The Star of Delhi s-225 Page 12

  Dwig didn't dispute the question. He went out by his own route, taking along five men who were waiting in another room. Cautiously, they left by a steel door and came up to the level of the sidewalk. Sending four men across to a darkened alley, Dwig told one to wait.

  "We're going on a job," Dwig informed the guard. "Three raps - two quick, then a slow one" - Dwig illustrated, by clanking a revolver butt against the door - "means we're back. Don't waste time letting us in. We may be in a rush."

  Dwig waited until the guard had gone back into the hide-away and bolted the door, then he joined his companions, glancing along the street as he crossed to the alley. He didn't observe the long, black form that detached itself from the wall beside the door to the hide-away.

  The Shadow was here!

  QUITE in variance to Garmath's theory, the cloaked investigator had attempted no invasion, even though he had discovered the hide-away two nights before. Garmath had disregarded one very vital point: the fact that Sherbrock was a prisoner.

  Perhaps Garmath thought that The Shadow didn't know it. Possibly, Garmath's own disregard for human life was so inbred that he couldn't credit The Shadow with changing vital plans on the slight chance that a man like Sherbrock might be still alive.

  But The Shadow was gambling much on that possibility. He was making himself a double task, just on Sherbrock's account.

  Having reasoned that Garmath would treat Sherbrock well if he kept the prisoner alive at all, The Shadow had seen no need to hurry a rescue. He wanted to make the rescue sure, and the departure of Dwig's crew increased that prospect.

  Yet there was something else to do before attempting to aid Sherbrock. Gliding in the other direction, The Shadow passed beneath the abutment of a great East River bridge. He reached a car of his own and started a quick trip around by streets that led up to the bridge itself.

  The hide-away was on the Long Island side of the river. As The Shadow sped up the approach, he saw Dwig's car ahead, but paid it small attention. He was more interested in taking another look at the top of Garmath's hide-away, which squatted just below the bridge, visible in the glow of lights that lined the approach.

  It was a squatty, concrete structure, simply the windowless foundation of a building that had gone no further in construction. In the top was a black square that represented a trapdoor, but from one angle the bridge lights gave that patch a silvery glisten. The trapdoor was covered with steel, making it too stout a barrier for ordinary attack.

  Certainly, Jan Garmath had chosen himself an unusual hide-away; a veritable stronghold. Whether or not it would come up to the conniver's expectations was something that The Shadow hoped to settle later.

  For the present, his thoughts reverted to Crome.

  Giving his car speed, The Shadow whizzed past Dwig Co, who were in another traffic lane. Men of their ilk never drove too fast across a bridge. Arguments with traffic cops were not to their liking.

  The Shadow was the first to reach Crome's. He approached the elevator, gave a low, weird whisper that captured the attention of the seated operator.

  Peering out, the fellow met a greeting quite different from the affable one that Cranston had accorded him two nights before. With a sweep, The Shadow gripped the operator, stifled his cries, and hauled him out to the rear street.

  Some of The Shadow's agents were waiting there. Turning the elevator man over to them, The Shadow returned into the building accompanied by one agent: Harry Vincent. They went up in the lift. Servants saw its arriving light, peered through the glass-paned door. They were surprised to find the car empty.

  One puzzled servant opened the door.

  For the first time, Garmath's servants learned that there were bind spots at the front corner of the elevator that couldn't be seen through the pane. The Shadow swung from one corner, Harry from the other. Both had guns, and they took the servants flat-footed.

  As soon as the three servants had raised their hands, The Shadow marched them to a side room, while Harry took the car down in a hurry. He had left the building when Dwig and the four thugs arrived.

  GARMATH had given Dwig diversified instructions about getting up to Crome's - such as phoning the old collector and putting up a bluff, or threatening the elevator man and make him do the rest.

  Neither prospect quite suited Dwig, so he was pleased when he found an empty elevator waiting.

  Thinking that the operator had stepped out, Dwig hurried his men into the elevator and ran it to the top.

  When he tried the upper door, it yielded. Dwig didn't guess that its catch had been left loosened.

  Motioning for his men to follow, he started straight to the room where he knew he would find Crome.

