RODNEY PAGET alighted from a cab on a side street near Broadway. He quietly entered a little restaurant and ordered apple pie and coffee. After he finished his eating, he went to the telephone booth in the obscure corner.
He removed the receiver and turned the dial to the figure seven. Holding it there, he pressed the side of the booth. Something clicked. Paget replaced the receiver and slipped through a door that opened beside him.
It was an ingenious device, the whole side of the booth turning through the wall. The opening closed behind him.
Paget walked through a storeroom and arrived in the deserted lobby of the old apartment. He took the elevator to the secret floor and entered the passage where he had gone before.
Confident, he donned a robe and hood from the pile that lay in the anteroom, and gave the signal of seven taps. He received the answer and gave his five taps. He was admitted to the weird room where he joined the silent, standing figures.
A feeling of new confidence inspired Paget tonight. With the exception of the leader of the Seven, he alone, of that silent band, knew the vital importance of this meeting.
He knew that some one had been captured while trailing him; and that the meeting had been arranged that all might know of it. Furthermore, the startling news of Wilbur Blake’s death had made the meeting doubly imperative. That, also, Paget knew.
He had stayed at an uptown hotel the previous night, obeying instructions which he had found in his apartment. He had looked at the Morning Monitor shortly before noon, and had been astonished to learn of the affair at Blake’s.
Still, he had not forgotten to consult the want-ad columns. There he had found the item that signified a meeting.
What would be the outcome of this meeting? That, Paget could not foresee. He felt sure that the mysterious leader of this band would have some scheme to offer.
Paget’s original plan, to drain Blake’s millions through the actions of an impostor, had certainly been thwarted.
The Sixth member of the group arrived while Paget was still thinking of the situation. Number Seven made his appearance a few minutes later. The members of the group went through their ceremony. Then came the period of silence.
“TONIGHT,” said the leader, “we are confronted by an important matter. The plan proposed by Number Five has been temporarily thwarted. We have been attacked by an enemy who calls himself The Shadow.
“The existence of this enemy was revealed to me by Number Five. Through the Faithful Fifty, we captured a man whom we suspected. He would not reveal his identity. I have given him his choice. He must speak or die. His opportunity is nearly ended.
“Now I believe that our enemy — The Shadow — is still at large. Our captive is probably his agent. We must use every power that we possess to eliminate our enemy. What is your expression?”
“Death to The Shadow!”
The words came from one of the hooded figures.
“Death! Death!” echoed the others. Paget joined the chorus.
“Death to The Shadow,” said the leader calmly.
Before he could speak again, the members of the group became suddenly rigid as they heard a startling sound.
From the door opposite the leader came seven taps.
An eighth man was seeking admittance to the sanctum of the Silent Seven!
There was a pause. Paget wondered what the leader would do. He could not imagine whom the intruder might be.
“Some one desires admittance,” declared the leader, in a calm, solemn voice. “Before we reply to his request, let us identify ourselves. I am Number One—”
“Two.” A robed figure called the number and stepped across the room beside the leader.
“Three.” Another man took his place in line.
“Four.” As the speaker moved to the front of the room, Paget awaited the proper instant to give his number. As he was about to speak, the man beside him stepped to the center of the room and said “Five.”
Paget was too astounded to move. He could not understand the man’s purpose. Five was his number — not that of the one who had spoken. Some mistake had been made; it would not be wise to protest at this critical moment.
“Six.” Paget heard the word, as another robed man called the number. He was now alone, standing before the line of silent men. His mind was in a state of utter confusion. He looked at his cowled companions. Every hood seemed turned so that invisible eyes were peering at him.
“Your number?”
The question was addressed to Paget by the leader. Now was no time to hesitate.
“Seven,” said Paget, taking his place in line.
The leader walked to the door. There he turned and faced the solemn line.
“Keep your places,” he said. “An impostor is present — either here or in the outer room. Let us learn the number that he gives.”
