The Condor

CHAPTER III. GASPED WORDS

“Two of you,” sneered Murk Feeny, eyeing the contrasted faces before him. “Well, we didn’t figure on you, Marsland, but we ain’t kicking because you’re here. We knowed you was a pal of Luff’s.”

Murk beckoned with his gun. He edged into the room, to back Cliff and Luff against the wall. Murk’s henchmen followed. A trio in the center of white-plastered walls, they covered their victims from close range.

“We’ve been looking over some hideouts,” snarled Murk, shifting his gaze from Cliff to Luff. “Places you might have picked but didn’t. So we took a Brodie and came here. Kind of a dumb cluck, ain’t you, Luff?

“If you’d used your noodle, you’d have fixed that crack under the door. But you didn’t and we wised after we sneaked in here. And we didn’t take no chances after we spotted that light.

“These bozos ain’t the only torpedoes with me. There’s two more guys in the hall, and a couple that I just chased around back. Just so’s to cover the fire escape, in case you tried to scram.”

“Honest, Murk,” whined Luff, “I ain’t done nothing to have you gunning for me. I’ve been in stir. Up there in the Big House there ain’t been no chance for me to queer any racket you’ve been—”

“Cut it!” snarled Murk. “You know why you’re going on the spot. You went away for safecracking, didn’t you?”

Luff nodded weakly.

“Yeah,” affirmed Murk, “and there was one box that you busted that the bulls never knew about. The one at Tim Rooney’s gambling joint, where you snatched the IOU that Flash Lodo wanted.

“You got two grand for the job; and it was worth it to Flash. He was in for thirty on that IOU; and I was Tim Rooney’s partner. Both of us took it on the chin for fifteen grand.

“Well, Flash Lodo got his. I gave it to him. And you’d have got yours if you hadn’t gone to the Big House right after that. You were sitting pretty when you were up the river, even if you didn’t think so.”

Murk shifted his gaze to Cliff. His murderous scowl increased.

“So you’re Luff’s pal, eh?” snorted Murk. “Only one he’s got; and I don’t know of any mugs that pal around with you. That fixes you, Marsland, along with Luff.”

Stepping back, Murk nodded to his henchmen. Their revolvers came up as Murk’s lowered. Cliff and Luff were each covered by a .38; the two torpedoes looked toward their chief.

“Give it,” rasped Murk.

CLIFF’S body had become rigid. The others had not noticed his instinctive preparation for this moment.

Before either henchmen could obey Murk’s command, Cliff hurtled forward, diving for their leader.

Murk swung back to ward off the attack. Twisting free, he sent Cliff half sprawling to the floor. His revolver bounded from his hand. Murk sprang to regain it; as he did so, his two henchmen swung to cover Cliff.

At that instant, a ripping sound came from one window. The patched shade was whipped aside. In from darkness bounded a blackened figure. A flash of crimson came from the lining of a sable-hued cloak.

Brilliant eyes flashed from beneath the brim of a slouch hat.

Hidden lips uttered a fierce laugh that stopped assassins short. Wheeling toward the window, Murk’s henchmen faced the enemy who had made such startling entry. From Murk, who was stooping with hand on gun, came the gasped recognition:

“The Shadow!”

Revolvers flashed as Murk’s minions aimed. But as the torpedoes acted, they saw mammoth muzzles that looked before them. Fists had thrust forward from the blackness of the cloak. Thin-gloved hands were ready with their automatics.

The big weapons boomed automatically. Each .45 spat its tongue of flame. Like ruddy darts, those flashes pointed to their targets. Crooks wavered, fingers on triggers, then sank to the floor, their revolvers unfired.

Murk Feeny was aiming on the rise. He fired one quick shot as The Shadow wheeled. The bullet singed the folds of The Shadow’s cloak. Murk swung to aim again. Cliff Marsland, rising from hands and knees, made a headlong dive to stop him.

A single shot thundered in the close-walled room. Cliff heard it while in motion. Then he hit Murk with a flying tackle, bowling the big crook to the floor. Rising above his antagonist, Cliff prepared to deliver a knock-out punch. He stopped his blow; with raised fist he stared at Murk’s face.

Those ugly lips were coughing incoherently. Evil eyes were bulging from their sockets. Beyond Murk lay his useless revolvers; the crook’s body was sagging limp in Cliff’s grasp.

The Shadow had beaten Murk to the shot. The would-be killer had taken a bullet while Cliff was surging forward. Murk had not fired; the shot that Cliff had heard was a blast from The Shadow’s automatic.

STARING upward, Cliff caught sight of a bolting figure. Luff Cadley had dived for the door; he was making a mad dash to the corridor. Beyond the open portal, Cliff caught the sudden glimmer of flashlights. Revolvers barked their echoes from the bare-walled hall.

Cliff heard a whining cry; then into his path came the wheeling shape of The Shadow. Cliff heard the challenging laugh of his black-clad chief. He saw the flashes of automatics; he heard the double thunder of two guns.

