Bells of Doom

CHAPTER IV THE SHADOW’S PART

MINUTES passed after Claverly’s signal. The time period had no effect upon Augustus Messler. The owner of the rajah’s jewels was continuing with his description of the gems. His guests were listening with quiet interest.

Milton Claverly had strolled away from the window. He had crossed the room and was standing on the far side, close to the door of the study.

Lamont Cranston, however, had made no move. He was in the place that he had originally taken. He was just around the corner from the dining nook.

This spot suited The Shadow for the present. It gave him a command of the outer door. It also enabled him to flank the dining nook. One of those two entrances must be used by the expected raiders. The Shadow held a position that was quite as effective as the study door where Cardona and Markham lingered.

Keenly, The Shadow was watching Claverly; yet the young man did not notice the eyes that were upon him. Claverly, where he stood, was out of sight of both Cardona and Markham. He, too, could watch both entrances.

It was plain to The Shadow that Claverly did not know from which direction the crooks would enter. That was not surprising. The conversation aboard the Laurentic had indicated that Claverly would handle the inside job alone, leaving the actual robbery to the crooks whom Rosling headed.

Hence The Shadow was watching Claverly, knowing that the inside man would show some change of expression when the crooks arrived. It was not necessary for The Shadow to gaze toward either door.

Strain had begun to show on Claverly’s countenance. There was a reason. Although men from headquarters were present, Claverly had given the signal. He had set a tough task for the crooks who would soon be due.

Did Claverly think that Rosling’s band could overpower the watching detectives? Did he fear to postpone the signal for the raid, thinking that he might incur Rosling’s antagonism? Did he feel that he might be called to accounting, should the raid fail?

So far as the crooks were concerned, Claverly could pretend that he had not known of the detectives in the study. On the contrary, he was running a risk of exposure if the raid went wrong.

In his analysis of Claverly, The Shadow had given the young man credit for being a smooth worker. The Shadow was sure that Claverly must have had reason for giving the signal in spite of the difficulties that would confront Rosling’s raiders.

The glint of The Shadow’s eyes; the firm, unchanging smile that showed on his fixed lips — these were the only indications of The Shadow’s thoughts. The Shadow was gaining a definite conclusion. He knew that Claverly had chosen to play a bold game; that the young man was uncertain as to the outcome.

Succeeding seconds seemed to mark their effect upon Claverly’s demeanor. For the first time, the inside man was showing real worriment.

THEN came a change. There was a creaking sound from the dining nook, a noise which The Shadow heard. Something must have been visible there also, for Claverly’s eyes had turned in that direction. Messler, talking to his guests, was not aware that enemies were approaching.

Claverly shifted nervously. The Shadow turned. At the same instant, a big, rough-faced raider stepped into view from the dining nook. He was followed by two others. A growled voice made Messler and the guests turn toward the speaker.

“Stick ‘em up!” came the order, backed with revolvers. “Keep your mitts high! Drop them jools and back up against the wall!”

Messler obeyed. His guests copied his example. The Shadow saw Claverly feign total surprise, as the young man raised his hands along with the others. But The Shadow’s hands were not lifted. His right, going to the pocket of his tuxedo coat, was drawing the revolver that Messler had given him.

The raiders had not noted the tall form of Lamont Cranston. When the leader swung in that direction, he stopped short at the sight of the revolver which suddenly covered him. The man uttered a growl, calculated to bring his fellows to his aid. But before they could turn, an answering challenge came from across the room.

Cardona and Markham were springing into view. At sight of the detectives, the crooks knew that the trap had closed. Sullen faces glowered as horny fists dropped guns upon the floor. Caught between Cranston and the men of the law, these raiders had no chance to fire a single shot.

Messler sprang to guard his jewels. His guests formed a group behind him. The revolver dropped back into Cranston’s pocket while Cardona and Markham forced the three crooks off in the direction of the study.

“So it’s Mike Tocson, eh?” Cardona was speaking as he eyed the leader of the three crooks. “Brought in a couple of gorillas to see what you could grab. Well — you won’t be fencing that stuff. You’ll be doing a turn up the river. We’ve got the goods on you. This makes you a fourth offender, Mike. Looks like you’ll stay in the big house when you get there.”

