Spoils of the Shadow

CHAPTER XVII DEATH DELIVERED

MOBSTERS had backed from their guns at Slug Bracken’s cry of recognition. Though these gorillas had never dealt with Mark Tyrell, they knew the man by reputation and description. They also knew that Slug was expecting Tyrell here to-night.

Slug, staring through the glass, remembered that Tyrell had said something regarding a possible change in plans. He had also recalled Tyrell’s remark that he might test Foon Koo’s traps for himself. These thoughts in mind, Slug saw Tyrell make a nudging gesture toward the front of the cell.

“All right, gang,” ordered Slug. “Ease back into the outer room. This is Tyrell — I’m letting him out.”

Stooping, Slug unbarred the low doors. He stepped back while Tyrell advanced; then stooped and came through to join him. A door had opened away from the glass window. Mobsters were filing into a lighted room.

“Come along,” Slug heard Tyrell say. “We can talk in there. It’s all right for your crew to hear.”

THE two men joined the gorillas. Pop-eyed mobsters were seated on benches, watching this conference between Slug Bracken and the man who had so unexpectedly transformed himself from the guise of The Shadow.

“What’s the idea?” questioned Slug.

“Plans have gone wrong,” responded Tyrell.

“You mean The Shadow didn’t come?” inquired Slug.

“No,” was Tyrell’s easy answer. “He did come here; but he balked. I was watching.”

“In his get up?”

“Yes. I thought that since The Shadow found it so effective, as a covering in darkness, I could make use of it also.”

“A good gag. But why did you come in? To test Foon Koo’s traps?”

“Yes. The Shadow rang for entry. Then he hesitated. He suddenly departed. I was afraid that he might be lingering. So I acted on the spur of the moment. I was well hidden under cloak and hat. I chose to enter in his place, feeling that it would be the quickest plan.”

“Did you see The Shadow working on the knob?”

“Yes.”

“How many times did he ring?”

“Five.”

“Foon Koo heard him all right. He set the traps. Well, if The Shadow comes back. Foon Koo will drop him through. But there’s one thing, Tyrell, that—”

“You’re wondering why I didn’t plug The Shadow while I was watching him?”

“Yes.”

“Suppose,” — a crafty smile was on Tyrell’s lips — “that the visitor had been a fake, like myself. I would have killed some person of no consequence; and The Shadow would have been warned.”

“You think The Shadow sent a phony ahead of him?”

“I’m inclined to that belief. I doubt that The Shadow would ordinarily balk upon mere suspicion of danger. There may be trouble yet. When The Shadow does arrive, he may choose some extremely clever plan of action. In fact” — Tyrell’s voice paused speculatively — “he might even suspect that five rings at the bell would be the signal of his arrival.”

“You don’t think he’ll get wise to the four rings, do you?”

“Possibly. The Shadow is wily.”

“Say” — Slug Bracken glowered — “you know what that would mean. Foon Koo would open the way for him to come down here. Listen, Tyrell — we ought to have thought about that before—”

Slug broke off. The further door of the room was opening. The gangleader stared in that direction; the gorillas saw Tyrell turn also. Turning heads followed. An oath came from Slug Bracken’s lips.

Standing in the doorway was the counterpart of the prisoner whom Slug had released from the padded cell. For the second time to-night, a person who looked like Mark Tyrell had arrived among the flock of waiting thugs.

LIKE the first Tyrell, the second was clad in evening clothes. He was staring straight across the room, meeting the gaze of the one who stood beside Slug Bracken. The rough-faced gangleader stood stupefied at the amazing sight. The gorillas, too, were dumbfounded. It was the two Tyrells who acted.

Right hands shot toward hips. They whipped out simultaneously. Flashing revolvers glimmered as quick fingers snapped at triggers. Two guns roared. The burst close by Slug Bracken was deafening. Compared to it, the report from the door seemed slight.