The leader tapped seven times upon the door. There were seven taps in return. A terrible realization came over Rodney Paget.
The real Number Seven was outside the room! The impostor was the man who had already entered as Number Seven!
WHEN the leader had called for numbers, the false member of the group had declared himself as five.
By not protesting, Paget had been forced to declared himself as Seven. Now suspicion would be directed upon him!
He clenched his hands beneath the folds of the robe and felt the scarab ring. It reassured him. At least he had the mystic token that had served him before.
The man outside had been admitted. His responses met with the approval of the leader. Now the master of the group returned and singled out Paget, at the end of the line.
“Go with him!” ordered the leader.
Paget obeyed. He joined the newcomer.
“Your rings,” demanded the leader.
Each member, beginning with Two, removed his scarab ring and passed it for the leader’s inspection.
Number One came to Paget and the man who had just entered. He examined their rings. Suddenly he pointed to Paget.
“Seize him!” he cried.
Paget was overpowered before he could resist. His arms were bound, and he was forced to a sitting position in the center of the room. The members of the group moved to the walls. The leader stood at the head.
“Before we reveal the prisoner’s identity,” he said, “we will ascertain if any member of the Seven has an accusation against this unknown man.”
A figure stepped from the group and took his position at the door. He made the sign of the Seven. The leader responded.
“Number Five,” came the declaration.
Paget was amazed. It was the impostor who was about to accuse him! The man who had declared himself as Number Five pointed an accusing finger toward Paget!
“How did you discover him?” he questioned.
“By his ring,” replied the leader. “Each ring has a secret mark. I alone can identify each one by number.
The only false ring is the one worn by our prisoner.”
“I shall tell you how he obtained it,” said the accuser. The other members of the group listened intently.
“One of the Seven was murdered.” The weirdness of his tone made Paget shudder. “Murdered— by this prisoner.”
“Why?” demanded the leader.
“This impostor desired to learn the secrets of the Seven,” came the reply.
“The secrets are not written,” declared the leader. “They are engraved only in the minds of our members.”
The accuser ignored the objection.
“Originally,” he went on, “the Silent Seven did not deal in open crime. But in recent years it has become a desperate organization that will stop at nothing.
“One of our group — an old man — abhorred our actions. He wanted to expose the Seven, but he hesitated through fear. He did, however, write a full confession in which he revealed the secrets of this group.
“He placed the confession in a secret drawer of his desk. He placed his scarab ring in the hands of a friend. He guarded that confession and hoped some day to make it public.
“A young man whom he had benefited, once saw him closing the secret drawer. The young man entered the house and stole the confession. He learned the secrets of the Seven.
“He came again and laid a trap to kill the old man. He succeeded. He also murdered the friend who wore the scarab ring. Then he joined the Seven as an impostor.”
“If what you say is true—” began the leader.
“It is true,” declared the man at the door. “I knew certain facts. I have discovered others. My case is complete. The thief did not destroy the confession. He kept it hidden that he might betray the Seven, if he needed to protect himself.”
“Who is the man?”
The accuser pointed to Paget.
“Tell me, then,” said the leader, “since this man possessed the secrets and the genuine ring, how did we discover him tonight?”
“Because another man intervened. He took the ring from the thief, but did not keep it at the time. He had a ring made to resemble it. He took the genuine ring and left the other in its place.” The truth dawned upon Paget. He knew who was masked as Number Five. The Shadow!
That was why his room had been visited at Blake’s home, on different nights. He understood the purpose of the silent figure on the lawn. He wanted to cry out his thoughts, but he was too alarmed to speak.
“Tell me,” came the voice of the leader, “who was our member who was murdered? Since he is dead, he cannot be among us.”
There was a threatening significance in his tone. Yet it did not phase the man who stood by the door.
“His name,” said Paget’s accuser, “was Henry Marchand.”
“And his number—”
“Five.”
“Then you are the man who took the ring from the thief,” came the menacing voice of Number One. “You are not Number Five—” He stepped toward the speaker, and the members of the group began to move with him. “You are—”
“The Shadow!”