The mobleader snarled a retort. His face was venomous; but he knew too well that Cardona would stop him if he tried to make a break.

Messler and his guests looked on with interest as the crooks backed away from the guns of the detectives. None noted Cranston’s actions — not even Claverly.

The tall globe-trotter had played his part in aiding Cardona and Markham. Quietly, he had strolled away. He had entered the dining nook and passed from view. The Shadow had played his part as Lamont Cranston. He was preparing — for some reason — to resume the guise of The Shadow.

“Get in that room,” barked Cardona, thrusting the muzzle of his gun against Tocson’s ribs. “Get in there — the three of you—”

The detective stopped short as Tocson laughed hoarsely. The man was staring beyond Cardona, looking straight toward the outer door of the apartment. Backing, Cardona swung in that direction. His action was instinctive. The door had opened with Tocson’s laugh.

Coming through the doorway was a new squad of three desperadoes. The crooks had worked a double game. One crew had come through the kitchen; the other had headed for the main door. The first raiders had been nabbed; the second group, by their delay, had arrived to rescue them.

AS Cardona and Markham wheeled to meet these new enemies, Tocson and his two gorillas pounced upon the two detectives. Down went Cardona and Markham. The new crooks sent the guests cowering toward the walls. Only Messler, drawing his revolver, was ready to fight in this emergency.

A gun swung toward him; the leader of the new raiders was ready to fire.

Then came the first shot. It roared from an unexpected quarter — the entrance of the dining nook. The shot was delivered from an automatic held in a black-gloved fist. With the burst came the jeering tones of an unearthly laugh. The mobleader went sprawling, unable to fire at Messler.

Cardona and Markham were milling with Tocson and the two gorillas. But the other pair of crooks at the door were ready for the menace. They saw it before a single guest could turn toward the dining nook. They knew the foe with whom they had to deal. The Shadow!

The shot — the laugh — these were the tokens of the ominous presence. The sight of a tall being garbed in black brought frenzied cries from the crooks at the outer door. Simultaneously, the two men aimed at the sinister figure that had appeared as if from nowhere. They wanted to get The Shadow before he could loose new shots.

Revolvers cracked. Bullets zizzed wide of their mark; for the crook’s shots came in haste. A split-second later, tongues of flame roared from both automatics. Stabbing shots found their marks. The frenzied gorillas staggered. The Shadow whirled.

His action was well timed. Tocson, battling with Cardona, had wrested away the detective’s gun. A revolver gained, the mobleader was making a desperate effort. The Shadow, then Cardona. Such was Tocson’s plan.

But The Shadow had foreseen attack from the corner of the room. His quick whirl flashed the crimson lining of his black cloak. His action was not a mere turnabout. In his speedy move, The Shadow went sweeping out into the center of the room, heading toward the outer door where sprawled raiders lay helpless.

It was this fast action that saved The Shadow. For Tocson, most desperate of all the raiders, was the surest shot of the lot. Had The Shadow remained stationary, he would have been a perfect target for Tocson’s fire. But his sweeping whirl was something that the mobleader had not anticipated.

THE revolver barked as Tocson swung his aim. Shots sped close to the moving target, but they failed to nick the traveling form in black. Tocson’s bullets thudded into the walls. Two shots were wide; the third went high as The Shadow’s form suddenly faded toward the floor.

Then came the answering report. It was a perfect shot from The Shadow’s right-hand gun. Tocson, linked with Cardona, offered a difficult target. Only the mobleader’s right arm and shoulder were certain marks for The Shadow to find.

The bullet from the automatic lodged in Tocson’s shoulder. The mobleader slumped. Cardona knocked the revolver from the fellow’s grasp.

A gorilla grasped Markham’s gun as his companion twisted the detective sergeant toward the floor. The crook aimed for The Shadow. He was too late. Again an automatic thundered. The gorilla succumbed.

Then came another shot. It dropped the last gorilla as he was about to pound Markham’s head against the wall. The crippled crook rolled on the floor. Cardona and Markham, rising, grabbed their guns. They looked for The Shadow. He was gone.

