Atoms of Death

CHAPTER XIV THE FALSE THRUST

THREE days had passed since The Shadow’s running fray with Loco Zorgin’s mob. Newspapers had been filled with details of the daring robbery through which supposed dynamiters had rifled the Colonnade Trust Company.

At detective headquarters, the work had been attributed to local mobs. Police were on the lookout for signs of the swag. Captured mobsters had been quizzed; but it was apparent that those arrested had been no more than members of a cover-up crew.

On the evening of this third day, Detective Joe Cardona, acting inspector on the case, was seated at his desk at headquarters talking with two of his men. Cardona, a man of stocky build, showed grimness on his swarthy features.

“We’ve got to get at the guys in back of it,” announced the detective. “There’s no mystery about how they pulled that job. They must have been working for a week from the cellar of that empty house. Drilling so they could plant the dynamite.

“It was that fight out on the avenue that fooled us. It started about the same time as the blow-off. It gave the inside gang a chance to crawl through the hole and grab the swag. They delayed their get-away until we had finished pulling in some of those fellows outside.”

“The inside gang had nerve,” insisted one of the subordinates. “It wasn’t long after the fight that we found where the explosion had been. It was a fast get-away, Joe.”

“We’re dealing with a fast-moving bunch,” declared Cardona. “We’ve got no line on them either. The only mugs good enough to have pulled that job — fellows like Soup McClannley or Digger Wight — haven’t been seen around for months.

“Our only lead is to spot the cover-up crew. But there’s no use for the dragnet until we know better where we stand. I’ve got a hunch, after looking over some of those mugs we brought in, that Loco Zorgin headed the outside mob. But until—”

Cardona broke off as he heard footsteps in the hall. He waited until a newcomer entered.

THE arrival was a man of wiry build, who was wearing his hat tipped back from his forehead. Cardona recognized Clyde Burke, reporter from the Classic.

A real friendship existed between the ace detective and the newshawk. There were times, however, when Cardona chose to be noncommittal with Burke. This was one of those occasions.

“Nothing new, Burke,” informed Joe. “I’ll let you know when anything turns up.”

“Nothing on either end?” queried Clyde. “No dynamiters? No mobs?”

“None,” replied Cardona. “Ask the boys here, if you don’t believe me.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Joe,” decided Clyde.

Turning about, the reporter nearly ran into a brawny newcomer whom he recognized as a detective sergeant named Markham. With a nod to Markham, Clyde kept on. He was satisfied that Cardona had nothing for him.

For Clyde, secretly an agent of The Shadow, was interested chiefly in Cardona’s opinions on the mode of robbery. Clyde had gained facts in a message that he had received through Rutledge Mann. He knew that dynamite charges had not admitted burglars to the vault of the Colonnade Trust.

The Shadow had recognized that the criminals had used the short-range disintegrating ray invented by Professor Jark. Though the power of the ray was limited to a distance no greater than the depth of its projector, the crooks had, by moving the machine constantly forward, found it a simple task to burrow their tunnel through steel and concrete.

Dynamite had covered up this work. Cardona had no clue to the actual means that the crooks had used in tunneling. And Clyde, after a glance at the sleuth’s glum face, had decided for himself that Cardona had not gone far in his search for the leader of the outside mob.

That was where Clyde had made a mistake. Back in Cardona’s office, Markham was speaking in a low tone. Receiving a nod from the ace, Markham went out. He returned a few minutes later, bringing a scrawny, dope-faced man who was attired in baggy trousers and grimy sweater.

This was “Bagger” Lungley, a mobster who had turned hophead. Since he had joined the ranks of the cokers, Bagger had turned yellow. Some smart detectives had threatened to frame him unless he turned stoolie. Bagger would once have scorned such a threat; but the prospect of a visit to the Island worried him, now that he had become an addict of the “snow.”

So Bagger had resigned to the ultimatum. Markham had brought him in tonight, believing that he knew something. Bagger’s drawn countenance showed that he knew what was coming.

Cardona smacked on the heat.

