The Shadow Unmasks s-131 Read online

  "See if there's anything else we want."

  With that, Shark clamped the jewel box shut and thrust it under his arm. He looked at the clock and saw that it was only a few minutes after nine.

  Hood had picked a fistful of papers from the safe. He gave a nod to Shark. The long-jawed crook faced Silsam.

  "Still got a grouch, huh?" queried Shark. "All right, old sour-puss! You've asked for it!"

  Coldly, Shark leveled his revolver straight for Silsam's heart. Terror registered itself on the old man's face; but the expression brought no mercy from Shark. His finger was gripping the trigger. The moment for murder had come.

  Harry Vincent felt a sudden chill against the back of his neck. Ordinarily, he would have taken it for a draught from an open window; at this moment he thought it an involuntary sensation that he could not control.

  It was Harry's last chance to save Silsam. The move, in all probability, would cost Harry's own life.

  With a hard jab of his left hand Harry reached Silsam's shoulder and sent the old man sprawling below the table. Turning, Harry lunged for Shark and grabbed the masked crook's gun arm.

  With a harsh oath, Shark ripped away to aim straight for Harry. Other guns swung also, to deliver a withering barrage.

  At that instant, a window shade snapped upward with a loud crackle. It stopped with a report as loud as a shot. As crooks halted their aim, they heard a challenging laugh. With it, blackness surged over the low sill.

  A cloaked form vaulted into the captured study. A gloved hand came up with a gun. Above the muzzle of the leveled automatic were burning eyes beneath the brim of a slouch hat.

  The Shadow had sensed the situation inside the house. He had chosen a new route of entry. His arrival was a challenge to the startled crooks who gaped as they saw him in their very midst.

  THE SHADOW'S gun mouthed flame. An aiming crook slumped at the door. The fellow's companion fired; his shot was wide. A second spurt of The Shadow's .45 settled that thug.

  Shark Meglo had aimed for The Shadow. The killer's shift had given Harry a chance to struggle with him.

  Harry was bowling Shark toward the wall; if Shark wrestled free, he would be a target for The Shadow.

  The same applied to Hood Bleeth. Before he could aim from his spot beside the safe, Michael Chanbury had sprung upon him. Powerful of action, Chanbury had Hood in a plight that resembled Shark's.

  It was Wintham who saved that pair of killers. The butler no longer tried to alibi his treachery. He made a grab for the light switch beside the door. An instant later the room was in total darkness.

  Guns spoke amid the gloom. Shark and Hood were twisting free from the men who gripped them, stabbing shots at The Shadow's window. Harry and Chanbury could not stop them for darkness made the struggle difficult. There were shouts from the living room. Reserve gunmen were dashing through to reach the study.

  Then from the study door itself came the burst of two guns. Crooks went sprawling in their tracks. Amid the roar of gunfire came the taunt of The Shadow's laugh. Darkness was The Shadow's habitat. He had used it to shift to a new position.

  Shark and Hood had spent useless shots. Their reserve crew was halted. Crooks went scurrying from the hallway, choosing the front door as the quickest exit from the fierce foeman whom they could not see.

  As they dashed to the outside air, there were shouts from the house front. New shots rang out.

  Commissioner Weston had arrived, accompanied by representatives of the law. Scattered thugs were running into new trouble. Their fight was through.

  The Shadow was clear to settle matters in the study. Swinging about in the darkness he found the light switch and pressed it.

  The glow showed Hood finishing a chance slug at Chanbury's head. The stroke was a glancing one, but it felled Hood's opponent. Hood came for The Shadow, aiming as he drove forward.

  The Shadow's hand finished a quick twist with a trigger tug. The automatic spoke before Hood could fire. Hood was finished.

  Harry Vincent had wrested clear of Shark Meglo. Harry's fist reached the killer's long jaw and Shark sprawled to the wall beside the box of jewels that he had dropped in the struggle. Harry forgot Shark for the moment, as he saw Wintham flanking The Shadow.

  The butler was aiming a tiny revolver; Harry fired quick shots to halt him. One bullet singed Wintham's shoulder; but the shot was unnecessary.

