CHAPTER III

The Shadow Falls

All the way back to his own townhouse, Lamont Cranston seethed. He gripped the steering wheel of the Cord so tightly that his knuckles were white. Margo had been right. He had been a boor and a cad. He would have to make it up to her. Even more dangerously, he had allowed his emotions to cloud his judgment, something his experience as The Shadow had taught him never to do. Yet every fiber of his being told him not to trust Karl Dietrich. If the man was involved in anything illegal, it was going to take more than Lamont Cranston's hunch to find it.

After a seemingly interminable drive, he reached the townhouse. He swept through the living room without even turning on the lights. His destination was the study at the back of the house where he could sit and think quietly. He switched on the lights in the study and strode to the sideboard where his valet Ames often left a serving tray, a decanter, and glasses. Lamont poured himself a tumbler of whiskey, set it down on his elaborately carved oak desk, and sat down himself, but hesitated before taking a drink. He was about to reach for the glass when a special alarm sounded. Cranston went to the bookcase and slid aside a bust of Marcus Aurelius, revealing a hidden niche in the wall. The niche contained a telephone from which the alarm sounds came. The telephone needed no dial, for it was a direct line to Burbank. Cranston picked up the phone. His voice changed. It was no longer the voice of Lamont Cranston. It was the voice of The Shadow.

"Report," The Shadow said.

"Robbery in progress at Bracey's Department Store, Fifth and Broadway. Criminals loaded cash, jewels, furs into truck. Matches modus operandi of Gunther Black gang. Intelligence suggests headed to warehouse, Lexington and 29th. Shrevnitz will arrive your location, two minutes," Burbank reported.

The Gunther Black gang at work again? So soon after The Shadow had struck at them? It didn't make sense. Still, it seemed Karl Dietrich would have to wait. Black and his cronies could be dealt with easily enough.

"No time," The Shadow answered," I'll take the Cord myself."

"Sir? May I remind you that's a violation of procedure?"

"Don't question my orders, Burbank," the hint of menace in the Shadow's voice was unmistakable.

"But sir--"

There was no answer on the other end of the line. The receiver dangled uselessly from the telephone in Lamont Cranston's study. Moments later a cloaked and hooded figure burst from the rear of the house and a gleaming black automobile sped into the night.

The Shadow burst into the warehouse, chrome plated automatics drawn and gleaming, expecting trouble. He saw nothing except darkness and heard nothing but a murmur of voices from the room beyond. Good. He still had the element of surprise. He crept through the double doors hoping to surprise the crooks as they unloaded the swag. Sure enough, Gunther Black stood near the doorway watching calmly as his minions brought in loot from the robbery. His back and the backs of all his gang were turned to The Shadow. This was going to be easy.

A sibilant laugh floated out of the darkness. "Gunther Black," called a weird, penetrating voice. "Did you really think you could pull off another robbery so easily and so soon? Did you really think you could escape The Shadow again? It seems justice has finally caught up with you."

The Shadow let out another peal of mocking laughter, but Gunther, still with his back turned, seemed oddly unfazed.

"Laugh all you want, Shadow. You think you've got me--but I've got the last laugh--'cause I've got you!"Gunther reached up and pulled a large lever on the wall. There was a series of booms and clangs as heavy steel doors throughout the building slammed shut and steel shutters dropped down over all the windows. Gunther flipped another lever and special vents in the floor, wall, and ceiling opened. Noxious, yellowish gas began to pour out of them. Gunther and his men turned and The Shadow could see that the crook and his men wore gas masks. They were prepared and he was not. He had walked straight into a trap.

The Shadow began to feel faint and lightheaded. With his powers of concentration gone, he could no longer cloud the minds of Gunther and his gang so they could not see him. They first saw a swirl of blackness that gradually solidified into a manlike shape, and then finally into a tall man in a black slouch hat and a billowing black cloak. The man held a pair of gleaming .45 caliber automatics loosely in his hands, but these clattered to the floor as the man visibly weakened under the influence of the gas. The man himself toppled face first to the ground a moment later. Gunther and his gang raced over to the man, with Gunther giving him a savage kick to turn him over.

"We got him! We got him, Gunther! We got the Shadda!" one of the men exclaimed. A gangster with an ugly scar on his cheek reached uncertainly for the handkerchief over The Shadow's face, but Gunther stopped him with a backhanded blow that nearly sent the man sprawling.

"Not so fast, Jack," Gunther snarled. "The boss wanted to be here when we took the mask off him. I'm goin' to get him right now."

"He ain't . . . dead, is he?" Jack asked, pointing nervously to the man on the ground.

"Nah! He's just out cold. The boss wanted him alive for some reason," Gunther said nonchalantly. He looked again at Cranston. "He ain't dead--yet. But I figure he will be, soon enough."

The blond, blue-eyed well dressed man looked distinctly out of place in front of the seedy, run-down all night movie theater, but he guessed few people would notice. The feature was not one of Hollywood's finest and the late night showing appeared to be nearly deserted as he had hoped. The man paid for his ticket, went inside, and seated himself in the next to last row. The newsreel was still showing footage of Chamberlain's triumphant return to London the month before, proclaiming "peace in our time."

"Fools!" the blond man thought, "If you only knew!"

The newsreel ended, to be followed by a cartoon. A fat stuttering pig stumbled around on the screen getting into one predicament after another.

"How appropriate," the blond man thought, "You Americans, fat, stupid pigs that you are, will go blundering about with no idea what is happening until The Reich wins its victory." He smiled in the dark.

He waited, pretending to watch the cartoon until he heard a rustling noise as someone slid into the seat behind him. A voice rasped in his ear.

"Mr. Dietrich? Our guest has arrived."

"Did you encounter any difficulties?"

"No sir. Everything went just like you said."

"Excellent! Let us go then!"

Karl Dietrich and Gunther Black left the theater together and headed towards the warehouse where The Shadow waited as their prisoner.

End of Chapter III