Rund hung up. Then he used the telephone again, to make rail reservations to Cleveland, giving the fict.i.tious name of Meeker.

Hanging up, Rund glanced at his watch. It was quarter past nine. The train departed at nine forty-five. The crook reached for his bag. His hand stopped on the handle. Outside, Rund could hear a click in the door from the hallway. The sound indicated a pa.s.skey; Rund knew that the janitor had one.

Pulling the bag from view, Rund drew back behind the doorway.

The outer door came open. Footsteps sounded; Rund heard the prowler approach the door of the bedroom.

A figure shifted suddenly through the doorway, blocking the light. Rund huddled close to the corner, his face turned away. The ruse worked. The entrant had cut off his own light. He had failed to spy Rund in the darkness. Still huddled, Rund heard the light switch click.

As a glow filled the bedroom, Rund sprang around. His quick turn enabled him to catch the intruder flat-footed, even though the man heard Rund's surge and whisked about to meet him. On the other side of the doorway, Rund saw a man whom he had never met before, but whose ident.i.ty he could guess.

The trapped intruder was Joe Cardona.

AT headquarters, Joe had interviewed the "trouble-shooter" who had installed Rund's special telephone bell. Learning of Rund's apartment, Cardona had come here more wary than he had been at Berkland's, or at Twitcher's hideout.

Again, though, Joe was caught off guard, even though he was coming around with his gun. Rund had the bead; his finger was on the trigger of a gun he had pulled previously. Doom seemed sure for Joe Cardona at a three-foot range.

Instantly, a gunshot reverberated. So close was the report, that Cardona thought for the moment that Rund had fired. The crook's gun arm wavered, but Cardona did not notice it. Nor did he heed a warning hiss that urged him to withhold his fire. Instinctively, Cardona pulled the trigger as he completed his quick aim. His revolver barked just as Rund's arm sagged.

Joe's bullet found the crook's chest. Rund sprawled to the floor, kicked the carpeting in the agony of a mortal wound. His revolver clattered; its muzzle lacked a curl of smoke. Cardona looked to his left, suddenly remembering the hissed whisper that had come with the gunshot.

The closet door had swung wide. Stepping from the hiding place was The Shadow. He had been here, in wait for Rund, intending to accost the wanted crook. The Shadow had been forced to fire an intervening bullet in behalf of Cardona; he had chosen Rund's gun arm as a target. Cardona had followed with a blunder. Joe's quick shot had doomed Rund.

The Shadow reached Rund's body, stooped above the dying crook whom he had wanted as an informant. Rund's eyes were upward; they viewed The Shadow with a gla.s.sy stare. The Shadow hissed commanding words. Rund's tight lips opened as if to speak, then failed him. A last writhe shook the crook's frame; his left hand dipped to his vest pocket. His fingers went from view and tightened.

Cardona was beside The Shadow, stooping above Rund. In a subdued growl, Cardona acknowledged his error. Joe was staring at Rund's dead form as he spoke. Just as he was about to turn toward The Shadow, he stopped to watch agloved hand reach for Rund's left wrist. The Shadow's fist tugged the dead hand from its pocket.

Cardona gave an exclamation, pointed to the hand which The Shadow held.

Rund's thumb was pressed tightly against his first two fingers. Between the thumb and the digits was a glowing object that shone with the intensity of a living coal.

The glow was red. The brilliant trophy that Rund gripped was a ruby, the mate of the one that Cardona had reclaimed from Twitcher Killick. The second Drop of Blood had been regained. It was a positive token that Marlow Rund had been a member of the heinous band that had stolen Tobias Berkland's gems.

THE SHADOW plucked the ruby from Rund's fingers, pa.s.sed it to Cardona, who held it, staring awed, as he saw the stone's blood-red glitter.

Moments pa.s.sed; Cardona arose and turned to face The Shadow. He wanted to mutter new apologies for his error; to thank The Shadow, in addition. Words, however, did not come from Joe Cardona's lips.

Instead, those lips opened as wide as Cardona's eyes. The ace sleuth stared at vacancy. While Cardona had been gazing at the ruby, oblivious to all else, The Shadow had staged a silent, rapid departure.

Though Rund was dead, The Shadow had gained another trait. The cloaked avenger had gone to seek enshrouding night. Acting upon a positive clue, The Shadow expected to meet new men of crime.

CHAPTER VIII.