  The Shadow had stooped toward the door. Twisting in upon Wintham, he hoisted the traitor high and launched him on a distant dive out through the living room.

  THE SHADOW was leaving Shark Meglo to Harry Vincent, during those moments. Harry wheeled to cover the rising killer. Shark's bandanna mask had slipped down to his long jaw; his ugly eyes were in full view.

  Jolted by his spill, Shark acted clumsily. He was more interested in regaining the box of swag than in taking aim at any one.

  Luck was to serve Shark, where common sense failed him.

  Before Harry could do more than cover the bewildered crook, old Hugo Silsam sprang from beneath the table where Harry had pushed him. Silsam's face had a choleric look; he was trembling with an uncontrollable spasm. Unheeding Harry's shout, Silsam hurled himself upon Shark.

  The two wrestled by the opened window, with Silsam clawing for the jewel box with one hand, shoving Shark's gun upward with the other. Harry was waiting for an opportune shot, when the struggle ended suddenly. For no apparent reason, old Silsam became rigid. His bands lost their grip; tottering, he stumbled toward Harry.

  Shark vaulted the window sill, carrying the jewel box with him. A prompt shot blasted from the doorway; a bullet came hot from The Shadow's gun, straight for Shark's heart. Again, luck favored the murderous robber.

  Shark was shifting the ebony box when The Shadow fired. The bullet hit the stout, metal-bound coffer at an angle. The slug was deflected. Shark was below and beyond the sill before The Shadow could loose further fire.

  Harry saw The Shadow speed across the room and spring through the window, hard upon Shark's trail.

  There were puny shots from the living room; then louder blasts. Harry saw Wintham succumb to the bullets of arriving police.

  Stooping beside Hugo Silsam, Harry lifted the old man's head. One glance at Silsam's distorted face told Harry what had happened. Silsam's mad, unnecessary struggle with Shark Meglo had proven too much for the old man's heart.

  Unscathed by a single bullet, Silsam had suffered a stroke. His own overstrained efforts had produced the result that murderers had failed to gain. Hugo Silsam was dead.

  Chance death had robbed Silsam's lips of the name that they had once tried to utter: that of the master-crook who had sent Shark Meglo here to complete the circuit of crime.

  CHAPTER V. THE BROKEN TRAIL

  WHILE the law was taking control at Silsam's, The Shadow was keeping close on the trail of Shark Meglo. The killer had been lucky enough to reach a rear street and contact a waiting touring car before The Shadow could overhaul him. There was another vehicle, however, that stood ready for pursuit: Moe's cab.

  Thus the chase began; and it led to narrow East Side streets, the touring car keeping well ahead. Moe was driving shrewdly, while The Shadow, peering through the connecting window, kept on the look for coming opportunity.

  Given the right break, The Shadow intended to order a quick spurt. He was ready to wage lone battle against Shark and the killer's accompanying crew. Odds never mattered to The Shadow when he had scummy foemen on the run.

  At heart, Shark Meglo was yellow; and his pals would be the same. They would be due for a quick finish, if The Shadow overtook them.

  More was at stake than the swag that Shark carried. The Shadow was out to learn the identity of the superplotter who had sold the planted jewels to Hugo Silsam.

  Shark was the only man who could reveal that wanted name. The Shadow had seen Silsam drop dead.

  He had heard the barrage of police shots that felled Wintham. The Shadow, himself, had finished Hood Bleeth, the only lieut
enant who might have known something about the master-crook.

  Hence Shark, rather than the swag, was the prize that The Shadow wanted, although he intended to take both. If need be, The Shadow would shoot down Shark's protectors, sparing the killer until he could get his gloved fingers on Shark's throat.

  Under such treatment, Shark would blab everything he knew. Murderous though the fellow was, he required a mob. Without thugs at hand to aid him, Shark would become nerveless.

  The trail reached a slummy neighborhood. Moe's cab was staying well back, at The Shadow's order.

  Through clever tactics, The Shadow had concealed the fact that he was on the trail. The policy suddenly produced results. As the cab swung a corner, The Shadow saw the touring car stop, half a block ahead.

