"I said we'd pull a big job for a payoff," spoke Blitz. "That's what we will do, but we'll be after more than dough. I'm going to get back at the one guy who was lucky enough to stall us off!"
Alarm showed on the faces of the lieutenants. They thought that Blitz meant The Shadow. They didn't like the idea of hurling a challenge at so formidable a foe, even with Five-face as their leader. Blitz understood.
"I don't mean The Shadow," he asserted. "I mean this guy" - he pointed to a photo in the newspaper - "Arnold Melbrun. He's the bird who outguessed me when I was Smarley, and saved a hundred grand for those friends of his.
"But we're going to get that dough, and a lot more. At the same time, we'll fix Melbrun permanent. Look at what it says here: Melbrun is leaving for South America, tonight, to put over some big business deals.
"He's chartered a special plane for the trip. Do you know what that means?
I'll tell you: dough! He's probably carrying a pile of it, because money talks in South America, like it does here. He's taking off at midnight, so we'll show
up before then."
SWEEPING the newspaper to the floor, along with the pack of cards, Blitz strode to the door. There, he turned to face his lieutenants and give a final word.
"Get all the mobbies you've got left," said Blitz. "Have them cover the airport. I'll have the take from the other jobs, all packed in a bag, when I meet you guys. We'll ride right through and take over Melbrun and his plane.
"I used to fly crates, years ago. I can handle that plane. I know a lot of
landing spots that nobody else ever heard about. We'll grab Melbrun's dough and
make our getaway, all in one whack. When we get to where we're going, we can divvy all the swag, including what we take from Melbrun."
The door closed on Blitz Bell. Three astounded men stood silent for a dozen seconds, then went mad with glee. Even Banker, usually reserved, caught the fever from Grease and Clip.
Greater than any of the previous crimes engineered by Five-face, tonight's
proposal promised success without a flaw. In this final stroke, Blitz Bell and his lieutenants would move with rapid speed.
It was crime that showed the conniving of a master brain; the sort that would render pursuit impossible, even by The Shadow!
CHAPTER XX
THE FIFTH FACE
GLISTENING under the glare of floodlights, the silvery plane was ready for
its midnight take-off. Luggage had been loaded aboard, and Arnold Melbrun was shaking hands with the business associates who had financed his trip to the Argentine.
Very soon, the plane would be carrying the importer on the first hop of this important journey. Melbrun had long looked forward to the trip, and his associates were assuring him that it would result in new and greater trade relations with South America.
There were other men whose plans did not coincide with Melbrun's. If all worked as Blitz Bell had promised, the ugly-faced big-shot and his lieutenants would make a flight in Melbrun's stead. So far, however, Blitz & Co. had not appeared.
Among the idlers on the fringes of the airport were hard-faced men who indulged in muttered comment. They were the left-overs of the various mobs supplied by Grease, Banker, and Clip. They hadn't been too eager to take on this job tonight, until they learned that it involved wide open spaces where flight would be easy.
The thugs had cars available near the airport. All that they had to do was
cover the fringes, while their leaders made the real attack. That in itself was
a novelty, so the trigger men had agreed to be on hand.
They knew nothing about the intended flight. That would appear to be something produced by necessity. Later, perhaps, the small-fry thugs would be paid off with hush money sent by the lieutenants. But even that detail might be
overlooked. Safely gone with Five-face, the lieutenants might dispense with such
payments.
Cliff and Hawkeye were with the cover-up crew. They knew that Harry and Clyde were in Moe's cab, which was parked nearby. They were quite sure, too, that Jericho was on the ground. Still, The Shadow's agents were somewhat mystified.
They had learned that strife was due at the airport and had reported the fact to The Shadow. Whether he knew more than they did was a question. Keeping close to the apartment where the lieutenants had their headquarters, neither Cliff nor Hawkeye had seen any sign of The Shadow.
Their report included details of a muffled visitor, evidently Five-face.
But they hadn't seen the face of Blitz Bell when the big-shot entered and made his departure. As a man returned from the grave, the owner of that face had been very careful to keep it obscured in public.
