A whispered laugh was The Shadow's response, when he looked behind him. He planned to shake these trailers, then double back upon them. He used Cranston's tone, to tell the driver he wanted more speed.
It was a giveaway; but that did not matter.
The cab neared the gloomy elevated station well ahead of the pack. A quick look from the window; The Shadow saw a local train coming north. He called for a stop on the far side of the avenue. He fluttered a bill through the window and was out of the door before the cab had stopped.
A dash up the steps, through the turnstile, and The Shadow was across the station platform. He vaulted the gate to the rear open platform of the last car. There was a shout. Passengers leaving the train sprang aboard it just as the cars started. Through the door, The Shadow saw them making in his direction.
Some finger man had sent a call for reserves. A dozen thugs had boarded this train one station down the line. They had seen The Shadow make his leap aboard!
The train was rattling rapidly as the thugs came through. Guns were in fists; passengers were crouching along the seats. Crooks had the edge. They could fire at The Shadow. He could not respond without dealing death to helpless bystanders.
Swinging to the left of the open platform, The Shadow leaned half from the car. Guns barked. Bullets shattered the glass door and the rear window where The Shadow had been.
A gunman yanked open the door. He gave a shout as he saw The Shadow.
The cloaked fighter was completely revealed by an approaching glare, that was accompanied by a heavy roar. An elevated express was tearing northward along the center track, to overtake the local. Although the express was rising to a higher level, its headlight spread its beams upon The Shadow.
The thug sprang for The Shadow; two others were close behind that hoodlum.
The Shadow met them in a sudden grapple, before the first man could aim. The fellow's body made a barrier against the pair behind him. The Shadow's long arm came across the front man's head. His hand sledged a hard blow to the skull of a thug in back.
Then the headlight's glare ended. The express was passing the local, its wheels on a level with the windows of the lower train.
The front thug shifted. The remaining man in back came in upon The Shadow. Guns spoke in that darkness. One thug slumped; the other wavered. He staggered toward the open door.
THAT was the sign for a rush. More gunmen came through. As they did, The Shadow gripped the side rail of the platform. He made a quick spring to the gate top, poised a half second and did an outward dive, his extended arms speeding upward. Guns beneath his cloak, The Shadow was not ready for the new surge. He had other plans.
Three crooks who jostled to the platform saw The Shadow's outward dive. They saw his hands make a quick clamp on a platform rail six feet above. That rail belonged to the last car of the speeding express.
As he hooked, The Shadow let his feet swing clear.
The crooks fired. Their gunshots jabbed blankness. The Shadow was whisked from view before they could snap their triggers. The whizzing express had whipped him with it; his powerful hands had retained their hold. A fading roar marked The Shadow's departure.
As the local halted at the next stop, thugs piled to the station platform to make a hurried flight. On the upper level, far ahead, they saw the twinkling rear lights of the dwindling express. Its clatter was lost; instead, those thwarted thugs heard the trailing echoes of a mocking laugh.
The Shadow had eluded all pursuit. In the clear, he could evade the cordons of underworld men who sought him.
Speedily, The Shadow would reach his sanctum. From that base, he intended to prepare a counter-thrust against crime. Always, in the past, the sanctum had proven the perfect stronghold in emergency.
Tonight, the case would be exactly the opposite. A supercriminal had expected thugs to fail when they sought The Shadow in the open. That mastercrook had planned a trap that lay ahead.
The Shadow's sanctum, hitherto so hidden and unknown, was the very spot where Marvin Bradthaw wanted The Shadow to be!
CHAPTER XII. TRAP OF DEATH
STREETS were desolate and dark near the sanctum. A long circuit had brought The Shadow past areas where camouflaged crooks were still on the move. It had been many blocks since he had seen any of those thuggish patrollers.
Reaching an alleyway beside an old office building, The Shadow went through that gloomy route.
