CHAPTER XIII.

MEN IN THE DARK.

SILK ELREDGE saw nothing unusual about the bottle cork, and said so.

Rahman Singh held the cork close to the gambler's eyes and pressed the top of it. A tiny orifice opened in the bottom of the cork.

Opening a little box, Rahman Singh brought out a medicine dropper; from it, he let a colorless fluid enter the hollow cork. His finger eased away, the hole at the cork bottom closed.

"You will remember," remarked Rahman Singh, "that after I poured myself a drink I corked the bottle before handing it to you."

Silk nodded.

"We were both drinking from the same bottle," stated the Hindu. "The gla.s.ses were fresh ones, therefore you could have suspected nothing. Nor could anyone else -"

"Cranston, for instance!" inserted Silk, with enthusiasm. "I get it, Rahman Singh. You've loaded the cork, and when you handed him the bottle, likeyou gave it to me, you'll press the top. The stuff will get into the whiskey!"

Rahman Singh smiled his approval of Silk's insight. He corked the bottle very carefully and set it on the proper table. Silk gave a reflective chuckle.

"A smart stunt!" he approved. "I remember that first phone call you gave me this afternoon, when you asked me what kind of liquor Cranston usually ordered at my joint. I told you whiskey.

"So you're going to hand his nibs a Mickey Finn. Say, that will make a cinch of it! How soon will the stuff hit him, and how much of a wallop has it got? We don't want The Shadow to make trouble after the mob s.n.a.t.c.hes him."

Rahman Singh calculated for a few moments. He studied the medicine dropper as he replaced it in the box.

"The stuff can't be tasted," he said, at length. "It's better than most knock-out drops. You don't feel it for a while, but when it hits" - he smacked one fist against his other palm - "it comes like that!

"It puts a man out for ten minutes, maybe fifteen. But that will be long enough. I have these" - he opened a drawer beneath the table, to show coiled rope and strips of rawhide - "to use as bonds. They are strong enough to hold The Shadow."

Silk nodded, then added a suggestion. "You'll need to gag him, too."

Rahman Singh produced a big handkerchief; then, as an afterthought, he brought out a bag that looked like a hood, for it was large enough to go over a man's head.

"I use this when I perform my blind-fold tests," declared Rahman Singh.

"It will hold the gag tightly in place. Sometimes gags can be worked loose."

All preparations satisfactory, Silk was ready to leave. Rahman Singh halted him, with a wise suggestion: "Wait until I have called Cranston. We must make sure that he can come tonight. Otherwise, we shall have to postpone our plans."

Silk sat down, while Rahman Singh picked up the telephone that had long ago been provided for the hide-out. Soon, the Hindu's voice was speaking its oily tone across the wire. He was connected with the Cobalt Club and asking for Lamont Cranston.

Gold teeth gleamed from the black beard, as Rahman Singh listened to the response from the telephone receiver.

OUTSIDE, Silk's mobbies formed separate cl.u.s.ters at distant spots along the street. Some were roving about carrying messages to others who were lurking near the rear of the hide-out. One thug suddenly hissed to the others: "There's Silk!"

They recognized the derby-hatted figure with the m.u.f.fled overcoat, saw a hand go up and make shoulder gestures. They understood the simple signals, mumbled the good news among themselves while Silk's car was wheeling away.

"He means the guy is due to show up," grafted one. "All we gotta do is lay down until he does."

"Then slide up after him," added another, "so we can s.n.a.t.c.h him and take him out by the back. The outfit there has got the car."

"Yeah. Only we gotta allow time for that Hindu to spring something first."

"Sure! Silk gave us the lowdown on that. Didn't you see him spread his fingers when he stuck his mitt up? That meant five minutes."

The five minutes, of course, applied to the time that was to follow Cranston's arrival. It was at least a quarter hour before the lurking thugs saw a big limousine pull up in front of the squalid house. They saw a pa.s.senger alight; he was dressed in evening clothes and moved in leisurely style. Had they been close enough, they would have discerned the features of Lamont Cranston. With a wave, The Shadow dismissed the limousine, then strolled toward the house steps.

Restless mobbies were beginning to think that the victim suspected a trap, when he suddenly snapped from his idleness. Swinging a cane with one gray-gloved hand, Cranston opened the house door and entered. The crooks began to clock the minutes as soon as he was gone from sight.

