CARDONA obeyed. Nethro closed the door while Dreblin approached Cardona and found the detective’s revolver. The magnate tossed the weapon on the desk; then ordered Nethro to bind and gag the new prisoner.
Nethro started a protest; Dreblin flourished his revolver and the investigator obeyed.
Cardona offered no protest while Nethro trussed him. Joe had been caught entirely off guard. Dreblin’s eyes were ferocious behind the heavy automatic which the magnate held leveled. Cardona believed that by submitting easily, he could later talk terms with these captors.
For Joe did not think that they would deal in murder. The ace detective was convinced that Powlden was the real killer behind three deaths. The actions of Dreblin, however, were illuminating; and Joe decided that by playing dumb, he might fare better later.
One troubled thought, however, was racking the detective’s brain. Last night there had been heavy violence on Ninety-first Street. Togo Mallock had lost out in a machine gun fray. Was Dreblin in back of that episode? Joe wondered.
Nethro’s face looked familiar to the ace. Joe placed the man, just after Nethro had completed the gagging. Kip Nethro — investigator with the Acme Agency. Something of a detective in his own right, Nethro was. Joe wondered what circumstances had brought this card into the game.
“Well, then, Mr. Dreblin,” declared Nethro, with a smirk. “There’s the two of them, tied up the way you want them. What comes next?”
“We’re going to talk things over,” informed the magnate. “You and I, Nethro.”
“With these birds listening in? Your secretary and a headquarters dick?”
“You know this second man for a detective, do you?”
“Certainly! He’s Joe Cardona, acting inspector — the fellow who pinched Donald Powlden.”
“Good. If what you say is correct, Nethro, all for the better. If you are mistaken” — Dreblin’s rumble carried a peculiar irony — “no damage will be done. I am playing the game safe, Nethro, as you will observe—”
Dreblin broke off suddenly as a click attracted his attention. Leaping from his chair, he swung toward the bookcase just in time to see it sway inward on its hinges.
Joe Cardona, staring in the same direction, was astounded to see the tall figure of Lamont Cranston.
THE SHADOW had arrived in his chosen disguise. Following Harry Vincent’s tip, he had waited until after nine o’clock. Then he had approached Dreblin’s house; there he had picked the lock of the side door. He had followed an inner stairway that had brought him to this spot.
Joe Cardona had seen Cranston act before. Through the detective’s brain rushed a memory of that swift deed at Powlden’s, when the globe-trotter had caught the inventor’s wrist to stop the heavy clock that Powlden had chosen as a bludgeon. Cardona was to witness another demonstration of that sort.
Leaping forward, Dreblin was aiming his big revolver with his right hand, ready to overpower this new intruder. The Shadow, however, had no worry about the bulky magnate. As he sprang inward from the secret passage, The Shadow twisted to the right, avoiding Dreblin’s bullish charge.
Stopping short, the magnate swung about for new aim. The Shadow launched himself in headlong dive. His left fist caught Dreblin’s right wrist. His right arm shot by the magnate’s left hand.
A driving fist met Dreblin’s jaw. The bulky man staggered; then bellowed in rage. Dreblin’s chin was tough; that blow would have felled an ordinary fighter. Nevertheless, The Shadow’s punch had accomplished its mission. Before Dreblin could recover, The Shadow’s right arm was around his neck. A twist of The Shadow’s left hand made the gun drop useless from Dreblin’s right fist.
Snapping back from a forward stoop, The Shadow hoisted the bulky magnate in mid-air. With the ease of a wrestler, he sent the huge man spinning about; then released him with a side fling.
Dreblin crashed to the floor and rolled up against the bookcase. He lay there, half groggy.
The Shadow turned to meet Nethro.
The investigator had stood dumfounded at the sight of the fray. Either he had not intended to aid Dreblin or he had believed that the magnate could fell The Shadow — whichever the case, Nethro had made no move until Dreblin crashed.
Then the investigator sprang into action. Pouncing to the big desk, he shot his left hand forward and snatched up Cardona’s revolver which Dreblin had placed there. Wheeling back, he swung to aim; then stopped short.
The Shadow had gathered up Dreblin’s gun. Holding it in his right fist, he had Nethro covered. The investigator saw a ready finger on the trigger. With a sour snarl, Nethro lowered Cardona’s weapon.
“Excellent!” remarked The Shadow, in the quiet tone of Cranston. “Let the revolver fall. That is right.” He smiled slightly as Nethro’s fingers relaxed and the gun bounced glimmering upon the floor. “We can proceed more comfortably now.
“I see that you have some prisoners. I must ask you to release them. You will not need to reach in your pocket” — Nethro stopped his hand at The Shadow’s quiet warning — “I can provide you with a knife. Here you are, Mr.—”
The Shadow paused, quizzically. Nethro growled a reply.
“My name’s Nethro,” he informed. “Kip Nethro. A private investigator. Working for Mr. Dreblin. But I wasn’t in on this funny business.”
“Kip Nethro,” repeated The Shadow. “Well, Mr. Nethro, I had hoped to find you here. A left-handed man who wears a light gray overcoat. Just the chap I have been hoping to meet. Your action with the revolver was most opportune.”
NETHRO looked uneasy as he received the small knife that The Shadow proffered. However, he made no comment as he advanced to release Cardona and Harry.
The Shadow was holding Dreblin’s revolver in readiness. Noting that Nethro intended to make no trouble, The Shadow sat down behind the big desk.
Philo Dreblin was sitting up beside the bookcase. He was still half dazed; too shaken to attempt new battle. His eyes, however, were glowering as they surveyed the placid countenance of Lamont Cranston.
Keeping his gaze in the direction of both Nethro and Dreblin; holding the revolver leveled as he did so, The Shadow lifted the receiver of the telephone that stood on the desk. With his left hand he set the receiver upright on the desk, then dialed a number with that free hand.
Picking up the receiver, The Shadow held it to his ear until he heard the level tone of Burbank’s voice coming across the wire. The Shadow responded with a single, quiet word:
“Ready.”
Following that lone comment, he arose from the chair. Hanging up the receiver, he lounged beside the desk in fashion characteristic of Lamont Cranston.
The Shadow was awaiting the release of the prisoners. When Nethro had finished that task, The Shadow would be ready to hear the statements of all concerned.
Three intruders had entered this room tonight. Two had been promptly seized by Philo Dreblin and Kip Nethro. The third, however, had turned the tables. The Shadow was master of the scene.
CHAPTER XIV
AGENTS SLIP
“PAGING Mr. Burke.”
The bell boy’s call sounded through the lobby of the Hotel Selwick. Clyde Burke arose from an armchair and acknowledged it.
“You’re wanted on the telephone, Mr. Burke,” informed the bell hop. “Booth 3, right past the desk.”
Clyde gave the boy a quarter and headed for the booth. He spoke into the telephone; Burbank’s voice responded. It was a repetition of The Shadow’s command:
“Ready.”
It was only four blocks from the Selwick to the Belgaria Apartments; but Clyde took a taxi for the jump. The machine was waiting outside the Hotel Selwick. It was Moe Shrevnitz’s cab.
Reaching the apartment house, Clyde strolled into the lobby. He was keyed up for the adventure that was to come, but he was anxious not to betray that fact. Entering the elevator, he spoke to Sycher: