white-faced, upon the pillows of a cot.
Despite his pallor, Throckmorton seemed very much awake. His eyes were clear as they saw the visitors. His lips opened and he smiled as he put a greeting to Lagwood.
“Hello, Doc,” said the young man, “you’re back again, eh? Who are your friends?”
“Commissioner Barth,” introduced Lagwood, “and Detective Cardona. The latter has a question which he would like answered. You were accompanied to New York by a private detective. Why was he with you?”
“That’s a long story,” smiled Throckmorton.
“Just give the primary reason,” urged Lagwood. “Did you fear robbery? Did you have valuables with you?”
“Yes,” responded the young man, half closing his eyes. “Securities to deliver to Currian.”
DOCTOR LAGWOOD turned to Cardona. The detective nodded. This gave him the start he wanted. Throckmorton had been robbed, but apparently did not know it. Lagwood’s gesture indicated that it would be unwise to worry him with the news.
Barth turned toward the door. Cardona was about to follow when Throckmorton opened his eyes and again smiled. He spoke, half in a tone of surprise.
“You’re leaving?” he queried. “I wanted to talk longer—”
“Wait until the morning,” interposed Lagwood. “Detective Cardona will be back then.”
“All right,” agreed Throckmorton. “Tomorrow morning will be all right. Just so long as I can talk before Wednesday night.”
Joe Cardona stopped abruptly. Almost involuntarily, he spoke aloud, responding to the statement that Throckmorton had made.
“Wednesday night?” he queried. “This is Wednesday night.”
Throckmorton swung in the bed and propped his head on one elbow. He was completely aroused from his lethargy. His tone, though bewildered, was clear.
“Wednesday night?” he echoed. “It — it can’t be. Why I was at Currian’s last night — Monday night. I–I - have been asleep for two days? I thought it was only one.”
Doctor Lagwood stepped forward anxiously. Commissioner Barth was also apprehensive. Joe Cardona remained stolid, as Throckmorton blurted objections to the two men who tried to quiet him.
“I’ve got to talk!” he cried. “I know that crooks must have grabbed my securities. Currian’s safe was open. They could have rifled it, too. But that’s nothing! Tonight — Wednesday night — you can’t stop me! I’m going to talk!”
“The result might be serious,” warned Lawgood, turning to Barth. “He can speak if you order it; but the consequences will be your own. I speak as a physician.”
“Quiet him,” agreed Barth. “His life may be at stake.”
“Perhaps,” broke in Cardona, thrusting forward between the physician and the commissioner, “but maybe other lives are already at stake. I’ll stand for the consequences, commissioner. I want to hear this man’s statement.”
For an instant, Barth boiled with indignation. He glared at Cardona while Doctor Lagwood stood by, shaking his head in troubled fashion. Angered at Cardona’s insubordination, the commissioner was ready to use forcible measures. It was Throckmorton who changed the situation. Already the recovered patient was gripping Cardona’s coat, pouring out his story to the detective.
“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 dick along with me. He was armed, too.