  Moe doused the lights and pulled to the curb. Edging from the cab door, The Shadow saw developments ahead. A man was stepping from the touring car. Though he tried to stay away from the glow of a street lamp, the fellow's face was visible to The Shadow. So was the burden that the man lugged under his arm.

  It was Shark Meglo, carrying the box of stolen gems.

  SHARK sneaked into the doorway of a dilapidated house. The touring car rolled away. There was no need to follow it farther. The Shadow ordered Moe to drive from the neighborhood.

  Two minutes later, The Shadow was entering the house where Shark had gone.

  The building was one of an old row. The houses were all three stories high and looked very much alike.

  As The Shadow analyzed it, Shark had chosen this place as a new hide-out.

  Shark was clever at finding such ports of refuge; clever enough to have dodged The Shadow for several weeks, which was something that few other crooks had ever done.

  Once inside the house, The Shadow's progress was uncanny. The house was an empty one; as he listened in the darkness of the ground-floor hall, The Shadow could hear creaks from the stairs above.

  From them, he chose his own route; but his course was noiseless.

  By the time that Shark had reached the third floor, The Shadow was at the bottom of the last flight of stairs.

  A door closed above. From the sound, The Shadow marked its exact location: at the rear of the third-floor hall. Moving silently upward, The Shadow came to the door itself. There was a streak of light beneath it.

  Listening, The Shadow heard a series of soft, tumbly thuds; then a low-muttered oath. Wedging a tiny pick into the keyhole, The Shadow found it empty. Shark had locked the door and pocketed the key, While Shark busied himself inside the room, The Shadow noiselessly worked on the lock.

  Shark finished first. His light went off. A few seconds later, The Shadow was turning the doorknob; he pressed the door inward, with his same noiseless skill. The Shadow heard the closing of another door, on his right. Pausing, he listened to the scrape of a shoving bolt.

  Shark had gone into another room, closing and bolting the door behind him.

  In absolute darkness, The Shadow closed the outer door behind him. He moved in the direction of the inner door; against its surface, he used a tiny flashlight so guardedly that Shark could learn nothing.

  Sliding his fingers down the door edge, The Shadow found the knob and reached beneath it. There was no keyhole.

  That accounted for the bolt that Shark had shoved from the other side. It also meant that The Shadow could use his flashlight without Shark spotting the gleam.

  Within a few minutes, The Shadow had completely learned the layout of the room. It was furnished, in poor style, to serve as a tawdry living room. On the left was the solid wall that partitioned this house from the one next door. Straight ahead was a window, with drawn shade.

  On the right was the door to the inner room, where Shark had gone; and when he passed that door, The Shadow could hear a slight stir within.

  EXTINGUISHING his light, The Shadow approached the window. The shade was a battered one, yellowish in color; hence The Shadow had carefully kept the flashlight away from it. With full darkness as his shelter, The Shadow drew back the shade and raised the sash. Peering outward, he took account of surroundings.

  Across the darkened rear alleyway was the roof of a garage that fronted on the next street. It had a four-foot wall around it, and its two floors were evidently both used for storage, for there were three old automobiles on the roof. They were nothing but junk, stripped of tires and had probably been put on the roof because space was lacking on the floors below.

  Looking along the house wall, The Shadow saw the small window of Shark's bedroom. It was dark.

  Shark had decided that a light was unwise. Moving through the living room, The Shadow stopped at Shark's door. He heard a muffled scrape; then silence.

  While that particular sound was almost indistinguishable, it told The Shadow that there was no time to lose. He remembered the thuddy sounds that he had heard while listening from the hallway. They had occurred here in the living room and The Shadow had identified them.

  He turned to the solid wall opposite the door of Shark's bedroom.

  There stood a narrow bookcase, built into a narrow niche. It was four shelves high and it was filled with books. The Shadow could not picture Shark as a reader, particularly of the old, badly mauled classics that the shelf contained.

  Nevertheless, Shark had been busy with those books. He had dropped a few; they had made the thuddy sounds.

  Picking a shelf where the books had been tightly jammed in place, The Shadow carefully removed a few volumes. He knew that this was the shelf where Shark had worked; in tugging at the books, the crook had let some fall. Behind the books, The Shadow's tiny torch showed exactly what he expected.