As the man at the door announced his identity, he placed his hand against the wall beside the door. A loud peal of mocking laughter came from beneath his hood. The door slid open. The Shadow stepped aside.
The gleam of flashlights startled the members of the Seven. The shot of a revolver sounded cannonlike in the secret chamber as Joe Cardona and his men invaded the sanctum of the Silent Seven!
The detective had fired the first shot as a warning. Now came his cry of “Hands up” as he entered the room, his men ranging beside him.
The leader of the Seven had stopped short; now he retreated slowly, his hands above his head. He was directly in front of the hidden niche at the far end of the room. The other members of the Seven were motionless, their hands raised above their heads in token of surrender.
A low chuckle came from the leader of the Silent Seven. The sound was ominous. It presaged danger.
Cardona’s hand tightened on his automatic as he covered his enemy.
“Stand where you are!” ordered the leader of the Seven. “You have tried to thwart the power of the Silent Seven. Not one of you shall live to tell what you have learned!”
He pressed his hand against the wall. There was a flash. Jets of blinding light shot from the sides of the room. The brilliance of lightning filled the room.
The invaders were completely dazzled by the terrific glare. Instinctively they buried their heads in their arms, to protect their eyes from the danger.
But the members of the Seven had understood their leader’s action. They had closed their eyes beneath their dark hoods. The detectives were blinded and incapable of action.
Swiftly, as though in obedience to an implied command, the members of the desperate gang leaped across the room to join their leader.
The leader’s hand reached to the top of the niche. It grasped a lever that extended from the wall. But before the clutching hand could draw the projecting rod, a pistol shot resounded.
One robed figure still stood among the dazed detectives — The Shadow! He, like the members of the Seven, had anticipated the leader’s move. The shot of his automatic was well aimed. His bullet grazed the raised fingers. The leader’s hand fell to his side.
Five desperate men leaped to their leader’s aid. Hands sought the lever that he had lost.
The merciless shots continued from The Shadow’s automatic. Two robed men staggered and fell. But one grasping hand succeeded in its mission. Down came the lever. With its release, a metal curtain fell suddenly from the ceiling. A steel barrier was between the members of the Silent Seven and their enemies.
As the curtain descended, another blinding flash filled the room. The blinking detectives were completely overcome.
In the dim light that remained, The Shadow stooped to the floor. He peeled his robe from his body. Now he was clad in an inconspicuous dark-gray suit, a badge upon his vest. He appeared as one of the plain-clothes men who were with Joe Cardona. Now he was among the detectives, acting with amazing speed.
“Through the door!” he commanded. “This way!”
He forced the men from the room. They were staggering, helpless, not knowing which way to go. They could see nothing but the dazzling glare which still dominated their eyes.
The Shadow was the last to leave. He lifted the bound form of Rodney Paget as if it had been a figure of straw.
THE detectives were groping their way to the elevator. The first group filled the car and descended.
Cardona, recovering his vision, turned to go back to the room where the Silent Seven had been. His path was blocked by the man who held the form of Rodney Paget.
“Stay here!” came the voice of The Shadow. “Hold this prisoner. Get him on the elevator when it comes up. There is not a moment to lose. Out! All of you!”
Cardona obeyed the command. The car was coming up again. He turned and ordered the rest of his men to enter. He felt himself pushed from behind as he staggered into the elevator with his prisoner. The car descended.
As the door opened at the first floor, a terrific explosion came from above. The whole building shook.
Masses of stone and mortar crashed upon the top of the elevator. The detectives staggered from the car and made their way to the street.
They had escaped the doom intended for them by the leader of the Silent Seven. From somewhere in the depths of the building, that murderous criminal had set off a charge that had blown the meeting room to pieces.
Had the dazed detectives been left to their own resources, they would have been unable to escape before the explosion. They had been saved because of the presence of one man — The Shadow!