The Shadow was pumping hot lead down the corridor. Flashlights made distorted glares as their holders let them fly through the air. Hopeless shots responded from half-loosened revolvers. With those echoes came the thud of bodies.

A clatter outside the window. Henchmen were coming up the fire escape. The Shadow swept in that direction. Again he laughed, a sinister challenge as he leaned out to meet the foe. Oaths spat from the lips of the men who had been below.

On watch, they had not seen The Shadow crouched outside Luff’s window. They had witnessed the ripping of the blind; that was all. At last they saw The Shadow’s outline; they aimed upward for their target.

Automatics were already delivering. Clanging bullets ricocheted from the open ironwork. One crook gave a wild cry as he lost his hold and plunged to the concrete just below. The other dropped and fled.

He had been lucky; a step of the fire escape had shielded him from those bullets that The Shadow had dispatched in darkness.

Cliff Marsland had gained Murk Feeny’s gun. Standing in the center of the room, Cliff stared about.

Prone bodies on the floor. Blackness at the window. The Shadow had swung out to the fire escape.

The kerosene lantern, shining from atop a soap box, had escaped all attention. Its illumination had persisted through every scene. For a moment, Cliff thought that the strange drama had reached its close.

Then, from the hall came a creeping figure. A hoarse cough issued from whitened lips. Hopeless eyes looked up toward Cliff. Luff Cadley had returned.

THE ex-convict was in bad plight. Murk’s henchmen in the corridor had stopped his flight with a barrage of bullets. The Shadow’s intervention had saved Luff from immediate death, but Cliff saw that the wounds were mortal.

Luff’s cough was a dying one. Minutes alone would mark the remainder of his life. Yet Luff had somehow regained the nerve that had once characterized him. His lips managed a grin as his fading eyes saw Cliff.

Luff’s hand rose pleadingly. Cliff stooped beside the dying crook.

“The swag,” coughed Luff. “You — you can get it, Cliff. For — for The Condor. All — all yours, Cliff. I–I’m through.”

Cliff nodded as he crouched close to Luff. He made no effort to prompt the crook. He could see that Luff was trying to tell all he knew.

“Walpin,” gasped Luff. “Michael Walpin. He — he has pearls, Cliff. Worth — worth a hundred grand. With them — with them — the Blue Pearl. Show it when you see — see The Condor.”

Luff’s eyes closed. For a moment, Cliff feared the man was through. Then Luff’s lips moved weakly, his statement barely audible.

“Take — take the swag,” groaned Luff, feebly, “to a place — a place called Paulington. Paulington, Cliff — then Mountview — Mountview Lodge.”

Luff’s lips weakened. Apparently the dying man’s strength was gone. Cliff whispered a question in Luff’s ear, hoarsely, so it could be heard.

“I’m to keep the Blue Pearl out?” he quizzed. “To show it when I get to Mountview Lodge?”

Luff nodded. Then, with eyes still closed, he whispered:

“Look for the big bird — The Condor — when you see it — show the Blue Pearl—”

A final cough racked Luff’s frame. The dying man’s eyes opened; then bulged. Cliff saw their glassy stare as Luff’s body slumped from his grasp. The crook was dead.

SIRENS were whining from the distance. Cliff caught the faint blasts of police whistles. Shots had been heard from the old tenement building. The law was on its way.

A whisper from the window. Cliff came to himself. He sprang to the lantern and extinguished it; then groped to the window and reached the fire escape. He descended.

Sirens were closer. A whistle, oddly muffled, apparently came from the front of the tenement house. Cliff heard a whispered order in the darkness. The Shadow was pointing him to an outlet between buildings at the rear.

Cliff stumbled off toward the path to safety. He threaded his way to the next street; crossed and took to the cover of an alley. Another block brought him to a deserted street. Cliff headed toward the avenue where the elevated loomed.

Cliff knew that The Shadow had followed; but his course and that of his chief had parted. The law, arriving, would find Luff Cadley, dead among his would-be slayers.

Luff’s life was ended; his story told. Cliff alone had heard those dying words. Perhaps The Shadow, outside the window, had caught some of the statement; but not all. He would be waiting for Cliff’s report.

Two blocks up the avenue, Cliff found a drug store with telephone booths. He entered and put in a call to Burbank. He heard the quiet, even tones of The Shadow’s contact man. Cliff reported.

Slowly, steadily, word for word, Cliff repeated all that Luff Cadley had told him. Recollection of the dying man’s statement had remained clear in Cliff’s mind. His task done, Cliff departed.

Tonight, The Shadow would know of the existence of The Condor, strange supercrook who had waited for years to assemble men of crime. Michael Walpin — the Blue Pearl — the town of Paulington — a place called Mountview Lodge; all these were items of a finished whole.

The future offered challenge to The Shadow. Challenge from The Condor, whose scheme of crime must be frustrated. How? To Cliff, the question was the problem. To The Shadow, it would be the making of a new campaign.