A bullet whistled past the ear of the Tyrell who stood near Slug. Then came a gasp from the Tyrell by the door. The revolver clattered from the new entrant’s nerveless fingers. The man’s hands clutched fiercely over his heart.

With a choking gasp, the arrival wavered; then sprawled to the floor. He made no further motion. He was dead.

“The Shadow.” The scornful words came from the victor who was standing by Slug Bracken. “I wounded him at Grolier’s. To-night I have killed him.”

“You said you’d get him,” stammered Slug.

“He was clever,” came Tyrell’s sneer. “More so than I expected. He called my game. While I was coming here clad in cloak and hat like his, he trumped my ace by disguising himself to look like me.

“Fortunately, I held a higher trump.” The speaker slapped his big .45. “I beat him to the draw. That ends The Shadow. Pick him up, men. Toss him where he belongs — in the cell that was arranged for him. Cover the body with the cloak and hat. They are the garments that he should have worn.”

While sober gorillas lifted the body, Slug Bracken watched Tyrell crack open his revolver and remove the empty cartridge from its chamber. Deft fingers inserted another bullet.

Paddy steps from the door, Foon Koo had arrived. He was grinning as he surveyed Slug Bracken and Mark Tyrell.

“Getee Shadow?” he inquired.

“In there,” informed Slug, nudging his thumb toward the padded cell from which the gorillas were returning. “Tyrell killed him.”

“Shadow ringee five,” declared Foon Koo. “Tellee me he come. Foon Koo dropee. Wait to hear four ringee. Mister Tyrell come. Foon Koo comes down. Find out.”

“Say” — Slug turned to Tyrell as Foon Koo left by the door to the room outside the cell — “The Shadow must have wised up to the four rings. Foon Koo don’t get it.”

“Why worry?” came Tyrell’s suave inquiry. Keen eyes here watching through the door, where Foon Koo was surveying the cloak-covered body through the window of the strongroom. “I killed The Shadow. That’s enough.”

Slug was nodding as Foon Koo came pattering back. The Chinaman seemed gleeful. He turned toward the outer door and pointed upward.

“Foon Koo be ready,” he informed. “Letee Pug in. When you thinkee Pug be here?”

“Any minute, Foon Koo.” The reply was in Tyrell’s tone.

The Chinaman padded away. Slug Bracken called to his gorillas. He posted them along the benches. Then he put a query.

“You’re moving the swag? Like you said, Tyrell?”

A nod was the response.

“Alone?” quizzed the gangleader. “Or with the mob?”

“Take the mob if you want.”

“But they don’t know the real lay on—”

“That doesn’t matter. The Shadow is dead.”

“Yeah. But there’s no use letting these mugs know too much. Anyway, it’s up to you, Tyrell. What you say goes. You’re the guy I’m to take orders from. You’ve seen—”

Slug broke off as a new arrival appeared. It was Pug Halfin, alone. The mobleader was wearing a quizzical expression.

“The Shadow is dead,” came Tyrell’s spoken response.

“Where?” demanded Pug.

“In the cell,” was the response. “No time to look him over now. We’re moving the stuff.”

“So you got The Shadow, eh?” grinned Pug. “You told me you’d bag him, when you was leavin’ the old garage. I got my bus outside — the tourin’ car—”

“Come on,” broke in Slug. “We’ll start the swag on the move. Here’s Foon Koo.”

The dwarfish Chinaman had arrived from above. He was beckoning and making gestures upward. He was wearing an inquiring look upon his yellowed face. He was ready to conduct the removal squad to the top story.

“I’ll go up,” stated Slug, accepting the job as his own. “Come along, a couple of you mugs. Got the swag packed, Foon Koo?”

The Chinaman nodded. Without asking any further word of Mark Tyrell, Slug strode from the underground room, followed by a pair of his gorillas. Pug Halfin turned to see Mark Tyrell lighting a cigarette.

“Slug’s takin’ the crew along with him?” questioned Pug.