Swiftly, The Shadow had swung out into the hall. He expected reserves. He encountered them. Some were coming from the fire tower; others from a passage that led to a side stairway. As The Shadow appeared, gorillas stopped to aim.

Then came shots from behind them. Crooks wheeled. Cliff Marsland and Harry Vincent had separated; each had followed one group of crooks. The Shadow’s laugh sounded weirdly through the hallway as his automatics opened their quick staccato. Gorillas sprawled and dived for cover.

One opening attracted them. This was the door to Messler’s kitchen. They took it, to avoid The Shadow’s shots; to escape the fire that his agents were delivering from the rear. But this led them into a new trap that had formed during The Shadow’s fire.

Plunging into Messler’s dining nook, the crooks were met by the fire of Cardona and Markham. Two gorillas fell; the others dropped their guns and raised their arms. Surrender to the law was better than another hopeless fight with The Shadow.

Sweeping along the hall, The Shadow had neared the fire tower. With one quick movement, he drew off hat and cloak. He hissed an order; Cliff Marsland stepped into view. The Shadow thrust his black garb into his agents arms. The automatics accompanied the cloak and hat.

Cliff turned and headed down the fire tower. Harry Vincent, at the end of the side passage, had also heard The Shadow’s command. He took to the stairway. The agents were hurrying back to their coupe. The Shadow, again in the guise of Lamont Cranston, was ready to return to Messler’s apartment.

He chose the door through the kitchen. Carrying the revolver that Messler had given him, he came through the dining nook to find Cardona and Markham covering the last of the raiders. Messler and Claverly had also drawn their revolvers. They were standing by.

CLAVERLY’S suavity had returned. There was nothing in his manner to show disappointment because the raid had failed. He was working with the law, like Messler and Cranston. Safe with the winning side, he showed no sign of trepidation.

Despite the number of raiders, there was one absentee. That man was Hatch Rosling. Apparently, he had left this job to lesser crooks. Gorillas were sullen; the only one who might speak was Mike Tocson, glowering wounded from the floor.

With prisoners guarded by Markham, Messler, Claverly and Cranston, Joe Cardona turned to quiz the crippled mobleader. Tocson had crawled along the floor and was glaring upward in defiance. Before Cardona could question him, Tocson’s left arm came up.

A revolver glittered. It was Tocson’s own weapon. He had reclaimed it from the floor. Finger on trigger, the mobleader aimed for Joe.

Then came two reports. One was the crackle of the .32 that Messler had given Cranston. It came first. It dropped Tocson’s arm and stopped the rogue’s shot.

Then came the burst of Cardona’s revolver. It was a belated shot. But Cranston’s prompt aim had saved Joe’s life. The detective fired instinctively, even though Tocson’s arm was dropping. The mobleader sprawled, dying. His chance to speak was ended.

Two hours later, a blue light glimmered in the corner of a black-walled room. The Shadow was in his sanctum. His soft laugh sounded through the room.

As Lamont Cranston, The Shadow had received congratulations for his effort in behalf of the law. Presumably, he had been trapped with other guests; like Messler and Claverly, he had been ready at the finish.

The mysterious arrival and departure of The Shadow was unexplained. Crooks — dead, wounded and captured — had been removed from Messler’s apartment. The jewels were safe, with police on guard. Tomorrow, they would be put in a safe-deposit box.

Guests had departed, among them Milton Claverly. The young man — like Lamont Cranston — had been commended for his aid. He was going back to Torburg. Nothing had been said that might have connected him with the frustrated robbery.

The Shadow’s hand began to write beneath the light. Coded words, in ink of vivid blue. Deft fingers folded the completed message. Again, The Shadow laughed. He had completed instructions to his agent, Harry Vincent.

For The Shadow sensed that crime was not ended. Hatch Rosling was still at large. Milton Claverly had left unmolested. While those two were active, The Shadow intended to keep watch. The paths of Claverly and Rosling had crossed aboard the Laurentic. Perhaps those paths would cross again.

Cliff Marsland would seek traces of Rosling in New York; Harry Vincent would watch Claverly in Torburg. For The Shadow could foresee another meeting between Rosling and Claverly. When that time came, wherever the place, crime would be concerned.