The Red Blot

CHAPTER II WITHIN THE SAFE

IT was exactly ten o’clock when The Shadow departed from his sanctum. A half hour later, a strange phenomenon occurred at the intersection of two obscure streets on the lower East Side.

A moving patch of blackness passed along the sidewalk beneath the glare of a street lamp. It was one of the many shadows that had crossed that spot during the evening. But in one respect, this moving splotch differed from all others. There was no sign of the person who cast it.

A long streak of darkness, which terminated in a perfect silhouette. This was the only mark that betrayed the presence of The Shadow. Somewhere in the darkness of the brick wall beside the sidewalk, the being whom the underworld so greatly feared, had passed unseen.

Some fifty feet from the corner stood a dilapidated brick building of three-story height. Beside it ran an obscure alleyway. This structure, apparently an old residence that had seen better days, was actually a most important adjunct to the decrepit neighborhood.

Three golden balls glimmered faintly above the dim front door. Blackened windows showed the outlines of heavy bars. This building housed the pawnshop of Timothy Baruch, one of the oddest characters on this section of the East Side.

Old Baruch’s place was known throughout the underworld. The man had been a pawnbroker for many years, and it was an adage among thieves and burglars that Baruch’s bids on stolen goods could be accepted as reliable.

Baruch was not the usual type of “fence,” who disposed of stolen articles. His place was termed a “hock shop,” even by those who had dealt with him under cover.

For Timothy Baruch was a canny individual who had ways of assuring police and detectives that his transactions were legitimate; and the great proportion of his business was in keeping with the policies of better-class pawnshops.

The old pawnbroker was unpretentious. He made no great show of worldliness. Nevertheless, it had been noised about that his safe contained pilfered jewels and other rarities of great value.

These rumors had never gotten back to Baruch’s ears, hence the old man dwelt in security. He was sure that his pretense of poverty would suffice to keep malefactors from his property. Moreover, he relied upon his connection with the underworld and the security of his safe as positive protection.

Underworld connections might fade; but the fame of Baruch’s safe would remain. The huge strong box was the one thing in which Baruch had invested heavily.

Various gangsters had viewed it; and they held to the opinion that there were but two safe crackers skilled enough to open it. One was “Tweezers” Darley, at present retired from active practice; the other was “Moocher” Gleetz, no longer in Manhattan.

Perhaps Timothy Baruch knew of the inactivity of these two safe crackers; at any rate, his safe remained inviolate, despite the fact that his barred doors and windows were not as formidable as they might have been.

THE SHADOW now stood in front of Baruch’s pawnshop. There, within the fringe of darkness cast by the old building, his tall form was invisible. No motion, no sound, betrayed The Shadow’s presence as he glided into the entrance of the alleyway.

The invisible visitor did not continue to the rear of the building, the spot where access would have been most likely. Instead, he stopped beside the wall and began a strange upward ascent in the midst of almost total darkness.

A low, squidgy sound was the only token of The Shadow’s progress. It continued until the unseen figure reached the second floor.

Here, the windows were barred with gratings only. Working in the darkness, The Shadow easily removed the barrier from one window. His lithe figure entered a room on the second floor.

Silent inspection showed the room was empty. A tiny flashlight gleamed. Its luminous spot, no larger than a silver dollar, performed several functions.

First it glittered about the room to show a closed door that evidently led to a hallway. Then it gleamed upon four peculiar, cup-shaped objects of rubber that lay upon the floor. These disappeared into darkness as The Shadow with a black-gloved hand placed them beneath his cloak.

These were the devices which The Shadow had used to facilitate his precipitous climb — rubber suction cups capable of supporting considerable weight with safety.

Finally, the light twinkled upon the dial of a watch. The time was twenty minutes of eleven. A low whisper crept through the room and stirred up vague, mocking echoes. The Shadow was ahead of schedule.

The light went out. A few moments later, the room was empty. Only the occasional glimmer of the flash revealed The Shadow’s progress down a stairway to the ground floor. When the light finally reappeared, it shone upon the blackened front of Timothy Baruch’s safe, in a back room on the ground floor.

Seventeen minutes of eleven. Again that whispered laugh. The flashlight, set upon some hidden object, displayed a wider range of illumination as the gloves slipped from the hands of The Shadow.

Long, sensitive fingers began their work upon the dials of the safe. The burning girasol sent forth its amazing sparks while the hands were operating.

The safe was, indeed, formidable. The turning dials seemed to defy The Shadow’s probing touch. Slowly, carefully, the fingers worked, while keen ears listened for the sound of falling tumblers. Minutes drifted by; at last, a sound from the blackened door of the safe told that The Shadow’s task was successful.

The light glimmered upon the watch. Eight minutes before eleven. The Shadow had accomplished his work in nine minutes. A finger touched the watch significantly.

The numbers that it indicated upon the face showed that The Shadow had planned to begin at ten forty-five and end at ten fifty-five. Starting two minutes ahead of schedule, he had gained another minute!

A hand turned the knob. The door of the safe moved slowly outward. Within The Shadow’s grasp lay the contents of this treasure box.

Why had The Shadow come to obtain it?

There could be but one reason. The close adherence to a scheduled routine proved that The Shadow was not here to commit crime himself; his purpose was to forestall the efforts of crooks who were soon due!

SURPRISE would be in store for those who attacked this strong box. Instead of wealth, they would find only what The Shadow might choose to leave for them. The Shadow had anticipated crime tonight. He was to view the contents of this safe before the others saw it.

The door was open. The Shadow’s light glimmered into the interior of the safe. It paused motionless, its glare revealing an amazing situation that brought a momentary period of inaction. Even The Shadow had not expected the surprising sight which his eyes now saw.

No money; no jewels; no articles of value. The interior of the safe was a blank, save for a single object. Yet that one article was more startling than any dazzling array of hoarded gems.

A piece of white paper lay upon the bottom of the safe. It contained no writing; but in its center was a signature more potent than any inscription could have been. Its crimson hue and its grotesque shape told by whose order it had come there.

The sheet of paper which lay in the rifled safe bore the crimson splotch of crime — the mark of The Red Blot!