The Python

CHAPTER XVIII AT THE LEGRAND HOTEL

IN his trip to the Legrand Hotel, The Python had paused only once. Outside the Cambia, he had stopped long enough to put in a telephone call that would be relayed to some Coilmaster. Such was the explanation of the blinking blue lights that The Shadow had seen from the eighth-floor trap.

Reaching the Legrand, The Python had gone directly to the room that The Shadow had taken under the name of Louis Revoort. He had found the door unlocked; still in the guise of Carl Ramorez, The Python had entered to begin his wait.

Upon one point, The Python had complete confidence. He was positive that he had deceived The Shadow; that the pretended Louis Revoort had not suspected that the mask of Carl Ramorez hid The Python. Had the real Revoort visited the Cambia, The Python would have felt the same confidence. For the supercrook prided himself on being a man with many faces.

The Python’s weakness lay in his very strength. So sure was he of his schemes that he minimized minor failings. His blue lights, visible from all his outposts, were so useful by night that The Python did not worry because they could not serve during daylight hours.

Similarly, the necessity for an ironbound trap had caused him to outdo himself in the equipment of that eighth-floor room in the old Cambia Hotel. The Python thought that his glib explanation of the hotel’s reconstruction had been sufficient to cover the case. Perhaps those statements might have fooled the real Louis Revoort; but they had not deceived his double.

So far as smooth strategy was concerned, The Shadow had surpassed The Python. Though The Shadow still was trapped, he knew it; The Python, on the contrary, had walked into a web unwittingly.

Seated in the comfortable room at the Legrand Hotel, the master crook was positive that he would soon gain the treasure that his Coilmaster Duronne had failed to snatch from the burning Tropical.

The smile beneath the mustache of Carl Ramorez was proof of The Python’s contempt for The Shadow. Belittling his adversary, The Python was sure that Harry Vincent would be here.

Vincent! The name was one of those for which The Python had previously offered life, had The Shadow chosen to give it. The fact that The Shadow — as Revoort — had openly declared the name was proof conclusive — so The Python thought — that The Shadow had not guessed the true identity of the man who had received him in the guise of Carl Ramorez.

MANY minutes passed; yet The Python was not perturbed. He had expected that Vincent would be slow in delivering the trunk. It would have to be brought here cautiously. Moreover, The Python was pleased because of the delay. He had plans for dealing with Vincent when the fellow came. Those plans required an interval for preparation.

It was just when The Python first began to show impatience that footsteps sounded in the corridor outside. A smile of greeting was forming on the dark face of Carl Ramorez. Sharp eyes glittered toward the doorway, as the pretended Cuban waited, openhanded, for his visitor.

Then, following a slow turn of the knob, the door was suddenly swung inward. A stocky man bounded across the sill; with quick move, he covered The Python with a stubby revolver.

The Python’s eyelids narrowed as his hands came upward. More men were entering. They formed a squad of plain-clothes men. The Python needed no further guesswork; he knew the identity of that stocky man who led the lot. As Carl Ramorez, The Python was faced by Joe Cardona.

Realizing that he was trapped, The Python smiled evasively. He managed to feign surprise at the intrusion. He looked questioningly at Joe Cardona. Still holding his revolver, the ace introduced himself.

“I’m acting Inspector Cardona,” announced Joe, gruffly. “From headquarters. Looking for Louis Revoort. Are you Revoort?”

Politely, The Python shook his head. His lips still held their smile.

“Who are you then?”

“I am a friend of Mr. Revoort,” he replied, in perfect English. “My name, senor, is Ramorez. Carlos Ramorez; but I am known as Carl Ramorez to my friends in America. Permit me, senor.”

With two fingers, The Python reached into a vest pocket and produced a calling card, which he tendered to Cardona. The sleuth read the name Carl Ramorez, with the address: Balboa Apartments.

“The Balboa Apartments,” repeated Cardona, aloud; then, with a sharp gaze at the mustached man: “That’s only a few blocks from the Hotel Bragelonne. Do you know the place?”

“The Bragelonne? I have seen it, yes. It was too expensive, senor inspector for one who has so little money as I. There were friends of mine — other Cubans — at the Balboa. That is why I took an apartment there. The price is not too high.”

“Do you know of a man named Jurrice? Craig Jurrice, who lives at the Bragelonne?”

The Python shook his head.

“A friend of Revoort’s?” prompted Cardona. “Didn’t you hear the name before? Jurrice?”

“No,” replied The Python, “It is this way, senor. My friend Revoort was one whom I had known in Cuba. Some time ago, he told me that he was going to visit my home country. He promised to seek friends of mine; to learn from them if it would be wise for me to return.

“Today, I have learned that my friend Revoort was missing from the steamship Tropical. I was sad, until tonight; he called me at my apartment. He said that he had news for me; that I was to come here to meet him. The door was to be unlocked.

“That is why I am here. I was surprised to see you instead of my friend Revoort. Tell me — has he done something that the law does not like? I can not think that my friend Revoort would do any such thing, senor.”

THE purring tone was convincing. So much so, that it threw Cardona on guard. Joe was a veteran sleuth; he could recognize when a game was being overplayed.

He glanced toward Clyde Burke, who had come in with the raiders. The reporter shook his head; indicating his own disbelief in the story. That settled Cardona’s decision.

“Sorry, Mr. Ramorez,” he told The Python. “You’ll have to come along with us to headquarters and stay there until your friend Revoort is located.