“Hello, Bagger,” he growled. “Coming clean at last, are you? Well, I’m telling you something. I know who was in the outside at that bank job the other night. Some of the birds we pinched weakened when we talked to them. It looks like you know what I know; and I want to check up on what those fellows said. So let’s have it.”

“I’ll talk,” promised Bagger. “Honest, Joe, I’ll talk, if you’ll give me a decent break from now on. Don’t make no ordinary stoolie out of me, will you, Joe? I can be worth more to you if you go easy with me.”

“That’s a go,” promised Cardona. “Hear it, boys?” The dicks nodded. “See that, Bagger? Now, come clean.”

Bagger licked his lips warily; then spoke.

“It was Loco Zorgin,” informed the newly initiated stool pigeon. “That’s the straight news, Joe — no grapevine chatter. Because — listen, Joe — I met one of the gazebos who was in on it. See? And he was talking to me about joining up with the mob.”

“How soon?”

“Any time now. Maybe tonight.”

“Who’s the mug?”

“A fellow named Clatz. Hangs around the Pink Rat. That’s where I’m to hang out. Waiting, in case he’s got the job for me. Says that so many of Loco’s crew got bumped or pulled in that Loco needs more rods.”

“The Pink Rat, eh?”

Cardona arose and began to pace his office. Suddenly he turned about and faced Bagger squarely.

“Listen, you,” ordered Joe. “Go down to the Pink Rat like you’re supposed to. Stick there and go through with the deal if it comes your way. Don’t worry about anything. If you join up, tell me what happens. That’s fair enough, eh?”

“Thanks, Joe,” whined Bagger. He shifted toward the door. “You — you mean I can slide along? Just act like I wasn’t no stoolie?”

“That’s it. Scram.”

Bagger departed, sneakily. He did not want to be spotted in the neighborhood of police headquarters. Cardona allowed time for consideration as he sat down at his desk. Then he gave an emphatic thump with his fist.

“That’s where I’m going,” he told the listening dicks. “Down to the Pink Rat. I’m giving Bagger rope. I’ve got a hunch he’ll be signing up tonight. I’m going to trail him and the other guy, Clatz.”

“Going alone, Joe?” queried Markham.

“No,” replied the ace. “All three of you are coming with me. You’ll stay further off. I’ll give you the high sign if I need you along. Come on, let’s get started.”

WHILE Joe Cardona was concentrating on the Pink Rat, another crime investigator was still keeping close watch on the Black Ship. It was from that dive that The Shadow’s first tip had come. Tonight, as on previous evenings, Cliff Marsland and Hawkeye were posted within those portals.

But another was on the job as well. The Shadow was lurking in darkness outside the notorious dive. From a darkened alleyway, he was watching all who entered and departed. Tonight, there would be no delay if the tip should come again.

About an hour after the scene at headquarters, The Shadow saw two stalwart thugs emerge from the Black Ship’s portals. Three minutes later, Hawkeye sidled into view. The little spotter headed for the alley where The Shadow stood. It was the direct route toward the place where Hawkeye usually compared notes with Cliff.

“Report.”

The lower whisper stopped Hawkeye short. He could see no one in the darkness; but he knew the author of that weirdly spoken word. Hawkeye edged to the wall beside the alley. Whispering in return, he answered The Shadow’s demand.

“The two gorillas that just came out,” explained Hawkeye. “They’re heading to a house one block below the East Side Bank. House number is two forty-six. They’re helping Loco Zorgin on a cover up job.”

“Instructions,” came The Shadow’s whisper. “Contact Marsland. Have coupe stationed two blocks east. Close in carefully on the house. Use judgment in case of trouble. Otherwise await instructions.”

A swish in the darkness. Hawkeye thought he caught a momentary glimpse of solidity in the blackness. Then The Shadow was gone. Hawkeye moved along toward the spot where he was due to meet Cliff.

THE East Side was a bank at which crooks had taken previous stabs. The Shadow knew its location well. It was there that he had once battled with the minions of a supercrook who had called himself the Red Blot. [3]

Since those days, the old bank building had been strengthened to a point where few criminals would consider attacking it. But to Matt Theblaw and Digger Wight, aided by Professor Jark’s disintegrating ray, the East Side Bank would prove a simple job.

