Lingo

CHAPTER XXII. THE SWIFT BLOCKADE

WHILE battle surged about the borders of Chinatown, all lay quiet further north, along the avenue where the Hotel Moselle was located. Police had ripped loose into the hordes of the underworld, but their sharp attack had confined the warring forces to the underworld itself.

The conflict was like a maelstrom, drawing all factions into its vortex. Hence, other portions of Manhattan were oddly free from characters who looked like desperadoes. Not until later would absent denizens of scumland learn of the great struggle that had marked the overthrow of Lingo Queed.

Harry Vincent stepped from a taxicab outside the Hotel Moselle. As he crossed the pavement, two other men sauntered up to join him. One was Cliff Marsland, firm-faced and of good appearance. The other was Hawkeye, less stooped of shoulders and lacking of furtive air.

The trio formed a reputable group as they entered the Moselle lobby. To all appearances, they were chance guests paying a visit to the Roof Cafe. They joined a throng of entering customers and formed a cluster as they boarded a crowded elevator.

The Shadow had ordered his agents to converge at the Roof Cafe. One obstacle alone existed: Harry Vincent must manage to pass Prexy Storlick without being recognized. That, however, was a simple matter during this hour when throngs were present.

When the elevator reached the twentieth floor, Harry strolled off in the direction of a smoking room. Cliff and Hawkeye were the ones who took the corridor to the roof. They found a vacant table in an obscure spot of the open-air garden. It was on the side of the roof away from the Hotel Framton; and one of the two chairs was well behind a potted cedar.

Cliff took the outer chair, while Hawkeye remained standing. Looking about, they spied Prexy coming from the corridor, conducting a large party to a reserved table. Cliff nudged Hawkeye; the spotter hastened back to get Harry.

While Prexy was still seating the guests, Harry arrived on the roof and sidled into the obscure seat opposite Cliff Marsland. Hawkeye, reappearing, did not take a table at all. Instead, he found a folding chair and placed it in an inconspicuous spot just outside the corridor. Lighting a cigarette, the little man sat down. To all appearances, he was waiting for a friend’s arrival.

The roof was noisy. Waiters were swinging back and forth with loaded chairs. Prexy had business inside; for there were inner dining rooms and bars that also demanded his attention. Hence, Hawkeye was unnoticed in the shuffle, while Harry and Cliff, giving no signals to waiters, remained unapproached.

Harry was totally obscured by the little cedar tree. He was relying upon Cliff to tell him what went on.

Their conversation was conducted in low tones that could not be heard at near-by tables.

“HAWKEYE’S sitting pretty,” remarked Cliff. “Right where he can spot that telephone at the middle of the corridor. He ought to be able to see the door to the stairway too.”

“Good,” rejoined Harry. “That’s the connection point, Cliff. There’s no phone in the apartment up above. Either Prexy will get some word and go up; or Bart Koplin will come down here—”

Cliff raised a warning hand. A cue from Hawkeye. Harry watched Cliff intently for further news.

“Somebody’s come down,” stated Cliff. “Yes, there’s Hawkeye tipping me. A big fellow with saggy jaws. Going over to the south side of the roof.”

“Bart,” informed Harry. “Watch him, Cliff. What is he doing?”

“Picking an empty table,” resumed Cliff. “Looking up, over toward the Hotel Framton.”

“Any lights two stories up?” That’s where Buzz would be. “In the corner room at the front.”

“No lights in any of the corner rooms.”

“Good! Buzz isn’t back.”

Minutes passed while Cliff watched Bart. While they waited. Harry added remarks.

“Burbank called Jericho,” said Harry. “That is, he probably has by this time. Telling him to get out of Lingo’s place. Moe has gone to pick up Jericho.”

“Good,” commented Cliff, scarcely moving his lips. “Lingo’s due to be rubbed out tonight, if they get a chance at him. His only bet was to trap The Shadow — and he’s failed.” A pause. More minutes passed. Then Cliff whispered:

“Bart’s getting up. Looks sort of sore; impatient. He’s going back up to the hideout. Guess he’s wondering what’s keeping Buzz.”

CLIFF was not the only observer who had seen Bart Koplin arise to make his return upstairs. Another witness had arrived at a vantage spot from which he could spy the private dick’s actions. This new observer, however, was not in the Roof Cafe. In fact, he was not even on the premises of the Hotel Moselle.

Across the street, the roofed recesses of the Hotel Framton formed shaded segments shrouded from the city’s glow. Like mammoth steps, these unnoticed portions of the huge hotel were perfect lurking spots for any who might use them.

At the east end of the Hotel Framton, such a step ran from north to south along the twentieth floor — on an exact level with the Roof Cafe of the Hotel Moselle. It was there that a figure had arrived; a blended shape that the sharpest eyes would fail to detect.

The Shadow had reached a chosen goal. While his agents had been meeting; while they had been posting themselves and waiting, the cloaked warrior had come posthaste from the vicinity of Chinatown.

He had left the tumult that raged amid the barks of guns. Speeding up-town in a hired taxi, he entered the Hotel Framton in ordinary attire. Riding to the twentieth floor, he had unwrapped cloak and hat, together with the contents of a package that he had picked up during a short stop at the sanctum.

A corridor window had given him access to his present post. Looking at an angle, The Shadow had seen Bart Koplin leaving the parapet of the Roof Cafe. A soft laugh whispered in the darkness. The Shadow was not surprised that Bart had received no wigwag from Buzz Dongarth.