The agents were sure, however, that The Shadow would arrive before the zero hour of midnight. They knew, too, that police would later be on hand, for Burbank was to phone a well-timed tip-off to the law. Spectacular things were due, and for once, The Shadow's aids were impatient, wondering just what their chief intended.
The plane's big propellers were spinning. Melbrun had turned away from his
friends, to enter the ship, when a low-built sedan sped in from a roadway, swerved, and suddenly cut across the field itself.
There were four men in that car: Banker at the wheel, with Grease beside him; Clip in the rear seat, with Blitz Bell.
Crouched low, Blitz was clutching a heavy bag. It wasn't the valise that Five-face had carried from the Diamond Mart, and used later at the Hotel Clairmont. Five-face no longer regarded luck as essential. He considered his plans too complete to be spoiled by anyone, even The Shadow.
While men were dashing out to yell at the crazed car, it came to a stop not far from Melbrun's plane. Looking from the rear window, Blitz Bell gave a raspy chuckle at sight of the approaching airport guards. They looked like pygmies, they were so far away; and in number, they were very few.
"Get Melbrun!" ordered Blitz. "I'll snipe those saps from the hangar, while you're taking over the plane. Then I'll join up with you, bringing this
-"
He lifted the bag, let it sag again with a thud that made it bulge. Sight of the bag pleased Blitz's three companions. They liked the way that it was stuffed. Diamonds, cash and bonds could all be unloaded after they were divided. But the boodle from the past did not make them forget the present opportunity.
REMEMBERING that Arnold Melbrun was awaiting them as another victim, the three lieutenants leaped from their car and started toward the plane, only fifty yards away. They didn't care if the floodlights showed their faces and their guns. This attack was to be short, swift, and sure.
Melbrun's friends stood astonished, until revolvers spurted. Then, with one accord, they fled. So did the airport crew around the plane.
Only one man was caught flatfooted where he stood. That man was Arnold Melbrun. He hadn't a chance to flee, and he realized instantly that the gunners
were after him.
Other shots were sounding from the car, where Blitz had remained. They stopped suddenly, as the bigshot heard the approach of distant sirens.
Immediately, shooting began along the fringes of the airport. Covering thugs had heard the sirens, too, and were starting to make trouble.
Of the three lieutenants only Banker sensed what had happened. Letting Grease and Clip dash ahead of him in their quest for Melbrun, Baker looked across his shoulder. He saw wavering figures in the distance, men sprawling, guns in their hands, though the police had not yet arrived!
Instantly, Banker understood. The Shadow must have planted members with the mob! For the first time, Banker realized why other attacks had faltered, particularly that last one, at the Cobalt Club. With a snarl, Banker dashed after Grease and Clip. This job would have to be even speedier than Blitz Bell had ordered.
Arnold Melbrun had taken the only route to temporary shelter. Dodging the aiming guns of Grease and Clip, the importer sprang into the plane. He tried to
get its sliding door shut, but by that tim
e the attackers were too close.
Melbrun took the only course that offered.
With his luggage was a large wardrobe trunk, which stood on end, just within the plane's door. Ducking beyond the trunk, Melbrun hurled his full weight upon it, shoving it toward the door, as a blockade. Bound on a trip which offered hazards, such as a forced landing in the Amazon Country, Melbrun was equipped with a revolver. He yanked the weapon and began to fire from behind his improvised barricade.
By then, airport attendants, some with guns, had reached the car where Blitz Bell had stayed. The fight on the fringes of the airport had broken all apart. Wild mobsters were in flight, pursued by The Shadow's agents. Police cars were roaring in through the gates; people were guiding them toward Melbrun's beleaguered plane.
There, Melbrun had gained a moment of success. From behind the big trunk, he had nipped both Clip and Banker with quick shots, but the hits were superficial. Grease had escaped bullets by lurching forward, so that he was under the very shelter of the trunk itself. Seeing Grease's move, Banker and Clip copied it.
