The Cobra

CHAPTER VII THE COBRA’S LAIR

SOMEWHERE in Manhattan. Such was the location of The Shadow’s sanctum. The same phrase alone could be used to mark the position of another strange abode — the lair of The Cobra!

A stone-walled room, its musty, cobwebbed crevices gaping where plaster had fallen; a low ceiling from which glowed a single frosted incandescent — this was the spot which The Cobra had chosen for his headquarters.

The furnishings of this room consisted of a table, a cot and two chairs. A rounded wicker basket of Oriental design rested in one corner. At one side was a battered door, raised above a single stone step. Opposite, another door that evidently led to an adjoining compartment.

One chair faced the wall. Directly in front of it was a projecting box that looked like a radio cabinet. This was fitted with numbered holes, from one to thirty-six. Hanging in front were wired plugs. Wires ran from the big plug-box to the wall behind.

Muffled footsteps clicked outside the room. The door opened above the step. The Cobra, clad in wrinkled garb of brown, stepped into his lair. Behind him showed a dim stone stairway which he had used to reach this underground den.

The Cobra closed the door behind him. He moved toward the basket in the corner. He raised the lid and uttered his strange hiss. An answer came from the basket; the hood of a snake rose into view.

The reptile was a cobra; its brown skin made it appear like a miniature of its master. A forked tongue darted from the head above the hood. Again, The Cobra uttered his fierce hiss as he leaned toward the basket.

The venomous snake lowered its hood. The Cobra clapped the cover on the basket. His hiss had cowed the serpent.

THE COBRA seemed to enjoy this bit of by-play. His hiss became a chuckle as he approached the chair in front of the plug-box.

Seating himself, The Cobra waited. His weird hood with its painted front gave him a fierce appearance in the dull light of the underground lair. A low buzz sounded from the box. The Cobra inserted a plug in an unnumbered hole below the thirty-six.

“Ss-s-s-s-s-s!”

The Cobra’s hiss was the signal that connection had been formed. A voice came from the box on the wall; its distant tone increased as The Cobra turned a dial.

“Fang Eleven,” announced the voice. “The time is set at ten o’clock.”

“You will guard the passage?”

“Yes.”

“Ss-s-s-s-s-s-s!”

As he concluded the conversation with the hiss, The Cobra pulled the plug from the hole. He then moved the plug along the line above and pressed it into a hole numbered eight. There was a short pause; then a voice:

“Fang Eight.”

“Ss-s-s-s-s-s! You are ready?”

“Yes.”

“Wait fifteen minutes. Proceed if I do not call again. Ss-s-s-s-s!”

The Cobra moved the plug to another hole. This time a voice reported as Fang Four. The speaker received the same instructions as Fang Eight. Again, The Cobra plugged and gave the identical word to Fang Eighteen; his final action was a telephone call to Fang Nine.

Fangs of The Cobra! These were agents reached in some mysterious fashion through the telephone connection of The Cobra’s plug-box. In touch with workers in the underworld, The Cobra was utilizing a system which neither The Shadow nor the police had recognized.

Tonight, The Cobra was on the move. From his lair, this new power in the underworld was planning another stroke. His men had been posted; the statement from Fang Eleven had caused The Cobra to order action by the others who were waiting.

The Cobra remained in his chair. He opened the bottom of the plug-box and drew forth an instrument. It was the dial of a telephone, connected by wires to the plug-box.

A brown-coated finger turned the dial. The sound of a busy signal came from the plug-box. The Cobra pressed a switch. The clicking ended.

This dial represented a portion of regular telephone equipment. By using it, The Cobra was connecting his own apparatus with the regular telephone line. The person whom The Cobra had sought to call was evidently busy on the wire.

AFTER a short wait, The Cobra again dialed the number. This time the connection formed. The sound of ringing came from the plug box. Then a click; a brisk voice came from the cabinet.

“Police Commissioner Weston speaking.”

“Ss-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s!”

The Cobra’s prolonged hiss brought a startled gasp over the wire. There was a pause. Then, in a low voice, The Cobra spoke:

“I am The Cobra. Tonight I shall strike!”

Another pause; then came the commissioner’s voice in an easy questioning tone:

“Good. Where is your objective?”

“Follow instructions,” hissed The Cobra, “and you shall be there. One false step — your chance shall end. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Weston’s voice sounded agreeable. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Forty-seventh Street west of Seventh Avenue,” hissed The Cobra. “Nine-thirty o’clock. Enter the gray sedan that you will find waiting there. Bring one companion. That is all. Ss-s-s-s-s!”

The Cobra pressed the switch. The call was ended. The brown-clad figure arose. The snakelike hiss sounded in gloating fashion as The Cobra stalked across his den.

He opened the door on the opposite side of the room. A large closet was revealed; hanging from hooks were various garments, among them two other costumes that were identical with the one which The Cobra wore.

Pushing these aside, The Cobra reached to a shelf and obtained two articles: one a large revolver, the other a small flashlight, which The Cobra tested to make sure it was in working order.

The Cobra left the closet and closed the door. He went back to the switchboard and inserted a plug. A voice was prompt in its response:

“Fang Two.”

“Ready!” warned The Cobra. “I shall want the coupe in fifteen minutes. At spot three.”

“I am ready.”

“Ss-s-s-s-s-s-s!”

The Cobra removed the plug. He strode to the door at the steps. The door closed behind him as he ascended from the lair. Clicking footsteps came muffled from the stone stairs. The light in the lair went out.

LIKE The Shadow, The Cobra was moving to strike crime. Bold in the past, he had evidenced a new disregard of hazard. The Cobra had extended an invitation to the police commissioner to witness the stroke that would be dealt tonight!

With the aid of those workers whom he had termed his fangs, The Cobra had prepared for this event. More than before, his power was to be known in the underworld.

This night was destined to produce a new and startling chapter in the strange rivalry that had arisen between two fighters of crime in New York: The Cobra and The Shadow.