“You stick here, Markham, with half the squad. If Revoort comes in, grab him. Get anybody else who may breeze in. I’ll call you from headquarters.”

Though Cardona had doubted The Python’s story, he did not think this one man could prove formidable. There was a mildness in the bearing of Carl Ramorez, that indicated he would not make trouble.

Cardona frisked the prisoner, but found no gun on him. The Python retained his smile. He had reasons for not needing weapons.

Pocketing his own revolver, Joe gripped The Python’s arm and urged him through the doorway. They started for the elevator, followed by two plain-clothes men. A second pair had remained with Markham. Clyde Burke was following the group as they went toward the elevator.

“I’ll keep the bracelets off you,” Cardona told The Python. “But remember, there’s three of us. Don’t try to give us the slip, or you’ll regret it.”

“Ah, senor!” The Python was smiling as Cardona pressed the elevator button. “It is not my part to make trouble. I have told you truth; I am only too glad to go with you to headquarters. I hope only that my friend Revoort has done nothing wrong.”

The elevator door was opening. Cardona felt an elbow slide from his grip. He swung about; as he did, he heard a fierce hiss. Joe’s eyes saw the face of Carl Ramorez, distorted into a fiendish scowl. That loud, startling hiss was coming from The Python’s lips.

JOE shot a hand to his pocket for his gun. As he did, The Python launched a swift, wide-swinging punch. The blow caught the side of Cardona’s face; it came just as the elevator door slid wide. The ace staggered sidewise and sprawled into the elevator. Women passengers screamed as Cardona landed on the floor, among them.

The Python’s venomous hiss had never halted. He was springing away, while Clyde Burke sought to stop him. The Python hurled the reporter aside and dashed toward a side corridor that led to a fire tower.

Cardona’s men yanked their revolvers and started in pursuit; close after them came Joe, recovered from his sprawl.

As they reached the corridor, shots broke loose. Bullets ricocheted from the walls. One detective staggered, clipped by a glancing slug. The Python had reached the fire tower; it was from there that guns were blazing. Men were loping forward. They had heard The Python’s call!

Grabbing the one man who remained with him, Cardona began a retreat, firing as he retired. Shouts issued from The Python’s crew; those henchmen dashed forward in pursuit. Backed past the corner, Cardona halted. Markham and two dicks had arrived; Joe signalled for the charge.

They swung suddenly into the side corridor, their revolvers snorting fire. Crooks returned the volley, then broke and scurried back toward the fire tower. Five in number, they had charged too far. Surprised by Cardona’s counter-charge, the thugs were no longer a match for a band of equal size.

Two crooks sprawled, dropped by the police fire. The others kept on, down the fire tower, with the detectives in hot pursuit. It was a running fight, with revolvers echoing down flights of gloomy steps. The retreat of The Python’s troop became a rout.

Reaching the ground pellmell, the surviving trio dashed for a sedan that was parked behind the hotel. A bluecoat came running up to halt them; but as he neared the front of the car, a stooped figure sprang forward and sprawled him in the alleyway. It was The Python, here ahead of his fighters.

Grabbing the officer’s gun, the disguised supercrook delivered a vicious barrage toward the bottom of the fire tower. The quick shots stopped Cardona and his fellow pursuers long enough for The Python’s henchmen to gain the car.

The sedan jolted forward; The Python leaped aboard, beside the driver. Cardona came from the fire tower, to deliver belated shots. The car was whizzing off to safety when Joe fired.

FIVE minutes later, sirens whined to the ears of those in the fleeing sedan. The man at the wheel was Doc, the Coilmaster; he was speaking tensely to The Python.

“They got Chuck and Tony, chief,” informed Doc. “That only leaves me, Bevo and Butch. We’d better ditch this car; I’ll let them scram and I’ll go my own way. Where’ll you drop off?”

“At the nearest elevated,” returned The Python, still using the voice of Ramorez. “I shall soon be where I can abolish my present disguise; but it will not be wise for me to tarry on the way.

“I shall let you report to Laxley at the signal tower. Tell him that I was with you. Order him to pass the word to Coilmaster Five. Do that promptly: Laxley will understand.”

The sedan jammed to a stop. The Python alighted; with long strides, he made for the steps of an elevated line. Doc watched the figure of his chief; he knew that The Python was again disguised. Doc had seen The Python in the guise of an old man; this time, he was viewing him as Ramorez. Never, however, had he viewed The Python’s true visage. That, at least, was Doc’s belief.

Doc had come to the Legrand with his men, to be ready for the removal of the swag. He had answered that call that The Shadow had seen the blue lights issue. Treasure had not been gained; but Doc had effected The Python’s rescue from the hands of the law.

Starting the sedan forward, Doc followed the elevated for two more blocks; then veered right, into a side street. Sirens were closer; but Doc gained the obscurity of a small, deserted parking place. He ordered Bevo and Butch to scram. As they piled from the rear seat and chose one direction, Doc took the other.

His own appearance presentable, Doc felt no qualms when he reached a corner by the elevated. He entered a small drug store, went to a telephone booth and dialed the same number that Albert Thurney had called that afternoon. In response to a croaking answer, Doc told briefly of The Python’s flight; then added:

“Pass the word to Five.”

Little did Doc realize the importance of that message; for he did not know that The Python had been tricked. It was The Python, alone, who had guessed the true details of The Shadow’s ruse, after the law had struck.

Coilmaster Five was the one in charge at the old Cambia Hotel, where The Shadow still remained within The Python’s trap. That order to Laxley, the signalmaster, was The Python’s death warrant for The Shadow!