Viciously, the three grabbed at the trunk and the sides of the doorway, hoping to pull the barrier away and get at Melbrun. The importer was fighting hard to hold out until rescue came. But the trunk was slipping. Melbrun needed quicker aid than the arriving police could provide.
Then, at this most vital moment, came a challenge that made all others puny. Melbrun heard it, a titanic laugh that brought snarls from the three crooks beyond the trunk. Seemingly from nowhere, a black-cloaked figure was sweeping into the floodlights, bearing down upon the three attackers who held Melbrun trapped.
There was no mistaking that mighty fighter, whose big fists wielded huge automatics. He was The Shadow, master of the night, from which he had appeared as suddenly as though projected from an outer space!
FOR an instant, the three thugs outside the plane turned, as though willing to combat this mighty foe. Then, seeing the big guns aim, realizing that they were open targets, they grabbed at the trunk again, madly trying to wrest it free so that they could reach the shelter inside the plane.
Melbrun let them have the trunk, with a shove that pitched it full upon them. The three crooks went sprawling as the bulky object struck them, spinning
sideward as it came.
Half lurched from the doorway, Melbrun caught himself. He was an open target, but he didn't care. The Shadow had stopped short, his guns trained on the three sprawled mobsters.
They were the sort, those killers, who could expect no mercy from The Shadow. Melbrun wasn't the only man who foresaw their instant death. Joe Cardona, approaching in a speeding police car, would have sworn that sure death
was due.
Then a strange thing happened. The Shadow faltered, seemed to sidestep, as
though seeking shelter. Perhaps he had sensed guns trained from a distance; weapons that no one else guessed about. Such was Cardona's opinion, at the moment; and The Shadow's odd shift startled Melbrun, too.
At the very moment of rescue, Melbrun was abandoned. It didn't seem to matter, considering that he had bowled over his attackers; but there was one point that Melbrun missed.
The Shadow's sudden change of course gave a respite to the three crooks on
the ground. Melbrun's own course, his only sensible one, was to dive back into the plane, seeking shelter beyond other luggage, until the police could take over where The Shadow had left off.
Melbrun hesitated only half a second. It was too long. From the ground, half-rising crooks delivered a volley at the plane's doorway. Banker was sagging badly; Clip was wabbly; even Grease had a jerky aim. But the range was too short to matter.
Taking bullets in the chest, Melbrun pitched forward when further shots flayed him. His body tumbled headlong upon the big trunk that lay, half broken,
on the ground.
Cardona and others were blasting away. Their shots riddled the three killers, but came too late to save Melbrun. Then, surveying the dying figures on the ground, Cardona left the crooks and their victim to his squad. He hurried over to the sedan from which crooks had attacked.
Puzzled men were staring into the car. It had no occupant; merely an opened bag stuffed with paper, but with a space near the top. With a slow nod, Cardona went over to the plane, to view the result of the battle there.
Melbrun was dead. Of the three who had slain him, all were dying, and only
one could talk: Grease Rickel. He was the sort who would believe that he had been double-crossed, if properly questioned; particularly since Banker Dreeb and Clip Zelber could no longer advise him to shut up.
Cardona began his persuasive effort, and Grease responded. He was muttering names of Smarley, Flush Tygert, Barney Kelm, even Fondelac. In between, he kept repeating the name: "Five-face."
"I get it, Grease." Cardona was playing a hunch. "All of them were Five-face. He's the guy who double-crossed you."
"Yeah." Grease's tone was a gaspy sigh. "Blitz Bell... back in the car...
with all the swag -"
That was all, but the name of Blitz Bell did not score with Joe Cardona.
He couldn't believe that Blitz had come back to life, nor that the fellow could
have vanished in mysterious style. Besides, Cardona had seen the present contents of Blitz's bag.
A name sprang to Cardona's mind. He actually voiced it:
"The Shadow!"
That explained it! The Shadow had visited these crime lieutenants as Blitz
Bell. He had made the crooks believe that he was Five-face. Cardona didn't know
about the gambling stunt that Five-face used to identify himself; if he had, it
would have strengthened his opinion. The Shadow was clever enough to duplicate any such trick.
