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!
CHAPTER III
THE SHADOW SPEAKS
THE flashlight moved again. Its probing ray was swift, yet thorough, as the keen eyes of The Shadow commenced an inspection of the interior of the safe. A hand, now covered with a black glove, lifted the crimson- spotted paper from the floor. The flashlight’s gleam moved beyond the sheet so that the paper became transparent.
Every detail, even to texture and watermark, was observed by The Shadow. At last, the hand replaced the paper exactly where it had been found. The door of the safe moved sullenly shut. The flashlight shone upon the front of the strong box; then along the floor.
Clews were here - for The Shadow - yet there was no evidence of sufficient importance. The previous crimes engineered by The Red Blot had not been covered well; in every instance, the elusiveness of the evildoers had been their chief forte.
The Shadow had come here to anticipate crime. The misdeed had already taken place. Nevertheless, The Shadow remained. His tiny light showed the surface of the watch. Eleven o’clock. The glimmer disappeared. The Shadow still remained.
Why?
The answer came a few seconds after the light was out. A vague, scratching sound began less than a dozen yards from the place where The Shadow stood. The noise was from outside the building. Someone was trying to enter.
A curious paradox! The Shadow had scheduled his work to be finished by eleven o’clock, the time that the crooks were due to arrive. He had found traces of completed crime; yet here was indication that the criminals had not been present until this hour!
Silence reigned before the closed but rifled safe in Timothy Baruch’s pawnshop. The outside scratching continued. It changed to a series of muffled thuds. A pause; then boards creaked. The marauders were within the building.
The beam of a powerful flashlight swept across the floor. It kept away from the walls, where its rays might have shown through barred windows. Hence it failed to reveal the tall, motionless figure that stood in a corner. The Shadow had become a shadow.
The torch was focused upon the front of the safe. Two hardened faces came into view. While one grim, square-jawed ruffian held the lantern, the other, sharp-faced and blinking, thrust out a hand and grasped a dial.
THE identity of these men was plain. Any mobster would have recognized the pair, well known in the underworld. One - the man with the lantern - was Hurley Brewster, a dock-walloper, who had abandoned a safe- blowing career to organize gangs of mobsters. The other - the man whose hand was on the safe - was Tweezers Darley, whose skill at opening strong boxes was so widely recognized.
“Take it slow, Tweezers,” urged Hurley. “Remember - you ain’t been doin’ this work for some time. Them tumblers is tricky.”
“Leave it to me, Hurley,” growled Tweezers. “I hope the bulls think the same as you - that a guy gets slow when he lays off a while. Then they won’t ask me any questions.”
“They won’t be askin’ nothin’,” snorted Hurley. “When I set the time fuse, this old box will blow flooey after we’ve cleared out. Keep busy, there, bozo.”
“Less noise,” retorted Tweezers. “I’ll have this thing done inside an hour, if you leave me alone.”
That ended the conversation for a while. Minutes dragged by while Tweezers worked on. Half an hour elapsed before the safe manipulator paused.
“Say, Hurley” - Tweezers’s voice was irritable - “this sure is a tough baby. I’ll bet you Moocher Gleetz couldn’t make any better speed. I’m right back at the beginning.”
“Maybe we’ll have to blow it.”
