The Shadow had withdrawn his henchman. He knew that Cliff’s status might be questioned, even though Cliff had aided Joe Cardona. With his agent, The Shadow was departing. Death reigned in the crime crypt.
The Shadow had played his part. He had ended the reign of crime. He had saved wealth that crooks had marked for theft. The crime crypt had been uncovered. Joe Cardona, representative of the law, was in possession!
The Shadow had picked the exit through Armsbury’s, learning of it from Joe Cardona’s cry. Standing in Armsbury’s living room, he pointed Cliff Marsland toward the door. The agent nodded and hurried from the house. It was his part to vacate this vicinity.
Cliff, as he reached the corner of the nearest avenue, paused for a long breath. It was then that he heard the whispered echo of a weird laugh — a sound that seemed to come from in back of Armsbury’s home.
The laugh of The Shadow! It was sinister mockery that denoted triumph. Yet to Cliff, it carried a strange note that presaged impending action!
CHAPTER XXIV. FROM THE CRYPT
DETECTIVE JOE CARDONA stared about him. He was in possession of the crime crypt. He realized for the first time that The Shadow had departed; then he discovered that the prisoner who had aided him was also gone.
Cardona had not recognized Cliff Marsland in the dim light of the crypt. He suspected that his fellow prisoner had been a former member of the crooked gang. That was all.
Cecil Armsbury, alone of all the crooks, still lived. The old man, sprawled helplessly against the wall, was weaponless. He was clutching his wounded shoulder, whimpering as though in pain.
Gasps for aid attracted Cardona’s attention. The detective was forced to smile as he noted Handley Matson. The museum curator was weakly endeavoring to release himself from the bonds which held him.
Cardona approached and aided. Handley Matson, freed, staggered to his feet. He was unsteady; his cadaverous face showed pallor. Cardona thrust a gun into his hand.
“Look after Armsbury,” ordered the detective. “Keep him covered. I’m going to see what’s in here.”
Cardona motioned toward the door beyond the mummy case of Senwosri. Picking up loose revolvers from the floor, the detective approached and hacked at the lock of Armsbury’s treasure room. He finally used a revolver to blast away the lock.
The sight of glittering objects opened Cardona’s eyes. Here was pelf of tremendous value — stolen wealth which Armsbury had stored away during his long career. It captured the detective’s entire attention until a sharp cry made Cardona turn back to the crypt.
Cecil Armsbury had risen weakly to his feet. Handley Matson, nervous, had made no attempt to stop him. Now, with a renewal of his old vigor, Armsbury had leaped upon the curator!
Cardona saw Matson go down. His revolver clattered on the floor. Armsbury scooped it up with his left hand and sprang to the side of the crypt as Joe Cardona blazed a revolver shot.
The bullet missed its mark. Armsbury, with fiendish strength, yanked open the side door. Cardona, firing, sprang forward. Armsbury seemed to possess a charm against the detective’s bullets. Cardona saw him disappear beyond the door.
“Come on!” Cardona thrust a new gun into Matson’s hand as the curator rose from the floor.
THEN, with prompt pursuit, the detective yanked open the door and revealed the long passage which Armsbury had taken. The old crook was fleeing toward a spot of safety which Cardona had not known was in existence.
Joe fired down the passage. His bullets ricocheted from the walls, too late to stop Armsbury’s flight. The old man had gained the other end. He was going through the panel. Cardona dashed after him and reached the barrier. He yanked it open.
“Hurry! Hurry!” he heard Armsbury calling. “We must get away or all is lost!”
Scuffling feet sounded on stairs. Armsbury had called to Sinker Hargun’s henchmen. These gangsters had not heard the firing in which their leader had been slain. The buried crypt was sound-proof.
Cardona delivered wild shots as he dashed through the storeroom, with Matson at his heels. His flashlight showed the stairs that led above. He blazed in that direction. Return shots resounded. Then a door slammed shut. Cardona clambered up the steps and tried to crash the barrier. It resisted.
Cecil Armsbury was explaining matters to a group of excited gunmen. He was urging them to flight; and he pointed out the way. Across the basement was an elevator shaft. An open car stood there. The operator and the janitor were staring at the sound of shots which they had heard.
A revolver barked from a mobster’s hand. The elevator man and the janitor fled for cover, leaving the car deserted. Armsbury waved his good arm and the mobsters followed him into the lift. The door clanged.
They rose upward to the lobby floor.
The door was flung open. The operator of a second elevator looked out as he saw a gun-wielding gangster spring from the car that had come from the cellar. He made a leap to stop the armed invader.
The gangster, with others at his heels, flung the elevator man aside and paused to aim at him. Then came a sharp cry from a second mobster. The aiming man looked up. Straight ahead, framed in the outer doorway of the lobby, was a looming form in black!
The Shadow!
A FIST-CLENCHED automatic barked. The murderous gangster dropped. Others raised their guns and started fire. Automatics thundered in quick return. The Shadow’s shots, aimed at the startled group, found quick effect. Mobsters sprawled, their hasty shots traveling wide.
“Back! Back!” Cecil Armsbury was screaming. “Up to the roof!”
Three gangsters were all who could obey. Diving into the elevator, they clanged the door. The lift started up. Armsbury uttered a cry of satisfaction. Then came a growl from a mobster, peering through the slatted side of the elevator.
“He’s after us!” was the man’s statement. “In the other elevator!”
Armsbury peered through the slats. His lips writhed as he realized the truth. The Shadow had seized the second elevator and was in pursuit.
The shaft was designed for three elevators. The central one was not in use. Hence there was a space between the two — the one which contained Armsbury and his gangsters and the other in which The Shadow was following.
“Out with the light,” ordered Armsbury.
A mobster clicked the switch. The elevator was passing the seventh floor. Armsbury knew that the old hotel had twelve stories.
“Slow it!” he ordered in an undertone. “We can’t get out before he reaches us—”
The command was obeyed. Gangster guns were through the slats, ready to blaze The Shadow’s elevator when it came alongside. In the vague gloom of the shaft, the other car was gaining upward impetus. Its solid top was a guard against bullets; but its slatted sides were vulnerable, beginning three feet above the floor.
Gangster guns blazed. The faster moving elevator was the target. To return the fire, The Shadow would have to be at the slats. Bullets flattened against The Shadow’s lift. Others whistled between the bars.
Growling gangsters stayed their fire as the other elevator shot by. There had been no reply. They thought that they had clipped The Shadow!
“Down!” gasped Armsbury. “Down! Don’t take chances—”
A mobster fumbled in the darkness. He stopped the car and started its course downward. This time they could fight their way through the lobby. Sure of safety, the mobsters were grouped against the open-slatted side.
Then came thunderous roars. From the height above, the second elevator came dropping, with all control released. The Shadow had loosed it from the topmost floor. With terrific speed, he had taken the downward pursuit!
Freed from the control of the elevator, he was at the slatted sides, pouring the lead of his loaded automatics into the car which held Armsbury and the frightened mobsters.