The Condor

CHAPTER VI. COMPLETED THEFT

DOWN — up — down — then to the left.

Such was the motion of The Shadow’s eyes, those steady orbs that peered from the countenance of Lamont Cranston. Directly focused toward the masked man at the wall safe, The Shadow’s signal was spied by the intruder alone.

Barth and Walpin could not observe their companion’s eyes, for they stood beside him. Moreover, their alarmed gaze was centered upon the painting that the masked burglar was manipulating.

With right hand gripping gun, the intruder used his left to operate the panel. His manipulations were accurate; he did not even look away from the trio whom he held at bay. The panel swung open. Walpin blurted an indignant cry.

“No noise there,” snarled the robber. “Keep them dukes high, like I told you!”

Hands moved upward, almost instinctively. The Shadow acted as did Barth and Walpin. But with it, he performed another action, unobserved by those two who were watching the robber.

The Shadow’s left hand showed three fingers. His right opened slowly to five. Then the left spread slowly to show five; at the same time the right showed two: seven fingers. Finally, one lone finger extended from the right.

Three — five — seven — one.

The masked man had caught the surreptitious signals. His left hand operated the knob of the safe door.

Three to the left; five to the right; seven to the left; one to the right. The safe swung open.

A groan from Walpin as the robber removed the casket. A warning growl from the masked man. Walpin silenced. The robber tilted the casket with his left hand; its cover came open to reveal the array of velvet-backed pearls.

Striking in the whole display was the famed Blue Pearl. Michael Walpin’s eyes stared fixedly. His whole gaze was upon that single prize.

To The Shadow, the showing was satisfactory. Walpin had accepted the imitations as being his collection. The Shadow’s head inclined. The robber clicked the casket shut.

Tucking the box under his right arm, he deliberately produced a bandanna from his pocket and wiped the front of the wall safe as he shut it. He closed the panel and performed a similar action. Backing across the room, he shifted the casket from beneath his right arm. With a slight toss of his left hand, he caught it under his left elbow.

Bandanna over his left hand, the burglar prepared to press out the light switch. Then he paused and gave a new command, its gruffness different from before.

“In front of a window,” he ordered. “Each of you. Let your dukes come down; but not all the way.”

Gingerly, each person followed orders. Barth and Walpin backed to windows at the rear. The Shadow stood five paces away from the window, at the side. The burglar seemed satisfied. He pressed the light switch.

“I’m sticking here,” came a growl in the darkness. “Sticking close to watch you. There ain’t no hurry. Keep the way you are.”

BARTH and Walpin heard those gruff tones from the front of the room. They would have sworn that the burglar was speaking. They were wrong. It was The Shadow who now spoke; his words came from the unmoving lips of Lamont Cranston.

Dim figures against the slight light of windows. Such were all three who had raised their hands at the masked man’s entry. The Shadow, like Barth and Walpin, still held his arms half raised while he spoke.

The others could not see his lips; even if they had, they would not have believed that the growled orders were from those motionless lips. A pause; once more The Shadow spoke in roughened tones.

“I’m going to watch you,” came his growl. “Any funny business with them dukes means curtains! Get me?”

A figure was creeping cautiously through to the passage that led to the front of the apartment. It was that of the masked man. He could not be seen in the darkness. The Shadow’s faked growl covered the slight noise of the intruder’s exit.

Lights were out in the front. The masked man had attended to them. He had entered through unlatched doors, below and above. The Shadow had prepared them when he entered as Cranston.

It was a perfect get-away, timed to nine-forty. The Shadow could see the exact minute by the luminous dial of his wrist watch, which shone from his upraised arm. He let two minutes glide; then growled again:

“Don’t fool yourselves, you mugs! I’ve told you there ain’t no hurry. You won’t be guessing it when I move out.”

More slow minutes. Weary arms had sagged, and were resting, almost lowered. Then came a gruff challenge. The Shadow thrust his arms upward in response to his own pretense. Barth and Walpin acted with immediate haste.

“All right, mugs.” The Shadow’s growl carried a laugh. “Let ‘em rest. Down low. I can spot ‘em; and I’m telling you that the first guy to act funny will get rubbed out.”

Arms came down, but figures remained rigid. The growled threat had been a strong one. More minutes ticked by; The Shadow’s watch showed eight minutes of ten. He voiced another harsh-toned warning.