He passed an obscure side door that led into the ground floor of the building. That offered one route by which The Shadow could reach the sanctum; tonight, he preferred another. Rounding the rear of the building, he entered a blind passage on the other side. The Shadow stopped at a blank, brick wall.
There, in total darkness, the cloaked being felt for two bricks that were set about four feet apart. Each projected slightly; they could be discerned by touch. The Shadow pressed these bricks. The double action produced an immediate result.
A section of cement slid inward from The Shadow's feet. It moved under the building wall leaving an invisible space. With a quick slide The Shadow was through the gap. The chunk of cement paving slid outward to cover him. It did not even click when it fitted into place.
A turn through a short passage. The Shadow pressed a secret spring; a steel barrier slid aside. Black drapes were beyond it. The Shadow spread the portion where the curtains joined. He was in the sable darkness of the sanctum.
Through that gloom he saw a dot of light that shone like a luminous pin point.
Burbank's signal. The contact man was trying to call the sanctum. Reaching for the earphones The Shadow lifted them. The dot of light went out as The Shadow spoke in whispered tone.
Across the wire came the even-voiced response: "Burbank speaking."
Those two words told new disaster. The voice was not Burbank's. Though it was the same imitation that had fooled Harry Vincent, it was detected by The Shadow. He pictured immediately what had happened.
Burbank had actually talked over the line when The Shadow had spoken from the Cobalt Club. Crooks had allowed that under the orders given by their master, Bradthaw. However, once The Shadow had been pushed to speed and strategy among Manhattan streets, the fact had gone to Bradthaw.
The master-crook had called for Burbank's capture.
The contact man's station had been occupied. An impostor had promptly put in a standing call to the sanctum. There could be only one reason for that move. Crooks wanted to know when The Shadow reached there. A trap was due to close.
IN the next two minutes The Shadow made a rapid calculation. He figured what Bradthaw's policy would be. Scores of mobsters would arrive here without delay to surround the building that contained the hidden sanctum. Beyond those shock troops would be other cordons.
Instead of a place of security the sanctum had become a snare. Men of evil had guessed the location of The Shadow's stronghold.
Without delay, The Shadow retraced his course out to the rear entrance. He slid the cement inward; raised his head above its level and listened. He was too late. Already he could hear the low growls of searchers in the darkness.
Bradthaw must have ordered dozens of thugs to be quartered in empty buildings hereabouts. The Shadow's response to the faked Burbank call had been the touch-off. Word had flashed instantly for all hands to converge upon the old office building.
In those tense moments The Shadow foresaw exactly what Bradthaw's course would be. Crooks would plant explosives throughout the ground floor of the building and dynamite the whole structure from its moorings. That would be a sure way to finish The Shadow.
If The Shadow attempted to make a break before the blast came, lights would glare everywhere in this district. The Shadow would be in the center of a crook-manned area faced by odds that even he could not overcome.
A break would be as bad as a wait. Either meant sure death. There was one other course that seemed even worse; nevertheless it carried the unexpected. That, to The Shadow, offered a possible advantage.
> He made the move.
Rising from the pit beside the wall, The Shadow glimmered a flashlight upon the nearest crooks. From his lips came a strident challenge - a taunting laugh that none could mistake. As answering lights burned toward the wall, The Shadow started fire with an automatic.
A dozen gunmen saw their black clad foe. They opened a rapid barrage with their revolvers. The Shadow dropped through the opening as the first wild bullets zipped. The cement barrier slithered shut above him. A minute later mobsters were at the wall, setting a charge to blast the sidewalk.
Back in his sanctum, The Shadow heard the muffled boom. It had worked as he wanted. Vengeful crooks were coming through. They had found a route to the sanctum. They wanted to trap The Shadow there.
That meant that the big explosion would be delayed. Men of evil could not dynamite the entire building, while half of their horde was inside.
IN the sanctum, The Shadow glimmered a flashlight upon another corner. There stood a large metal filing cabinet - high, deep, with four strong drawers. The Shadow pulled out the drawers like steps.
