Part 4 (1/2)

”Is that the only way out?” growled the policeman, who had drawn a revolver.

Bill nodded.

”That and this elevator,” he affirmed. ”The regular stairway's locked at the bottom. I've got the only key.

So strangers won't go up; but the fire laws won't let us lock the tower.”

”Well, that doorman's a husky,” decided the policeman. ”He'll help out below; and there'll be a patrol car along any minute.”

THE elevator had reached the twelfth floor. Jerry banged open the door. A pale-faced man in s.h.i.+rt sleeves uttered a welcoming cry from a doorway down the corridor. It was Lattan.

”n.o.body's come down the stairs,” he informed excitedly. ”But there's been no more shots!”

The policeman headed to the stairway that he saw on the other side of the hall. Clerk and operator followed him. They pa.s.sed a turn in the stairs; then arrived at a blocking door. The officer tried to open it; he found it locked; then pounded against the barrier.

”Open in the name of the law” There was no response from within. The policeman drove a bulky shoulder against the door. Bill and Jerry aided him, hammering furiously from the little landing.

The door was not a formidable one; it began to weaken at the hinges. The policeman landed with all his weight; the door crashed inward.

Staggering into the penthouse, the uniformed invader caught himself and swung his revolver back and forth within a lighted living room. No enemy was in sight. Breeze-blown curtains at an opened window indicated a path for the get-away. The officer looked toward the floor.

There, he and his companions saw two men. One was James Shurrick, tenant of this penthouse. The stoop-shouldered man was lying face upward, his arms sprawled wide. His eyes were sightless as they bulged toward the ceiling.

Shurrick's s.h.i.+rt front was stained with blood. Gaping wounds showed that he had been riddled with revolver bullets from close range.

Near Shurrick lay another man, whose presence here brought a gasp of surprise from the apartment clerk. This was Courtney Dolver, bound and gagged.

Dolver was lying face downward; his body arched backward like that of a contortionist. His arms were pinioned tightly behind his back; the ropes that held them also trussed his legs up against his body.

Vainly, Dolver raised his head and tried to speak through the m.u.f.fled folds of a handkerchief that was tight between his teeth. He failed; his form became weak after the effort.

Jerry produced a knife and cut the ropes. Released, Dolver's body flattened limply. The elevator man cut the tightly knotted bandanna. Dolver lay panting, unable to speak.

THE policeman ordered the operator down to the elevator. He told the clerk to remain in charge.

Swinging from the window, the officer saw a ledge beneath.

He dropped to it; in the darkness, he stumbled on a revolver, wedged against the parapet. The policeman picked up the weapon and pocketed it.

Continuing along the ledge, the bluecoat found an open doorway. He stepped through it and reached the entrance of the fire tower. Footsteps were clattering from far below; the cop stood ready until he heard them coming closer. He knew then that other emissaries of the law were arriving.

Shouts from below; the policeman answered. A minute later, two new officers appeared, puffing from their hasty climb. The man who had entered. the penthouse questioned them. Their answer was given with headshakes. They had found no one on the fire tower.

The three policemen marched through the hall; as they reached the elevator, the door opened and two more bluecoats stepped out. Bill had brought these officers up from the lobby. They announced that police and detectives were converging upon the apartment house.

Yet the law, despite its promptness, had arrived too late. It was murder, like that of the night before. A slaying that matched the killing of Ralgood and Ba.s.slett. New death despite the campaign of the law; new death despite the vigilance of The Shadow!

CHAPTER VII. LINKS OF DEATH.

HALF an hour later, a large automobile pulled up in from of the apartment building wherein JamesShurrick had been slain. Two men alighted. One was a brisk individual, of military bearing, whose short-clipped mustache showed pointed ends. A policeman saluted as he recognized the Police Commissioner, Ralph Weston.

The other arrival was a tall personage of quiet demeanor. He was clad in evening clothes; his face appeared masklike above the white collar just beneath it. There was something hawklike in the molded visage of Weston's companion. The policeman remembered that he had seen that face before. Weston's a.s.sociate was Lamont Cranston, millionaire globe-trotter.

”I am glad you were chatting with me at the club, Cranston,” observed Weston, as they walked into the apartment house lobby. ”From what Cardona tells me, this case links with the death of Luther Ralgood.

Both were friends of Milton Callard. Like yourself.”

”I was not actually acquainted with Milton Callard,” corrected Cranston, in a steady tone. ”I told you, commissioner, that I merely knew who Callard was, when he was still alive.”

”That might be important,” a.s.sured Weston. ”Anything may prove of value in this situation. That was why I insisted that you come with me here.”

They had reached the elevator. As they entered, the light showed the faint flicker of a smile upon the steady lips of Lamont Cranston. Keen eyes flashed from the masklike face; their gleam faded without the commissioner noting the momentary change in his companion's expression. That brief interlude, however, was a revelation. This personage who pa.s.sed as Lamont Cranston, was actually The Shadow.

Uniformed policemen were on guard when the arrivals reached the twelfth floor. Continuing past saluting bluecoats, the commissioner and The Shadow reached the penthouse. There they were greeted by Joe Cardona, acting inspector in charge. With the ace was his side-kick, Detective Sergeant Markham.

A police surgeon was completing his examination of Shurrick's body. Three solemn-faced men - Bill, Jerry and Lattan - were grouped against the wall. Near them, limp in a chair, was Courtney Dolver, still weary from the ordeal that he had undergone.

”Let me hear your report,” ordered Weston, briskly.

CARDONA read statements that had been made by the clerk and elevator man. He followed with the report of the officer who had crashed into the penthouse. He exhibited the revolver that the policeman had found on the ledge below. It was an antique weapon with five chambers. All its cartridges had been emptied.

”Here's Mr. Lattan, commissioner,” stated Cardona. ”Timothy Lattan. He lives in apartment 12 G on the floor below. He heard the shots.”

Weston turned to Lattan. The s.h.i.+rt-sleeved man spoke in a troubled tremolo.

”My window was open,” he explained jerkily. ”Guess I'd have heard the shots anyway. The doors aren't thick and I'm right at the end of the hall. They were quick shots; bang-bang. Seems like I heard five.

”I was sort of bewildered for a minute. Listened, wondering what was coming next. I was sure the shots had been from up here. I looked out into the hall and didn't see anybody. So I called downstairs. Then I kept watching from my door until people arrived.”

”How long was that?” queried Weston.

”Five minutes maybe,” responded Lattan. ”Could have been a little longer, commissioner; but not much.I'm counting from when I heard the shots.”

”I understand. Were you acquainted with the dead man?”

”Only by sight, commissioner. I had never spoken with him.”

WESTON eyed the witness; then motioned him to a chair. The commissioner turned back to Cardona, who indicated Dolver. The dignified man looked up, smiled weakly and nodded.

”I think that estimate was about correct,” declared Dolver. ”Of course, my experience began before the shots were fired. It was most grueling, commissioner; yet I think that I preserved most of the details. My story begins with my arrival on the twelfth floor.”

”Just after Mr. Shurrick had gone up,” informed the clerk.

Weston motioned for silence. Bill subsided. Dolver resumed his story.

”I have lived in this apartment house for a month,” he explained. ”I took a furnished apartment while my Long Island residence was being redecorated. Like Mr. Lattan, I knew James Shurrick only by sight.