“What is this?” he demanded. “A false alarm?”
SHOULDERING his way through the detectives, Weston reached the office of the Amalgamated Builders’ Association. Hembroke was standing there; he joined the commissioner as Weston strode up to Felix Cushman.
“What started it?” he questioned. “What began all this shooting at nothing?”
“What started it?” Cushman raised his voice to a snarl. “I’ll tell you what started it! Four men marched into this conference room and grabbed five million dollars! What’s the matter with your crowd of flatfeet! Where’s the gang that took our money?”
Weston stared incredulously. He could see by the expressions of the other directors that Felix Cushman was stating simple facts. The commissioner turned to Hembroke.
“What happened out here?” he queried.
“They came out this way,” returned Hembroke. “We were way up at the end - pretty far, but the only place we could be. They must have suspected we were there. They started shooting toward us. What about it, boys?”
“Right,” agreed the men who had been in the other offices.
“I hopped out,” asserted Hembroke. “Dropped behind a desk - had it all picked - and fired back. The crooks fired wild, and I shouted to the boys to pile out.”
“Then what?” questioned Weston.
“I figured they’d head for the corridors,” resumed Hembroke. “If they doubled back into the conference room, we’d have them sure. So we came up to cut them off - expecting Cardona would be on the job outside. I saw some figures in the light from the window. I kept on firing - so did my men.”
“They didn’t double back!” exclaimed Cushman.
“Not a bit of it,” added Hembroke. “I knew that when I saw you at the door.”
“They left the conference room,” asserted one of the directors. “They did not come back.”
His companions nodded their absolute conviction of that statement.
Weston wheeled to Cardona.
“There was a lot of fireworks in the hall,” said the commissioner coldly. “It looks as though Hembroke drove the crooks right into your hands, Cardona. What about it?”
“They didn’t come my way,” returned Cardona. “I had good men posted at the other end of the hallway.”
“This has been a big mistake,” said Commissioner Weston sadly. “Four bandits run out into a corridor. They are blocked from both directions, and they make a getaway.”
“It’s not the first time The Red Blot’s men have pulled a slip like that,” declared Cardona. “I don’t know how they do it - but they have a way of sliding into nowhere -“
“Except the time when Hembroke got two of them in the pawnshop,” broke in Weston furiously. “I put the wrong man on the outside; that’s all. Hembroke should have had that job - not you, Cardona! Get going, men! Through the building! Search everywhere! You’re in charge from now on, Hembroke. You stay here, Cardona!”
Four armed bandits. Five million dollars. The Red Blot. Such were the thoughts that flashed through Joe Cardona’s brain as he dejectedly heard Commissioner Weston argue the situation with Felix Cushman.
Well did Joe Cardona know what the result of this episode would be. Once again, he had been totally tricked by the cunning of The Red Blot. This would be the end of Joe Cardona’s career as a detective.
There were other times when Cardona had experienced failure. But never before had a rival such as Merton Hembroke shown superior craft. Hembroke had gained some credit tonight. He had done all that could have been expected. Cardona was the one who had failed.
The Red Blot!
Cardona felt that he was helpless before the machinations of that supermind of crime. Failure tonight. Tomorrow, his resignation from the force. It would be expected.
How could one cope with amazing mobsters who vanished within the tightness of a cordon? Cardona heard Cushman giving Weston the name of Socks Mallory. So that murderer was in again - and Cardona had failed to find a single clew to his whereabouts!
Dully, Cardona knew that he was beaten. There were times when aid had come for him from a strange source - from a personage in whom Commissioner Weston expressed disbelief, but whom Cardona knew to be real - The Shadow.
This time, there had been no such aid; could be no such help. The Red Blot was a master crook beyond all credible belief. Even The Shadow, Cardona decided, could not salvage the hopeless cause that now existed!
CHAPTER XX
FINAL PLANS
A DOOR opened at the end of a stonewalled corridor. An ugly laugh sounded as Socks Mallory, chuckling to men whom he had just left, entered and closed the heavy door behind him. The Red Blot’s mob leader was back in the passage that led from door to door with the stonewalled office at the side.
Under his arm, Socks was lugging the box that contained five million dollars. He strode into the underground office, and plunked the container upon the desk. Then, pushing that article of furniture aside, he drew a steel blade from his pocket, and pressed it into a crevice of the stone flooring.
A click; Socks gripped a slab with his fingers, and raised the blocking stone. A large cavity lay beneath; into it, Socks dropped the box of wealth. The murderer chuckled as he replaced the closely fitting slab.
Something was creeping along the floor; something that Socks did not see. It was not a solid object, although it moved as though imbued with life. It was a spreading black blotch that came from the door to the stonewalled corridor.
That patch of darkness was the token of a living presence. It told that The Shadow was close by! Socks, unsuspecting, arose and pushed the desk back into its place. He sat down in the chair and indulged in an evil chuckle.
A buzzer sounded. It was the signal from the outer door. Socks arose. Before he had turned, that long stretch of blackness faded with magical speed. It withdrew not only to the corridor; it continued clear to the end.
Socks, stepping through the doorway, headed in the opposite direction. He admitted two men: Moocher Gleetz and Dynamite Hoskins. They followed him into the office.
“Everything went great, eh, Socks?” was Moocher’s first question.
“Yeah,” returned Socks. “It always goes great with me, Moocher. How about you?”
Moocher Gleetz hesitated. Socks eyed him narrowly. Both men were intent; so was Dynamite Hoskins, who looked on without fully understanding.
None of the trio noted the phenomenon which had occurred before; the approaching blackness of a silhouette that crept in from the doorway. “Well,” declared Moocher, “here’s Dynamite Hoskins.”
“I can see that,” retorted Socks. “What about the guy you were supposed to finish?”
“Not so good, Socks.”
“What! You didn’t get him?”
“Maybe - maybe not. I couldn’t wait to see -“
“Come on - quit stalling! What happened?”
“I went up to the Club Janeiro,” stated Moocher. “I had two gorillas with me. Dynamite came through. I sent him on ahead. Then came the buzzer. Juanita’s signal. I knew that Cranston was snooping, and that Dynamite’s gorillas were on his trail. So I sent my men in.”
“Somehow, that guy must have cornered Dynamite’s mob. That’s the only way I could figure it. First thing I knew - I was back in the corner - my two men pile through the door, and this guy Cranston shoots them down. I didn’t see him do it. I just saw the lights go out - heard the old gat do its work. Saw them flop, too!”
“Everything broke loose. Some guy made a getaway out through the door of that middle office. I hopped out there and started to open the door. People were coming in from the night club. I dived back to the corner and came through with Dynamite.”
“Fine stuff,” ejaculated Socks. “Five gorillas against one silk hat. Say - the way you talk, you’d think that guy Cranston was The Shadow!”