Five minutes pa.s.sed. Mobsters emerged from hiding spots, crossed the street and ma.s.sed through the door of the marked house. They left one man as lookout, then started to creep up the bare stairs.

Near the door they wanted, the s.n.a.t.c.h crew could hear the sound of voices; one, oily, almost apologetic, that of Rahman Singh. Replies were coming in a level tone that represented Cranston. There was a gurgle of liquid pouring into gla.s.ses.

The talk continued; gradually, Rahman Singh's voice predominated, for Cranston's was growing weaker. There came a sound, like the thump of a body on the floor. Crooks reached the stout door, waited eagerly for it to open.

Meanwhile, the lookout below was watching pa.s.sing traffic. He saw a car wheel into the street, twist toward the nearer curb and halt there with a jolt.

The huddled crook's pasty face contorted, as he gave a squint.

"Cripes!" he uttered. "A squad car!"

From another block came the start of a siren's whine, hastily cut off.

Someone had begun to shrill the device too soon. The lookout saw a stocky man leap from the squad car and turn toward the door of the house.

He knew that swarthy face by sight.

It belonged to Inspector Joe Cardona!

THE police official saw the thug wriggle back into the doorway. Cardona's hand, already at his hip, came out with a Police Positive. He shouted for the thug to halt; getting no response, he riddled the doorway with bullets.

Other officers were at his heels, more cars were rolling into the street, when Cardona sprang into the house.

Upstairs, crooks were pounding Rahman Singh's door, bellowing for the Hindu to open it. They had heard the gunfire, and the lookout had arrived hoa.r.s.ely announcing that the bulls had begun a raid.

Thinking themselves trapped, the crooks wheeled, ready to mow down opposing cops; but at that moment they were given another outlet.

Rahman Singh yanked his door inward. The mob saw the Hindu pointing to a trussed prisoner, whose head was covered with a cloth hood. While they were grabbing the victim, Rahman Singh crossed ahead of them; babbling in some unknown tongue, the Hindu tugged the rear door wide and pointed them out through the back of the hide-out.

Mobsters were gone, with their burden, when Cardona arrived at the head of his squad and covered Rahman Singh with the revolver that had fired the opening shots. The Hindu cowered helplessly in the corner; counting him an important prisoner, Cardona remained, while the officers dashed through.

From the rear stairs Joe heard a shout, as the cops saw that escaping thugs were carrying a human burden. Catching the significance, Cardona poked his gun hard against Rahman Singh's ribs and demanded: "Who did they s.n.a.t.c.h? The Shadow?" It wasn't guesswork on Cardona's part. He was here on a tip-off: the phone call that he had waited to receive. The Shadow's voice had come over the wire again, urging the police ace to invade this hide-out with a squad.

Rahman Singh merely leered. His darkened hand took hold of Cranston's gun, shifted it aside as Joe tugged the trigger. The revolver was empty, because of the barrage that Cardona had loosed below. Rahman Singh had seen that its chambers contained no slugs.

There was a rapid grapple between the slippery Hindu and the stocky inspector. It ended when Rahman Singh proved himself master of other Oriental arts than those of the Hindu mystics. The specialty which he revealed was jujitsu; with the skill of a j.a.panese wrestler, he sent Cardona on a whirling flight that bowled over the table holding the crystal and sent the big gla.s.s ball rolling along the floor.

Coming to hands and knees, Cardona shook the cobwebs from his swimming head. He saw Rahman Singh opening a closet door, peeling away his turban with one hand, s.n.a.t.c.hing at something with the other. Reserves were clattering upward on the front stairs; Cardona still thought he had a chance to detain the tricky Hindu.

Rahman Singh saw Cardona come to his feet. He flung a ma.s.s of Oriental garments toward the inspector; as they were brushed away, he grabbed the crystal from the corner where it had rolled. At threat of a throwing gesture, Cardona ducked; when he looked again, Rahman Singh was peeling away his beard!

It was false, that beard, but so well fitted that it took a twisting tug to remove it. His hand across his mouth, Rahman Singh plucked out gold sh.e.l.ls that gave his real teeth the appearance of false ones. Chucking the crystal just above Cardona's head, Rahman Singh caused Joe to duck again.