  Dwig's spy hadn't mentioned another visitor beside Weston. There was one: Margo Lane. She was listening while Weston questioned Crome about small sapphires, of the sort for which the police were searching.

  All the while, Crome was tossing occasional looks toward Margo, as though he vaguely recognized her.

  So far, however, he hadn't identified her as the Hindu princess who had visited him with the Rajah of Lengore. Margo was beginning to understand the reason for the masquerade of two nights before.

  Crome was showing Weston many sapphires, some of the star variety, giving his opinion of how the six portions of the famous Star of Delhi would look. Though Weston didn't detect Crome's worriment, Margo did. Knowing that Cranston was a link between the rajah and the commissioner, Crome had a right to be worried.

  Strolling over to a large French window, Margo slid her hand behind her and unloosed the bolt, something that Cranston had told her to do upon this visit. That was just done when Weston turned, to ask suddenly:

  "I wonder what's keeping Cranston!"

  "I don't know,"" returned Margo, truthfully. "Lamont simply said that he would meet us here. He insisted that Mr. Crome could help you find the sapphire that you want."

  "The sapphires," croaked Crome weakly. "There are six, Miss Lane. Six star sapphires, each about the size of this one."

  He was holding up a small sapphire, to illustrate, when Margo interrupted with a quick cry of alarm and darted for a corner. Weston, wheeling, flung himself the other way, carrying Crome in a sprawl beyond the desk. Five men, all masked, were entering the room with drawn guns.

  For the moment, Margo thought that The Shadow's plans had missed, particularly when she saw black emptiness in the doorway behind the invaders. Then, from that very blackness came the challenging tone that made the masked crooks wheel - the laugh of The Shadow!

  Five guns blasted as one, all for a target that wasn't there. Those shots were but an added signal to The Shadow's mockery. Amid the gun echoes, the French windows smashed open and in from the penthouse roof piled another squad of men, detectives headed by Inspector Joe Cardona.

  Their guns ripped. The leader of the masked tribe wheeled, saw Cardona and tried to fire. Joe beat him to the shot and sprawled him to the floor, where the mask, sliding from above his eyes, revealed the face of Dwig Brencott.

  Detectives, meanwhile, were lunging for the other four; whether they'd fare as well as Cardona had, was a question.

  A question settled by The Shadow.

  Swinging in from the side of the door, The Shadow nicked a pair of masked men with two neat shots that, to Margo, seemed simultaneous. They sprawled, those two who might otherwise have done damage. The second pair weren't dangerous. Detectives were quick enough to grab them.

  Crome's servants dashed into the room as The Shadow stepped away. He had taken them into his confidence and told them to await his word. They helped the detectives suppress the wounded strugglers.

  Seeing that victory was won, Cardona turned to the door, as did Margo: All that either saw or heard of The Shadow was a vanishing trace of black, a strange laugh that trailed back uncannily, to end, suddenly, with the clang of the elevator door. That mockery, however, was no tone of final parting.

  It told that The Shadow was on his way to some furt
her mission, where he would again summon men of the law!

  CHAPTER XX. CRIME'S PROOFS

  EVEN more than the timely arrival of The Shadow, the appearance of Inspector Cardona had amazed Commissioner Weston. Commotion ended, Weston demanded to know how and when Cardona had arrived at Crome's. In his turn, Joe was surprised to find his chief on the scene.

  Cardona explained that he had received a tip-off from The Shadow, who told him to bring his men to the ninth floor of an adjoining building and stay on watch outside a lighted penthouse. He hadn't known that the place was Crome's, nor that Weston was a visitor.

  Those details were scarcely explained before Crome interrupted the discussion. In a high-pitched quaver, the old gem collector was giving his story. Knowing that Dwig and the accompanying thugs must have come from Garmath, Crome felt that his real friend was The Shadow.

  Confessing that he owned the Star of Delhi, but swearing that he had played no part in crime, Crome faltered over to his safe and opened it, to fling the half-million-dollar jewel on his desk.

