The Shadow Laughs

CHAPTER XXIV THE DEN OF LOO LOOK

The hop joint of Loo Look was one of the most notorious dives of the underworld. It was a rendezvous of dope fiends, the spot chosen by the flotsam and jetsam of the criminal circle.

This den was one of very few that had survived the forays of the police. It was located in an obscure part of Chinatown, in a basement beneath squalid buildings. Its entrances were difficult to find. These facts appeared to be the reason why it managed to exist.

But it was rumored among crooks that Loo Look, the idol-faced keeper of the place, had a pull with the police. No one had ever proven that point. But no one had ever put the question to Tiger Bronson.

It was a significant fact that the overlord of gangdom had known of the hop joint, and had instructed Spotter to appear there nightly.

Spotter, in turn, knew very well why he had been delegated to the mission. He was to serve as a decoy, to lead The Shadow to his doom.

Tiger Bronson, despite his feigned ignorance and indifference, knew well that The Shadow was a menace. Now he had planned a trap that he believed would be a sure one.

Spotter was too wise to go openly to Loo Look’s. He knew that The Shadow could pick up his trail despite great obstacles, and that the surest way to bring The Shadow was to act secretively.

Spotter did not relish the thought of luring The Shadow. It was not comforting to realize that the terror of the underworld was on his trail.

At the same time, Spotter realized that he was useful to The Shadow at times, and he felt sure that he would be allowed to live.

Such existence was uncertain at the best. Hence Spotter, as much as Tiger Bronson, hoped that The Shadow would enter the snare prepared for him.

Last night, The Shadow had apparently visited the home of Tiger Bronson. This indicated that he had trailed Spotter there, despite the clever ruse that the little gangster had employed.

Tonight, Spotter avoided the Black Ship. Instead, he was at the Pink Rat. There were unfamiliar faces present. Spotter chose an excellent opportunity to steal away, and was seized with conflicting joy and terror when he saw an uncouth rowdy watch his departure. He suspected that the man was The Shadow.

But at that precise moment, The Shadow, guised as Lamont Cranston, had just left a group of millionaires at the exclusive Cobalt Club.

It was after eight o’clock. Both Spotter and The Shadow were late.

It was only a few minutes from the Pink Rat to Loo Look’s. Spotter chose a somewhat indirect route; but he arrived soon, nevertheless; and he slipped into the door of a deserted building that was one of the entrances to the hop joint.

Descending some steps, Spotter came into an underground corridor. His path was barred by a Chinaman.

“Me see Loo Look,” said Spotter.

“All lightee,” replied the man. He had seen Spotter before.

The little gangster wondered how The Shadow would pass the Chinese guard. Probably in some disguise. The Shadow could get in anywhere.

Spotter came to a door. He tapped three times. It swung open, and the little man faced another guard. Spotter raised his hands in a sign of friendliness, and was allowed to pass.

He always had qualms on the threshold of that doorway. He suspected that there was a trap in the floor that would drop any dangerous visitor to his doom. If so, much trouble would be avoided if The Shadow failed to impress the guard. Spotter gloated as he imagined The Shadow falling through the trap.

There were three entrances to Loo Look’s, the little gangster knew. All presented the same hazards.

The Shadow would have to pass two guards. It seemed probable to Spotter that The Shadow would choose this particular entrance, if The Shadow chose to enter at all. That was the only proviso that was discouraging to Spotter.

The stoop-shouldered crook pursued his path along a turning corridor. He was in a veritable catacomb. Now two other passages joined this one. All terminated before an iron-sheeted door.

This was the final barrier. Spotter had reached the heart of Loo Look’s domain. He was at the entrance to the opium den.

The door opened as though invisible eyes had witnessed the little man’s approach. Spotter stepped into a long, low room. It was a squalid place; but its filthiness was somewhat less noticeable because of the dim lights.

A slender, wiry Chinaman stood by the door. He was Loo Look’s most trusted watchman, the keeper of the inner den. He motioned Spotter forward.

The walls of the room were lined with dirty curtains. These hid the bunks in which the slaves of the poppy reclined, smoking their pipes.

The room was like a corridor, with berths on either side. No attempt had been made to make the place attractive. That was unnecessary.

Those who came there cared nothing for the appearance of the den. Why should they? When the pipes began to smoke, dreaming minds would supply the grandeur that was lacking. Spotter knew all this.

The guardian of the den steered Spotter to a bunk. The curtains closed on the little gangster. He was provided with a pipe, and he lay silently waiting.

Spotter was not addicted to the use of opium. Yet to-night he decided to try a few puffs — something which he had done before.

Vague minutes went by. The little, stoop-shouldered man peered from between the curtains. The room seemed strangely silent. Spotter avoided further puffs on the pipe. He was wise enough to avoid too much of the influence of the overpowering drug.

He could see the wiry guardian standing by the door of the den. The man’s shadow sprawled on the floor behind him.

He was like a statue. The black silhouette annoyed Spotter. It was not an unusual shadow, but Spotter did not like shadows.

Suddenly, the little gangster gripped the curtains of the bunk. Another shadow had appeared on the floor. It was long, black, and ominous. It was approaching from the other end of the room.

A figure came into view — it was the form of a personage in black. It stood still, seemingly a part of the curtains that covered one of the bunks, not five feet from the listening Chinaman — a silent shape that had come from nowhere.

The Shadow!

The thought made Spotter gasp. He wanted to drop out of sight; but his muscles refused to act.

Why didn’t the Chinese guardian turn? Spotter’s throat lumped. He could not even ejaculate a warning.

