“Kendall, I know a use for that alloy of yours — if your stuff is as good as I think it is. I’m a crook, Kendall, and a mighty smooth one. I know of a man who—”
Again, Silk paused. He noted a man passing through the room. Leaning close to Foulkrod Kendall, as though in confidential and friendly conference, he whispered words that brought a sudden light to the millionaire’s eyes.
“You can get him?” questioned Kendall.
“Absolutely,” returned Silk. “He’s here in New York.”
“He’s safe?”
“Not a thing against him.”
Foulkrod Kendall straightened up. He reached out and clapped Silk Elverton on the back. Two men entering the room saw the millionaire break forth in laughter.
“A very funny story, Elverton,” declared Kendall. “I didn’t know you Englishmen actually possessed such a sense of humor.”
“You seemed to enjoy it jolly well,” returned Silk, with a smile. “By Jove! I shall have to recollect some other droll jests that I have heard in London.”
Kendall was walking toward the door, drawing Silk along with him. The smooth crook uttered a whispered sentence of warning.
“They’re on their way,” he warned. “I can’t stop the mess now—”
“Forget it,” was Kendall’s growl that came in an undertone. “They won’t squeal on you, will they?”
“No.”
“Let them grab the stuff then. It doesn’t mean anything to us. I’m your alibi.”
Silk smiled as he nodded.
THEY had reached the corridor. Kendall was accosting men whom he knew. He began to introduce Silk Elverton to other manufacturers. Some had already met the pretended Englishman.
“I’ve known this fellow before!” exclaimed Kendall, to the forming group, “Met him while I was in London, two years ago. He’s one of the best men that Highby-Tyson have.”
“Really, old chap,” protested Silk, “you are exaggerating—”
“Not a bit of it!” interposed Kendall. “I’ll make it stronger. You’re the best of all Highby-Tyson’s men. You’re going to be here a while, aren’t you?”
“I should like to remain in the States for—”
“You will remain. Look over some of our plants while you’re here. I want your opinion on Kendallware—”
The talk ran on. Silk Elverton found himself the lion of the occasion. All his suavity had returned. His alibi was perfect; with Foulkrod Kendall to vouch for him, he was safe.
But as he chatted with his English accent, Silk Elverton could not help but think of the strange situation which had been produced.
Despite Foulkrod Kendall’s knowledge that crime was in the making, Duffy Bagland and the mobsters were coming undisturbed to steal the Czarist plate. Even now, they might be secretly at work.
While that job was in action, Silk Elverton was already on the way to a bigger, better game which he would play with a new partner — a scheme that made the Russian treasure fade into insignificance.
Nerve had saved the day; nerve had brought tremendous opportunity. All because Silk Elverton had played a long shot — chancing everything on his sudden impression that in Foulkrod Kendall he had discovered a man who would play the game, and who was as crooked as himself!
All was well tonight; all would be well — thus did Silk Elverton reason. Actually, his belief was erroneous. There was trouble ahead — difficulties that would put Silk in the tightest spot of all. An unknown factor would be heard from before the Russian plate was stolen.
The hidden hand of The Shadow was ready for its work!
CHAPTER V
THE SHADOW STRIKES
A LIGHT flickered in the deserted ballroom. A muffled oath sounded; the flashlight was extinguished. Duffy Bagland growled a warning to his men.
“No glims in here,” announced the gang leader. “There’s enough light through the transoms. Wait until we get to the swag. Come along.”
Gangsters formed a solid phalanx as they neared the door which Silk Elverton had prepared as their entrance to the treasure room. They entered the innermost room of the triple tier. Here Duffy used a small light to indicate the door behind which lay the Russian plate.
That door was ajar — as Silk Elverton had left it. Duffy’s prying light glittered as the gang leader focused it through the crack. The sight of ready wealth caused the man to chuckle. Then, in a hoarse whisper, he gave instructions to his henchmen.
“We’ve got to unload this stuff smooth,” he said. “Boggy and Pogo are set down at the bottom of the stairs. As soon as we load each bag, run it down and let them watch it. Then we can all grab the stuff and head for the fire tower.
“Look out for that door over there,” Duffy’s light flickered momentarily upon the barrier between this room and the other chambers of the tier. “If anybody makes trouble, it will be from there. Come on. Get busy.”
Gangsters entered the treasure room. Flashlights shone. Eager hands began to work.
With care not to cause a clatter, the mobsters loaded gold and silver into bags which they had brought for the purpose. Duffy Bagland watched the work; then moved out toward the ballroom, to guide the way for the first man who came with a precious burden.
The gang leader became wary as he stepped into the ballroom. He exerted a privilege that he had denied the others — that of using a flashlight. There was something about this huge apartment that worried him.
Duffy sent a gleaming ray on a long sweep about the room. The termination of that swath was toward the wall beside the door which led into the tier.
Something caught Duffy Bagland’s eye just as he clicked off the switch. As the rays of light had reached their final point, the very edge of the door, they had uncovered a peculiar mass of blackness — a fringe of gloom which had shown a smothering effect as it received the flashlight’s gleam.
The phenomenon was not sufficient to indicate a human being. Nevertheless, Duffy Bagland was tense as he again turned on the light. The torch was in his left hand; a revolver in his right. This time, Duffy directed the rays higher up than before.
The result was instantaneous.
AGAIN that mass of blackness; but now the gloom had a shape. Duffy Bagland stared squarely at the head and shoulders of a weird stranger — a being whose features were buried between the upturned collar of a black cloak and the broad brim of a slouch hat!
For an instant, the gang leader took the sight for an illusion; then, as he caught the glare of brilliant eyes, Duffy Bagland knew that he faced a living form! His lips opened to utter the name that they could not repress; his right hand came up with its gun.
But before the gang leader could gasp out the name of The Shadow; before he could press his finger to the revolver trigger, the phantom of the night was in action. Even as the first glimmers of light outlined his form, The Shadow sprang forward upon the man who had discovered him.
Duffy Bagland was swept backward by the swift attack. A powerful hand gripped his right wrist. An arm like iron found the gang leader’s neck.
Caught in a stalwart gasp, Duffy Bagland was twisted sidewise in the air. His body did a whirl, and hurtled along the floor. Flashlight and revolver clattered away. Stunned by The Shadow’s jujutso throw, the gang leader lay stunned and helpless.
The revolver had skidded away from sight. The flashlight, its rays trickling along the floor, was plainly visible.
A black hand came into the glare of the torch. A click; the light was out. The Shadow arose to turn back to his chosen post. He stopped and stood in darkness.
Two men were coming from the end room of the tier. Each was burdened with a bag. One was speaking in a low tone. The other caught the words.
“Where’s Duffy?” was the question.