DEATH ON THE RAMP.

WITHIN two blocks of Rund's apartment. The Shadow stepped into a parked taxicab. An alert driver, ready at the wheel, heard the slight slam of the door. He looked back into the rear of the cab, where The Shadow was completely blanketed in darkness. Expecting an order, the driver shifted the gear lever.

The Shadow spoke a whispered command to wait. Crouching forward, he gripped the base of the rear seat, slid it forward in the fashion of a drawer.

From this s.p.a.ce, The Shadow produced a flat box. He opened it; a tiny flashlight glimmered against a mirror.

This cab was The Shadow's; its driver, Moe Shrevnitz, was one of the speediest hackies in New York. Tonight, in antic.i.p.ation of tangled events, The Shadow had chosen the taxi instead of his limousine. The box that The Shadow had drawn from concealment was a make-up kit. Choosing appliances that lay within, The Shadow began a transformation.

His gloves removed, he applied dabs of a putty substance to his cheeks, built up the contour of his hawklike face until it became unrecognizable.

Swiftly, long fingers spread the mold. They added fills beside the nose.

Working from memory, The Shadow completed the formation of a flattish countenance.

The Shadow spoke to the driver; the cab moved forward. With a final reference to the mirror, The Shadow added make-up to his lips; then closed his eyes in slittish fashion. He was satisfied with the face that peered at him from the illuminated mirror. To the last detail, that countenance was a duplicate of Marlow Rund's. For some reason, The Shadow had taken on the ident.i.ty of the crook who had died but a dozen minutes before.

The Shadow had given the order for the cab to start; he had stated the direction; leaning forward, he added the actual destination: "Grand Central Terminal."

A pause, while the cab moved onward. Again, The Shadow spoke to the driver: "Follow emergency instructions when you receive the signal."

Moe drove ahead. In back, The Shadow placed the make-up kit beneath his cloak. He did not replace the special drawer beneath the back seat; instead, he lifted the mat and clamped it to the floor board, where it fitted into grooves as if a part of the floor itself.

He pulled the driver's picture from the gla.s.s-fronted rack where it rested and pa.s.sed it through the front window. He received another card that Moe gave him in return - one that bore a different picture and a mythical name.

The Shadow was prepared to dispose of the taxi that had served him on so many expeditions. For some time he had thought of junking it, to replace it with a newer, speedier vehicle. That opportunity had come; but the old cab was slated for a more deserving and heroic finish than The Shadow had originally intended.

THE cab neared Grand Central Terminal. It swung toward the entrance that loaded taxis used in entering the big depot - the drive that formed an entrance to the taxicab unloading platform. The Shadow's watch showed the time as nine thirty-seven, eight minutes before the scheduled departure of the train that Rund was to have boarded for Cleveland.

As he placed the watch beneath his cloak, The Shadow peered from the window of the cab. He whispered for Moe to slacken speed.

The cab slowed before it reached the entrance platform that formed the driveway. The Shadow's cloak was dropped from his shoulders; his head was hatless as he peered from the cab window. The features of Marlow Rund showed plainly in the light from the street.

That face was spied instantly by the occupants of a cab that was waiting near the platform. The cab shot forward; lights blinked a signal. As the cab cut into the platform ahead of The Shadow's taxi, a second cab closed suddenly from the rear.

The Shadow huddled to the rear seat, whipped up the collar of his cloak.

With the same action, he clamped his slouch hat on his head. Snapping forth an automatic with his right hand, he gripped the door to his left. Hidden lips phrased a single word - a command to the man at the wheel: "Go!"

Moe pulled the hand accelerator lever as The Shadow shoved the rear door open. Kicking his own loosened door, the driver made a dive from the car. He looked back as he did, for the order was to follow The Shadow. The cloaked fighter led the way, springing clear of the running board, with the taxi driver following him.

The spot that The Shadow had chosen was between two big pillars. He gained it, on his feet. Moe sprawled beside him. The Shadow shoved the hackie out of danger. The jump was timely.

The Shadow's cab was between two others; from both of those, machine guns sprouted, trained directly on the abandoned taxi. The "typewriters" ripped loose; their bullets riddled the cab completely. If Rund had been in that taxi, he would not have come out alive; nor would the unfortunate driver who might have been at the wheel.

The Grand Central taxi platform had become a death trap, designed for the doom of Marlow Rund.

