AS Cliff leaned back, Duke's bodyguard entered. The fellow was bringing a compact square-shaped bundle. He told Duke that the caller had come for the envelope and had left the package in its place.
Duke waited until the bodyguard had gone then gave a basso chuckle.
'They didn't even wait for the report,' expressed Duke. 'I call that service! I guess the newspapers told them enough.'
Cliff sat puzzled while Duke ripped open the package. His perplexity was doubled when he saw the contents. The bundle contained crisp currency of high denominations. Duke thumbed the bills rapidly; the count satisfied him.
'One hundred grand,' he announced. He eyed Cliff steadily and was impressed by his new lieutenant's poker- faced gaze. 'How's that for a payoff?'
'Neat!' decided Cliff. 'It looks like one of your jobs went over the way you wanted it.'
'It didn't though,' returned Duke. 'This mazuma is from the job that flopped last night. Those sparklers that Wally didn't snatch were worth a hundred grand weren't they? All right. Here's the dough. One hundred thousand bucks!'
Duke put the money away. He walked to the door and Cliff followed. Duke reminded Cliff to be on hand by eight o'clock that evening. With a parting laugh the big-shot added:
'Got you guessing, haven't I, Cliff? I handed you the straight dope though. That dough came from the Melrue job. The dame still has the sparklers; I've got the mazuma. Figure that one, Cliff.'
'I can't, Duke.'
'I'll give you the lowdown later. After tonight's job. You're a guy that knows plenty Cliff; but you'll learn a lot more sticking along with me.'
Once away from Duke's quarters, Cliff put in a call to Burbank. He gave the contact man full details of Duke's scheme to hold up the bank truck. Cliff added a report concerning the mysterious money that Duke had received as redress for the thwarted jewel robbery.
As Duke had said, Cliff knew plenty. The Shadow would soon know the same. The man who would learn more was Duke Unrig. The big-shot would learn it from The Shadow tonight.
Yet the bundle of cash still puzzled Cliff. It was something unique in crime. A pay-off for a job that had fluked!
One person alone could solve that riddle. The Shadow! Cliff was confident that The Shadow would work on it, after dealing tonight's final blow to crime.
Cliff was half right; half wrong. Solving the riddle of that payoff would become The Shadow's quest; but it would mark the beginning, not the finish, of a battle against supercrime.
In handling Duke Unrig, The Shadow would be merely clearing the way to the strangest campaign of his entire career. That quest was to confront The Shadow with the sternest opposition that he had ever encountered.
CHAPTER VI. THE SHADOW STRIKES
ALL looked quiet outside the Gotham Trust Company at ten-fifteen that night. Two uniformed watchmen were waiting just within the side door. They saw nothing amiss on the street outside.
Word had arrived that the armored truck had started from the uptown branch. It would be due sometime before half past ten. The call from the uptown branch was a usual Friday night procedure.
Just down the street from the bank's side door was a parked limousine. It was an old car but large and of expensive make. It looked like the sort that belonged to some wealthy owner who preferred it to a less commodious modern car.
Since the limousine had parked at the same spot on previous nights, it aroused no suspicions from the bank watchmen.
Actually, that limousine was one that Duke Unrig had bought cheaply, a month ago. Its previous trips to this vicinity had served as a blind. Tonight, the big car contained four huddled lurking men: Duke Unrig and three of his gunmen.
Two more of Duke's star trigger men were crouched in a taxi parked back near the corner.
One block down the street, Cliff Marsland had the reserve crew. They were out of sight in vantage points. Not far away, two old but speedy sedans were waiting for them when needed.
Across the street, midway between the bank and the reserve crew, was a little restaurant that had private dining booths upstairs. One booth fronted on the street; its window was curtained. Those drapes were separated only two inches - too small a space to be noted from the street.
From that spot, eyes were peering - the same eyes that had watched Harry Vincent enter the Adair Apartments. Those eyes belonged to the observer who had later trailed Harry, after he had finished his role as substitute for Wally Drillick.
Nothing that happened on the outside street would escape the scrutiny of that hidden watcher.
The big hands on the large clock outside the Gotham Trust had crept to eighteen minutes after ten. A bulky vehicle suddenly appeared from up the street. Rolling closer it proved to be an armored truck. The wheeled fortress cut into the open space beside the bank door, where signs prohibited other cars from parking.
The two watchmen stepped from the bank door, their hands on revolvers that swung in side holsters.
They looked up and down the street and gave a simultaneous nod. The door of the truck opened.
Inside were stacks of metal boxes. Hands started the first box outward. The watchmen took it between them.
Doors whammed open from the limousine and the taxi. Duke's picked crew drove up with leveled revolvers; three came from the limousine, two from the taxi. Duke remained behind, beside the big car.
The watchmen heard the rush. They had no time to draw their revolvers. Caught flat-footed, they could only look for aid from the armored van.
It was too late for that. Each watchmen was covered by a different trigger man. The other three torpedoes had their guns trained on the open door of the armored van. Inside were men with upraised arms.
DUKE UNRIG stalked up to take charge. He snapped a sharp order to the helpless watchmen.
'Drop that box you're holding!' Duke told them. 'And yank out the others, one at a time! Keep remembering that we've got the bead on you!'
The uniformed men released the container that they had. It thudded to the sidewalk. At the same instant, a man inside the truck gave a knee-shove to the top box of the stack that stood there. The results were extraordinary.
The first box cracked open the instant that it struck the cement. From its interior came a puff of enveloping gas that shrouded the watchmen and the pair of thugs that covered them. Choking, the four went to their hands and knees, clawing their faces to offset the instantaneous effect of a powerful tear gas.
The box from the truck hit the curb just as the first container puffed. The second box furnished its supply of fumes, to envelop the three crooks who were aiming toward the door.
Duke Unrig saw that trio do their clawing dive. The big-shot gave a roar as a third box was pitched in his direction.
Jumping toward the bank wall, Duke escaped the devastating puff that came from the third box. He aimed his revolver at the door of the truck. Before he could fire, a gun spoke from the very spot toward which Duke aimed. The big-shot gave a howl and staggered, clutching a wounded shoulder.
Hard upon Duke's bellow came a strident laugh; its challenging mockery froze Duke's open lips. That truck was not the one the crooks expected. It was another, that had purposely arrived early; and its commander was The Shadow. The crew consisted of men who served as agents of the black clad crime-fighter.
While Duke gawked from amid his writhing, crawling crew, the door of the armored truck slammed shut.
The wheeled fortress rolled onward to further action, straight for the corner where Cliff Marsland had the reserve crew.
Those crooks did exactly what Cliff expected. They went berserk. Springing from their lurking spots, some peppered the armored truck with revolver bullets; while others clattered the steel vehicle with streams of slugs that drilled from submachine guns. The bullets bashed like putty when they hit the thick metal walls.
The only shots that took effect were those that blasted with intermittent precision from the loopholes of the armored truck. The Shadow and his accompanying marksmen were picking off every gunner who showed himself in