  It took some time for Weston to get the coherent details, which included Crome's forced purchase of the gem. Crome was so desirous to establish innocence, Weston so willing to hear such details as Lenfell's proposal of a swindle that had led to Garmath's reign of murder, that neither the commissioner nor the old collector heard the ringing of the phone bell.

  Cardona answered, held a brief conversation. He was starting toward the door, when Weston saw him.

  "Where are you going, inspector?" called the commissioner. "This case is only half complete! We've got to find Garmath!"

  "That's what I expect to do!" returned Cardona, across his own shoulder. "I've just had another tip-off from The Shadow!"

  The elevator was reaching the top floor when Cardona and his squad approached. It was being brought up by a rather dazed operator, who was somewhat surprised to find himself back in the car. Cardona and the detectives entered the car and went down.

  OVER at the hide-away beyond the big bridge, the guard posted by Dwig heard the signaling thumps of a gun handle. He peered out cautiously, saw the dim lights of a car parked in the opposite alley.

  The lights went out, indicating that Dwig's men were about to follow their leader across the street. But it wasn't Dwig, who had thumped.

  Gloved hands hooked the guard's throat and lashed him clear of the partly opened door. A sinister whisper, fraught with mockery, sounded in the thug's ear - The Shadow's whisper - enough to take the fight from any man of crime. Into the arms of arriving agents, The Shadow tossed the limply settling figure of his gasping prisoner.

  Then, alone, The Shadow ventured into the hide-away.

  It was still no time for a massed onslaught. Alone, Jan Garmath would be a difficult foe. He was the elusive creeper whose footfalls were almost as deceptive as The Shadow's laugh. Once he sensed the approach of enemies, Garmath would employ uncanny cunning. The only policy was for The Shadow to use lone tactics of his own to force a meeting with the supercrook.

  Proof came immediately.

  Barely started into the passage, The Shadow heard the creep of footsteps and sidled into a darkened corner. His gloved hand motioned a signal back to the door, where Harry Vincent, just inside, pressed the door shut and turned toward it.

  From somewhere in the passage, Garmath saw Harry's back and mistook him for the guard.

  Footsteps shuffled away. It was impossible to tell their direction, at first; then The Shadow sensed that they were going upward, which meant that Garmath must have come from a lower room and started to a floor above. Silently, The Shadow glided inward, found the stairs and followed.

  At the top, he saw a doorless opening into a large room. In one corner was a smaller room, barred like a cell. The Shadow saw Garmath look that way. Through the bars, a white face peered back.

  It was the face of Roger Sherbrock, the kidnapped lapidary. The scene was setting itself as The Shadow wanted.

  Above, The Shadow saw the glisten of the steel trapdoor, which, as he expected, was double padlocked on the underside. It was in the very center of the large room, about eight feet above the floor.

  There was a doorway in another corner, but Garmath did not go that far. Instead, he stopped at a squatty contrivance that looked like an electric furnace. He busied himself there so intently, that The Shadow decided to approach.

  Exacting in everything he did, Jan Garmath was not the man to let one plan interfere with another. It might be, in his estimate, that Dwig Brencott would return from Crome's with the news that all was well there.

  Garmath knew how he had personally thrown fear into Crome, and perhaps the old collector would be capable of staging a good bluff.

  If so, Crome would deserve the synthetic sapphire that he had requested, as an alibi to cover his possession of the Star of Delhi. That sapphire was ready, in the same mold that Garmath had used to make a similar gem for Lenfell.

  The crucible had cooled; when Garmath opened it, his eyes sparkled as if reflecting the sight he saw.

  Shining from its mold was a blue starolite, as good as the imitation that Lenfell had once mistaken for the original Star of Delhi, and which now belonged to Commissioner Weston. Its color was perfect, a rich deep blue. But as Garmath reached for it, he saw the sapphire darken - something which he couldn't quite understand.

  He stepped to one side, to study it from another angle. Garmath's hand brushed the cloth of a cloak sleeve.

  Suddenly paralyzed, Garmath felt the cloth slide forward. A gloved hand intervened between his own and the brilliant imitation gem that twinkled from the mold. The hand of The Shadow, whose lips were uttering a taunt in Garmath's very ear. Crime's foe had found crime's maker!

