Treasures of Death

CHAPTER XII DEATH IN THE DARK

WHATEVER had been the motive of the invaders who had crept into the front of Salwood’s shop, none had expected the surprise which The Shadow had given them. The mode of entrance had unquestionably been through the window that The Shadow had left unbarred. The invaders must have found it and used it to their own advantage.

They had been creeping toward the door of Salwood’s office, ready to catch the interior decorator unaware. Instead, they had met The Shadow; and the advantage had been theirs until his counterstroke had been delivered.

Men were already surging toward the spot where The Shadow stood. They had leaped instinctively; The Shadow had beaten them at the start. A revolver shot roared through the little alcove; a bullet flattened itself against the wall. Other outbursts followed. Stealthy at the start, the invaders had thrown caution aside once The Shadow had fired.

Another flashlight gleamed. Its rays showed the alcove empty. The Shadow had expected the direction of the fire. He had not waited in the alcove. A voice cried out a warning to retreat. The leader of the invaders wanted no more firing. The admonition, however, came too late.

As the cry was uttered, the man who held the flashlight swung it along the wall of the front shop. By haphazard luck, he spotted the exact direction that The Shadow had taken. Venomous oaths burst forth as a group of concentrated gangsters swung to fire at the phantom shape before them.

Those shouts showed The Shadow’s enemies to be mobsmen. Their leader no longer held them under his control. To all villains of the underworld, The Shadow was a menace. Met under circumstances such as this, his power seemed beneath a curb. This was opportunity for those who sought his doom.

The Shadow had not sought this encounter. He had tried to delay it, pending the arrival of Joe Cardona. The Shadow had plans concerning Compton Salwood; he did not wish them to be disturbed.

In the face of emergency, however, he acted promptly. The moment that the second flashlight revealed his form against the wall, The Shadow dropped toward the floor.

He fired as his figure dwindled. His target was the flashlight; this time, however, The Shadow chose to eliminate the torch by picking the man who held it. These enemies had aimed to kill. There was naught to do but give them hot lead in return.

THE first roar of the automatic dropped the man who held the flashlight. Then came other bursts of flame; in answer, revolver shots broke from the guns of gangsters.

The odds were now with The Shadow. His targets were the flashes of revolvers. Similarly, the mobsters had the chance to guide their shots by the bursts of fire that came from The Shadow’s automatics.

But in this form of fighting, The Shadow had no equal. His form was moving swiftly through the darkness. His shots were like a boxer’s feints. Where others fired blindly at splashes of fire, The Shadow timed his shots with cool precision.

With outstretched arm, he fired two random shots that served as false targets for the aim of his opponents. With the echoes of his shots, he was on the move toward a spot of better choosing. From there, he blazed quick bullets toward the thugs who were firing at the place where he had been.

All was unreal and fantastic in the darkness. The atmosphere was that which The Shadow himself would have chosen. Only the flashlight, lying on the floor against the wall, gave a small, unoccupied area of light.

Flashing guns, thudding bodies, groans and cries of wounded gangsters; these were the accompaniment to the staccato melody of The Shadow’s .45s.

Furious though the combat sounded, its duration was amazingly short. Silence, disturbed only by occasional groans, formed the finale that came after the last echoes of roaring gun play.

The rising crescendo of The Shadow’s laugh seemed to sound a warning to those who might still be able to give combat. That laugh died sharply. Its weird tone gave no inkling as to the spot where The Shadow stood.

No further shots were fired. Yet The Shadow, ever wary, was a being of utmost stealth. He sensed that one or more might still be lurking unharmed. He had done heavy damage in the direction of the alcove; still, it was possible that some one might have either gained that safety spot or have crawled away to the open front of the shop.

The Shadow headed toward the alcove, so silently that not even the swish of his cloak could be heard. A full minute passed before he reached the door to Compton Salwood’s office. He encountered no one on the way.

The door was closed — tight shut. The Shadow, needing no light, probed the lock with his steel pick. His action was unheard, for he had learned the secret of that lock before.

Slowly, The Shadow began to ease the door open, to obtain a slender view. In this action, he raised his left arm above his head, so that his hand touched the top of the doorway. The opening crack was thus completely obliterated so that no light could come from within the room to attract the attention of any lurking member of the mobster band.

DARKNESS greeted The Shadow’s peering eye. The office light had been turned out.

Had Compton Salwood fled?

That seemed possible, yet doubtful. If Joe Cardona had encountered the fleeing interior decorator, it was likely that the detective would have returned to learn the cause of the gun play.

The Shadow entered the office. He closed the door behind him. His flashlight formed a circling ray of light. It stopped short near the farther door. There, on the floor, lay Compton Salwood. The man was dead. He was flat upon his back; buried to the hilt was the knife that had caused his death.

Some evil enemy had trapped Salwood while The Shadow had been battling the invaders. The struggle had come to a quick ending. Compton Salwood, tool of a supercriminal, had been murdered in cold blood.

The Shadow’s light swung to the desk. The drawers were open. They had been rifled. The package containing the stolen book was gone. So was Salwood’s index file. The envelope with its postage stamp sheets had been taken also.

