The Shadow - The Sledge Hammer Crimes Part 10

"We don't know what's goin' to happen, Louie. I'm telling you again, three's enough. You've got two down stairs. Move down. I'll join you there."

"What's the lay to-night, Sledge?"

"You'll find out after we start, Louie."

FOOTSTEPS departed. The door opened. Sledge stalked over toward the windows. He opened the drawer of a small table, produced a big revolver. He pocketed the gun and turned toward the gas jet. As he raised his hand, Sledge paused.

A hissed sound had caught his ear. It had the semblance of a whispered laugh, an uncanny challenge that came from somewhere near the door. Sledge showed puzzlement; then his eyes froze in a stare.

He had spied The Shadow. Tall, sinister, the cloaked visitant was stepping forward. The gaslight showed a cloaked form, with burning eyes that shone from beneath a hat brim. A gloved fist held a leveled automatic. The muzzle of the .45 yawned almost before Sledge's gaze.

"The Shadow!"

Sledge uttered the words almost without sound. His harsh voice had failed him. Faced by the avenger who hunted down men of crime, the husky crook was quivering.

Fierce words hissed from hidden lips. The Shadow's voice carried a command. Sledge retreated toward the windows. He stopped, his hand upon the shutter opposite the one which The Shadow had opened.

"Speak!"

The Shadow was calling upon Sledge to state his part in crime. The crook snarled. He feared this menacing avenger; yet, like all men of crime, Sledge was bitter in his effort to balk the being who faced him. Gaining sudden fury, he began a forward leap. His hand jostled the loose shutter. As it swung open, Sledge halted.

Burning eyes; leveled .45-they were too much for the crook's nerve. Sledge's lips loosened. "I didn't b.u.mp 'em!" he croaked. "I grabbed the swag -"

He hesitated, unwilling to speak further. The Shadow's gun bulged closer. Sledge sagged backward toward the window.

"I'll talk!" he blurted.

The Shadow's silhouette had reached the wall. It showed as a looming streak of blackness, close by Sledge Ringo's whitened profile. Both The Shadow and his quarry were motionless when the unexpected came.

From yards away, a pop sounded. With it, the whistle of a missile. A cry spurted from Sledge's lips.

Staggering sidewise, the crook went toppling to the floor.

A hidden marksman had seen him framed within the window. That sharpshooter had observed The Shadow's silhouette. He had guessed that Sledge was willing to talk. He had aimed a bullet for the squawker.

The Shadow knew the marksman and his weapon. It was Shooter Hoyle, using his special air gun.

Practice had increased Shooter's efficiency. He had bagged a human target.

The Shadow also guessed the spot from which the shot had come. There was only one vantage point that could have served. That was the projecting house wall farther down the row. The one that The Shadow had pa.s.sed on his way to the hide-out.

WITH one bound, The Shadow gained the window. His gun arm pumped, as he blasted shots through darkness. No cry came from the blackened window farther down the row-the spot toward which The Shadow aimed. Shooter Hoyle had staged another quick departure.

The gaslight flickered wildly. The door was hurling inward. Halfway through the window, The Shadow turned his head. New invaders had arrived: Louie and the two thugs from downstairs. They had heard Sledge's cry. They had come upstairs on the run.

Revolvers barked. Had The Shadow swung about, his rising shoulders would have been clipped by thug-delivered bullets. But only The Shadow's forearm moved. While one hand gripped the window frame, the other fist jabbed inward. As bullets skimmed past The Shadow's head, his steady finger tugged.

Louie sprawled forward on the floor. A second invader staggered. The third sought the shelter of the hall; then scrambled for the stairs as he heard a mocking peal of triumph. The Shadow had followed as far as the door.

Shots blasted from below. For a moment, The Shadow waited. He heard shouts, snarls, then a tumbling noise upon the steps themselves. Cliff and Hawkeye had managed the lookouts. Driving into the house, they had clipped the crook who was heading downward.

The Shadow returned to the spot where Sledge Ringo lay. Sledge had writhed to a reclining position, his back against the center windows. The Shadow drew in the open shutter; all the while, his burning eyes were fixed upon Sledge's face.

The crook was gasping. His lips were muttering words. He needed no further urge to speak. The Shadow's shape was a blur before Sledge's gla.s.sy gaze; to the dying man that shape meant some one who would hear a plea for vengeance. "It was Shooter who got me," coughed Sledge. "Shooter Hoyle the double-crosser! He-he was put here to get me-if I squawked. Set to b.u.mp me -if I got in a jam.

"That's what I got-what I got-for working it the way they wanted. For hauling the swag-for making it tough for the bulls. Shooter thought I'd squeal. That's what I'm going to do -"

Sledge's coughs slowed. A spasm wrenched his shoulders as he sagged perceptibly against the wall. For a moment his lips mumbled; his eyes looked sightless as he stared. Then coherence returned.

