He walked back to the desk.
"I believe you, Mr. Raynor," said Vervick thickly. "I am going to talk to you!"
"Good," said Raynor, with a nod. He glanced quickly at Grimes. The reporter pulled a pad of paper from his pocket.
"We'll be in time for the next edition," he mumbled to Tewkson, and the red-haired reporter grinned.
"Forty minutes from now, this story will be on the street!"
"You've got to hand it to the old man," whispered Tewkson. Then he became silent and tense. Vervick was speaking.
"I have made bombs," said the Russian, in a low voice. "I do not know why I have made them. I mean, I did not know what they were for - until today.
"I have my address here -" He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a paper. "This is the place. But all my bombs were taken away last night - by the man who had made me make them."
"Who is he?" Raynor's voice was softly commanding.
"I do not know his name. He is black - all black - I mean, he is dressed in the clothes which are black, and he has talked to me only in a dark room.
"He has told me to do what he wants done - and I have called him 'The Master.' That is the name he has told me to use with him. You understand?"
"Why did you do what he told you?"
"Because I have made bombs before - I did not know why then - but there was trouble, and I would have been taken to prison if the police had known.
"It was then that The Master came to me. He gave me money. He told me all was well - but all was not well. Today -"
He stopped. His face bore signs of dread.
"Go on!" ordered Raynor.
"I am afraid!" objected Vervick. "I have talked too much now! I am afraid to die - I am afraid!"
"Come here. You will not die!"
Vervick approached the desk slowly. He looked about the room. He stared at Grimes and Tewkson. He stared suspiciously at the opposite side of the room, where the stacks of newspapers lay.
"You will not die!" Raynor repeated.
Vervick shuddered, then suddenly regained his composure. He came closer to the desk.
"I said that I did not know the name of the - of the man I call The Master! But I did not speak true! I have found out who is The Master!
"I am afraid to speak that name! But I shall give it to you - because you have promised to keep me from death!"
His fingers trembled as he reached for a piece of paper. He picked up a pencil and scrawled a name, and thrust the paper toward Raynor.
An amazing change came over the face of the editor.
"Grimes!" he exclaimed. "Look at this! Get busy right away! Look! If this is true -"
Grimes stared at the name as if he could not believe his eyes.
Raynor turned to Vervick.
"Are you sure?" he demanded.
"I am sure!" replied the Russian. "It is true - but I am afraid! What I know cannot help me. He is The Master! I am afraid."
Raynor wheeled.
"Get this man away safely!" he said to Grimes and Tewkson. "He'll talk to you now! You know where to take him! Leave this to me! I'm going to lift the lid!"
Vervick held out his hands pleadingly as the managing editor rose from his chair and moved to the side of the desk.
"I am afraid to die!" he said, in a trembling voice. "I fear death!"
Raynor placed his hands upon the man's shoulders. Curbing his impatience, he spoke in his usual reassuring tone.
"You are safe -" He pressed Vervick gently away from the desk toward the corner of the room, that he might have a clear path to the door that opened in the reporters' room. "Do not worry. Nothing can harm you here, because we -"
The sentence was never completed. As Vervick stepped back from the desk, the entire room rose and spread in all directions.
The roar of a terrific explosion burst forth. The whole wall of the Classic building crumbled - the side of the timeworn structure collapsed with a mighty crash.
The four men who stood in that doomed room were blown to atoms. The wreckage that remained poured forth into the street amid a volume of thick smoke. The blast shook the entire building.
The name that Harlan Raynor had learned would never reach the public! Harlan Raynor was dead, with his two star reporters; and with them perished Vervick, the man who feared death!
CHAPTER III. THE POLICE SEEK EVIDENCE
THREE men were seated in a luxurious apartment. They were engaged in earnest conversation. Each was a man of imposing appearance. Their expressions were serious and their consultation bore signs of vast importance.
A keen observer would have recognized two of the men as police officials. Their bearing indicated it, even though they were garbed in civilian clothes.
One was Inspector James Burke; the other was Detective Joe Cardona. They were two of the keenest men on the New York police force.