CROOKS did not know that their intended victim had already died; nor did they guess that the actual occupants of the cab had done a dive between thepillars.

There were two in the front cab. Their jolt came when The Shadow's cab lurched onward, spurred by the opened throttle. It cracked the cab ahead, sent it bouncing half across the loading platform. The b.u.mpers locked; fenders crashed. The Shadow's cab climbed halfway over the one ahead, bashing the entire back of the manned vehicle.

All that saved the crooks from a complete wreck was the sidewise topple of the abandoned cab. Thudding a pillar, the old hack broke free; it pounded head-on against another stony barrier.

The crook at the wheel of the attacking cab ahead saw chance for flight.

The platform was clear in front of him. Jabbing the accelerator, he started a getaway, with a stunned machine gunner flat on the floor in back of him.

The second of the attacking cabs had stopped, just inside the platform.

Its driver had counted upon a halt of other cabs outside. He was ready to reverse, when he heard a hoa.r.s.e cry from the man in the rear seat. The pa.s.senger who gripped the machine gun had spotted the blackened figure of The Shadow against the grimy granite of the nearest pillar.

Knowing that The Shadow would make for the running board, or intended to roll beneath the stalled taxi, the man with the machine gun dipped the weapon.

His full weight on the doorsill, he shoved his shoulders outward, peering over to take quick aim.

At that instant, The Shadow was by the step. His hand had found the doork.n.o.b. Kneeling on the concrete of the platform, The Shadow yanked the door outward.

The machine gunner sprawled headlong, but held on to his machine gun. The thug at the wheel jabbed down the gas pedal; the cab whipped away in reverse, out to the street and was away, just as The Shadow came up to aim.

The felled killer was hoisting his machine gun, determined, this time, to get the weapon into play.

The Shadow's gloved finger tugged its trigger. The .45 tongued its dart of flame. The thug took the bullet in the shoulder. Losing his grip on the machine gun, the ruffian staggered forward; then, rallying, he dropped the weapon and flung himself upon The Shadow.

Clutching the attacker, The Shadow shoved the ugly face backward. In the light above the platform, he recognized the ruffian. The thug was a local crook, "Ping" Locus, well known in the underworld for his ability with a machine gun. He had been a suitable running mate for Twitcher Killick.

Supposedly on the lam, Ping had actually stayed in some Manhattan hideout, to elude the police round-up. That policy had gained him little. He was captured by The Shadow. Ping, like Twitcher and Rund, was a rogue who could talk. The Shadow intended to make him blab. Ping knew it, as soon as he caught the burn of The Shadow's eyes.

With a harsh oath, Ping jabbed his left fist for The Shadow's throat. The Shadow's head bobbed away; his shoulders heaved. Ping was lifted off his feet; headlong, he pitched to the platform and rolled there. The Shadow swung to pounce upon his sprawled adversary. He stopped, to twist about as he heard the screech of brakes.

A taxicab had swung into the ramp, coming at terrific speed. Its driver saw Ping and jammed the brakes too late. The front wheels. .h.i.t the outstretched machine gunner. One wheel thumped over Ping's neck. As the driver twisted the steering wheel, a rear tire bounced across the middle of Ping's back.

STANDING against the pillar, The Shadow saw a man leap from the cab. It was Joe Cardona; the inspector sprang to Ping's side and lifted the prostratethug. Joe's taxi driver joined him. At that moment, Moe came up beside The Shadow.

"I've got a cab waiting," whispered Moe, quickly. "Told the hackie I was in a jam - that I wanted to get away. He's waiting for me; we can cut through between the pillars, when you're ready to go -"

The Shadow motioned for silence as he gave Moe a nod. Watching Cardona, The Shadow saw that Joe had revived Ping Locus. There was still a chance that the crook could speak before death claimed him.

"I know about Rund," The Shadow heard Cardona say. "They called back from Grand Central, thinking his name was Meeker, to tell him they had the reservation he wanted on the train to Cleveland. That's why I headed here. I know the whole dope, Ping. Better spill what you know about the big-shot -"

Ping interrupted with a grimace. Though his eyes were glazed with the approaching, touch of death, the crook knew that Cardona was bluffing. With an effort, Ping raised one hand to his mouth, thrust something between his lips and tried to gulp it with one swallow.

He failed. An exclamation came from the taxi driver who stood beside Cardona.

"Poison!" The hackie's tone was awed. "He's trying to croak himself, so he won't have to talk!"