A nod was the response.

“He can use my buggy,” declared Pug, “an’ one of them two sedans he’s got out on the back street. We can take the extra car back to the garage. We’d better be movin’ pretty quick, Tyrell. Chopper an’ Muff are gettin’ kinda restless.”

A quizzical expression appeared upon Tyrell’s countenance. Pug saw the raise of his companion’s eyebrows.

“On account of what you told us,” he explained. “Remember that you said gettin’ The Shadow was all that counted? Maybe that it wouldn’t be good to stall aroun’ too long at the garage? Well — I said if we wasn’t back there inside of an hour after I left, they could go ahead. That gives us plenty of time, don’t it?”

“You took my statement too literally,” was the severe reply. Tyrell’s brow was clouded. “You seem to have understood that I intended to return to the garage. That is exactly what we shall do.”

“All right,” agreed Pug, in an apologetic tone. “I just wanted to play it safe — an’ keep the boys from crabbin’. You know what those mugs are like. We can get started now, if you give the say-so.”

PUG shifted toward the outer door. His companion followed. They reached the flight of stairs and ascended to the ground floor. They stepped out into the alleyway beside the house. Pug saw Tyrell’s eyes turn toward the front street. A touring car was parked on the opposite side of the thoroughfare. It was empty.

The cigarette glowed as it was pressed between firm lips. Pug wondered why Tyrell was staring at the empty car. He was about to put a whispered question when scuffling sounds announced the arrival of Slug Bracken and his followers. The extra gorillas had arrived from above.

Slug and the two who had come from upstairs were carrying the bags laden with jeweled relics. The gangleader gave his own bag to another henchman. He instructed the three bearers to carry their burdens to the touring car.

“I’ll drive,” announced Slug. “The rest of you guys take one of the sedans. Wait a minute — not you, Lefty. You’ll need this one gorilla, Tyrell, to help Slug lug out that dead phony. Go back inside, Lefty. Take your orders from Tyrell.”

The gorilla obeyed. Slug watched the remaining men, four in number, head through a passage toward the rear. He spoke in a low tone to Tyrell.

“I don’t have to take all those extra mugs,” he stated. “The three with me will be enough. It’s a good idea, though, to have the sedan tag us. If we get in any trouble on the way, they can put up a scrap while we keep on.”

“That’s safest,” came Tyrell’s purring agreement. “Don’t be in a hurry, Slug. Better drift along.”

“I’ll take a long way,” agreed Slug. “Keeping away from traffic is the best bet. Don’t worry, Tyrell. I’ll deliver the swag. So long — I don’t want to keep that touring car sitting still out front.”

DURING Slug Bracken’s final conference with Mark Tyrell, Pug Halfin had followed “Lefty” into the house. The gorilla had gone down into the cellar. Pug had taken the same course. They had reached the padded cell room, to find Foon Koo staring gleefully through the bullet-proof window.

Lefty yanked open the entrance to the cell. He stooped and entered. Pug followed. The gorilla indicated the cloak-covered body. Pug stepped forward eagerly and raised the enshrouding cloth to view The Shadow’s face.

The mobleader stepped back with a start as he viewed the dead man’s countenance. The sight of Mark Tyrell’s features left him stupefied. Lefty laughed.

“The mug tried to pass himself as Tyrell,” explained the gorilla. “But Tyrell was here already. He beat this phony to the shot. Look — here’s The Shadow’s gun — he didn’t have a chance. His slug went high and Tyrell croaked him.”

Lefty picked up a revolver and handed it to Pug. The mobleader stared at the weapon. It was a .38.

“Sounded like a pop-gun,” snorted Lefty, “alongside of that cannon Tyrell used. His smoke-wagon sure did the trick, Pug.”

“You mean Tyrell had a .45?”

“You bet he had. He knew how to use it, too.”

Pug grabbed the gorilla by the arm. He dragged him through the door. Foon Koo saw the action; he noted the excited expression on Pug’s face. In spiderlike fashion, he joined the two men.

