THE pawnshop designated by the fireman was closed. There was a locked door beside it that led to a flight of stairs. Cardona ordered three of his men to smash it.
Uniformed policemen pushed back the curious persons who were invading the side street, wondering what this new activity might mean.
The detectives broke down the door. They found a passageway beside the steps. As Cardona was urging his men to preserve quiet, one of his assistants approached him. The man had gone down the passage.
“Looks like there’s a way downstairs here,” he said.
“A passage under the street!” exclaimed Cardona. “Maybe that’s it!”
He looked quickly about him and picked out three detectives.
“Find the way back!” he ordered. “Maybe some of them are trapped. But the rest of us are going up!”
The intrepid detective led the way. He and his men stole softly up the stairs. They paused to listen after they had gone three flights.
Cardona, his flashlight turned to the floor, hissed a command for silence. He fancied that he had heard a slight sound from above. Then he was sure of it. There was a distinct thump of a trapdoor being dropped.
“Come on, men!” exclaimed Cardona. “After them!”
The detectives rushed up the last flight. Cardona’s light revealed a trapdoor which was moving. Some one was trying to force it into place.
The detective did not hesitate. He fired his automatic through the barrier. The trapdoor no longer moved.
Lifted by two of his men, Cardona pushed it up and peered out upon the roof. The huddled form of a man lay in front of him.
Then came a revolver shot. A bullet splintered the trapdoor. Joe Cardona ducked. Then he put his hand through the opening and fired in the direction of the shots. There was no volley in return.
The detective and his men emerged upon the roof. Crouching in the darkness, they gazed in all directions.
They could see no one.
Then came a shout from the building across the street. Firemen on top of the burning apartment house had heard the shots. They were signaling. One of them pointed in the distance.
“Come on!”
It was Cardona’s command. He started the pursuit over the irregular roofs, leaving one of his men to search the victim who had been killed by the shots through the trapdoor.
Clambering over a small wall between two buildings, Cardona sighted his quarry. Five men were making their way across the roofs. Two of them were leaning upon the others.
CARDONA’S revolver spoke. His shots went wide. The five men scattered. Each one dropped to the roof. They seemed to be seeking safety.
With a shout of triumph, Cardona leaped from the wall, and his men followed.
Then came the answering fire. The members of the Silent Seven shot with deadly aim. Two of Cardona’s men fell.
“Behind the wall!” screamed Cardona. His cry was too late. There were five men with him; all had come forward. Two were out of the fight. The others fired with their automatics.
Answering shots came from the enemy. Another of Cardona’s men gasped and collapsed.
Cardona raised himself to fire. A shot came from across the roof. The detective’s arm dropped helplessly as a bullet struck his wrist.
The odds were against the detectives. Cardona realized that. The merciless survivors of the Silent Seven were about to exterminate the detectives. There was no hope.
Cardona saw a hooded figure rise boldly, by the edge of the roof. He knew that he was the man’s target; and he was helpless. His eyes were staring. Then he heard the report of a revolver.
He thought the hooded man had fired.To his amazement, the man toppled and plunged headlong from the roof of the building!
Then Cardona saw who had fired. Another man had appeared, through an opening close by the spot where the last of the Seven were grouped. Standing like an avenging specter, this newcomer had shot the man whose gun was trained upon the helpless detective!
“The Shadow!” exclaimed Cardona. “The Shadow!”
Four hooded men arose as one. They were the last of the Silent Seven. With one accord, they hurled themselves at the man who blocked their path to safety. The Shadow’s gun spoke again and again and again. His enemies went down — all but one.
The last man flung himself upon The Shadow. For a moment they grappled. Then Cardona saw The Shadow fall, perilously near the edge of the roof. Neither he nor his opponent fired.
The last man of the Silent Seven threw himself once more against The Shadow, who seemed to topple over the edge. Without waiting, the robed man dashed to the opening in the roof, to make his escape.
Vengeance filled Cardona’s mind. He was helpless. He could only cry out in anger. One of his detectives responded.
The sound of shots came close beside Cardona. He fancied that he saw the robed figure tremble and sway as it went swiftly through the opening in the roof.
Cardona arose. Forgetful of his own wound, he hurried forward to the spot where he had last seen The Shadow. There was a wall straight down to the street. It was studded with windows. There was no sign of The Shadow.
A limousine started along the street and turned the corner. Cardona realized that it was taking the escaping man to safety; that it contained the grim fighter who had overcome The Shadow!
His conjecture was correct. In the limousine speeding toward Broadway, a stern-faced man sat muttering in the darkness of the back seat. He had thrown his robe from his shoulders. Each passing street light revealed the features of a middle-aged man whose face bore a long, narrow scar.
A VOICE spoke in the darkness. Its tones were a low, harsh whisper, that were heard only by the man in back. The chauffeur could not hear the voice. The glass partition between him and the back barred the sound.
The man with the scarred face turned in amazement to see a stranger whose black cloak and broad-brimmed hat made him almost invisible.
“So,” said the voice. “I have the pleasure of being with Professor Marvin Jukes. You, I take it, are the leader of the Silent Seven.”
The grim-faced man tightened his lips.
“A man of high standing — to the public,” came the ironical tones of the sinister voice. “But at heart a criminal — the leader of a gang of criminals!”
There was no reply.
“The Silent Seven,” repeated the voice, hissing the words. “Each member kept a reminder of his duty. Like Marchand’s dice. Always the number seven. There were seven. Now there is only one the last of the Seven!”
“Who are you?” demanded the man with the scarred face.
“They call me The Shadow,” came the reply. “You thought that I no longer existed — after our struggle on the roof. But I am used to walls, professor. When I go down them, I do not fall. You left me too soon. I came down and found your limousine awaiting you.”
“What do you want of me?”
“You know my purpose.” The Shadow’s voice was significant. “You have captured one of my men. He is in danger. You alone know where he is. I offer you your life in exchange for his. Tell me where he is!”
The leader of the Seven did not reply. He was staring straight ahead, as though he did not hear The Shadow’s words.
“Will you answer me?” came the whispered voice.
“Yes,” replied Jukes slowly. “This is my answer.”
His hand had crept to a pocket in the side of the car. Now he swung his body around and thrust an automatic toward The Shadow.
But Jukes had not reckoned on the alertness of that strange man in black. A viselike grip caught his wrist.
Try as he might, Jukes could not carry the few inches that were necessary to aim it toward The Shadow.
The men locked in a grim struggle. Jukes was determined to kill this enemy — the only man who had ever thwarted the machinations of the Silent Seven. With a quick twist he wrenched free.