The Black Hush

CHAPTER XXVI. BELOW AND ABOVE

ONE light glowed aboard the motor ship Garronic. That illumination came from a powerful acetylene lantern in the firm fist of Clipper Hardigan. With water-front mobsters at his heels, this gang leader was advancing to an assured objective.

Playing the parts of passengers aboard the vessel, Clipper and his henchmen had ignored the cry of ashore. They had clustered close to the rear of the ship, all on the same deck, ready to head for the objective when the order came.

When the liner had been backed to midstream, the black hush fell. A few seconds later, Clipper Hardigan’s lantern broke the gloom.

Aboard a helpless ship, on which every means of illumination and power had been eliminated, Clipper urged his men toward the stairway that pointed directly toward the Siamese prince’s suite.

The tugboats? They were manned by Clipper’s henchmen. Like the motor ship, the smaller boats were wiped out of sight.

The stroke of the ray had been reserved for the moment when the tugs were ready to cast off. Yet they remained; for they were to serve Clipper and his henchmen in their flight.

The tugboats had no light now, but their primitive steam engines were not handicapped by the impelling force of the black hush. With his acetylene light, Clipper was out to gain the treasure of the Siamese prince; then to blaze a trail along a lower deck that would lead his crowd to the waiting tugs.

That was why Clipper wanted the black hush to stay. Plowing out from its depths, the tugs could steam away to safety. They would be clear, while confusion still reigned aboard the Garronic.

A perfect game — one which The Shadow was striving to defeat at the one spot where success might properly be gained; that room in the corner of the ninety-third floor of the Judruth Tower.

Clipper Hardigan and his mob reached their objective. Most of the passengers were on the decks. The way was clear below. Clipper’s men moved with the steady precision of soldiers advancing behind a timed barrage.

Stealthily, the black hush aiding in their creeping silence, the mobsters neared the door of the prince’s suite. Here, the glare of the light revealed an opening.

Startled members of the Siamese retinue had thought the light was friendly. They learned their mistake as one of Clipper’s mob fired an opening shot that implanted itself in the doorway.

The door swung shut, but mobsters hurtled forward and thrust it open. Then came resistance.

The prince was not in his cabin; but he had others here besides the Siamese servants. Detectives and ship’s officers, who had been deputed to guard the jewels temporarily, opened an unexpected fire.

They clipped the first gangster who had rushed in front of the light. Mobster shots responded from outside the door. A detective staggered; one of the Siamese servants fell. Clipper and his mob pressed onward as the defenders scattered before the overwhelming fire.

THIS suite possessed an inner room — almost a strong-room. Goldy Tancred had gained full knowledge of the arrangement. Acting in accordance, Clipper ordered his men forward. The brief battle had caused a delay. There was no time for waiting.

The gangsters swept into the main room of the suite. With one accord, the defenders had dived for the shelter of other rooms. While his men covered the barriers behind which detectives and officers had gone, Clipper used the acetylene lantern to bathe the entire scene with light.

Trusted lieutenants made for the strong-room. They smashed at the door, bursting it from its hinges. The defenders knew that their cause was hopeless; they hung to their places of safety, awaiting the return of the ship’s lights — the only aid which could equalize the struggle.

The door ahead was open. Clipper could see his men knocking it aside, as he looked through this murky haze that his light was penetrating. Success was here; the surety that Goldy Tancred had promised. But as Clipper’s lips emitted a gloating cry, the one thing that he had feared occurred.

The ship’s lights came on!

Clipper’s men hesitated; then, at the end of long, tense seconds, the lights went out again. Clipper laughed amid the muffling hush. This was as planned. The short spell of light had been ended when watchers had seen that the job was not complete.

Before Clipper’s men could continue, however, the lights appeared again! Once more off; then on, off, on — at the end of the quick succession, the lights remained!

Consternation seized the mobsters. Doors opened in the suite, and the defenders fired from ambush.

Retreating gunmen dropped as Clipper Hardigan ordered them to withdraw. New enemies were at the head the stairs! A real battle had begun!

THE explanation for the sudden turn lay in what was happening in the corner office near the top of the Judruth Tower. The Shadow, leaping to the black-ray machine, had placed his hand upon the switch. But as his gloved fist clutched it, Hobbs, with a sudden swing, threw himself upon the black-cloaked invader.

The Shadow held no weapon. He had expected to find his enemies without their guns handy. Had Fawcett, Goldy, or Bowser made effort to draw a revolver, The Shadow would have resorted to an automatic.

The men had cowered from The Shadow’s wrath; the way lay open to Hobbs, least formidable of all. It was he, however, who put up the resistance. His hand still gripped The Shadow’s fist as the ray clicked back and forth. A black arm swung from the darkness; Hobbs collapsed as The Shadow’s free fist landed on his chin.

That brought the rush. With one accord, the three who had backed away now flung themselves upon The Shadow. With a wild cry, Goldy Tancred was calling his recognition of this enemy whom all wrongdoers had sought to eliminate.