It was a logical objective for them to choose. Suspicious characters would be less conspicuous than in a neighborhood like that of the Colonnade Trust. Knowing that the police would be vigilant after the recent fray, the criminals could not have picked a better location for a second crime.

Threading his way from the bad lands, The Shadow progressed along the fringes of less disreputable districts. He traveled back into doubtful terrain, followed the line of an elevated railway and finally entered the danger zone about the East Side Bank.

Here, the cloaked avenger became totally invisible. Any alley, any building front might be the lurking spot for pickets. As he reached the street behind the bank building, The Shadow edged forward until he reached the blackened front of a house which he calculated to be number 246.

White steps showed despite their griminess. The Shadow approached them from the side, raising himself to the top of the steps so that he did not blot out one glimpse of the dull whiteness. He tried the knob of the front door. It was unlocked.

Gliding through the door as he opened it, The Shadow moved softly. through a hall. He used no flashlight; feeling walls, he found a door. He opened it noiselessly; he caught a draught of air. It was the entrance to the cellar.

Descending, The Shadow closed the door behind him. He had sensed that lurkers were present on the ground floor; but he had passed them without giving an inkling of his presence. Moving past a turn in the stairs, The Shadow spotted a glimmer of light. He caught the sound of muffled voices.

Blackness ended at the bottom. The Shadow stood in the last limit of darkness. He viewed a cellar illuminated by a single light. At the other side was a coal bin. The Shadow could see its boarded side; its entrance, apparently, was from the far end. It was from the coal bin that the voices were coming.

Carefully, The Shadow edged toward the right, where helpful blackness offered him a shaded path. He wanted to gain a vantage point from which he could observe the entrance to the coal bin; but as he craned along, his first glimpse showed him that the bin had a closed door.

Moreover, just as his moving form became partially revealed by light, The Shadow caught a reflected glimmer from between two wooden slats at the side of the bin. Instantly, he knew its meaning. The interior of the coal bin was sheeted with steel.

This was no base tunneling operation. It was a trap. The coal bin was a veritable pill-box, an armored turret which constituted a fortress for the men inside it.

ON the edge of the lighted floor, The Shadow wheeled. His discovery had been a fortunate one. The Shadow had made it a scant second before the watchers from the pill-box had spied the edging shape of his cloaked form.

Muffled cries arose as The Shadow made a sweeping dive to regain the stairway.

A gloved hand grabbed the door frame at the bottom of the cellar stairway. Like a whip, The Shadow snapped his body around and upward, finishing with a headlong dive halfway up the steps. His speedy maneuver was all that saved him.

A machine gun loosed its rattle from the coal bin. With a clatter of an electric drill, the “typewriter” drove a stream of steel-jacketed bullets that ripped the doorway and the lower steps with its deadly spray.

But with that barrage came a challenge to those below — mockery that taunted the would-be killers. His presence known, The Shadow had delivered a strident laugh to taunt the foemen who had failed.

With the laugh came action. Gaining the turn in the stairs, The Shadow pulled two automatics in the darkness. Straight upward he aimed, just as the door at the top swung open. The automatics blazed. Cries sounded atop the stairs. Blasting with all the fury of his guns, The Shadow dashed upward.

Dropping as he reached the top, The Shadow thrust eyes and fists over the uppermost step. Mobsters had dived for cover — with good reason. The front door of the house was open; there, a husky mobster, arm back, was about to hurl a rounded object that showed dull black in the light.

The fellow was launching a “pineapple” for the steps, intending to wreck that vantage point and slay its occupant with the same stroke. The thrower’s arm was already on the move as The Shadow pressed the trigger of an automatic.

The timely bullet clipped the husky’s wrist. The effect was that of a stopped throw. The pineapple sailed upward as the hurler received the jolt. It crashed the ceiling and exploded. The house front shook; beams and plaster tumbled down to mass debris where the big mobster had been.

Shaken windows dropped their panes in echo. Following the clatter of glass came the bark of revolvers. Mobsters who had piled behind doorways to allow the bombing were coming back to action, firing from cover toward the stairs.