Thus did the Hindu keep Cardona from sighting his real face. His back was turned, he was clamping a hat on his head and sweeping a cloak across his shoulders. But he wasn't a Hindu - nor was he a crook!

Rahman Singh was The Shadow!

Bounding to the window sill, he yanked the top sash downward, thrust his long arms up through. His hands must have caught the hanging rung of a rope ladder, and gone one over the other in a rapid, timely climb. The cloaked figure seemed to lash itself into darkness with more than whippet speed.

Rahman Singh was gone again, this time forever. The Shadow had openly cast off the Hindu disguise, that Joe Cardona might recognize the truth and forget the futile search for a man who did not exist. There were other matters, more important, that should concern the law.

Cardona recognized that by the time his reserves arrived. Ignoring the opened window, the ace inspector started for the rear door of the hide-out, beckoning his men along a trail that actual crooks had taken!

CHAPTER XIV.

FACTS FOR THE LAW.

THE whole reason for The Shadow's dual part was plain to Joe Cardona by the time he and his men had reached the ground. The inspector knew that The Shadow had probed deeply into the Rendrew murder. He realized, too, that The Shadow must have foreseen crime at the old mansion, even though he had not prevented it.

To acquaint himself with affairs in the Rendrew household, The Shadow had adopted the guise of Rahman Singh as an effective mode of getting information from Louise Dreller, who became talkative when anyone played upon her gullibility. The Shadow had gained the facts he wanted just prior to the fatal evening when Adam Rendrew had met death. No longer needing the guise of Rahman Singh, he had instigated a police raid so that there would be an excuse for the Hindu's disappearance.

No wonder The Shadow had been seen in back of Rahman Singh's!

Vanished from the seance room, he had cloaked himself in black. He had traveled farther than Cardona and the others thought, when they reached the rear courtyard. They would never have found Rahman Singh, for he no longer existed.

Oddly, the police who had spotted The Shadow had actually been on the trail of the fugitive Rahman Singh.

Not they, but Cardona, had been duped; but Joe found solace in the fact that Clyde Burke had also been fooled. He would have appreciated it more, had he known that the reporter was one of The Shadow's agents. But there was something else that added more solace. The Shadow, too, had been at loss that night.

He hadn't expected the hue and cry that arrived upon his trail, because the murder at Rendrew's apparently wasn't listed on The Shadow's schedule.

After the excitement, The Shadow found that his part of Rahman Singh had produced serious consequences, since the Hindu was wanted for more than running a fake seance: namely, for complicity in the Rendrew murder.

At last The Shadow had cleared Rahman Singh off the books, in satisfactory style. There was more to this present episode, however, than Joe Cardona reckoned. Before Joe began to think about the other angles, he was in the midst of them.

Crooks had reached their sedan and were shoving a bound figure aboard it.

They were wheeling away amid a spattering fire from police guns. They weren't going far, though, for police cars closed in at the next corner, to block their path. Leaping from their own vehicle, the thugs scattered like rats for whatever cover they could find.

Cardona reached the abandoned car. To the accompaniment of shots that announced a skirmish between police and hoodlums, Cardona cut the bonds of the prisoner who lay in the sedan. Yanking the hood from the man's head, Joe tugged away the gag. He helped the man into the light, found himself staring at a face he recognized.

The released man was Silk Elredge! Crooks had s.n.a.t.c.hed their own leader!

ALL that was beyond Cardona's ken. Only Silk could have related the facts which even his own crew did not know. Yet Silk was hazy on certain details, though he had begun to guess them.

As Rahman Singh, The Shadow had literally "given the dope" to Silk. He had worked the cork trick on the crook, just before revealing the details of the scheme. Silk had slumped in his chair, while The Shadow, as Rahman Singh, had been faking a phone call to himself, as Lamont Cranston!

After that, The Shadow had bound Silk and rendered him unrecognizable by the hood. Donning the overcoat and derby, he had gone out the front door, pa.s.sing himself as Silk, giving a signal to the lurking mob and taking the gambler's own car.

Elsewhere, he had made a phone call to Cardona, then returned to the hide-out as Cranston, to draw the mob inside. Keeping them waiting outside the door, The Shadow had conducted a conversation between his two selves - RahmanSingh and Cranston - while again garbing himself in Hindu costume.

