The Shadow 172 Battle of Greed by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B001UOZU46
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1939-04-21T23:00:00+00:00

His use of the cable had simply enabled him to accomplish another detail. By easing himself to the top of the car, The Shadow prevented the thump that would have told Atlee what had happened.

When the elevator reached the ground floor, The Shadow reached for the doors on the second. He wedged them open, rolled through and made for a stairway. At the ground floor, he spied Atlee diving out through a rear door. The fellow was shouting for a taxi. One pulled up, just as The Shadow overtook him.

Atlee was clutching the precious papers that were in his pocket. He raised a frantic cry as a hand gripped his arm, and tried to yank his revolver. Supplying a jujitsu hold, The Shadow flung the frail secretary headlong. Atlee’s fingers opened. His gun clattered into the gutter, while the papers remained in The Shadow’s hand.

Thanks to his light weight, Atlee took a long bound that brought him up on hands and knees, half into the cab. The driver, deciding that he didn’t want Atlee for a fare, had started to pull away, and the dive that Atlee took had carried him at a forward angle, right where he wanted to go. Rolling into the cab, Atlee yanked the door shut.

The last that The Shadow saw of him was his pale face as it peered through the rear window. As for Atlee, he saw nothing, back in the gloom. All that he heard was the taunt of a weird laugh, wishing another of Sandersham’s traitors a happy journey.

IN the penthouse, Rupert Sandersham was finally getting a coherent story from his servants.

They didn’t know who had battled them, except that it reminded them of the fray back at Algrave Square, when there had been a burglar in the house. Where The Shadow had come from, they couldn’t guess; where he had gone was also a mystery.

He hadn’t taken the elevator; of that, they were sure. Sandersham, checking on the matter, had Krengle call the lobby, to find out that only Atlee had arrived on the ground floor. But the secretary’s departure was suspicious.

Atlee was not supposed to leave the penthouse without permission. Leading the way to his desk, Sandersham found the answer. He was aghast, when he pawed among the papers in the broken drawer.

“Those letters from Gourmal!” he exclaimed. “When he arranged those shipments of munitions to Spain! They’re gone!”

“I thought you had destroyed them,” Krengle said. “Even though you didn’t send the stuff, that correspondence could be used against you.”

“I kept them,” groaned Sandersham, “just in case Gourmal tried to blackmail me. They used to be in the safe at the office, but they were among the papers I had you bring here.”

Fists clenched, Sandersham was chewing his lips as he recalled another phase of his folly.

“Some of the less-important ones were in the regular file,” he said. “They really didn’t matter, but Atlee knew about them. They weren’t where they should have been, the other day. Atlee said that he would find them; but he forgot it.

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