Using the broad front edges, he ascended. He moved a portion of the ceiling above his head. A moment later, he was in a thickish passage, with a wall beyond. The Shadow slithered a steel barrier to one side.
He sprang through into a dimly lighted inside passage.
The Shadow had come out near the side door of the office building. His secret panel was located beneath the stairway. It was only a dozen feet to the door; but the way was blocked. Thugs shouted from the main corridor; others sprang in from the side alley. Another armed dozen stood on hand to block The Shadow.
Swinging his hand from right to left, The Shadow jabbed challenging shots; then bounded back through the opening beneath the stairs.
Gunmen fired. Their bullets clanged the barrier as it rode into place. A few moments later, they were hammering the steel panel with their guns, shouting for experts to come and "soup" it.
Down in the sanctum, The Shadow heard the blast that came from above. His attackers had blown the inside entrance like they had handled the one outside. The Shadow paid little attention. He was busy.
From the filing cabinet, he was pulling out sheaves of papers that he needed, stuffing them temporarily beneath his cloak.
Foemen were hammering at the barrier beyond the curtains. Others were pounding the ceiling above the filing cabinet. The Shadow moved swiftly to the end wall of the sanctum. He parted curtains to reveal a small door. He slid it open; turned on lights.
Black walls glistened. So did benches, tables, other items of equipment; all were of black metal or smooth enamel.
This was The Shadow's laboratory. He had a use for it. He brought big beakers from shelves; poured out mixtures that fizzed in hydrometer jars. The Shadow lighted Bunsen burners. Though his actions were performed with amazing speed, his work seemed effortless.
Soon, the steel door of the laboratory slid shut. Its closing was drowned by the fierce hisses that came from the hydrometer jars. A thickening odor filled the lab. It was sweetish; but too much so to be pleasant.
That smell did not reach the sanctum. All remained silent in that black-shrouded room. Ominous minutes ticked past. They foretold that something was due. At the end of four such minutes, double disaster struck.
A SHARP blast shook the door behind the corner curtains. There was a pause; then a similar explosion sounded from the ceiling above the file cabinet. Half a minute later, invaders were pouring in from two directions.
They made their way through the remnants of the lower door. Others came down like monkeys, from the shattered ceiling. Lights shone on all the interior walls of the sanctum.
There was The Shadow's table, the lamp above it. The earphones, hanging on the wall beside the signal light. The filing cabinet, over which crooks had clambered.
There were other items; one, a small black coffer that contained The Shadow's archives.
Thugs glared suspiciously at the black drapes lining the walls, as if they expected The Shadow to blaze shots through those shrouding sable curtains. The invaders were ready to riddle the hangings, just as a precaution, when a harsh voice gave them orders.
It was Strampf. He came down through the opening above the file cabinet. At his command, henchmen covered every corner with their guns, while others ripped away the black curtains. Bare walls showed instead, except at one end of the sanctum. There, Strampf saw the closed door of the laboratory.
The cadaverous fellow chuckled. Strampf knew that the door could open only to an inner room. Crooks had found the only two ways that could possibly be exits from the sanctum.
Strampf ordered the thugs to roll up the curtains; also the black, tufted carpet that covered the floor.
Those bundles went up through the ceiling, where newcomers were working with an electric drill to widen the opening. Strampf sent the table up afterward; then the coffer.
While the drill's rattle continued, Strampf pulled open the drawers of the filing cabinet.
He found each drawer stuffed with records, arranged in classifications and subdivided into alphabetical groups. After that inspection, Strampf closed the drawers and ordered men to hoist the cabinet up through the hole.
It took four men to do it, for the cabinet was of heavy steel; but the hole had been enlarged sufficiently to take the cabinet through.
A ladder came down after the cabinet was gone. Strampf beckoned to the men with the drill. They descended, bringing a long insulated cord with them. They shoved the drill over to the laboratory door, where they saw Strampf point. The stooped man gave the order:
"Cut through it!"
