The planting of the device in the Servidor, and its removal later, were prearranged tasks that some henchman had performed.
Brellick's case was different.
He could only be reached in his office, necessitating a sequence of moves: a telephone wire cut in the office; a device planted in the downstairs phone booth; a hoax, whereby an insurance medical examiner had been brought to Brellick's office.
Finally a crook, close at hand, had learned the result of the examination and had promptly lured Brellick to the booth, where the line was open. Brellick had been gassed, but there had been no immediate chance to remove the hidden apparatus.
The present invaders were here for that purpose. By cornering them, The Shadow might solve the riddle of the Dead Who Lived; for these crooks, in all certainty, could yield a lead to the master mind who ruled them!
FOOTSTEPS were creeping through an inner hallway. The Shadow heard a clank at a barring gate.
There was a sharp sound: the shattering of a padlock. A flashlight cut a swath from a deep angle of the passage. The beam swept past The Shadow's corner.
Growled voices announced a cluster of approaching men. They reached the telephone booth. Against the light, The Shadow could count the heads and shoulders of three men.
To The Shadow's right was the closed doorway of a barber shop. He edged into that space, boxing the men at the booth so they could not retreat by their passage. Then came the blink of The Shadow's own torch; with it, the low, weird mockery of his challenging laugh.
Intruders wheeled; from their grasp dropped the box-like apparatus that they had taken from the booth.
In the glare, The Shadow saw faces that registered fear, despite their hardness.
The Shadow recognized only one of the trapped trio; a crook named 'Cobber' Lokum. He was a small-fry hoodlum, who belonged to no special mob. The others were either less important than Cobber, or they were imported thugs who had been brought to New York recently.
Any of the three could state who had sent them there. The Shadow intended to make all talk.
The trio recognized The Shadow.
In fact, The Shadow had not only declared himself by that low-toned mirth; he was holding his flashlight so that it gave a view of his head and shoulders. The glow also showed the automatic that wagged slowly from his other hand, covering every member of the threefold group.
No words were needed from The Shadow's lips.
Except for Cobber, the trapped thugs were yellow. Cobber's two pals began to stammer their guilt, hoping to pass the buck to someone higher up.
'We ain't pulled nothin'!' began one, in whimpering tone. 'We was sent here, that's all! Yeah, we was sent here -'
'An' we ain't holdin' out,' blabbed the other. 'The guy that sent us - we'll tell who he is!'
From Cobber, the middle man of the trio, came an interruption.
'Nobody's squawkin'!' put in Cobber. 'Hear that, Shadow? That's what I'm here for - to see that these mugs keep their traps shut!'
The looming automatic centered itself upon Cobber. Ratty eyes lost their defiant squint; Cobber's thick lips began a twitch. He recognized the threat; The Shadow's very silence made it more impressive.
Cobber could picture one bullet, straight for his own heart. When that slug found its mark, Cobber would no longer be on hand to argue in favor of silence. His pals would squawk as fast as they knew how.
The Shadow, himself, knew that the shot would be unnecessary. Alone, Cobber would be a different problem. Under present circumstances, the fellow was seeing what real consequences could develop. He was tough enough to take death with his own lips sealed; but Cobber would see no use in it, with those yellow cronies ready to talk in his stead.
Cobber tried to bluff, but did it weakly.
'We ain't - well, we ain't squawkers!' Cobber's ratty eyes were blinking as he spoke. 'Only, we gotta be sure what's comin' next, see? If you're lettin' us off easy, that's got somethin' to do with it. We know it ain't no use to buck The Shadow!'
Cobber's voice had reached a high pitch, but his words were badly slurred. His raised arms were shaky, as he saw The Shadow's gun hand thrust forward. Cobber quailed backward toward the booth, yelled excitedly:
'I'll squawk! Lemme squawk!'
The Shadow became instantly rigid.
COBBER'S screech had drowned a low sound behind The Shadow's back: the opening of the barber-shop door. The prodding muzzle of a revolver had followed. The mouth of the gun was planted in the middle of The Shadow's back.
Other invaders had come through from the barber shop. Their leader, the man with the gun, held The Shadow helpless. Only the slender margin of a hair trigger separated The Shadow from death.
Nevertheless, one factor remained in The Shadow's favor.
The newcomer did not know that he had trapped so important a foe as The Shadow.
Had he guessed it, the fellow would not have restrained his trigger finger. 'Death to The Shadow,' was the watchword of the underworld. In the darkness of the doorway, the crook knew only that he had thwarted someone who threatened Cobber and the others near the telephone booth.
'Stick 'em up, mug!' The growl from the doorway was the sort that a marauder would use to threaten a night watchman. 'And reach fast!'
The Shadow let his automatic thud the floor; as his arms came up, he released the flashlight. Its clatter brought darkness so complete that the man with the gun could observe no further motion. He felt the slight lift of The Shadow's shoulders; it indicated reaching arms. But he did not sense the bulge of The Shadow's shoulder blade close beside the revolver muzzle.
The threatening thug wanted quiet; he hadn't regarded gunfire as necessary. It was Cobber who changed the state of things. He, like the others at the booth, knew what The Shadow could accomplish under cover of darkness.
'Get him!' bawled Cobber. 'It's The Shadow!'
The shout was too late to benefit the crooks. As Cobber howled the news, The Shadow wheeled full about. His twist was to the left; his left shoulder blade hooked the gun muzzle, sped it away at a useless angle.
The crook's forefinger pulled the hair trigger at almost the same instant, but the merest fraction of a second was all that The Shadow needed for safety. The spurt of flame that knifed the blackened air was proof that the shot was wide.
The Shadow's right fist drove toward the doorway. The gunner took the punch, lost his revolver as he floundered. But there were others on the draw; they had flashlights, as well as guns. They were springing through the doorway, to be greeted by a strident laugh that promised their defeat.
The Shadow, too, had hauled a gun into action. As he wheeled across the passage, his left hand opened fire with that second automatic brought from the folds of his cloak. In the midst of wild revolver barks came the tonguing stabs that crooks had learned to fear.
Only the close quarters of the fray saved the invaders, despite their heavy odds. Cobber sprang in to grapple with The Shadow. Locking with that over-bold attacker, The Shadow hurled himself into the surge from the doorway, slashing hard blows with his automatic. Crooks broke, taking two exits. The pair from the telephone booth scurried with them, carrying the apparatus that they had previously detached.
A few stopped to fire from the side passage. They saw Cobber being propelled in their direction. They blasted shots at the man who served The Shadow as a living shield, then fled as they heard an automatic thunder. The flight was complete; with them, the invaders were dragging men who had been clipped by The Shadow's bullets.
ONLY Cobber was abandoned. Stumbling ahead, he unwittingly blocked the pursuit that The Shadow made. Out through an alley, past the rear exit of a small store - there, The Shadow raced ahead of the stumbler who slowed him. Cars were wheeling around a corner when The Shadow reached the side street.
A taxi sped in from the opposite direction. Figures bobbed in sight; they were The Shadow's agents, arriving
