The Ghost Makers

Realizing only that this man was a friend, Cardona tried to call a sudden warning, but the shout was no more than a vague rattle in his dry throat.

The Shadow heard, but did not receive the meaning. That was unnecessary. The quick eyes of The Shadow saw, and understood.

Snooks Milligan was raising his body against the wall. His left hand, dripping with blood from the wound, was gripping the knob against the wall. As it gained its mark, The Shadow fired. The gangster slumped forward, and lay pressed against the wall, but his dying fingers were turning, twisting at the knob.

Another shot would have meant his doom. But even in the last futile moments, the reflex action of his dying clutch could have succeeded. The Shadow did not fire again.

Turning, he dropped his automatics and stepped upon the platform, to seize the body of Joe Cardona. The platform was moving as The Shadow, with long, powerful arms, drew Cardona toward him. The Shadow's feet were on the solid floor; his body was flinging backward as the platform fell. For a split second, Cardona's body hung over a black abyss as it was being swept to safety. Then the detective struck the floor and lay there, utterly helpless.

The Shadow stooped and picked up his automatics. He looked toward the wall, and watched the form of Snooks Milligan as it swayed in convulsive gyrations. The gangster sprawled upon the floor, dead. Cardona's bonds were cut. Supported by his rescuer, the detective staggered out into the night, and was helped into the waiting car. The cool air revived him; but as his mysterious companion took the wheel, and headed back toward the city, the aftermath of the terrible strain had its effect. Cardona lay in a stupor that was only momentarily broken when he found himself being urged through the darkened lobby of his hotel.

The ringing of a telephone awakened the detective. It was broad daylight. Groggily, he answered the call. It was the clerk, telling him it was ten o'clock.

Ten o'clock! Cardona could not understand why he had been called. His mind was groping dizzily, trying to recall the dreamlike events that he had encountered the night before.

He remembered his capture dimly. The torture was a vivid recollection. Cardona's weakened, aching shoulders were a strong reminder.

But the rescue was a haze. A tall man, whose face Cardona had only glimpsed, had effected his delivery from death. Cardona awoke to the knowledge that only one man could have accomplished it — The Shadow!

Cardona spied a small package lying on the desk. With numbed fingers, he opened it. From within, he produced a bunch of violets.

A new message from The Shadow!

It was the first since Cincinnati, Cardona thought. He did not know that a warning message had gone astray the night before — a message with three brief words that would have kept him from walking into the unexpected danger which had beset him.

With fumbling fingers, the detective found the disk. It bore these words: To-Night

Headquarters

New York

Cardona realized now why he had been called at ten o'clock. He could reach New York by eight to-night, if he took the noon plane from Chicago.

Hastily, the detective dressed and packed. He reached the airport in time for the plane. Still dazed, he watched the outskirts of the city drop away, and saw the broad expanse of Lake Michigan spread away into the smoky haze.

In Cardona's pockets were the notes of all the information he had gathered on this trip. Scattered facts, which had significance, yet which required more to make them complete and useful. Cardona's thoughts flew ahead of him to New York. What awaited there?

A newspaper lay beside him. Cardona looked at the front page. Then he temporarily forgot his problems. He was reading the account of a gun fight in a house on the shore of Lake Michigan. Al Barruci and Snooks Milligan, noted gangsters, had been slain. A death trap had been discovered. Two other gangsters had died in the fray. The police, brought to the spot by a mysterious telephone tip, had carried away two more who were wounded.

The news of the affair was causing consternation in gangland. The two men who lived would not talk. It was believed that a quarrel had taken place between the two gang leaders and their underlings. That was all.

Joe Cardona grinned. The account bore no reference to the surprising rescue of a captured New York detective. Nor did it mention the fact of a rescuer.

The Shadow had come and gone, leaving no trace of his mysterious, timely presence!

Chapter XIX — Slade Signs

Martin Slade, posing as James Telford, was on the front terrace of the Long Island bungalow. It was late in the afternoon. His adopted father had not yet returned from his trip to Baltimore. Slade was in a mood of elation. He had gone through the safe during Thomas Telford's absence. He had learned facts regarding the old man's wealth and holdings.