"The walls was soft," gasped Sledge. "A set-up! It was up to me to plant- to plant a sledge -"

"A broken sledge," prompted The Shadow. His tone was quiet. "At Clayborne's."

"At Clayborne's." Sledge tried to nod, as he licked his dried lips. "One of my own sledges. They said-said n.o.body would know the difference. n.o.body knew I was in town."

"They said -"

The Shadow's emphasis was on the word "they." Sledge started to define his statement.

"They said it," he panted. "They-it was Shooter said it!" Venom glared from eyes that showed a momentary flare. "Shooter-Shooter Hoyle! He's the guy to get!"

"And after Shooter -"

The Shadow's words were an encouragement. They ended Sledge's attempt to cover up some one higher. But Sledge's strength was nearly gone.

"There's another guy to get," he managed. "If you-if you can find him. Get hold of Jorn. Get hold of Clinton Jorn. He's-he's wise. He's in -"

A gulp stopped the next word. Faltering, Sledge showed a pained expression. His lips twisted in anguish.

His strong-built form caved forward. Hands stretched; then fingers twitched. A sighing gasp slipped from Sledge's lips. The husky was dead.

THE wavers of the gaslight threw ghoulish flickers upon the scene of death. The Shadow was spectral as he rose to full height above the body of Sledge Ringo. Seconds held tense and lingering, as though time itself had stopped with the break of Sledge's last statement.

Then came pounding from the stairs. Shrill whistles from a distance. The law was here. The Shadow knew that his agents had cleared from the vicinity. His task was to follow with speed.

Gloved fingers extinguished the gaslight. A shout bellowed almost from the door of the room. The Shadow, wheeling in darkness, was quick to reach the shuttered window through which Shooter Hoyle had fired his death shot.

The clatter of the shutter brought a hurtling invader through the darkness. Two bluecoats had arrived; one officer was plunging to prevent the escape of an unseen figure, while the other clicked a flashlight from the doorway.

The sequel was brief. Limber arms shot forward to stop the patrolman who had dived for the window.

The burly bluecoat was hoisted upward. Then he came staggering back, jolted by a hard jujutsu hold.

Sprawling half across the room, he bowled headlong against the officer who held the light.

To the latter, his companion's action was both unexpected and unexplainable. The officer with the lighthad caught no glimpse of The Shadow. Totally unprepared, he went down beneath the first bluecoat. The flashlight clattered across the floor.

Fuming, the policemen scrambled to their feet. The first mouthed an explanation while the second regained the light.

"Some bird diving out the window; he handed me a haymaker -"

But there were no signs of the mysterious fighter when the officers reached the window and flashed the light below. Only a riding shutter, that swung outward at their touch. The ground showed blankness.

Another policeman had reached the rear of the house. Those above called below. The man on the ground took up a persistent search with his own electric torch. He, too, failed to find traces of the ghostly battler. All that his flashlight showed were flickering shadows, that drifted when the glare came upon them.

ONE of those shadows lived. It was a gliding form that smoothly evaded the searching light. It was The Shadow, making his departure.

Later, near the Bowery; pasty-faced dwellers of the underworld discussed the climax of the raid.

"Some sharpshooters got Sledge Ringo -"

"Yeah. He was croaked when the harness bulls showed up."

"Three other mugs got theirs -"

"Sure! But they ain't piped nothin'."

"Because they don't know nothin'."

"Sledge was the only mug who knowed -"

A vague shape s.h.i.+fted off into the gloom of a tiny alleyway. Further in the depths, a whispered laugh sounded. Toughs heard the echoes; they paused in chilled wonderment. The sound was not repeated.

The Shadow's quest was ended. He had found Sledge Ringo. Though he had failed to bag Shooter Hoyle, he had learned the marksman's ident.i.ty. He had caught dying words from Sledge's lips. Through them, he had gained crime's link.

Soon, The Shadow would seek Clinton Jorn.

CHAPTER XIII. THE MAN WHO KNEW.

THE SHADOW had blocked off crime. That had been accomplished through Sledge Ringo's death. The Shadow, through his thrust, had forced a supercrook to sacrifice one of his most important men. Sledge and his mob had been the swag-getters. They were out. It was easy for The Shadow to deduce the methods of the supercrook, whoever that insidious rogue might be. The schemer had used Sanbrook Greel's electro-vibrators to soften walls for entry. Sledge had been delegated to go through with crimes that he himself had termed a "set-up."

More than that, Sledge had planted fake evidence on one occasion. He had left a broken mallet to indicate that the job had been pure hammer work. Sledge had done that, thinking himself safe because he had a hide-out. He had been willing to bring the trail back upon himself. Probably because he had been promised a chance of a clean get-away later. But Sledge had been slated for elimination at the finish. His death had come early; that was all.

It was plain how Shooter Hoyle fitted into the picture.

Shooter was a one-man cover-up squad. He had lurked at the museum and at Clayborne's, because Sledge, and the swag-carriers had not had time to completely remove the traces of moldy walls. The supercrook who managed this game had probably supposed that The Shadow would be about. He had stationed Shooter to get The Shadow.