A buzzing sound was coming in short jerks. Some one was at the rear door, signaling for entrance. That had been the situation some minutes before, when The Shadow had seen Compton Salwood alive.

There was a button on the desk; the one that Salwood had been about to press when The Shadow had sensed invaders in the front. The Shadow pressed it with a gloved finger. He extinguished the flashlight, then opened the front door of the office and eased out into the alcove that led to the shop.

Footsteps sounded as The Shadow peered through the crack of the door. Men were coming into the office from the rear. A growl sounded; then one of the arrivals found the light switch.

It showed Joe Cardona and two detectives with him. Cardona uttered a sharp exclamation as he saw Salwood’s body on the floor.

The Shadow closed the front door and turned, toward the shop. He reached the end of the alcove; then merged suddenly with the wall as the door of the office was flung open. Joe Cardona appeared.

The detective shot the rays of a flashlight along the floor. He did not see The Shadow. His attention was attracted by the bodies of wounded gangsters on the floor.

With a shout, Cardona leaped into the shop and turned his light about the room. By the window, he caught a glimpse of a crouching man.

Cardona raised his revolver to fire. He backed away as he did so; and he was just in time. A gun barked in his direction. The other detectives came piling into the alcove to aid their leader. Like Cardona, they sprang past the spot where The Shadow stood.

A man was clambering through the widow that The Shadow had opened. Cardona fired at his fleeing form and missed. This was where The Shadow’s aim would have been of good avail; but the big automatics were silent. The Shadow had decided to leave the lurking invader to the three detectives. He had other plans of his own.

While all attention was centered toward the window and Cardona was ordering one of his men to take up the chase, The Shadow moved swiftly back into Salwood’s office. He lost no time when he reached that spot.

He passed through the farther door, entered a short corridor and arrived at the back door beyond. This was the door with the automatic catch; the one which The Shadow had opened to allow Cardona’s entrance.

From the door, The Shadow stepped into an alley. He was on his way to double around and cut off the flight of the man whom Cardona and the detectives had chased. Once again, The Shadow’s plan was balked. Lights were showing from the end of the short alley. Shouts were rising.

Police had arrived. Evidently they had been informed of the first gun play and had come to investigate. The later shots had given them the exact location. The Shadow glided into darkness as uniformed men rushed past him and pounded at the door through which he had come.

Then, with amazing swiftness, The Shadow passed through the alley. His phantom form was but momentarily visible as it flitted along the rear street.

It was too late now to forestall the man who had gone toward the front street by way of the window. The police were on the job; it was their task to catch him if they could.

HALF an hour later, Lamont Cranston appeared in the reading room of the Cobalt Club. Tall, calm of demeanor, he appeared to have been in the place all evening. There was nothing in his manner that linked him with the episode that he had just experienced in his guise as The Shadow.

Wearing the physiognomy of the multimillionaire, The Shadow sat in meditation. Tonight, he had experienced one of the oddest situations of his strange career. He was assembling mental facts to gain the answer.

At the time The Shadow had left his observation post, Compton Salwood had been alive. The Shadow had been forced to battle mobsters. He had entered Salwood’s office to find the man dead. He had admitted Joe Cardona, the detective who had come to talk with Salwood.

What of the man who had lurked in the front shop? What part had he played? Had he gained the office and returned while The Shadow had battled with the mob? Had he decided to escape by the front because some one was buzzing for entrance through the rear?

Compton Salwood was dead; only one man of all the mobster crew could have killed him. That man had managed to escape The Shadow’s vigilance.

There were perplexing points about this episode. They were puzzling even to The Shadow. Yet in his mental calculations, this fighter who wore the guise of Lamont Cranston was considering the time element involved. His keen brain was picturing all possibilities.

Another half an hour passed before club members saw Lamont Cranston arise and stroll from the reading room. Outside the Cobalt Club, the tall millionaire entered his waiting limousine. At his order, Stanley headed the car for the Holland Tunnel.

A soft laugh sounded in the darkness of the big automobile. It was the whispered echo of The Shadow’s mockery. It was a voiced answer to a pressing problem.

Despite the complications that had occurred at Compton Salwood’s; despite the fact that Salwood’s lips were sealed, The Shadow had gained clews to crime. He was ready for another move.

At Lamont Cranston’s order, Stanley stopped the limousine while his employer went to make a telephone call. After Cranston returned, the car continued on its way. The soft laugh echoed once again in the darkness.

Though chance had tricked him tonight, The Shadow could see the opening trail that would lead him to the crime maker who had ordered the death of Compton Salwood.

The presence of the mobsters; the flight of the lone man who had lingered; the strange murder of Compton Salwood — all these facts were fitting into a complete scheme.

The evidence that The Shadow had gained prior to Salwood’s return to his office was sufficient to give a clew to those which the master crime hunter already possessed.

Despite the efforts of a supercrook to balk detection by slaying Compton Salwood, The Shadow would continue his lone battle. Coming events would show him the way to final triumph.

In all his calculations, The Shadow took account of chance. He had a way of meeting circumstances that had never failed. Yet The Shadow was destined to encounter the unexpected once again before he reached the spot he sought.

The future, though The Shadow might seek to plan it, lay beyond his full control. That was a fact that The Shadow was destined to learn.