Playboy intended to appear.
WEEDING through the typewritten information, The Shadow added further data, obtained verbally from Burbank. His whispered laugh toned the darkness beyond the sphere of the shaded lamp. This present run of crime had become the talk of the underworld. As a result, many tips had leaked out.
By the weeding process, The Shadow found the tip that looked best. The clock on his table showed twenty- two minutes past eight. There was time, plenty
of it, for The Shadow to be on hand at the place where he expected the Masked Playboy to arrive at nine o'clock.
The bluish light went out. From then, The Shadow's paths were covered until eighteen minutes before nine o'clock, when a tiny flashlight flickered along a low roof that wedged between two squatty, old-fashioned office buildings near Twenty-third Street.
The Shadow reached the window of a darkened office. He forced it, silently; crept through the office to a corner door. Opening that barrier, he stepped into another office, where he gleamed the flashlight on the front of an
old safe.
The strong-box bore the, lettering, in faded gilt: 'NU-WAY LOAN COMPANY.'
The safe was as antiquated as the office. Five minutes was all that The Shadow required to handle the tumblers, taking his time in the process. When he
opened the safe door, The Shadow whispered another laugh.
There was nothing of value in the safe. All that it contained were stacks of old papers: bundles of closed accounts that had been stowed here in case of fire. That explained why the offices of the Nu-Way Loan Company lacked protection in the way of burglar alarms.
The Shadow closed the safe door, gave the dial a twist. He retired to the adjoining office, but went no farther. He was waiting on the hunch that he had found the right place: that the Masked Playboy, always a poor picker, would be running true to form.
There was another reason why The Shadow lingered. Behind this chain of profitless crime, he could discern a hidden purpose. So far, The Shadow had no clue to the underlying reason, but in assuming that one existed, he was far ahead of the law.
Tonight, The Shadow intended to learn the real motive that concerned the Masked Playboy. This would be the ideal spot to gain the required facts. The Shadow would be looking over crime from the inside.
Such measures, with The Shadow, usually brought complete success, unless an unexpected element entered.
This night was to provide the unexpected.
CHAPTER II
TOOL OF CRIME
NINE o'clock proved that The Shadow's surmise was correct. Promptly with that hour came sounds from the outer corridor that fronted the office of the Nu-Way Loan Company.
Crooks were arriving by the route that The Shadow expected them to use, the straight road to their goal. Since they were coming in through the front door, The Shadow's post in the adjoining office seemed well- chosen.
There was no reason for criminals to suspect trouble on these premises.
Once they cracked the ancient safe, they would logically depart by the route which they had used to enter.
Logic, however, was due for a severe blow.
Scraping sounds ended at the front door. Flashlights gleamed as the door came open. Those rays were flicked along the floor; but against the outlines of
the windows, The Shadow could see a cluster of entering invaders.
More than that, he noted the appearance of the man who entered first, with
two others at his elbows. The leader's face was masked with a bandanna handkerchief; below his chin was the whiteness of a shirt front, with a black splotch that indicated a bow tie.
He was the Masked Playboy, attired in tuxedo.
The Playboy reached the safe, still accompanied by his two pals. Those three weren't all that composed the band; there were others, in the background,
making about six in all. But evidently, the Masked Playboy depended chiefly upon
the two who were at his elbows, for they stayed with him, engaging in whispers.
Audible words reached The Shadow.
'Go ahead - open it!' The whispered tone was rough; it didn't suit the description of the Playboy's accent. 'You got gloves on, ain't you? Two to the right, four to the left - that's it.'
The two men moved away, leaving the Masked Playboy alone. Against the window, The Shadow saw the glimmer of a revolver; but it wasn't in the Playboy's fist. One of the other men gripped the gun, keeping it as a threat.
Instantly, The Shadow saw the set-up of the game.
The Masked Playboy wasn't the real leader of the outfit. The man who handled matters was the fellow with the gun. He was forcing the Playboy to go through with the job of opening the safe!
JUST why had the tuxedoed dupe become a tool of crime?
The Shadow answered his own question almost as soon as he had mentally asked it. He was watching the Playboy's laborious work with the dial. Although he had been told the combination, the dupe was finding the job difficult.
His unsteadiness proved that he was either drunk or doped; probably the latter.
The man with the gun had ceased to bother about the Playboy. He was at the
telephone, dialing a number. This time, The Shadow heard no more than snatches of his words.
'Yeah, he's at it...' The tone became a mutter. 'Sure. We're counting on the stoolies... It don't look like the grapevine worked too soon...'
The rest was lost. The phone conversation ended. Intruders waited until the Masked Playboy had finished with the combination. He was wavery clinging to
the dial with one hand. That was when one crook shifted to a spot between The Shadow and the safe.
The shifter was carrying a squarish object. The Shadow learned its purpose
when a gruff voice told the Playboy to look to the right. He swung slowly in obedience; there was a sudden flash of light that filled the whole room like a lightning streak.
In that moment, The Shadow saw the squarish object. It was a camera, trained on the masked features of the Playboy. The light was the illumination from a photographer's flashlight bulb.
There was nothing in that quick glimpse by which to identify the Masked Playboy, except his tuxedo. The bandanna covered his face; crouched as he was, his height was difficult to estimate. The crooks themselves recognized those facts. Their next move showed it.
Swinging the Masked Playboy about, they faced him toward the windows at the left. The man with the camera stepped between them. Rough hands snatched the Playboy's mask, tugged it down to the dupe's neck. Again, a flash bulb puffed.
This time, they caught a more than candid shot of the Masked Playboy, in his same attire, in front of the very safe shown in the first photo.
But this time, the Playboy was unmasked!
Chance had worked against The Shadow. The thugs had turned their tool away
from his direction, to take that all-important picture of the fellow's face.
They had begun to work in a hurry, for the camera job was finished. Again, the Masked Playboy had the bandanna across his face, for crooks had lifted it there.
The real leader of the crew had yanked the safe open. Inside went a box; The Shadow heard the sizzle of a fuse. The safe door clanged shut.
BEFORE The Shadow could ease forward to surprise the crooks with sudden challenge, a different sound intervened. It was the shrill of a police whistle from somewhere beyond the windows.
