SILENCE reigned in Loy Rook’s sanctum. Sneaks Rubin was stupefied. Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland were wondering. Loy Rook was contemplating the scene before him.
The trap which had lured two victims had failed with the third. The Shadow had scented the pitfall. The cunning of the wily old Mongolian was no match for the intuition of the mysterious man in black.
Where was The Shadow?
That question predominated in Loy Rook’s mind. The Chinaman glanced at the row of telltale lights in the top of the taboret. The last one still shone. The others were not illuminated. Obviously, The Shadow could not have traveled down the stairs within the wall.
It was on this point that Loy Rook’s memory was at fault. He forgot the lapse of time that had followed the appearance of the last light. He had the impression that he had extinguished the row of signals immediately after the final one had appeared.
The single light still shone, because the weight of the joss was upon the floor plate that controlled it, acting as an electric switch.
One solution occurred to Loy Rook: The Shadow must be just beyond that final barrier — behind the grinning idol. He must be waiting there, hesitating to descend for fear that there might be a trap behind.
The bookcase at the bottom was closed. It could not be opened from within.
The Shadow was actually trapped, Loy Rook argued, but he was alive, and while he lived he was dangerous.
The Chinaman expressed this belief to Sneaks Rubin. The frail gangster grinned hideously.
“Jake Dermott and his rods are on the back street,” he informed Loy Rook. “They can pump him full of lead. They’re waitin’ there — a gang.”
Loy Rook nodded. He wanted to play the game safe. He saw how it could be done.
“Are they watching the street door?” he questioned.
“You bet they are,” responded Sneaks. “They’ll bump off any guy that tries to come out. It wouldn’t be safe even for me to try it.”
“Where is Jake Dermott?”
“Up in the next street, at the Shanghai Restaurant,” answered Sneaks. “Waitin’ to hear from me. His gorillas are on the job.”
“Call him,” ordered Loy Rook, bringing a telephone from within a taboret.
While Sneaks was getting the number, Loy Rook informed him what to say.
“The street door will open,” explained the old Chinaman. “He and his men can come up to the second floor. Then each bookcase will open in turn. First they will be on the second floor; then the next stairway will be before them. They can come straight up. On the way, they will meet our enemy. He will be trapped between them and the barrier.”
Sneaks nodded. Jake was on the wire, now. The little gangster told him what to do. He did not mention that The Shadow was the enemy. He did not want Jake to have qualms. He knew that the new mob leader had a yellow streak.
“It’s easy, Jake,” insisted Sneaks. “We let the guy come in — that was all arranged—”
“The boys didn’t see any one go in,” answered Jake’s voice; “that is, any one but the guy that followed you.”
“It’s the same guy,” lied Sneaks, realizing that The Shadow must have passed invisibly through the cordon of gangsters posted by Jake Dermott. “It’ll be easy to get him, but you’ll have to work fast.”
“O.K.,” came the reply.
Sneaks hung up the telephone and looked at Loy Rook. The wily old Chinaman grinned. He had a game to play — one that would amuse himself and Sneaks Rubin.
“We are safe, here,” he declared. “That door is of metal. Downstairs” — he waved his hand toward the front of the house — “my door is double-locked, so we can have no disturbance from there. While we wait for The Shadow to die, we can see what these men have to say.”
He turned toward Cliff Marsland and Harry Vincent. He laughed at the first; he scowled at the second.
“You tried to deceive me,” he said. “It did not work. Now I shall hear you speak. Tell me, who is this man you call The Shadow? The one who sent you here?”
Harry had regained his tongue, but he could scarcely speak coherently. He answered Loy Rook, announcing that he had nothing to say. Loy Rook looked at Cliff and gained a similar mumbled response.
“You will not talk?”
THE old Mongolian leered at the helpless men. He walked to the side of the room and pulled a cord that hung from a tapestry. An opening appeared in front of the dais upon which Harry and Cliff were resting.
The prisoners were on the brink of a bottomless pit.
“Look down,” said Loy Rook to Sneaks.
The little gangster peered into the hole and grinned. Far below he could see the glint of sharp-pointed metal spikes. A three-story drop to a terrible death! A fitting end for these double-crossers!
“Shoot ‘em down!” urged Sneaks.
“Let them talk first,” declared Loy Rook.
He gazed gleefully, expectantly, through his round-rimmed spectacles, but both his intended victims remained calm. They knew that a horrible end awaited them. They realized that The Shadow must be unable to help them. But both Cliff and Harry had faced death before. They were not afraid to die.
“Will you speak?” demanded Loy Rook.
There was no reply.
The old Chinaman clutched a cord that hung above the platform.
“When this is drawn,” he said, “your resting place will tilt down. You will see the death that awaits you — when you are on your way below.”
He paused to smile wanly as he spoke to Sneaks.
“This was once used for an elevator,” said the Chinaman dryly. “It now has a better use.”