The back of The Shadow was toward him. Spotter had a gun in the pocket of his ragged coat that lay across the foot of the bunk. But he was paralyzed with fear. He could not move.

Could this be real? The Shadow had not come through the door that was the entrance to the den. How had the mysterious being of the night entered this place?

Spotter trembled. He began to believe that his imagination was at work; that the whiffs of opium had made him the victim of strange hallucinations.

Spotter’s dry lips now formed a mirthless smile. The guard was turning. He would see The Shadow!

But, no — as the Chinaman swung away from the door, he moved in the wrong direction. The Shadow, divining his move, slipped to one side.

He was still behind the Celestial’s back. The guard did not detect his presence.

The Chinaman moved along the floor, peering right and left at the curtained bunks. Behind him followed The Shadow, a grotesque, batlike figure, whose sinister shape seemed like a solid chunk carved out of jet-black night.

Spotter’s eyes were peering through a tiny crack between the curtains of his bunk. He saw the Chinese guard go to the other end of the room, evidently on a tour of inspection. The Oriental stopped at the wall.

Now he must turn! Now he would see The Shadow!

But Spotter was doomed to disappointment. The black shape suddenly shifted to the left. It faded between the curtains of an unoccupied bunk, half a second before the Chinese guard turned to come back.

Spotter gave a low, hissing whistle. It quavered between his chattering teeth. The Chinaman stopped and bent low beside the bunk to hear what Spotter might have to say.

“The Shadow!” quavered Spotter. “The Shadow!”

The Chinaman looked at him with solemn, unchanging eyes.

“It ain’t the dope!” whispered Spotter. “I ain’t been hittin’ the pipe. Listen, chink. The Shadow is here! Tell Loo Look. You savvy? The Shadow is here.”

The guard shrugged his shoulders.

He had seen many men delirious from the effects of the drug which Loo Look purveyed. This fellow appeared to be another one of them.

“Tell Loo Look.” Spotter’s final whisper was urgent. “The Shadow is here — in this room!”

The wiry Chinaman looked about him.

“Where?” he questioned.

“In a bunk. Next to the last one on the other side. Tell Loo Look. Quick!”

The Celestial moved away. He did not believe Spotter. The man talked of a shadow. That was the way the opium pipe worked. It made victims see shadows.

What shadow could have been seen from the bunk? How could it have escaped his watchful eyes? Such were the Chinaman’s thoughts.

Yet the urgency of Spotter’s request carried an impression. He had said to tell Loo Look.

It was not the guard’s duty to carry messages to his master from the frenzied minds that occupied the bunks. They all had strange thoughts, these fellows who smoked pipes. Spotter, however, had spoken the name of Loo Look, and Spotter had not been in the bunk very long. Perhaps this was important.

The wiry Chinese moved along the center of the room until he reached the paneled wall beside the door. Here he raised his hand and pressed a molding. But he did not perform this action until he had cast a watchful eye down the center corridor. Spotter was no longer watching. The little gangster had dropped exhausted in his bunk.

The panel slid upward into the wall, revealing the entrance of a narrow passage. The guard held the panel with his hand, as he started to step through. Evidently it dropped automatically. This was the way to Loo Look’s private sanctum.

But the Chinaman changed his mind with suddenness. He stepped back into the room and released the panel. It slid downward to its former position. The man had decided to investigate Spotter’s claim before going to Loo Look.

Back he came to the bunk where Spotter lay. He spread the curtains slightly and shook the little gangster. Spotter stared with wild eyes.

“Which bunkee you say Shadow in?”

As the Celestial spoke, a black form emerged from the bunk at the end of the room. It moved directly along the center of the room. It was soundless as it passed the guard, who was stooping over Spotter.

The Chinaman did not detect the presence of this phantom shape. Nor did Spotter see it. The guard’s body was in front of his eyes.

“Next to last — other side of the room — other end!” gasped Spotter.

The Chinaman moved away. The Shadow had scarcely passed him; but the guard turned toward the end of the room from which the strange personage had come; and hence did not see him.

But Spotter did. Through some instinct, the little gangster looked toward the entrance instead of following the course taken by the guard.

A huge, black form was standing beside the door. A gloved hand came from the dark cloak. On one finger glowed a large gem that seemed like the crimson eye of a Stygian monster.

It pressed the molding. A panel slid upward to reveal a gaping hole. Into the opening stepped The Shadow.

From the bunk in which he had lain hidden, he had seen the action of the Chinese guard. He had learned the way to Loo Look’s lair!

Spotter leaned from his bunk. The guard was at the other end of the room, peering between curtains at the spot where The Shadow had lain in hiding.

“Quick!” hissed Spotter. “He’s here — up by the wall!”

The Chinaman turned an instant too late. The secret panel had slipped shut, noiselessly. The Shadow was gone.

The Celestial came back to Spotter’s bunk and stared at the little gangster with flashing eyes.

“No one there,” he said. “You hittee pipe too much.”

“There,” gasped Spotter, pointing toward the entrance. “There. He went there.”

The Chinaman shot out a thin hand and pushed Spotter back into his bunk.

“You see things,” he said. “See crazy things. You keepee quiet. No talkee.”

Spotter was unnerved. He was unable to rise. He tried to gasp out further words. But the guard clapped a hand upon his mouth, and stifled his lips.

Spotter became silent. He took a whiff of the pipe in desperation. The puff choked him. He lay coughing, and gasping, afraid to move.

Somehow, The Shadow had entered this den unseen and unmolested. Now the strange being had passed the inner guard, and had gone into a dark, mysterious passage.

Where it led, Spotter did not know. His one fear was that The Shadow would return.

What would happen then?