  Frayed edges of the wall paper gave evidence of a secret panel, poorly contrived. The Shadow's fingers probed and found a hidden spring. It gave easily, for the spring was weak. Pushing the panel inward, The Shadow pressed it upward.

  The hole in the wall was a deep one, backed with grimy woodwork. Squatting in the center of the cache was the ebony box that Shark had carried from Silsam's. Its carved front showed a long, chipped scratch. That furrow had been made by The Shadow's deflected bullet.

  The Shadow's gloved hand raised the box lid. The flashlight shone into a plush-lined interior. The velvety cloth gave off a dull maroon color. Not a single glimmer caught the flashlight's glow.

  The box was empty. Every stolen gem was gone!

  IN an instant, The Shadow had the answer. The depth of the wall-hole told the story. Shark had not removed the jewels from the box. He had put the swag here intact. The back of this wall space was another panel, that could be opened from a room in the house next door.

  This third floor apartment was not a hide-out. It was a special place that Shark Meglo visited after every robbery, long enough to store away his swag. The hole in the wall was good enough to baffle searchers for the short time it was needed.

  All the while that Shark had been coming to this transfer spot, the cunning master-crook had been waiting in the house next door.

  Stolen gems were off on another round of adventure. In the hands of their scheming owner, they would be peddled to some new dupe like Silsam and the victims who had preceded him. Once sold for a huge sum of cash, they would repose in the custody of some new millionaire, slated for death when Shark Meglo appeared.

  So far as the swag was concerned, The Shadow's efforts had been nullified, The Shadow knew also that the master criminal had by this time cleared away from the house next door. The hand of that hidden crime chief had probably stretched for the ebony box as soon as Shark had placed it in the connecting hole.

  Carefully, The Shadow lowered the panel that he had opened. His thoughts were concentrated upon Shark Meglo. Since this place was the transfer spot, Shark would have no reason to remain, unless he had been ordered to wait until his leader had safely removed the gems.

  Assuming that to be the case, Shark should either have stayed on guard in the living room, or kept watch from the bedroom.

  Instead, Shark had
deliberately bolted the door of the inner room. That not only prevented him from keeping guard; it put him in a room that had all the semblance of a trap. The situation did not fit.

  The Shadow began to see other purposes in Shark's barricade. That was why The Shadow promptly noted something that happened at the closing wall panel.

  The coiled loop of a small wire poked into view. It went out of sight beyond the panel just as The Shadow finally shut the hiding place That wire was connected with the house wall. Shark could easily have fixed it so that it would send a signal if any one tampered with the panel.

  His torch extinguished, The Shadow listened. He heard sounds that he had not noticed while stooped at the panel. Creeping noises, not from Shark's inner room, but from the hallway. A key was scraping slightly in the lock.

  With a quick sweep, The Shadow came back from the wall, out toward the center of the room. As he whirled, the door from the hall rammed inward. Flashlights beamed from the outer gloom. Armed foemen were upon the threshold. They were members of Shark's cover-up crew, returned here to do battle.

  The Shadow's trail was broken. Shark's flight had meant more than the delivery of swag to the master-crook whom the killer served. Shark had changed the trail into a trap for The Shadow!

  CHAPTER VI. SNARES REVERSED

  THE SHADOW'S guns spoke the instant that the lights glared. In his twist from the wall, the cloaked fighter had unlimbered a brace of automatics. Flashlights flew from hands as gunmen scattered for the shelter of the hall.

  One wounded thug sprawled through the doorway, just as darkness again covered the scene. The Shadow had clipped the fellow's gun arm. Forgetting the wounded attacker, The Shadow spurted new shots toward the group in the hall, while they returned hasty slugs.

  There was a momentary lull; during it, The Shadow started forward. He was taking bold tactics, but the only sort that would serve him. He intended to spring up from among his foemen; to cleave a path to the stairway before they could recover from their startlement.

  One crook blocked that maneuver. He was the rogue that The Shadow had clipped. Through a desperate move, that wounded thug was to put The Shadow in a plight from which few fighters could ever have escaped.