Cardona was thinking of something else. If Blitz was not Five-face, who was? Staring groundward, Cardona saw the answer. It came with a flash, as he remembered the Shadow's strange act when the cloaked fighter had suddenly abandoned the rescue of Arnold Melbrun.
HEFTING the importer's body to one side, Cardona yanked open the broken trunk. He tugged at locked compartments and smashed them.
From one came a flood of diamonds: Breddle's. Another disgorged the cash that the financiers had yielded. Cranston's bonds slid in big batches from the third.
As he gathered up those trophies of supercrime, Cardona stared at the dead
criminal. Tense in death, the features of Arnold Melbrun were no longer wholly his own.
His face looked long, gaunt, like Smarley's; wise, like the countenance of
Flush. Its grimacing lips belonged to Barney; yet Cardona saw a smoothness, too,
that reminded him of Fondelac.
To Cardona, The Shadow's triumph had been a stroke of proper justice, wherein the master fighter had let Five-face find his death at the hands of the
very men whom the criminal overlord had sought to double-cross!
Belated on the scene came Commissioner Weston, who had been returning from
a late trip out of town. With him was Lamont Cranston, who had met the commissioner at the Cobalt Club. They heard the facts that Cardona had pieced together. It was amazing how smartly Five-face had played his game.
Smarley's crime had failed, so planned by Melbrun to cover up his real identity. He had succeeded as Flush Tygert, then as Barney Kelm, but in the latter case he had been most clever.
Melbrun hadn't called his office from his home. He had made that call from
a pay booth in the Hotel Clairmont, where he was in the guise of Barney!
As Fondelac, Five-face had been in a dilemma. Cranston had insisted that Melbrun come to the Cobalt Club. But Fondelac could not have met Melbrun, any more than Barney could have.
"You didn't realize what a jam you put him in, Mr. Cranston," said Cardona, turning to the commissioner's friend. "But The Shadow must have checked on it, and guessed the answer. What's more, The Shadow figured that Five-face planned a double cross."
&nbs
p; "Quite obvious," observed Cranston, coolly, "considering that The Shadow had identified Melbrun as Five-face. Melbrun had already arranged to leave for South America. The stage was set for him to walk out on his accomplices."
"So The Shadow took over," nodded Cardona. "That business of coming in as Blitz Bell was perfect. What a surprise he rigged on Melbrun! Even then, Melbrun didn't guess it. He thought that his bunch were coming on their own.
When he saw The Shadow, Five-face actually counted on a rescue!"
Cardona was opening a bundle as he spoke. From it, he took a big batch of sorted securities, that bore figures up in the thousands. They added up to more
than half a million dollars, those stocks and bonds that Cardona handed over, with the comment:
"These are yours, Mr. Cranston."
"Thanks, inspector," returned The Shadow, calmly. "I'll put them back in my collection."
"Your collection?" queried Weston. "What collection, Cranston?"
The Shadow's lips showed a Cranston smile.
"My collection of counterfeits," he explained. "Worthless stocks and bonds, from many sources. I was doubtful about Fondelac, commissioner. I thought it best to let him have these, until I found out if his French bonds were genuine."
"Remarkable!" exclaimed Weston. "Remarkable foresight, Cranston!"
REMARKABLE foresight. Cardona agreed with the opinion, as he watched the commissioner and his friend stroll to the official car, with Cranston carelessly carrying the worthless bonds that had been reclaimed from Five-face.
Cardona was wondering if The Shadow had mysteriously warned Cranston to beware of Fondelac. If so, The Shadow must have known much about Five-face, even before he had identified the master crook as Arnold Melbrun.
As Cardona pondered, he heard a parting tone that seemed to quiver in from
outer darkness, beyond the floodlights of the airport. Cardona stared.
He didn't realize that the whispery laugh was from the direction of the commissioner's car, where Cranston had gone on alone, while Weston stopped to talk to the airport authorities.
Cardona recognized it only as the laugh of The Shadow - a singular, mirthless note of triumph from the lips of the master fighter who had turned Five-face over to the double-crossed lieutenants, as their victim, instead of their leader.
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