“I’m not saying he got away,” retorted Moocher. “I’m just saying I don’t know whether or not they got him. He bumped my two gorillas - I know that. But maybe Dynamite’s crew got him. Maybe it was one of those boys that scrammed.”
“Let it ride,” growled Socks. “If it was Cranston who got away, he’s probably still running. He’ll be too scared to come back. Those boiled-shirt boys seem to fall into luck sometimes. I thought you’d bring him in here, dress suit and all. We’ve got a good graveyard for stiffs like him. Forget it; if he shows up again, I’ll get the tip-off from Juanita.”
THE matter settled, Socks Mallory turned to Dynamite Hoskins and gave the full-faced man a friendly poke in the ribs.
“What do you think of our layout, Dynamite?” grinned Socks. “Didn’t expect it to be as sweet as this, did you?”
“Greatest thing I ever saw,” returned Dynamite.
“You’ve got a lot to see yet,” declared Socks. “They talk about the underworld. We’ve got the real underworld right here. It’s the works. Pick your spot - anywhere around Manhattan. I’ll tell you whether or not we can take a crack at it. Say - we’ve been running the bulls around in loops. I’ll bet Joe Cardona will be ready to quit after tonight.”
“What about this guy Hembroke?” questioned Moocher.
“Him?” Socks grinned, then changed his expression to a serious one. “Say - I’m telling you straight - he’s the one guy who could make trouble for us. But he won’t get the chance. Leave that to The Blot, Say - he knows his stuff, The Blot does.”
After this reference to the hidden chief, Socks quickly changed the subject. He came down to definite business with Dynamite Hoskins.
“We’ve got you in for the big job, Dynamite,” declared Socks. “Tomorrow, we’ll fix up the lay. You’ve heard of Galladay’s, haven’t you?”
Socks grinned as he made his reference to a huge jewelry concern that was known throughout the world.
“Well,” continued Socks, “that’s the nut we’re going to crack. In again - out again; and you’re going to help us.”
“Galladay’s!” exclaimed Dynamite. “Say, Socks, have you gone cuckoo? You can’t crack that joint. Since they moved into that new Fifth Avenue Building of theirs -“
“That’s just it,” interposed Socks. “It’s our gravy - that place. It’s going to take two nice socks of TNT, though - and that’s where you come in.”
“Two?” questioned Dynamite.
“Sure,” returned Socks. “One to get into the joint; the other to cover up after we come out. This is one time we’re going to make a straight getaway - and we’re going to leave nothing behind us.”
Socks paused to let his words sink in. Then, as an encouraging thought, he added:
“Listen, Dynamite Hoskins - you, too, Moocher. This is going to be up in the millions, this job. Galladay’s have got a lot of European crown jewels in that place of theirs. Say - we can all call it quits after this haul.”
“That’s the way The Blot figures. He’s going to be in on this job himself - working with us. You get your charges set - when The Blot is ready, we’ll start. Then - well, the whole world is where we’ll go!”
“What about old Million Nibs from Chicago?” questioned Moocher. “Him and the others - like that fellow Carmody you dragged in early this evening.”
“There’ll be a sweet fade-out for them,” laughed Socks. “Don’t worry about that. Come on” - Socks rose as he spoke - “we’ll go out with the boys. I won’t hear from The Blot for a while yet.”
THE long streak of blackness faded from the floor. Socks Mallory and his companions left the office, and went toward the door at the right of the corridor.
It was after their departure that the black blotch again manifested itself. This time it crept farther and farther inward, until it had assumed unusual proportions. Then, in the doorway, loomed the figure that had caused the creeping silhouette.
The Shadow, amazing as a specter, stood within the confines of the stonewalled room. His black cloak drawn close about him; his features hidden by the brim of the slouch hat, the master of mystery was alone.
This room had resounded with Socks Mallory’s gleeful chuckles. It was due to reverberate with a more sinister sound. Weirdly, the laugh of The Shadow cast its eerie whisper among the echoing walls.
The tall figure moved toward the desk. The Shadow made no effort to push the object aside. The millions were safe. He had no need to touch them now.
His gloved hand picked up the telephone. The same hand replaced it. The desk drawer opened at The Shadow’s touch. Out came the folded map of Manhattan which Socks Mallory had consulted on the previous night.
With it were other papers. The Shadow spread them before him. They were the plans which Carlton Carmody had brought into the consultation room. The Shadow noted the splotches of red drawing ink which the architect had applied to certain spots.
The plans went back into the drawer. It was the map of New York which intrigued The Shadow. His gloved forefinger traced red lines. The pointer stopped on certain spots.
The Shadow was following the very thoughts which Carlton Carmody had expressed. The Stellar Theater Building; the Hotel Gigantic; the Amalgamated Building. The Shadow kept on. His finger marked a red line that led to the new Galladay Building. Then, with final action, it pointed to a short line that terminated in a spot some distance from Times Square.
The Shadow knew that location. The Falconette Apartments - one of the most exclusive places on Park Avenue. Like the Galladay Building, the Falconette Apartments had been built by the Amalgamated Builders.
The Shadow’s laugh was like a dying whisper. Its echoes clung to stone walls even after the map had been folded and replaced in the drawer. Those sounds persisted after the departure of that black-garbed phantom. They continued when the final traces of his silhouette had vanished, in creeping fashion, from the floor.
The Shadow followed the corridor to the end; not the way that Socks Mallory had gone - that offered nothing new to The Shadow - but in the opposite direction. The door opened; the black form then disappeared down the stone steps.
Minutes later, the vague swish of a cloak announced The Shadow’s return. There was a passage to the right. The Shadow took it. The tall, ghostly shape was lost in the gloom.
Some time later, a man in evening clothes appeared in the quiet lobby of the Falconette Apartments. He carried what appeared to be an opera cloak upon his arm. Its folds concealed the odd shape of a slouch hat.
The lights of Park Avenue glittered in the drizzly night as Lamont Cranston hailed a passing taxicab. A soft laugh sounded as the passenger entered the vehicle.
The menace of The Red Blot was doomed.
The Shadow knew!
CHAPTER XXI
THE RED BLOT STRIKES
“CALL for you, Cardona.”
It was Detective Sergeant Markham who spoke from the door of Inspector Timothy Klein’s office. Cardona, standing beside Klein’s desk, whirled about angrily.
“I don’t care who it is,” he exclaimed. “Tell them there’s nobody here by that name -“
“Easy, Joe,” interposed Inspector Klein. “Don’t give up yet. I haven’t had orders to put you on the sliding board.”
“Some fellow wants to talk to you pretty bad, Joe,” stated Markham. “Funny sort of voice over the wire. Kind of quiet.”
“Wait a minute.”
Cardona sprang from the room and entered his own office. He seized the receiver and spoke quickly in the mouthpiece.
