As he spoke, Eagle pressed the other man’s shoulder. Talker shifted slightly backward, toward the curtained archway behind him. Eagle stopped; a curious gleam appeared upon his face as he stepped away, like a photographer posing a subject.
Talker stared. He wondered what was coming. He had not long to wait. Eagle Tabrick raised his hand, with a sweeping signal. The response was a muffled burst from the curtain in back of Talker.
The shot was dulled. A revolver, handled from the folds of the curtain, revealed itself by the scorching tongue of flame. Talker Grube doubled backward, a sickly expression showed upon his face as a choke came from his throat.
Like a toppled dummy figure, The Crime Master’s mouthpiece crumpled to the floor. He rolled upon his back. His last gasp faded. Talker Grube was dead.
From the trembling curtain leered a rough face. A wiry man stepped into view, pocketing his smoking revolver. He, like Eagle Tabrick, was known to The Shadow. He was Pigeon Melgin, most notorious of Eagle’s six lieutenants.
Eagle Tabrick was holding the envelope in his left hand; with his right, he clapped Pigeon Melgin on the back. The big shot was commending his lieutenant’s skill.
Together, gloating, Eagle and Pigeon surveyed the corpse of Talker Grube, while The Shadow watched from the curtained window. The assassination of Talker Grube was Eagle Tabrick’s final answer to The Crime Master’s ultimatum!
CHAPTER X
DEATH FROM THE DARK
EAGLE TABRICK laughed.
“Ten o’clock.” The big shot’s statement was disdainful. “That’s the time he gave me, Pigeon. You heard?”
“Sure.” The lieutenant nodded. “I knew he was stalling you, Eagle. Only thing bothered me was why you didn’t hand me the signal quicker.”
“I wanted him to spill something,” growled Eagle. “He did, all right. Say — if that dope of his was straight, we’ve got until Tuesday night to beat The Crime Master to a big job. What do you think of it, Pigeon?”
“Sounds good.” The came doubt in Pigeon’s tone. “Just the same, Eagle, you can’t be taking no long chances with The Crime Master.”
“You’re buffaloed, too eh?” quizzed Eagle, with a snarl. “Say — maybe this hokum of Talker’s had something to it. How about it — suppose I was blotted out. Would you join up with the Crime Master?”
“How do I know?” Pigeon shrugged his shoulders. “You ain’t been put on the spot, have you? Anyway — I just croaked Talker Grube for you. That shows how I stand.”
“What about the others?”
“They’re hiding out, ain’t they? That shows they’re with you. Why get goofy, Eagle? We’re all with you. I’ve been hiding up here, haven’t I? What more do you want?”
“You’re right, Pigeon. I’ve got nothing to squawk about. If somebody should get me, things would be different, of course. But until then, I can rely on your mob and the others. Nobody’s going to get me, though. I’ve shown what I think of The Crime Master’s bluff.”
Eagle chuckled as he finished his decisive statement. He glanced at the envelope that he still held in his hand. His ugly smile flickered anew.
“Talker turned out to be a sap,” he asserted. “Handed me my instructions. Right from headquarters. Let’s see what The Crime Master has to say.”
Ripping open the envelope, Eagle drew forth a folded sheet of thick paper. He spread it. His eyes took on a puzzled stare. Pigeon looked over his chief’s shoulder. He saw the reason for Eagle’s surprise.
The sheet of paper was absolutely blank!
“WHAT do you make of it, Eagle?” came Pigeon’s question.
Tabrick tossed paper and envelope upon the table. He turned to make reply.
“It looks like The Crime Master figured what might happen,” he said, seriously. “Talker was to come again to-morrow. Like as not, he would have brought a new envelope — with a real message — and asked for this one back.
“I don’t like it, Pigeon. It’s a funny kind of bluff. If there was a phony message on that paper, it wouldn’t be so bad. But a blank—”
“Why does that worry you?” questioned Pigeon. “It looks kind of dumb to me. Like the guy didn’t know nothing.”
“You’re wrong.” Eagle spoke with assurance. “Figure it this way, Pigeon. Nobody could tell who sent this blank sheet of paper. That’s why I don’t like the look of it. Suppose somebody should plug me — suppose the bulls should find this dead-head envelope. What would it mean to them? Nothing.”
“I get you,” nodded Pigeon. “It’s a bluff that can’t come back on the guy who pulled it.”
Eagle responded with a nod of his own. His tone became more serious than before.
“It’s after ten o’clock,” he mused, aloud. “We didn’t give Talker a chance to put that call through. We’ve got to work from under cover, Pigeon. If The Crime Master means business, he’ll be out to get me.
“Talker wasn’t stalling when he told me about that swag up at the importing company. That’s what The Crime Master’s after, sure enough. He pulled a good job at the Titan Trust; but he’ll be cagey about using his regular workers too soon after that.
“There’s the lay, Pigeon. Talker talked too much. The Crime Master needs my outfits. He figures that with six new mobs, another robbery would be a cinch. Well” — Eagle paused confidently — “my crews are going to pull that job. But it won’t be for The Crime Master. It’ll be for me — before Tuesday night—”
Eagle was standing in the center of the rooms. His profile showed clearly to The Shadow, as the hidden watcher clung beside the window. Pigeon Melgin was standing directly in front of Eagle when the interruption came.
A sizzing whistle whined inward from the window. Something, traveling at high speed, plastered itself against the side of Eagle’s face. The big shot staggered; something exploded with a puff; Eagle’s head was smothered in a blanketing cloud of greenish vapor that dispelled like the spray from an atomizer.
A snarl ended in convulsive chokes as Eagle Tabrick slumped to the floor. Hands clawed the carpet; the sprawling figure writhed, then lay still. Death had struck from the dark.
There was an instant’s pause on the part of Pigeon Melgin while the lieutenant stood horrified at the fate which had come to his chief. Then, with a venomous oath, Pigeon leaped toward the window, yanking his revolver as he sprang.
Against the glow of the Manhattan sky, Pigeon saw the railed top of the warehouse opposite. Picking that as his objective, he raised his revolver and fired two defiant shots. They found no mark, for Pigeon had no target. But the mobleader, in his mad spring, had placed his own form in open view.
Ssssssssssss!
A second whine came through the outside air. Pigeon stumbled as a projectile smashed against his chest. A puff; the gangleader’s head was enveloped in a noxious cloud of green. Coughing in agony, Pigeon staggered forward. His wild hands clutched the curtain beside the window. It gave. Enveloped in a fold of cloth, the mobleader rolled dead upon the floor.
The fall of the curtain revealed The Shadow. Like a grotesque silhouette, the black-garbed watcher was shown in outline by the new light from the room. He had seen the fate of Eagle Tabrick; he had witnessed the death of Pigeon Melgin. He was open to the same menace that had dropped the evil pair!
THE SHADOW, however, had turned. Swinging toward the warehouse opposite, he poised upon the window ledge. He saw what Pigeon Melgin had failed to find. Rising over the rail on the warehouse roof was the outline of a man’s head and shoulders. Against the whitened surface, The Shadow saw the aiming barrel of a rifle.