Naturally, the thugs, when finally admitted, had grabbed the prisoner pointed out by Rahman Singh. Therewith, The Shadow had placed them in an unlovely situation. Despite their mistake, the fact remained that they had staged a kidnapping. To clear them of that charge, Silk Elredge would have to admit that he had hired them for such work.

All that would force other statements, and Silk knew it as he faced Cardona. He would have to tell about the deal with Archie Dreller. If he talked himself out of that mess, he would be in for another.

The police were looking for the big-shot who had caused the battle up near Helene's apartment, and it wouldn't take them long to connect the affair with Silk Elredge. If they couldn't find the proper proof, The Shadow would somehow manage to provide it.

Guns were talking spasmodically. Thugs and police were keeping under cover while they fired. The crooks knew they were bottled up and were hoping for some break. The police, in turn, were content to hold their present advantage until they received new orders.

They expected such orders from Joe Cardona, but he was waiting for Silk to declare himself. There was something very funny about the whole business, and Cardona wanted to know what it was. Silk knew he had to talk, but couldn't find his usually glib-voice.

The crook knew that The Shadow was Lamont Cranston, but the value of that knowledge was gone. What if he did tell Joe Cardona? Maybe the inspector already knew it. The Shadow might be working closer with the law than Silk supposed.

No, that was one thing that Silk would never reveal, and he realized that The Shadow knew it. Crimedom held to the tradition that it wasn't healthy to talk about The Shadow, if he knew where to find you. In his present predicament, Silk could see that his future address would no longer be the Club Cadiz, but a cell in a State penitentiary.

Such quarters would be uncomfortable enough, without the prospect of a visit from The Shadow.

For Silk Elredge, his brain warped by the traditions of mobdom, firmly believed that The Shadow met crooks with their own methods, even to the ultimate degree of rubbing out a squealer. Coupling that with his opinion that The Shadow could travel anywhere, even to the barred confines of a great prison, Silk decided that it would never do to blab.

TENSE moments held Silk Elredge on the brink of a really momentous decision. For once in his life he was about to come clean, to confess all he knew and rely on the mercy of the law and the fair play of The Shadow.

In fact, The Shadow had already given Silk the very chance that the crook had started to consider. It was a test that would have helped him much more than he supposed, had Silk possessed any love of sincerity.

Silk, however, was a full-fledged rat, by nature as well as deed.

Preferring crime to honesty, he suddenly took advantage of a chance at dirty work. Cardona was giving him an opportunity to recuperate from a state that seemed bewilderment. Silk recovered in a vicious fashion.

From his hip he yanked a gun that The Shadow had left on him. Swinging the weapon toward Cardona, Silk pulled the trigger. The gun didn't bark, because TheShadow had removed the bullets while Silk lay helpless. It was another bit of foresight - allowing the crook to bare his fangs, only to find he couldn't use them.

By rights, that move should have led to Silk's prompt suppression; but Cardona, too, was handling an unloaded gun. He produced it as a gesture; by that time, Silk was springing away, howling for his mobbies to rally. Their leader's daring brought them out from cover.

Guns ripped, as the crooks charged for the end of the street. Police bullets met them, but didn't stop the drive. Even though their ranks were thinning, the hoodlums had the advantage in numbers; once it came to a hand-to-hand fight, they could win.

Silk was behind them, for he had stopped to grab a gun that a sprawling thug had dropped, but his shouts - no longer smooth, but raspy - kept spurring on the charge.

Dropping to the shelter behind the sedan, Joe Cardona had decided that it was time to reload. He had just filled his gun with cartridges, when he saw that mobsters were beyond control. Almost to the corner, they were forcing the officers to leave their cover, or be cut off from each other. Carnage was due, and Cardona thought that nothing could stop it.

Cardona was wrong. From a low roof near the corner came the challenge of a mocking laugh, a tone that pealed loudly above the rattle of guns. A mighty taunt, that no crook could fail to recognize; mirth that brought a responding shout from the lips of Silk Elredge. Like their leader, crooks wheeled.

They saw The Shadow. From his position, he was about to cut off their charge, exactly as they hoped to trap the outspread police. There was a difference, though; the thugs were many, The Shadow was only one. Moreover, he had flung the gauntlet that no crook could ignore. With The Shadow as a target, all others had to be forgotten.