“Listen, Lefty,” spoke Pug, hoarsely, “an’ you, too, Foon Koo. This dead guy ain’t The Shadow. It’s Tyrell!

“Let me tell you somethin’, both of you” — Pug glared from man to man — “The Shadow pulled a fast one on Tyrell before. He fooled me, by makin’ up to look like Tyrell. Listen, Foon Koo. Tyrell told me somethin’ upstairs last night. Maybe you don’t remember it. He told me that a .38 was the kind of rod he used — not a .45.

“This guy that’s upstairs talkin’ with Slug Bracken ain’t Tyrell. Tyrell’s dead! The bimbo that looks like him is The Shadow. Come along” — Pug urged his companions toward the adjoining room and pulled a revolver as he spoke — “an’ have your rod ready, Lefty. We’ve got to get The Shadow!”

Pug completed the sentence while Lefty was pulling out a revolver. He and the gorilla had reached the door. Foon Koo was behind them. As they thrust themselves into the room, Pug Halfin uttered a sudden snarl.

Stepping through the opposite door was the person whom they sought. The light was squarely on the living features of Mark Tyrell. For the first time they looked masklike.

“The Shadow!” came Pug’s rasp of recognition.

IN answer, false lips uttered a bursting laugh. No longer did The Shadow seek to hide his identity. His arms were crossed: like whips they snapped outward. As Pug and Lefty raised their ready revolvers, long hands displayed a brace of automatics.

Shots boomed through the underground chamber. Quick on the draw, ready with his fingers, The Shadow met the challenge with the guns that he had hitherto concealed. Lefty crumpled, downed by a shot from the right-hand automatic. Pug Halfin staggered, but fired in return.

The Shadow’s cramped left arm had failed him. The bullet from the second automatic had found its mark in Pug’s left arm; not in the gangleader’s heart. But the shot had served a purpose. Pug’s returning aim was wide. As quickly fired bullets sizzed past him, The Shadow dispatched a second shot from his right hand gun. Pug Halfin sprawled upon the floor and rolled over on his back, dead.

The Shadow dropped. He was just in time. Instinctively, he floundered to the floor as a gleaming knife came whizzing from the quick hand of Foon Koo. The blade missed The Shadow’s falling form by inches. After it, quick as a cat upon his spidery legs came Foon Koo.

The Chinaman had launched an amazing spring, his strong hands extended, their clawlike fingers hoping to clutch The Shadow’s throat. With a mighty dive, Foon Koo came hurtling out of space, straight for the rolling form upon the floor.

The right-hand automatic spoke its final message. Foon Koo landed squarely upon the figure that he sought, but the evil Chinaman’s hands found nothingness. They struck the stone floor beyond The Shadow’s body. The last shot, fired at a plunging shape, had found the heart of the dwarfish monster.

Rising, The Shadow shook off the sprawled form of Foon Koo. Thrusting his automatic out of sight, he strode toward the padded cell room. There, he plucked the cloak and hat from the corpse of the real Mark Tyrell.

An ominous laugh sounded weirdly in the underground cell as The Shadow donned his chosen garb. He had reclaimed the garments which he had discarded. They were to serve him in an adventure that demanded his prompt attention.

The Shadow had let Slug Bracken and his gorillas travel away with the swag. He had seen the need for action elsewhere. He had learned important facts from Pug Halfin’s statements. He knew why Pug had come here alone.

Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland were prisoners in the old garage. They were doomed to die. Minutes alone remained before their execution. They were prisoners; The Shadow knew their place of captivity. Both had given Burbank the location of the old garage where they had gone to-night.

Two minutes later, the extra sedan shot away from the curb in the street behind the house of Foon Koo. A grim, whispered laugh came from the blackened shape that gripped the wheel. The Shadow, triumphant over enemies, was setting forth upon the pressing rescue.