The Shadow’s form seemed to collapse before the onrush. Goldy and Bowser drew revolvers as they fell upon the huddling shape. They sprawled upon the floor as The Shadow swung clear. Hector Fawcett, staggering against the machine, drew a revolver in his turn.

Shots rang out from Goldy and Bowser. They went wide, for The Shadow was making an elusive shift.

The roar of an automatic responded. Bowser Riggins, in front of Goldy’s body, took the bullet. Hector Fawcett, grabbing with his left hand for the control lever, aimed his revolver at The Shadow. The bespectacled crime plotter had a wonderful advantage, but his attempted double action proved his undoing.

Missing the switch with one hand, he fired wildly with the other. Then he caught the switch and tried to shoot again. The Shadow’s fire felled him.

Hobbs was on his feet. Once again, the operator of the ray performed the unexpected. Hurling himself against the heavy machine, he rolled it forward. The Shadow was crouching directly in its path.

The big device thrust him back toward the window. He fired twice. The bullets ricocheted from the side of the machine. Hobbs instinctively shifted his position; The Shadow stopped the progress of the rolling ray machine.

Goldy Tancred scurried through the door, with Hobbs close behind him. The Shadow, too late to stop them with his shots, laughed in the gloom beside the window. These men could not escape him; he had another task more pressing.

Swinging into the room, The Shadow stooped and thrust his shoulder underneath the machine that no longer functioned. With a powerful upward heave of almost superhuman strength, he levered the big device endwise through the window. It glittered there, almost on a balance. A final thrust — the heavy instrument of crime plunged down to a deserted areaway behind the mammoth building!

Before the crash ascended from the depths below, The Shadow had passed the door of this corner room. He had hurled the ray machine to its destruction; now he was on the trail of the fiends who had tried to flee.

Goldy Tancred, king-pin of the plotters; Hobbs, the man behind the machine itself — these were the two with whom The Shadow presently would cope. The door to the anteroom was closed to block The Shadow’s path. It was locked from the other side.

Carefully, a black-gloved hand introduced a small pick into the keyhole. The lock clicked. The hand gripped the knob; the door swung open as The Shadow slid backward into darkness, his automatic coming up in readiness.

Across the anteroom, an elevator door was sliding shut. The criminals had gained a lucky outlet. A foolish, unsuspecting operator had answered their frenzied summons. The Shadow had sent a warning below; yet this blunder had been perpetrated!

The Shadow laughed mirthlessly. No elevator could be summoned now; for the men of crime had probably revealed themselves by threatening the operator with their revolvers. Yet The Shadow had not failed.

There was a reason why he had wanted these men to live. He knew that Harry Vincent lay in their power. They, alone, could show the trail to wherever The Shadow’s agent might be imprisoned.

If the police had arrived, the fleeing men would be captured; but The Shadow did not count upon the law for aid. He, himself, would take up the chase.

His tall form swung back into the corner room. It moved out through the window. With cloak close about him to avoid the whirling power of the rising gale, The Shadow began the perilous ascent back to the observation tower.

TERRIBLE space lay below. The Shadow ignored it. He paid no attention to the myriad lights of Manhattan; not even to the distant scene in the river beyond, where the motor ship Garronic lay in midstream, with lights ablaze.

A mad fight was ending aboard that vessel. Clipper Hardigan and a handful of unwounded mobsters were clambering over the rail of a lower deck, springing to the safety of a tugboat that lay below. Their goal gained, the mob leader shook his fist at the men who crowded the edge of the upper deck on the Garronic. The tug was steaming away, beyond the range of pot shots. Clipper Hardigan and his last few henchmen were heading for the safety of the shore.

The gang leader cursed as he heard shrill whistles and saw the lights of small, swift boats approaching the tug. This was the finish. The police boats had arrived. The tug could not escape them now.

Jamming cartridges in his emptied revolver, Clipper Hardigan prepared to fight. He stared futilely toward the spire of the Judruth Tower, silhouetted against the Manhattan skyline.

No aid could come from there. Clipper Hardigan did not know why. He could not see the tiny figure of The Shadow, black in the night, as it reached the rail of the observation platform.

There were men upon that circle. They had come up to investigate the mysterious call from this spot.

They had found no one.

While they flashed their lights, The Shadow’s tall form swung across the rail. It passed between the searchers and entered the room within the circle.

When the investigators arrived there a minute later, they were surprised to see a closed door where they had left an open elevator. Stupidly, they realized that the man for whom they had been looking had chosen that effective means of escape.

The elevator stopped at the ground floor. The door opened slowly. People who had entered the lobby of the Judruth Tower had rushed back to the door, to observe the results of confusion in the street.

The stealthy form of The Shadow glided across the space. It moved through the outer door and merged with darkness at the side of the building, unseen by the group that was looking toward the street, where two policemen were aiding a wounded comrade.

A whispered laugh sounded eerily in the darkness. The Shadow was gone. He had ended the menace of the black hush in Manhattan.

One more mission lay ahead. The trail that Goldy Tancred and Hobbs had taken must be followed. The Shadow was ready for that task.