There was a door at the bottom of the stairway. It was locked. Silk had not bothered to open it. Duffy and the mob could take care of that lock. The doorway was in a secluded spot, and it presented no complications. Silk had decided to leave it locked in case some one might discover it before the gangsters came that way.
Up here, however, the locks were more sturdy. They needed real attention, and Silk was prepared to give it.
He moved across the ballroom, and took the third door. This was the one that opened into the last room of the exhibit tier, the anteroom to the special chamber in which the Czarist plate was stowed.
Silk worked carefully on this lock. It was similar to the one which he had previously opened, but it proved a trifle stubborn. At last it yielded. Silk opened the door, and left it ajar while he moved into the darkness of the emptied exhibit room.
Two doors were here. One led out through the tier. Probably a detective was not far beyond it. The other was the door to the room that contained the wealth.
Silk expected trouble with the lock. He found it. Different tools failed. Silk mopped his brow with a handkerchief. He tried again.
Success came like a piece of luck. His probing pick made a fortunate find. Silk opened the door, and turned a flashlight’s beam upon the glittering plate.
The way was open sooner than Silk had expected — sooner than he had hoped! The crook would have liked to begin the rifling now. He realized his own inability to remove that mass of plate. Duffy Bagland was bringing a dozen men for the job!
Now was the time for quick action. Silk went back through the third room of the tier; then into the ballroom. All was silent there.
He tiptoed to a telephone in the corner. He hesitated; then went out through the other side. He stood looking toward the palm tree.
SILK ELVERTON’S course had been a lucky one. He would have faced trouble had he remained in the ballroom one minute longer. Scarcely had he departed before a motion took place in one of the alcoves beside the stage. A window opened, blackness blotted out the dim glare of the city, a tall figure slipped noiselessly into the huge, empty room.
The Shadow had arrived!
Choosing his own mode of entry, the black-garbed visitant had scaled the wall which Silk had deemed impregnable. He had come in from the little balcony, too late to witness Silk’s departure, but in time to await the arrival of Duffy Bagland!
Swiftly, silently, The Shadow crossed the ballroom. A tiny disk of light flickered. The Shadow opened the door into the tier. He reached the room where the plate was stored; there, he opened the door and turned his light upon the gold and silver.
The Shadow laughed in whispered tones. The light went out. From then on, The Shadow became a flitting phantom that moved as silently as a ghost.
All this while, Silk Elverton had been waiting in the room that had the palm tree by its entrance. His nerves were tingling. He had a sense that danger threatened. Chewing his lip, he strolled toward the corridor. He made the turn past the palm tree, and stopped short. He was face to face with Foulkrod Kendall.
There were other people in the corridor; they were well distant, and none noticed this meeting. Silk Elverton’s face displayed a momentary chagrin; then, with an air of affected nonchalance, the crook produced a cigarette.
“Ah, Mr. Kendall,” he purred. “Good evening, again.”
Kendall said nothing. He merely watched Silk as the man strolled on along the corridor. Then, with a smile, Kendall followed. Silk was too wise to look behind him. He went to the cloakroom and called for his hat, coat, and cane.
There was a little room on the right, and Silk knew that it contained a telephone. Receiving his belongings, the crook threw a quick glance along the corridor. He failed to see Kendall in the scattered throng, because the millionaire had quietly stepped out of sight in the extension that led to the elevators.
Silk pondered quickly. He had passed up the telephone in the ballroom; he had intended to go downstairs before sending his signal. He might, however, again encounter Kendall. The little room was empty. It offered opportunity.
Silk sidled into the room. He reached the telephone, He called his own suite. He wondered whether he should tell Tim Mecke to call off the job. Then he thought of what the reaction would be upon Duffy Bagland.
No — the job must go through. It would be his part — Silk’s — to get hold of Foulkrod Kendall, and lull the millionaire into a state that would counteract suspicion. It might mean a hurried get-away. It might mean trouble—
Tim was on the telephone. Silk gave him the word that meant all well. Joggling the hook, he called Room 2116. The operator reported that no one answered.
Silk hung up the receiver. He arose and turned; then stopped abruptly. This time, his consternation was something that he could not veil. Again, he was facing Foulkrod Kendall. The millionaire’s face wore a smug smile.
“You crook!” Kendall uttered the accusation in a low, direct tone. “Representing Highby-Tyson, Limited. I might have told you then that I knew your game. Those people would never have sent a man to this convention.”
“I fail to understand you,” began Silk.
“You won’t fail after I summon the police,” returned Kendall. “I knew there was something fishy about you. I saw where you went. Through the ballroom — into the tier — I can guess where you went after that. I didn’t follow farther.
“Now you’ve tipped off your pals, eh? Well, I’ll put an end to that. The police first; then these detectives who are still floating around. The jig is up, you crook!”
With that, Kendall reached for the telephone.
SILK ELVERTON slipped his hand toward his hip pocket. He realized the futility of his action. He could not escape from this corner room. A fight would start trouble that might begin a rush to the treasure room.
“Wait a minute.” Silk tried to speak with calmness. “You’re making a mistake, Mr. Kendall—”
“Trying to stall me?” questioned the millionaire, with a laugh.
“No.” Silk’s face became shrewd under high-pressure inspiration. “I just want to question your first statement, Mr. Kendall. You said that you suspected me because I pretended to be from Highby-Tyson. That is not true. I’ll tell you why you suspected me.”
“Why?” quizzed Kendall, glowering.
“Because,” declared Silk boldly, “I pretended to swallow that talk you made about Kendallware. I made a mistake there. A bad one. Any man who knows the silver market can tell you that your Kendallware prices are ridiculous. Spoil my game, Kendall. Maybe I’ll have a chance to spoil yours.”
An evil light gleamed in Foulkrod Kendall’s eyes. For a moment the big man was on the point of swinging the telephone against his accuser’s face.
Silk Elverton regained his nerve.
“Easy, Kendall,” he said, in a low voice. “Listen to what I’ve got to say. I’ve got the greatest game in the world for you — one that will beat anything you’ve ever tried. Listen—”
Kendall set down the telephone. His glare became a steady look. He made no comment. He watched Silk Elverton glance about to see that no one had entered the room. Then he heard the crook’s purring voice.
“Your game is a giveaway,” said Silk softly. “You’ve got something great — but you don’t know how to work it. I know — a silver alloy that has the ring and the weight of Sterling; probably cheaper than I think it is, too.
“If you use it in your tableware, you can’t grab the market unless you drop the price. If you drop the price, the other manufacturers will spot something wrong. You sounded them out tonight. You heard the answer they gave.