Shadow 029 - The Golden Grotto 05 01 33, The by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street and Smith
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

TRAYMER’S picturing of the vigilant watchers was curiously incorrect at that precise moment. Down in the lobby, the impossible was happening. Some one was entering the place unobserved!

One could not have said that a man had walked by the scattered watchers; for the unseen visitor was virtually invisible. The only sign of his presence was a shadowy blotch that moved across the tiled floor. The person, himself, did not come in view. His tall figure blended perfectly with the dim, unlighted wall away from the center of the lobby.

The Shadow had entered the old hotel. He had passed a handful of mobsters, unseen, unheard, and almost unnoticed. Only one man had an inkling of his presence. The clerk, glancing toward the bottom of the stairway, caught a fleeting glimpse of a shadowy silhouette moving upward on the bottom steps.

The clerk blinked; then shrugged his shoulders. He fancied that his imagination had been at work. Caution, however, predominated. He beckoned to one of the lounging mobsters, and pointed toward the stairway.

“Better make the rounds, Doc,” he said. “Thought I saw a guy going upstairs.”

“You’re goofy,” grumbled “Doc.”

Nevertheless, the summoned gangster headed upward. He reached the top of the stairway, and peered toward Beef Norbin’s door. He turned, suddenly, fancying, like the clerk below, that he had seen a fleeting shadow on the floor.

Drawing a revolver from his pocket, Doc went along the corridor and stopped as he neared the half-opened door of a hall closet.

If a man had been in the corridor, this would be his logical hiding place. Doc, the gangster, had a way of dealing with hiding places. He placed one hand upon the knob of the door, gave a quick yank, and at the same time set his finger against the trigger of the gun. Shots meant nothing in this hotel - and a quick one was the easiest way to deal with any skulker.

The shot was never fired. A black-gloved hand acted with greater speed than did Doc’s trigger finger. A swift fist shot from the darkness of the closet and cracked the gangster’s chin with the force of a trip hammer. Doc crumpled.

A black-cloaked figure came from the closet. A minute later, the gangster lay bound and gagged, stowed away in the closet. The Shadow picked up the gleaming revolver and gave a whispered laugh as he slipped the weapon beneath the folds of his cloak.

The Shadow moved along the corridor and paused at the door nearest to the entrance of the room where Norbin and Traymer were in conference. A black-gloved hand applied a tiny keylike instrument to the lock.

An almost inaudible click followed. The door opened, and The Shadow stepped into a darkened room, where only a thin shaft of light showed from a partly opened door at the end of the wall.

Gliding silently through the darkness, the black-cloaked figure reached the lighted spot, and became invisible against the wall of the room. This was another room of Beef Norbin’s suite. Through the half-opened door, The Shadow could hear what went on in the next room.

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