here! This is the way they took Woodstock, sure enough!”
“Go easy,” ordered Cardona. “We’ll only move in far enough to get the lay. Ten o’clock tonight is the time we’re due to be here.”
Cardona stepped into the passage. His flashlight glimmered on the stony flooring. Then, before the ace detective could emit a cry, men were upon him. Stealthy figures crouching in the blackness leaped forward and fell upon Cardona en masse.
Vainly, the sleuth tried to call for Hembroke. He realized dully that the other detective would be unable to help him. There were enough antagonists to take care of two as readily as one.
A pungent odor filled Cardona’s nostrils as a chloroform-soaked rag was clapped against his face. All went black after that.
The Red Blot had struck! Joe Cardona was in the hands of the enemy.
The ace detective had failed to do The Shadow’s bidding. This premature investigation had been against instructions. Joe Cardona had offset The Shadow’s craft by his own stupidity!
CHAPTER XXII
ZERO HOUR
IT was nearly ten o’clock. In the light of a gloomy cavern, a horde of mobsters were slowly moving toward a passageway that cut through solid rock. The outlet which they were choosing was not the only one from this spot. Rounded holes, large enough for the accommodation of a human form, led off like burrows in other directions.
Socks Mallory was in charge of this mob. Back, at the side of the cavern, were two other men. As the crew of thugs disappeared into the yawning gap, this pair followed.
The Red Blot and his second lieutenant! Both were here tonight. Only their backs were visible as they followed the mob led by Socks. Those backs were seen by peering eyes that keenly searched the cavern.
A hidden watcher was looking from the crevice of a partly opened door. The Shadow was behind the barrier that blocked off the corridor to The Red Blot’s office and the passages beyond. He had come through from the secret way which led to the Falconette Apartments.
Slow minutes passed. It was precisely ten o’clock. The door opened; the tall figure of The Shadow stalked across the gloomy cavern and entered a passage opposite the one which The Red Blot and his hordes had taken a few minutes before.
The Shadow followed this blackened corridor until a turn put him completely out of sight from any who might have returned to the central cabin. A tube was in The Shadow’s hand. It clicked. A red flare threw a weird glow along the passage.
The signal to Joe Cardona and his men, waiting in the cavity beneath the Hotel Gigantic!
Rapidly, The Shadow retraced his course. He crossed the cavern, left the door of the corridor open, and reached the little stonewalled office. There, he produced the map of Manhattan. Upon it, he placed an unsealed envelope. Retiring, The Shadow reached the gloom of the corridor and slipped beyond the door at the farther end. His hidden lips whispered a mocking laugh.
One minute - two minutes - still The Shadow waited in darkness. His keen eyes could see through the corridor; into the cavern; across to the blackened hole that led to the Hotel Gigantic.
Three minutes.
No sign of the approaching detectives. Sufficient time had elapsed for them to be here. The Shadow’s laugh came low and tense. More seconds drifted by; a flashlight clicked behind the door where The Shadow was concealed.
A disk the size of a silver dollar shone upon the topmost step of the downward flight. The Shadow had not been here tonight. He knew what was below; now, he had an inkling of a disaster which had fallen.
THE black cloak swished as The Shadow swept downward. His invisible form stopped at a heavy barrier, The light focused on a padlock; then moved up to a wicket. A gloved hand slid the little opening aside.
Light from within revealed a gloomy room. The Shadow’s eyes, staring through bars, saw the forms of drowsing men resting upon cots.
The Shadow had noted that collection of prisoners before; now, his quick gaze saw a new addition. On a cot close to the door was stretched the motionless form of Detective Joe Cardona!
A steel pick worked while the flashlight glimmered on the padlock. A second click - a third - the padlock sprang open. The Shadow softly slid the door into the stony wall. His spectral figure swept into the dungeon.
Joe Cardona was the first to realize The Shadow’s presence. Groggy, the detective felt himself lifted bodily from the cot. As other men raised their heads to stare at the spectral form, the figure was blotted out behind Cardona’s body. The Shadow dragged the half-conscious detective from the prison, and shoved the door shut. The padlock clicked.
The Shadow had rescued Cardona alone. There were other prisoners; they were safer here at present. In blackness broken only by a silvery disk that lighted up the steps above, Joe Cardona felt himself being forced toward the upper regions.
The detective was too groggy to resist. Puffs of fresh air were reviving him; yet he kept on blindly. He knew that someone was aiding him. Dimly, he thought of The Shadow. Then came the lighted corridor, as an unseen hand opened the door at the top of the steps.
Joe Cardona wavered. Powerful hands came under his armpits. With rushing stride, The Shadow swept the detective forward - into the stonewalled office, and plopped him in the chair by the desk. The jar brought Cardona to his senses.
Then came a momentary relapse. As Cardona caught himself toppling to the desk, a black-gloved hand picked up the telephone that rested there. A whispering voice spoke in the mouthpiece.
“Burbank speaking,” came the reply over the wire.
“Unavoidable delay,” returned The Shadow, to his agent. “Is connection still established between this wire and the outside line?”
“Connection established with telephone in Apartment 4-C,” came Burbank’s response.
The Shadow hung up the receiver and produced a small vial. He placed it to Cardona’s nostrils.
The detective’s frame shook. His grogginess was dispelled. As he gripped the arms of the chair, Cardona fancied that he heard the sound of a fleeting laugh. He turned quickly, but saw only a fading splotch of blackness at the door.
The detective’s eyes went to the map upon the table. His fingers picked up the envelope. They tore it open. With startled gaze, Cardona read blue-inked lines. He dropped the paper and began to tap the map with his forefinger.
He referred again to the note. To his amazement, the writing had vanished! The momentary surprise faded. Cardona did not need those instructions any longer. The map was sufficient!
GRIMLY, the detective seized the telephone. He clicked the hook and heard the operator’s response. He called for detective headquarters. He heard the voice of Inspector Timothy Klein.
“I’m in The Red Blot’s hideout!” growled Cardona. “His mob has gone to raid Galladay’s jewelry store. They’re after a ten-million-dollar haul!”
“Get men there - quick! Surround the place. No… No… Not from the outside… They’re blowing their way up through the cellar… Dynamite Hoskins is with them… Smash in from the outside…”
Cardona paused. Over the wire he could hear Klein barking out instructions to detectives who were near at hand. Quickly, Cardona gave further news.
“There’s places where you’ve got to block them!” he exclaimed. “Club Janeiro - in the office - an outlet there. Hotel Gigantic - Elevator No. 9… Got that? Wait… There’s more… Conference room in Amalgamated Builders’ office… Now get this one - most important of all - emergency exit East Side subway, one hundred yards south of Eighteenth Street station… Yes… Yes… Get those places. Hold them!”
The receiver clattered on the hook. Cardona sank exhausted. There was one spot which he had not mentioned; that was the lobby of the Falconette Apartment. There was an answer. The Shadow’s hand had obliterated that station from the map!
Minutes went by. Cardona’s relapse was followed by a slow revival. Half rising, the detective heard a sound