  There, in The Shadow's reach, lay crime's final proof. It was evidence that Garmath, free in this hidden laboratory, dealt in the manufacture of great, synthetic gems, while Sherbrock, a prisoner in the same place, was helpless to prevent him!

  So petrified was Garmath, that he seemed truly conquered. Then, in an instant, his manner changed. He was whipping away, in snakelike style, uttering a defiant hiss: a new challenge to The Shadow.

  Drowning Garmath's tone came a cry from Sherbrock. The prisoner was pointing excitedly to the other corner and its open door.

  Through that space lunged a huge figure, Garmath's ace in the hole, the man called Krem. Garmath had credited Krem with being stronger than Dwig's whole crew, and Krem proceeded to back the claim.

  Swooping before The Shadow could turn upon him with drawn automatic, Krem clutched the cloaked fighter about both arms. When he found he couldn't keep a grip upon his twisting adversary, the giant flung The Shadow half across the room.

  Rolling to his feet, The Shadow looked groggily for Garmath and saw the murderer making for the door that led below. With a spurt of his old speed, The Shadow tried to head off the fugitive; but Garmath stopped short of the door and tugged a switch, set in the wall. A steel curtain slashed downward, blocking the door.

  Krem was almost upon The Shadow. Knowing he hadn't time to meet the bone-crushing giant, The Shadow sprang for Garmath, who was drawing a gun. Had The Shadow shot Garmath at that moment, he would never have been able to stop the vengeful Krem.

  Instead of shooting, The Shadow spun Garmath about; imitating Krem's tactics, he sent Garmath spinning across the room, which brought Krem to a momentary halt. Making the most of that interval, The Shadow drove straight at Krem, aiming his gun at the huge man, instead of Garmath.

  Krem caught The Shadow's arm and shoved it upward. Gleefully, he forced his cloaked adversary back against the wall, expecting Garmath to return and supply the finish with some bullets.

  The Shadow was shooting, but his aim was toward the ceiling, and he was foolishly wasting all his shots.

  So Krem thought, and the giant gave a huge, bellowing laugh.

  There were two things that Krem couldn't see. One was where The Shadow's hard fling had sent Garmath - straight, to the door of Sherbrock's
cell, where the prisoner had clutched his hated captor through the bars and was wrenching his gun away from him, a task made easy, because Garmath had hit the cell door with a force that badly jarred him.

  The other thing that Krem missed was the effect of The Shadow's shots. His aim was toward the trapdoor in the ceiling, and his bullets were shattering the padlocks that barred it!

  Slumping suddenly, The Shadow went almost to the floor, with Krem pouncing after him. A quick twist, and The Shadow was away. Garmath saw him and wrenched from Sherbrock's grasp, going after the cloaked fighter barehanded, for Sherbrock had obtained the gun.

  Not realizing that Garmath was too dazed even to reach The Shadow, Sherbrock fired all the shots he had.

  The bullets sprawled Garmath at The Shadow's feet, just as the cloaked fighter, with a sudden twist, was drawing a fresh gun to catch the blundering giant, Krem, from an unexpected angle. The Shadow had finally tricked Krem, though the giant, very shortly before, had seemed too formidable to be allowed his present leeway.

  PROOF of The Shadow's foresight came in a barrage from the lifted trapdoor. Cardona and his squad had spotted their goal from the bridge, by following The Shadow's tip-off. With bullets that shattered the padlock, The Shadow had opened the way for the police, since his agents, blocked off by the steel curtain, could not reach the scene from below.

  Riddled with bullets that Cardona's squad provided, Krem fell dead before The Shadow could personally settle the giant fighter.

  In his fall, Krem sprawled across the body of his dead master, Jan Garmath. Dropped by bullets from his own gun, served by Roger Sherbrock, Garmath had met a proper fate at the hand of the man upon whom he had falsely foisted evidence of guilt.

  Down through the trapdoor, Cardona and his detectives were finding crime's real proof. In the open crucible, they saw the false sapphire that only Garmath, free, could have manufactured - a fact which fitted with Crome's recent testimony - while Sherbrock, still a prisoner about to be released, was in a position which fully bespoke his actual innocence.