The Black Hush

CHAPTER XV. ON THE ELEVATED

CLYDE BURKE stopped in front of a dilapidated building. He glanced at his watch, illuminating the dial with a lighted match. It was not quite half an hour since he had left Cardona’s office.

This was the destination which he had heard the men give on the street corner. Nevertheless, Clyde was not sure that he had heard aright when he had listened to the naming of the location. He had expected

“Jerry’s” to be some meeting spot of the underworld. Instead, he was viewing the end house of a quiet row — a structure which was bounded on one side by an alleyway.

As he glanced across the street, Clyde thought that he saw another man on the opposite side of the thoroughfare.

His eyes were right; they had glimpsed the form of Detective Sergeant Markham. But, like all quick glances, this one faded under direct surveillance. As Clyde watched closely, he could see no further trace of anyone.

Clyde moved toward the entrance of the alley way. It was darker there, he decided; less chance of being seen when the men who had talked kept their rendezvous.

It never occurred to the reporter that he had been lured to this spot; that Goldy Tancred had given instructions for henchmen to seize him, should he pay a visit to detective headquarters.

Joe Cardona’s telephone call had actually been an unwitting death warrant for Clyde Burke. The reporter, in turn, had made two serious blunders. The first had been his folly in believing that two gangsters would talk over plans so close to detective headquarters. The second had been his failure to call Burbank.

Had Clyde been on duty for The Shadow, he would have communicated with the contact man. But since he was a free agent for the night, Clyde had gone out on his own. In so doing, he had deliberately placed himself beyond the sphere of The Shadow’s protection — a mistake which no agent of The Shadow should have committed.

Just as Clyde moved slowly into the darkness at the side of the building, he caught a sound ahead of him.

He stepped back as he raised his hands.

A MAN sprang forward from the darkness. A swift arm came downward as it swung a blackjack. Clyde did not see the blow, but he anticipated it. Swinging his own arm upward, the reporter deflected the stroke. The man’s form fell upon him, and Clyde shot out to the sidewalk as he locked in a quick struggle.

This was just the beginning. Three more men scrambled from the darkness and leaped forward to the fray. Fully engaged with his one antagonist, Clyde Burke would have fared ill but for the presence of Detective Sergeant Markham across the street.

The sound of the attack, the sight of dim forms hurtling to the sidewalk — these told Markham that Burke had met with unexpected foemen. The sleuth pulled his revolver, and fired at the front of the building above the heads of the men who had emerged from the alleyway.

The effect was instantaneous. Figures scattered. The man who was fighting Clyde Burke wriggled free and dived for the shelter of the alleyway.

Markham fired again. Dodging, the gangsters drew their own revolvers and returned the shots.

Clyde Burke, prone upon the sidewalk, rolled toward the house and crouched in the shelter of some stone steps. The move was just in time. Gangster bullets spattered at the spot where the reporter had been. The mobsters were making a last effort to riddle their quarry, whom they had been ordered to kill.

Markham’s shots zipped dangerously close to the scattered attackers. One bullet winged a gangster’s shoulder, and the wounded man’s cry brought consternation to the rest. These rats were merely paid assassins, not gorillas of a doughty caliber.

As the wounded man fled, clutching his shoulder, the others followed suit. Markham sent two shots down the alleyway as a parting thrust to the men who had disappeared in that direction; then, coming from his position of vantage, the detective sergeant hurried across the street, and reached the place where Clyde Burke was huddled.

“All right, Burke?” growled Markham.

Clyde recognized the voice, and responded as he arose from beside the steps.

“That you, Markham?” he asked. “Say — I didn’t know you were tailing me. Thanks, old fellow.”

“Lucky I did tail you,” said Markham gruffly, as he began to reload his revolver. “Got yourself into a pickle, didn’t you? What was the idea?”

“Listened in on what some gang boys had to say,” replied Clyde calmly. “Heard them talking about a get-together in this neighborhood. Thought I’d find out what it was about.”

“Fine idea,” snorted Markham. “Well, you nearly found out too much. Come along. The gun’s loaded up again. I’m going to call Joe Cardona, Burke. Maybe he’ll want to talk to you after this.”

“Suits me,” responded Clyde, in an indifferent tone. “I was just after a story — that’s all.”

THEY reached a small store a block away from the spot of the short fray. Markham entered a telephone booth. Burke watched the detective sergeant phoning. He saw an excited look appear upon Markham’s countenance.

Hanging up the receiver, Markham plunged from the booth and gripped Clyde Burke’s arm. Without a word, he led the reporter hastily along the street. They came to an elevated station and the detective sergeant hurriedly ascended the steps, with Clyde still in tow.

The pair entered a train. The car was almost empty. Markham thrust Clyde in a corner seat, and gave a low, grim laugh.

“What’s up?” panted Clyde still winded from that mad rush. “Where are you dragging me, Markham?”

“Started to tell Cardona I had you with me,” Markham explained. “Before I could tell him what had happened, he gave me new instructions. He was just leaving with a raiding squad. We’re going to join them — at least I am. You can hang back and watch.”

“Where?” questioned Clyde eagerly.

“It’s the New City Bank, Burke. Somebody’s going to try to crack it tonight.”

“Whew!” exclaimed Clyde.

The ejaculation masked the sudden thought that had occurred to the reporter. Was the hand of The Shadow connected with this tip-off? The mysterious master of the night had warned Cardona of other contemplated crimes in the past.

Only one station more! The train was rumbling rapidly along the elevated platform. Clyde could see that Markham was eager to join with the raiders, even though the man was maintaining a calm expression.

Then came blackness.

Without warning, every light in the elevated train was extinguished. The cars slid to a grinding stop.

Halted midway between stations, they rested amid a strange silence that fell from nowhere.

Neither Clyde Burke nor Detective Sergeant Markham understood the significance of that sudden, appalling gloom. They did not realize that the mysterious power of the black hush had once again been projected upon a designated spot in the midst of teeming Manhattan!

That was a fact that only The Shadow knew!