One more minute. The Shadow delivered a harsh laugh, another semblance of the masked robber’s presence. The watch showed six minutes to the hour. The Shadow spoke quietly, in the tone of Lamont Cranston.

“He has gone, commissioner,” he stated. “I heard the curtains swish. Have you a revolver?”

“Yes,” responded Barth, in a husky whisper.

“Then draw it,” suggested The Shadow, “while I turn on the light.”

Striding through the darkness, The Shadow clicked the light switch. Barth pounced forward from the window, a stubby revolver in his fist. He was bound on a chase. The Shadow stopped him.

“Too late, commissioner,” he stated quietly. “The rogue gained too good a start. Why not call headquarters?”

“Jove, Cranston!” returned Barth. “That is the very thing to do.”

He sprang to the telephone. Thirty seconds later he had his connection; with gleaming eyes, Barth was ordering the law to action. Walpin sat in a large chair, dejected and unhearing; but The Shadow was close beside the commissioner.

“Call all cars!” Barth was barking. “Cover every bridge; the Holland Tunnel; every ferry! Watch all outgoing trains. Grand Central; Pennsylvania; Jersey Tubes.”

“Do not forget One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, commissioner,” prompted The Shadow, quietly. “It is not quite as close as the Grand Central; but the robber could be on his way there.”

“One Hundred and Twenty-fifth!” bawled Barth. “Patrol cars to that station at once! Then get me Acting Inspector Cardona. Have him come here immediately!”

The Shadow’s watch showed 9:55. Fifteen minutes had passed since the masked robber had slipped out with the false pearls that Walpin had believed were his own. But Barth, in his call to headquarters, had announced that the robber had fled but a few minutes ago. Those intermittent growls had completely deceived the acting commissioner.

WORD to headquarters was given at 9:55, quickly relayed to radio patrol cars. At 9:57, a siren whined not far from the One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street station. A taxi driver, about to pull away, drew his car to the curb and watched.

The patrol car rolled up; a policeman leaped to the curb. An officer came dashing over from across the street. The taxi driver heard their conversation.

“Robbery just reported,” explained the cop from the patrol car. “Guy cleared out with a bunch of pearls — only made his get-away a couple of minutes ago.”

“Heading this way?” queried the cop from the beat.

“Don’t know,” was the laconic reply. “But if he is, we’ll be waiting for him. All railroads are being covered. The guy hasn’t had time to get to a station yet. We’ll be waiting for him if he comes here.”

The taxi pulled away; its driver grinned shrewdly. The name of that driver was Moe Shrevnitz; he was working as an agent of The Shadow. He had delivered a passenger at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, four minutes ahead of the alarm.

A train was already pulling out of the station; it was the Buffalo Mail. Moe’s passenger was aboard. The taxi run from Walpin’s to this station had been made with two minutes to spare.

IN a compartment aboard a Pullman, a lone passenger was smiling as he looked from the window and studied the glow of streets below. That rider was Cliff Marsland; he was the man who had come here with Moe Shrevnitz.

The Buffalo Mail had left Grand Central at 9:45; its schedule called for departure from One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street at 9:56. Cliff had been waiting on the platform, thanks to Moe’s quick driving.

The train had been delayed for about one minute; Cliff’s watch now showed ten o’clock. He was completely in the clear — as fully as if he had left New York hours before. No one would believe it possible that the safe robber could have made the Buffalo Mail at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street.

All following trains would be watched; but not even a message would come to this one. The Shadow’s stall, coupled with the train schedule, had given Cliff absolute security. The Shadow’s agent, confident in his position, proceeded to open a suitcase that he had brought aboard.

He pushed bandanna handkerchiefs out of sight. Those could be disposed of later. Removing the silver casket, he opened it and admired the display within. These pearls of The Shadow looked like real swag.

Particularly the blue one.

Cliff removed the Blue Pearl; he placed it carefully in his vest pocket. He closed the casket, put it back in the suitcase and closed the bag. Settling back in his seat, he began to speculate on the future.

Tomorrow, he would travel, choosing various roads to make a crafty trail. Another night aboard a sleeper; then his course would bring him to the town of Paulington. This was Monday night; Wednesday evening would be the time to reach the destination.

For Cliff, by The Shadow’s orders, was carrying swag to Mountview Lodge, in hope of contracting The Condor. In his pocket Cliff held a perfect replica of the Blue Pearl, a passport that would make him welcome in a realm where crime prevailed.