Viewing the Hotel Moselle, The Shadow saw it to his liking. The front portion of the building held the Roof Cafe. Then came the two-storied bulwark that bulged straight upward on the south side. Solid walls housed the storeroom; above were the shuttered windows and the solid door of Rook’s hideout. These were partly obscured from The Shadow’s view, because of the railed promenade.

The Shadow was almost on a line with the rear wall of the little tower. This was due to the frontward pyramiding of the Hotel Framton. Behind the tower atop the Moselle was another portion of the Roof Cafe. This was an open-air garden for diners who wanted exclusive surroundings. It carried a cover charge.

As a result, that portion of the roof was practically deserted. Moreover, it had taller and closer cedars than did the front portion of the roof. There was little chance that any of the people there could see The Shadow’s moves.

Looking upward, The Shadow studied the rail that surrounded the penthouse promenade. Whitened against the dark sky, the stone posts showed plainly. At the corner nearest to The Shadow was a heavier, higher post, that marked a join of two balustrades.

This post rose above the rail. From each of its sides glowered griffon heads with long, protruding upper jaws. The architect who had designed these unnecessary decorations had unknowingly performed a service for the future.

PRESSING hard against the steplike wall of the Hotel Framton, The Shadow lifted an object from the package at his feet. It showed yellow against the dull white edge of the roof. The object was a cross-shaped boomerang. Its two cross-bars were joined by a bolt that projected an inch beneath the surface of the lower piece.

Clinging to a block-shaped roof projection, The Shadow delivered a short underhand throw. The boomerang whistled sadly as it whirred upward across the street. Its yellow blades enabled The Shadow to observe its course. The boomerang spun above the rail of the promenade. Circling lazily to the right, it rounded the griffon-headed post; then gathered speed as it zoomed back through the still night air.

Clinging to the block, The Shadow reached out and plucked the boomerang from space. His trial throw was satisfactory.

He produced another object — a tiny spindle wound with a threadlike coil. The spindle had a hollow center. The Shadow pressed it to the bolt that projected beneath the boomerang. The spindle clamped there.

Drawing off a length of the thread, The Shadow retained the end in his left hand while he again grasped the block. Once more, the boomerang whizzed from his expert right. This time it clipped close to the parapet above the Hotel Moselle. It barely passed the pillar with the griffon heads.

Then the missile skimmed back from the night. Again, The Shadow took it deftly upon its return. Only a few coils remained about the spindle. The Shadow had encircled the corner of the parapet with a line of strong thread that remained invisible, so slender was its form.

The boomerang’s work was done. To the outer end of the thread, The Shadow attached a reel of stout fish line. Drawing in the free end of the thread, he made this new, stronger connection as a bridge between the Hotel Framton and the pillar of Rook Hollister’s unused promenade.

This line completed, The Shadow could trace it through the slight glow that reflected from the sky. He produced a coil of wire that was as strong as thin cable, despite its pliability. He hooked that wire to the fish line and drew in the cord. The result was a double-wired bridge, across and upward. Two lines of glistening steel, each capable of sustaining a greater weight than that of a human being.

The Shadow attached the outer end of the wire to the stone projection that formed a block above the cornice of the roof whereon he stood. His task however, was not yet complete. He gathered up another object and hooked it beneath his cloak. Hands free, the loose end of the wire about his wrist, The Shadow pressed against the steplike wall.

Projections offered holds for hands and feet. Like a mammoth beetle, The Shadow scaled the bulwark to the next step of the roof, one floor above. Again he climbed; a second story — a third — a fourth. When he stopped, he was perched upon the inset of the twenty-fourth floor. Two stories above the top of the tower that raised itself from the roof of the Hotel Moselle.

His line with the corner post of the promenade rail was a direct one. He could see the lower wire coming up around the post. The upper strand of steel continued to where The Shadow stood.

The stone griffon heads, carved portions of the granite post, had served as The Shadow had planned.

The wire had originally lain loose upon the tops of the rails. Drawn taut, raised upward, it had hooked into the yawning, ornamental mouths.

The single wire that extended downward was firmly held by the ornamental heads. The Shadow wound the loose end around a second block of the Framton cornice; one which corresponded to the block on the twentieth floor.

He brought out the object that he had placed beneath his cloak. A small, six-inch car, with roller-bearing wheels. The Shadow unclamped one side; affixed the carrier to the descending wire, then closed the clamp. Hands gripping a bar below the wheels, he poised upon the edge of the roof, ready for a swift flight downward.

ON the brink, The Shadow paused. Another venturer might well have hesitated, through doubt as to the safety of the trip that lay ahead. Not so The Shadow. Calmly, he was making a last moment survey of a scene which interested him.

He was looking at the front portion of the Roof Cafe, viewing portions in from the parapet, which he now could see from this higher lookout. Clear across the roof, at the further front corner, he discerned two men at a table. One was Cliff Marsland; the other, whom The Shadow could see below the top of a small cedar tree, was Harry Vincent.

As The Shadow watched, he saw Cliff leap to his feet. Harry followed. The two sprang across the open garden, heading toward the inner corridor. Some alarm had stirred the agents to sudden action.

Circumstances had ended the blockade. At the very moment of The Shadow’s foray, his aids had found cause for action. A double attack was underway against Rook Hollister. Men from below; The Shadow from above!