Twice, Shooter had failed. It was likely that he had not covered after the robbery at the Channing National Bank. That job had been cleanly finished. But Shooter had been delegated to another task; the watching of Sledge Ringo. Since Sledge was a weak link in the chain- if once discovered-the supercrook had been ready to polish him off.

Who was the supercrook?

He was the man who had murdered Lewis Lemand and Rufus Moreland. A fiend who took it upon himself to eliminate important persons who might curb his game because of their knowledge.

He was also the man behind Jerry Quimble, the promoter who had manipulated the Century Burglary Alarm Co. and the Industrial Mining Corporation. Quimble had provided such stooges as Lowring and Brindell. One man might name the supercrook. That possible informant was Clinton Jorn.

The Shadow knew of the investigator. Jorn was a fellow who played his cards craftily, aided by his partner, d.y.k.el. The Shadow's proposition would be to find Jorn, handling this detail so neatly that the investigator would suspect nothing until actually confronted by The Shadow in person. To locate Jorn seemed an easy task.

MORNING, however, brought an obstacle. When The Shadow, guised as Cranston, paid a visit to the office of Jorn and d.y.k.el, he found it closed. Apparently, the partners had found good reason to stay away.

There were three other men who still concerned The Shadow. One was Elvin Lettigue, for the eccentric millionaire could be definitely connected with every place that crime had struck. Despite the fact that those connections were slight ones, The Shadow was keeping tabs on Lettigue, through Harry Vincent.

The second man who needed observation was Prentiss Petersham, for the lawyer had artfully wedged himself into the picture and was goading the law toward action. At present, Petersham could not be watched. He was still in Was.h.i.+ngton.

Petersham had received a telephone call while The Shadow was in the lawyer's office. That call had concerned the Industrial Mining Corporation. On the surface, it had appeared that the call had come from the handlers of Greel's invention.

To-day, The Shadow had formed another opinion concerning that call. It had been from someone who had merely named the Industrial Mining Corporation. That meant some one who knew facts that lay beneath the surface. Sledge Ringo had named such a man: Clinton Jorn.

Thus, through sheer reasoning, did The Shadow decide upon the actual person who had called the lawyer during the period when The Shadow had been at Petersham's. This conjecture, however, could produce no definite conclusion.

The third man who figured importantly was Sanbrook Greel. No matter how little the inventor knewabout the illicit use of his invention, it was certain that Greel must have come under discussion when other persons conferred. Though Greel was a man who sought isolation, he would eventually be drawn into troublesome matters. Therefore, Greel must be watched.

AT noon, Clyde Burke received instructions to post himself outside the little building where the office of Jorn and d.y.k.el was located. In so doing, Clyde relieved The Shadow. At two o'clock, The Shadow-as Cranston-called upon Sanbrook Greel.

The withered-faced inventor had just returned from lunch. He gave a cordial welcome to the visitor. He seemed pleased when The Shadow told him that he would like to see sterner tests imposed upon the electro-vibrator.

"Is there a chance that you could organize a company?" was Greel's question. "One that would use my equipment for demolition processes?"

The Shadow stated that such might be possible, provided that the Industrial Mining Corporation would supply machines.

"They will be forced to do so," chuckled Greel. "My royalty arrangement will make them sell machines, if the proper price is offered. Come, Mr. Cranston. I shall demonstrate the most rigorous tests."

AT three o'clock, Moe Shrevnitz wheeled up in his cab to relieve Clyde Burke. The reporter had an appointment with Joe Cardona, at headquarters. Though important, that meeting had promised nothing startling. But when Clyde arrived at headquarters, he found Cardona ready for a move.

"I'm going out to Lettigue's," informed Cardona. "You can come along, if you want to, Burke. Providing you're willing to remain outside. I've got a few questions I want to ask Lettigue. I'll tell you about them afterward."

"How soon are you leaving?" asked Clyde.

"In about ten minutes," returned Cardona. "After I've made a few telephone calls."

"I'll go along."

Clyde strolled out and made a call of his own-to Burbank. The contact man was prompt with emergency instructions. If Clyde found that the visit at Lettigue's might be a long one, he could signal Harry Vincent to return to town. Harry would take up Clyde's duties in Manhattan.

It was quarter of four when Clyde and Cardona arrived at Lettigue's. On the way, Clyde learned that Cardona intended to stall when he talked with the millionaire. It was probable that the interview would last until six o'clock, for Cardona could spring a bluff that he was waiting for Commissioner Weston to join him.

"I've talked with Clayborne," a.s.serted Cardona. "He had some business with Lettigue once. I'm going to ask Lettigue about it."

"And then?"

"I'm going to talk about the implements that the murderer used. Lettigue saw that Mayan mallet at the museum. Maybe he saw the lamp that was at Moreland's."

"How would that help?" "Because we're not sure they were actually used to club the victims. Think it over, Burke."