Minutes drifted by. The Shadow, clinging like a mammoth bat outside the window, shifted his position so that his tall form no longer blotted out the block of light that indicated the window shade. Eyes from below would be unable to perceive a figure upon that wall.
A telephone bell rang. Duffy Bagland arose from his chair and stepped across the room. A pudgy, ugly profile was visible from the window as the gang leader picked up the telephone and growled a greeting. An evil gin appeared upon the man’s rough lips.
“That you, Tim?” Bagland’s voice was low, but its harsh tones carried to The Shadow’s ears. “Sure. I’m ready… Yeah… He’s got it fixed, eh? Well, it’s time he did have… I got you… Up through the steps of the ballroom — across to the third door on the left… Then through the big room…”
Duffy Bagland paused, and his grin continued as he heard the instructions which came from the other end of the wire.
“I got you now, Tim… Sure, I’ll send the gang ahead… Twenty-one sixteen… The guy has gone out… Well, if he comes back, it won’t be good for him. He’d better stay out… Yeah, we’ll post on the fire tower, too… Diagram waiting in the room, and when we get the ring, we’ll know it’s all set. Call you to make sure? O.K. I will…”
The gang leader hung up the receiver. There was no haste in his ensuing actions. He drew open a closet door, brought out a hat and overcoat, and donned the garments. He opened a table drawer and brought out a glittering revolver. Still wearing his grin, Bagland packed the gat deep in his overcoat pocket. He strolled toward the doorway with the air of a man starting out for an evening walk.
ALL the way, the gang leader offered a perfect target for The Shadow, had the waiting watcher chosen to take action at that moment. The Shadow, however, had no such intention. He had gained only an inkling of Duffy Bagland’s intended crime. He knew that the mob leader must be heading for some hotel of prominence, there to engage in special crime. To molest him now would be unwise.
The window sash locked softly, and The Shadow’s tall form began its precipitous descent.
Down in the lobby, Bagland’s cohorts were awaiting the arrival of the chief. Every man in that aggregation was a murderous gangster, yet all of them were safe from the law at present. The Shadow, when he warred against crime, preferred to get the criminals red-handed. That would be his procedure tonight.
The Shadow’s descent was rapid. His tall form reached the alleyway and entered a rear passage that led to the lobby. There was a door at the end. The barrier wavered as The Shadow pressed it.
Out in the lobby, Cliff Marsland, reading a newspaper, was secretly noting the arrival of Duffy Bagland, who had just come down the stairs. But Cliff’s alertness also took in the motion of the door beside the steps.
The Shadow’s signal!
Cliff Marsland understood. His head delivered a slight nod, which was the reply. Duffy Bagland strode across the lobby, and chatted with the clerk; then, with a swagger, he went to the street door, giving no sign whatever to the congregated mobsters.
Bagland’s departure, however, had an immediate effect. One by one, the waiting men strolled from the hotel. Cliff Marsland, eying them cautiously, could see that they were heading toward the side of the building. In all probability, they were following Duffy Bagland around the alleyway behind the hotel.
There was no need for Cliff to move. Suspicious eyes might have seen him, had he departed from the lobby. Well did Cliff know that his aid was not needed at the present. The Shadow had gone from that passageway. He, the master of darkness, could easily have doubled to the front of the hotel, there to make sure of the direction which Duffy Bagland had taken.
In this surmise, Cliff Marsland was correct. In fact, The Shadow’s agent gained a very good mental picture of the situation as it now existed.
When Duffy Bagland had left the Hotel Spartan, he had turned the corner, and gone directly toward the alleyway. He had passed within three feet of a blackened niche in the side wall of the building. Eyes from that crevice had watched his progress. Those were the eyes of The Shadow!
At the entrance of the alleyway, Duffy Bagland had awaited the arrival of his henchmen. They had come unobtrusively; they formed a small, well-hidden cluster as they gathered about their chief. Every man in that crew caught the words which Duffy Bagland growled.
With the last of the mobsters had stalked a strange, fantastic figure — a black form which seemed like a portion of the night’s darkness. That shape was hovering beside the corner of the building when Duffy Bagland spoke.
Again, tonight, The Shadow overheard the words that the gang leader uttered.
The crowd dispersed. Gangsters slunk away in pairs. Some went through the alleyway; others went along the street. Duffy Bagland strolled along with the two men whom Cliff Marsland had heard talking in the hotel lobby.
When the evil outfit was gone, a low, whispered laugh made an uncanny sound at the entrance of the alleyway. The Shadow, knowing the lay for tonight’s crime, needed no more information.
On the telephone, Duffy Bagland had discussed the plans for action at an unknown destination. To his henchmen, he had said nothing of those final plans; but he had named the hotel in which Room 2116 was located!
AGAIN The Shadow’s form moved silently through the passage to the lobby. Once more, the door trembled; this time, it moved thrice.
The signal was sufficient. Cliff Marsland arose from his chair, and went up the stairs to the third floor. He opened the door of his room, which had a window on the alleyway. Cliff turned on a corner light. He raised the sash of the window, took a few breaths of fresh air and strolled over to a bureau.
Something whistled past Cliff Marsland’s ear. It struck the wall with a sharp click, and fluttered to the floor.
Cliff picked it up — a black envelope of stiff paper. This missile had been projected with the speed of an arrow from the alleyway beneath, shot by an accurate, unseen hand.
Tucking the envelope in his pocket, Cliff walked back and lowered the sash, then the window shade. By the light of the corner lamp, he opened the envelope and extracted a folded sheet of white paper.
Coded lines in blue ink greeted his eyes. Cliff read the brief message from The Shadow.
The writing faded. Cliff crumpled the paper and tossed it in the wastebasket. He kept the envelope, however, because of its unusual color.
Opening the bureau drawer, The Shadow’s agent extracted a pair of heavy service automatics and pocketed them.
Leaving the room, Cliff descended to the lobby and strolled out to the street. It was fully ten minutes since Duffy Bagland and his men had gone. The action could excite no suspicion at this time.
Cliff went to the nearest elevated station, boarded a train, and rode uptown. He alighted on a traffic-thronged street, and hailed a passing cab.
“Gargantuan Hotel,” was Cliff’s order to the driver.
As the cab rolled toward its destination, Cliff Marsland methodically extracted the black envelope from his pocket, tore the object to pieces, and let the fragments flutter from the window. The young man smiled grimly to himself.
There would be adventure tonight — adventure in the service of The Shadow. Cliff’s brief instructions had given him a definite duty. He would be ready to aid The Shadow in frustrating a daring but well-planned crime.
Duffy Bagland, with his mobsmen planted, would soon await the signal for a foray to a goal which he had not revealed. The Shadow, with one man at his disposal, would be there to meet him.
The odds?
Cliff Marsland again smiled grimly as he contemplated that phase of the situation. With The Shadow’s strategy as the guiding force, numerical odds meant nothing. Cliff was eager for the action which lay ahead tonight.