Sneaks Rubin was gloating. He loved death — for others, when he himself was well out of danger. He pointed to the cord and made a motion, indicating to Loy Rook to go ahead. The Chinaman waited a few seconds longer, surveying his victims with his hand upon the cord. Neither Cliff nor Harry spoke.
Loy Rook’s fingers closed upon the death rope. Harry shut his eyes instinctively; then opened them boldly. He would not give this monster the pleasure of seeing him show fear. He stared deliberately at Loy Rook.
As he did so, his eyes detected a motion of the hanging draperies that covered the front doorway of the sanctum. Loy Rook’s fist was clenched about the rope. His arm was about to pull—
A sharp report came from the doorway. A flash of flame burst through the curtains. Loy Rook’s arm fell.
The cord slipped from his useless fingers.
Harry saw the rope swinging as the Chinaman’s hand brushed away. His clutch had failed when the bullet had crashed into his wrist!
With a scream of anger, the old Chinaman wheeled and his other arm shot toward the rope. Loy Rook was intent upon reaching that cord before another shot could intervene. But the gun behind the curtain was too sure. It roared again. The bullet struck Loy Rook’s shoulder. The Chinaman, off balance, was staggered by the terrific force of the leaden missile. He sought to save himself, but all in vain. His foot slipped on the edge of the yawning pit. Headforemost, his arms and legs sprawling wildly, Loy Rook plunged screaming downward, headed for the death he had designed for his victims!
It was then that Harry shut his eyes. The dull fall from below was sickening. Loy Rook, pierced by the upright spikes, was crying out his agony. Two long screams — that was all. But even the thought of the monster’s doom brought anguish to Harry’s fevered mind.
Sneaks Rubin had stood petrified. Now he sprang to action. He was well away from the curtains, toward the narrow passageway that led to the steel barrier. With quickly clawing hand he sought to escape. He pressed the button on the wall and dived for the rear exit.
The Shadow’s gun spoke from the curtains. This shot failed, for Sneaks had scurried past the edge of the protecting opening.
But that gun shot brought a wild reply from beyond the lifting barrier. Jake Dermott and his gun-toters were crouching there. They did not recognize Sneaks Rubin as he shot toward them. The little gangster went down with a dozen bullets in his heart.
Jake Dermott, keen of vision, saw a curl of smoke in the room beyond the passage. Without waiting to see whom his men had killed, he led a sudden charge.
As he dashed into the sanctum, he saw the smoke at the curtain. He raised his gun and fired, but even as his finger pressed the trigger, a bullet from The Shadow’s automatic rolled him on the floor, and his shot reached the wall above the curtain.
The men who followed him — three in all — had seen the direction of their leader’s aim. Two trained their guns upon the curtain; the other, spying the bound men, sprang forward to shoot them where they lay.
But The Shadow was too quick.
With him, impressions came in fractions of a second. He had swung through the doorway. His left hand pressed the wall switch. As the room was plunged in darkness, the two gunmen fired at that fleet black form. Even as their automatics spoke, a flash of flame burst from the other side of the room.
The man who was about to slay Harry and Cliff had hesitated a moment too long. He tumbled forward, wounded; as he writhed upon the floor, he rolled into the pit where Loy Rook had fallen. His last scream of terror and agony resounded above the roaring shots.
JAKE DERMOTT’S gorillas were firing low. They knew the ways of gangsters, who crouched in darkness. But there The Shadow had outguessed them. Instantly after firing the shots that had crippled the man destined for the pit, the black-hatted figure had leaped upon a heavy table in the corner of the room.
The bullets that swept the floor missed him entirely. His return fire was unerring, despite the darkness.
Silence replaced the sound of shots. The light came on, to reveal The Shadow by the curtained doorway.
Jake Dermott’s two remaining men lay wounded, with emptied guns beside them. The gang leader was dead. His own men, seeking to kill The Shadow, had riddled their chief with bullets.
Paying no attention to the crippled gunmen, The Shadow found the cord that had opened the trapdoor in the floor. He loosened it, and the trapdoor closed. In a few seconds Harry and Cliff were freed by the black-clad man who leaned over them.
Groping their way, they followed The Shadow to safety down the secret stairway. They stopped as they neared the street. Black-clad arms shot out through the darkness and seized the form of a gangster stationed by the door. The man fell heavily to the sidewalk, stunned by the force of his fall.
The Shadow pushed Cliff and Harry to the street. Following his urge, they hurried toward the corner.
They were alone now, running easily in order to leave the vicinity before either police or gangsters might arrive. As they jogged along side by side they heard a weird, uncanny sound that echoed between the walls of the narrow byway.
It was a mocking laugh — a sardonic laugh — the triumph laugh of The Shadow!
The Shadow had played the winning game. After suspecting Loy Rook’s trap, he had worked the trick of the joss and had made a quick exit to the second floor before the Chinaman had closed the camouflaged doorways. He who laughed at locks had entered the third-floor sanctum by the double-barred front stairway. With his advent had passed the fiendish schemes of Loy Rook and Sneaks Rubin!