Cardona gave a twist at Ping's chin. The crook's neck went back, then toppled forward. Ping was dead; his muscles had relaxed their spasmodic tension. Thick lips opened; jaws spread apart. From between Ping's big teeth dropped a rounded object that looked like a large bead.

Cardona grabbed it, the trophy that Ping had tried to swallow.

The light above the ramp imparted a bloodlike brilliance to the object that Cardona had gained. Once again, the police inspector held a ruby that matched the two that he had already reclaimed. Ping Locus, third of the bearded marauders who had made the jewel grab, had delivered another of the stolen Drops of Blood!

From beside the near-by pillar, the whispered laugh of The Shadow came as a solemn knell. When that sound faded, the black-clad battler was gone.

CHAPTER IX.

CARDONA'S VISIT.

THE next day was a triumphant one for Joe Cardona. The press credited the ace sleuth with a double stroke. Joe had regained one ruby that night at Twitcher's; he had topped it by bringing in two in a single evening.

During the day that followed the double success, Cardona attended a conference of the International a.s.sociation of Jewelers in company with Commissioner Weston. They watched experts test the three Drops of Blood; they saw an application of the heat test which gems other than rubies could not stand. Under the blasts of furnace temperature, the rubies glowed more vigorously than ever. They did not lose the smallest fraction of their l.u.s.tre.

Microscopic examinations were also made. The experts declared emphatically that these were the genuine rubies that had once adorned a maharajah's starred turban. Broken from their settings, the stones had obviously been divided among the crooks, of whom there were seven.

During the day, Tobias Berkland visited the office of the International a.s.sociation of Jewelers. He was given a check for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars as payment for the three rubies. The stones were placed in thesuper vault at the a.s.sociation office. Announcement was made that they would be displayed at next week's exposition.

In addition to the rubies, the law had recovered new quant.i.ties of lesser gems. Search had uncovered the cache at Rund's. Papers in the pocket of Ping Locus had contained clues to the location of the machine gunner's hide-out.

There, Ping's share of the swag had been found. Ping had apparently failed to fence any of his portion.

Unfortunately, further trails had not been forthcoming. The newspapers did not mention that fact, for police reporters were of the opinion that Cardona had learned more facts but was keeping mum.

Weston alone was informed that Cardona's future hunt would have to be a blind one; but the commissioner voiced no disapproval. On the contrary, he was so enthusiastic over Cardona's work that he talked himself into the belief that the ace would make new progress.

WHEN early evening came, Cardona was in the subway, riding to headquarters. Summarizing the events of a busy day, the swarthy inspector began to puzzle over one particular point. That was the policy of the master crook.

Obviously, the murderer had seen to the death of two men who had worked for him.

First, the murderer had slain Twitcher Killick, in person. He had done that to prevent Twitcher's squeal. To dispose of Rund, he had called in the rest of the subordinates, turning the job over to them. Though Cardona knew nothing about The Shadow's disguise, it was plain that waiting crooks had mistaken The Shadow's cab for Rund's.

Cardona came to the logical conclusion that the henchmen had knocked off Rund because the fake doctor was taking to flight.

Cardona might have altered that opinion, had he known of the telephone call that Rund had received. That call had come from the master crook, ordering Rund to leave New York. Only The Shadow had overheard that call. The Shadow had formed opinions of his own.

Ping Locus had been slain in straight combat, plus an accident.

Events were shaping themselves without Cardona's knowledge. The swarthy sleuth had proof of it when he reached his office. There was a message waiting for him - one that should have borne an inkling of the future; but Cardona failed to regard the message as an important one. It seemed more a matter of routine.

The message was from Berkland. It requested that Cardona make a prompt visit to his home, to discuss an important matter. Purely as a convenience, in case reporters were about, Berkland suggested that Cardona come in by the back door. The message added that he would find Berkland in the second floor library. With a slight touch of humor, Berkland guaranteed that Ungler would not be carrying a gun.

Cardona noted that the message had arrived an hour ago; therefore, he decided to go at once to the oil magnate's home. Remembering Weston's admonition regarding frequent reports. Cardona stopped off at the Cobalt Club, which was on his way. He inquired for Commissioner Weston, only to learn that his superior had taken a trip to Long Island and would not return until midnight.

As he started from the club lobby, Cardona saw a tall figure move languidly from the door of the reading room. He stopped to give a greeting.