The Shadow - 192 - Voice of Death by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1940-01-31T23:00:00+00:00

CLOSING the safe door, Burman glanced over his shoulder and smiled at the portrait of Thomas Drober. The painted eyes of the founder had watched the entire transaction; they had seen Burman open the safe, take out the money, count the cash and put it away again.

Canny when he dealt with living men, Burman never kept any secrets from the portrait of the departed founder.

The meeting was over. Burman took a satisfied look at the locked safe. It was a formidable contrivance, of the latest design. Fixed in the wall like a vault, it was absolutely crookproof. Likewise, foolproof, for any crook would be a fool who tried to crack it.

Last to leave the meeting room, Burman looked back at the portrait and set his lips in a firm line that matched the expression of the side-whiskered founder. He pressed two switches; one extinguished the lights surrounding Drober’s picture, the other darkened the room itself.

Ringing the elevator bell, the directors waited until the car was brought up by a solemn-looking watchman. Descending to the ground floor, they waited again, while the watchman unbarred a gate and let them out to the street.

Two private detectives were outside. Burman always hired them for meeting nights. This neighborhood was no longer as prosperous as it had been when Thomas Drober erected the building that bore his name. Sneak thieves were apt to steal anything out of fancy automobiles that parked in this vicinity.

Looking along the street, Burman noticed no more than the usual quota of shamblers. As soon as he and the directors were in their cars, he beckoned to the detectives and told them they would no longer be needed.

Burman would have regretted that decision, had he remained in the vicinity a short while longer.

As soon as the cars had rolled from sight, lurkers appeared. They stationed themselves at convenient posts in and around the Drober Building. Chief among those arrivals was Griff Conlad, who moved to an alley straight opposite the building entrance.

“Ten fifteen,” undertoned Griff smoothly, to two men beside him. “Ted should have been inside two hours ago.”

“Ahead of them stuffed shirts?” came a query.

“Yeah, and before the watchman locked the gate,” added Griff. “He didn’t close up until after the directors got here, at half past eight.”

“How’s Lycombe coming out?”

“Right through that gate, when the watchman makes his rounds.”

“Ain’t there an alarm on it?”

“Yeah, and a good one,” returned Griff. “That’s one reason why we’re here, to take out the watchman and any harness bulls that show up while Ted is making his getaway.”

Eyes on the darkened doorway, Griff wasn’t watching the corner of the Drober Building. He didn’t see the blackened shape that glided in from nowhere and melted against the darkness of the wall. Just past the corner of the building, The Shadow began an upward climb, finding finger grips and toe holds.

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