Below the top step, The Shadow held one gun upward. A new automatic from a second brace, he had it ready to deliver jabbing bullets should a mass attack begin. With his other hand, he had an automatic tilted downward, to meet any comers from below.

Then came a burst of gunfire from the back of the house. Warning shouts were followed by a sudden scurry. The upper mob was dashing back to meet some unexpected onslaught. The Shadow peered quickly from the steps. He saw nothing except the ruined hall at the front door, where the dust of plaster was still rising.

Swinging downward, The Shadow gained the turn in the stairs. From blackness, he opened sudden fire upon creeping mobsmen who had come from the steel-sheeted coal bin. Thinking The Shadow occupied above, the lower crew had started this stealthy approach.

Two thugs sagged. Another pair scurried toward the rear of the cellar. Cut off from their protected pill-box, they were seeking prompt exit, caught unaware by The Shadow’s fire.

Instead of pursuing, The Shadow headed up the stairs. He could hear pounding footsteps from the rear. The hoarse orders of a voice he recognized. Detective Joe Cardona was here with a squad. Bagger had met Clatz. Cardona and his men had followed these two members of Loco’s cover-up crew.

THE SHADOW swung forward toward the debris at the front. Close to the door, he found footing at a side by the wall. He reached the outer steps; then dropped suddenly as a broad figure surged toward him. A revolver spoke; flame seared The Shadow’s hat brim as a bullet whistled a scant inch from his ear.

The Shadow answered with an automatic. His foe succumbed upon the steps. The Shadow had dropped from the side; that move had saved him. Crouched in darkness, The Shadow viewed a grimy face upon the dirty white of the step. Light from within the house dimly revealed the features of the foe whom he had dropped. Loco Zorgin, second of Matt Theblaw’s mob leader’s, had gone to join Stinger Lacey.

As The Shadow swung from the steps, shots broke out from picket posts along the street. The Shadow, moving swiftly, used revolver spurts as targets. Mobsters could not find the moving shape that never remained in one spot.

Other automatics barked with The Shadow’s. Halfway from a corner, Cliff and Hawkeye were aiding their chief. Mobsters formed scurrying figures as they fled in the opposite direction. They stopped and tried to hide as they saw the lights of a police car coming from the direction toward which they ran.

Five minutes later, the law was in full control. Mobsters, dead, wounded and captured, were all that remained of Loco Zorgin’s formidable crew. Two blocks away, a coupe was swinging out from a secluded curve. The Shadow was at the wheel; with him, Cliff and Hawkeye.

A police car saw the departing coupe. It swung in to take up a chase, believing that other mobsmen were in flight. The Shadow took a twisting course that left the chaser far behind. Stopping in a quiet spot, he ordered Cliff and Hawkeye to take the car.

Leaving the coupe, The Shadow glided into darkness. Again he had won a victory, but with no progress toward his goal. He had been trapped; and escape might never have been his lot had not Joe Cardona and his men appeared to give unwitting aid.

The Shadow was dealing with crafty, dangerous foemen. The proof of their full cleverness came, one hour later, when the cloaked fighter had gained his sanctum. There he received a telephoned report from Burbank, giving news that Clyde Burke had gained at headquarters.

While The Shadow and Joe Cardona had been busy in the neighborhood of the East Side Bank, crime had struck elsewhere. A dynamite explosion had brought police to a jewelry store on Fifth Avenue, where they had arrived too late to prevent the flight of two dozen mobsmen.

The police had uncovered a tunnel blown into the basement of the jewelry store from the cellar of an old apartment house in the rear. Crooks had made a huge haul from the rifled vault. The law could not understand how the swag had been gained so rapidly. The Shadow knew. Matt Theblaw and Digger Wight had pulled a second job with the disintegrating ray provided by Professor Jark. Some new mob leader had been chosen as the man to cover up. Loco Zorgin had been deputed to draw The Shadow elsewhere; to end the career of the foe whom all crooks feared.

The Shadow had finished Loco instead. But the sinister laugh that echoed through the sanctum showed that he was not pleased by tonight’s episodes. Men of crime had tried The Shadow’s game with good results. They had covered their own thrust with a perfect bluff.