Dwig waited until the guard had gone back into the hide-away and bolted the door, then he joined his companions, glancing along the street as he crossed to the alley. He didn't observe the long, black form that detached itself from the wall beside the door to the hide-away.
The Shadow was here!
QUITE in variance to Garmath's theory, the cloaked investigator had attempted no invasion, even though he had discovered the hide-away two nights before. Garmath had disregarded one very vital point: the fact that Sherbrock was a prisoner.
Perhaps Garmath thought that The Shadow didn't know it. Possibly, Garmath's own disregard for human life was so inbred that he couldn't credit The Shadow with changing vital plans on the slight chance that a man like Sherbrock might be still alive.
But The Shadow was gambling much on that possibility. He was making himself a double task, just on Sherbrock's account.
Having reasoned that Garmath would treat Sherbrock well if he kept the prisoner alive at all, The Shadow had seen no need to hurry a rescue. He wanted to make the rescue sure, and the departure of Dwig's crew increased that prospect.
Yet there was something else to do before attempting to aid Sherbrock. Gliding in the other direction, The Shadow passed beneath the abutment of a great East River bridge. He reached a car of his own and started a quick trip around by streets that led up to the bridge itself.
The hide-away was on the Long Island side of the river. As The Shadow sped up the approach, he saw Dwig's car ahead, but paid it small attention. He was more interested in taking another look at the top of Garmath's hide-away, which squatted just below the bridge, visible in the glow of lights that lined the approach.
It was a squatty, concrete structure, simply the windowless foundation of a building that had gone no further in construction. In the top was a black square that represented a trapdoor, but from one angle the bridge lights gave that patch a silvery glisten. The trapdoor was covered with steel, making it too stout a barrier for ordinary attack.
Certainly, Jan Garmath had chosen himself an unusual hide-away; a veritable stronghold. Whether or not it would come up to the conniver's expectations was something that The Shadow hoped to settle later.
For the present, his thoughts reverted to Crome.
Giving his car speed, The Shadow whizzed past Dwig Co, who were in another traffic lane. Men of their ilk never drove too fast across a bridge. Arguments with traffic cops were not to their liking.
The Shadow was the first to reach Crome's. He approached the elevator, gave a low, weird whisper that captured the attention of the seated operator.
Peering out, the fellow met a greeting quite different from the affable one that Cranston had accorded him two nights before. With a sweep, The Shadow gripped the operator, stifled his cries, and hauled him out to the rear street.
Some of The Shadow's agents were waiting there. Turning the elevator man over to them, The Shadow returned into the building accompanied by one agent: Harry Vincent. They went up in the lift. Servants saw its arriving light, peered through the glass-paned door. They were surprised to find the car empty.
One puzzled servant opened the door.
For the first time, Garmath's servants learned that there were bind spots at the front corner of the elevator that couldn't be seen through the pane. The Shadow swung from one corner, Harry from the other. Both had guns, and they took the servants flat-footed.
As soon as the three servants had raised their hands, The Shadow marched them to a side room, while Harry took the car down in a hurry. He had left the building when Dwig and the four thugs arrived.
GARMATH had given Dwig diversified instructions about getting up to Crome's - such as phoning the old collector and putting up a bluff, or threatening the elevator man and make him do the rest.
Neither prospect quite suited Dwig, so he was pleased when he found an empty elevator waiting.
Thinking that the operator had stepped out, Dwig hurried his men into the elevator and ran it to the top.
When he tried the upper door, it yielded. Dwig didn't guess that its catch had been left loosened.
Motioning for his men to follow, he started straight to the room where he knew he would find Crome.
Dwig's spy hadn't mentioned another visitor beside Weston. There was one: Margo Lane. She was listening while Weston questioned Crome about small sapphires, of the sort for which the police were searching.
All the while, Crome was tossing occasional looks toward Margo, as though he vaguely recognized her.
So far, however, he hadn't identified her as the Hindu princess who had visited him with the Rajah of Lengore. Margo was beginning to understand the reason for the masquerade of two nights before.
Crome was showing Weston many sapphires, some of the star variety, giving his opinion of how the six portions of the famous Star of Delhi would look. Though Weston didn't detect Crome's worriment, Margo did. Knowing that Cranston was a link between the rajah and the commissioner, Crome had a right to be worried.
Strolling over to a large French window, Margo slid her hand behind her and unloosed the bolt, something that Cranston had told her to do upon this visit. That was just done when Weston turned, to ask suddenly:
'I wonder what's keeping Cranston!'
'I don't know,'' returned Margo, truthfully. 'Lamont simply said that he would meet us here. He insisted that Mr. Crome could help you find the sapphire that you want.'
'The sapphires,' croaked Crome weakly. 'There are six, Miss Lane. Six star sapphires, each about the size of this one.'
He was holding up a small sapphire, to illustrate, when Margo interrupted with a quick cry of alarm and darted for a corner. Weston, wheeling, flung himself the other way, carrying Crome in a sprawl beyond the desk. Five men, all masked, were entering the room with drawn guns.
For the moment, Margo thought that The Shadow's plans had missed, particularly when she saw black emptiness in the doorway behind the invaders. Then, from that very blackness came the challenging tone that made the masked crooks wheel - the laugh of The Shadow!
Five guns blasted as one, all for a target that wasn't there. Those shots were but an added signal to The Shadow's mockery. Amid the gun echoes, the French windows smashed open and in from the penthouse roof piled another squad of men, detectives headed by Inspector Joe Cardona.
Their guns ripped. The leader of the masked tribe wheeled, saw Cardona and tried to fire. Joe beat him to the shot and sprawled him to the floor, where the mask, sliding from above his eyes, revealed the face of Dwig Brencott.
Detectives, meanwhile, were lunging for the other four; whether they'd fare as well as Cardona had, was a question.
A question settled by The Shadow.
Swinging in from the side of the door, The Shadow nicked a pair of masked men with two neat shots that, to Margo, seemed simultaneous. They sprawled, those two who might otherwise have done damage. The second pair weren't dangerous. Detectives were quick enough to grab them.
Crome's servants dashed into the room as The Shadow stepped away. He had taken them into his confidence and told them to await his word. They helped the detectives suppress the wounded strugglers.
Seeing that victory was won, Cardona turned to the door, as did Margo: All that either saw or heard of The Shadow was a vanishing trace of black, a strange laugh that trailed back uncannily, to end, suddenly, with the clang of the elevator door. That mockery, however, was no tone of final parting.
It told that The Shadow was on his way to some further mission, where he would again summon men of the law!
CHAPTER XX. CRIME'S PROOFS
EVEN more than the timely arrival of The Shadow, the appearance of Inspector Cardona had amazed Commissioner Weston. Commotion ended, Weston demanded to know how and when Cardona had arrived at Crome's. In his turn, Joe was surprised to find his chief on the scene.
Cardona explained that he had received a tip-off from The Shadow, who told him to bring his men to the ninth floor of an adjoining building and stay on watch outside a lighted penthouse. He hadn't known that the place was Crome's, nor that Weston was a visitor.
Those details were scarcely explained before Crome interrupted the discussion. In a high-pitched quaver, the