The drill began its bite, slicing deep into the steel. Behind the men who handled it were six others, all with leveled revolvers. In a semicircle, they were aiming toward the yielding door.
Two more arrived with a big cylinder that had a hose and nozzle. They were ready to squirt poison gas into the lab, as soon as a hole had opened.
Behind the evil group stood Strampf, his eyes livid with eager pleasure. Turned to crime, that genius no longer limited himself to clockwork investigation methods. He was finding joy in the fruits of his own ugly labors.
Within a few minutes, Strampf would finish the deed that many had tried, but none had completed.
Though his name was unknown to these crooks who took orders from him, they would spread his name throughout the underworld.
Strampf was to be known as the man who gave death to The Shadow!
CHAPTER XIII. BELOW AND ABOVE
AS soon as a chunk dropped from the center of the steel door, Strampf and the others saw the glow of the laboratory lights. Cautious eyes took quick peeks into the inner room. Strampf stepped forward to view the sight for himself.
Those lights were clouded by a smoky vapor that filled the laboratory. Even the fizzing hydrometer jars were covered by the whitish gas. The roaring Bunsen burners made arrowlike tufts of flame amid the smoke. Strampf sniffed the heavy, sweetish odor. He stepped back.
That gas would put one to sleep, and more. Somewhere in the settling cloud, Strampf could picture The Shadow, prone on the floor. Rather than be met with bullets in a hopeless battle, The Shadow had chosen suicide. So Strampf reasoned, assuming that an oversupply of the sweet gas would be deadly.
There was another possibility. The gas might not prove fatal. Perhaps The Shadow hoped that his enemies would give him up for dead; and leave him to revive later.
Taking another look Strampf saw an obscure black object at the far end of the smoke-filled laboratory.
It was visible only when the gas took a chance swirl. Strampf was convinced that he saw the huddled shape of The Shadow.
If The Shadow wanted gas he could have it. Strampf beckoned to the men with the hose. They thrust the nozzle through the opening and pulled the lever of the cylinder. Deadly gas began to mingle with the white vapor in the lab.
Fortunately for Strampf, he had stepped back. That whitish gas had a purp
ose that Strampf did not suspect. The clue to it lay in the flames of the Bunsen burners.
The room had not quite reached its proper saturation when the drillers had finished making the hole.
Some gas had trickled through the opening; but the hydrometer jars were still increasing the amount.
Hardly had the underlings shoved the hose into the laboratory before the whitish vapor acted. The air was overcharged with gas. The burners ignited it. The whole air coughed with one fierce explosion that produced a blinding flash of flame.
The steel door shattered outward. The laboratory walls cracked; its floor collapsed. Down came the ceiling above it; the whole room became a crumbled pit. The floor of the sanctum quaked. Its stripped walls shuddered and began to cave.
The blasted door carried the two gas handlers with it. They lay dead, their bodies shattered. About them were crawling thugs, some crippled, others merely shaken. All were groping for the exit at the corner of the sanctum, to escape the scorching fumes that followed the flaming blast.
Strampf was by the ladder. He took one look at the ruined laboratory knew that no one could have stayed there and survived. He clambered up the ladder followed by two others. More had gone out by the other passage. The only ones who remained were dead.
Dead like The Shadow!
THAT thought strummed through Strampf's brain, as he reached the outside door. In the alleyway was a truck loaded with the trophies from the sanctum.
Strampf could hear shrieking sirens; the staccato gun barks that told wide battle was in progress.
Cordons of crooks were fighting off the law, while those in the center completed the destruction of The Shadow.
Clear air quickened Strampf's thoughts. He wanted to cover crime, to keep it a permanent mystery. That could be done. Strampf gave the right order. Henchmen were to set the charges that had originally been intended. Experts hopped to the job when Strampf shouted the command.
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