The third man in the group was evidently the owner of the apartment. He was tall and dignified, white-haired and keen-eyed. His whole bearing was impressive, even to the military mustache that formed a white line upon his upper lip.
He was a man of vast importance in New York, though unknown to most of the inhabitants of the city.
This was Doctor Heinrich Zerndorff, international criminologist.
This man was speaking, and his words carried a quiet conviction that had a marked effect upon the listeners.
"We must not be impatient," he said. His voice had a slightly guttural accent. "We are confronted with a great problem. I can see the light" - he tapped his forehead as he spoke - "and that is why I say not to be impatient."
"You know best, professor," said Inspector Burke. "You're expecting the government men; you've talked with them already, and this is their job as well as ours."
"But don't forget what we're up against. We have to police this city. Four explosions in one day is bad stuff! We don't know what to expect next!"
"You are watching?" the professor queried.
"We are! If they try anything in any public place, we may spot it before it breaks."
"But we don't want any more bombings! If any more are scheduled, we want to find it out!"
"I've been after evidence, professor," interrupted Cardona, "and I'll say it's tough to get. When one of those bombs goes off, it wrecks everything!
"There'll be some clues that'll show up, right enough, but how soon will we get them?"
"We're counting on you to spot the men for us, professor," interposed Burke. "You say you will be able to find them. Why not do it right now, so they won't give us any more trouble?"
"Right now, yes?" questioned Zerndorff, with a faint smile. "You want them right now, yes? Do you want them all at once, or some of them now and more of them at some time later?"
"We want all we can get, whenever we can get them!"
"Inspector," said Zerndorff, spreading his hands in a slight, unconscious gesture, "you must understand, as I do, the men with whom we have to deal.
"As our friend here, the detective, has said, we must have evidence. We must take them all when we do take them. Not just one or two, but all! I shall tell you why, yes?
"It is because if we take part of them, the others will continue to do what they have done. They will try to make it seem that those whom we have taken first had nothing to do with these explosions that have gone before! You understand, yes?"
"The professor is right, inspector," said Cardona, nodding. "I get his point. He figures that they are going to lay low for a while, anyway.
"If we wait them out we can make a real clean-up. But if we move too fast, they'll blow the works. We want to round up the whole crew!"
"That may be right," said Burke, nodding. "What about the secret-service men, professor?"
"They agree with me, inspector."
"You're boss, then," said Burke.
"I have not come to this country for nothing," said Doctor Zerndorff. "I have been here a long time. Five years, yes?
"Since I have come here - to hel
p your government, I have done much. I have helped you, too, inspector.
I have seen these men in Europe - the same men that have come to this country now - to do crime. I can find them because I know them.
"I have seen them work in Berlin. I have been to Italy, Spain -"
He shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands in a characteristic gesture.
"You figure there's communists in back of it?" observed the inspector. "It certainly looks that way. You ought to know. Coming right after May Day, when we broke up those celebrations they tried to hold, it looks like a straight Bolshevik move."
"A campaign of terrorism, that's what it is! We want to stop it! Soon!"
"They picked the spots, all right," said Cardona.
"Ah, yes," agreed Doctor Zerndorff. He began to count on his fingers. "The first, you see, was in Wall Street, the place that means money - capital.
"Then in the big station was another bomb and in the subway. That has frightened the people. But the most important has been the newspaper office.
"It is the newspaper which has done much to hurt these bomb men!"
"How do you figure they framed it?" questioned Cardona.
"Framed? Ah, yes! You mean, how they have planned? I cannot say. My brain" - Doctor Zerndorff tapped his forehead - "is not yet to tell you how they have done this. It is to tell you who has done these things.
"You, Mr. Detective, can find out how these things were done. That will be your evidence, yes? I shall help you, but right now I am seeking to find those men we want!"
"The nearest we can figure," said Cardona, "is that the Wall Street bomb was planted in an ash can beside a building. But no one saw it done.
"We think the Grand Central bomb was put in the showcase of the cigar stand. There we've got something to work on. It must have been delivered in a package.
"The subway bomb, up at Columbus Circle, could have been planted by almost anybody; we figure it was under one of the long wooden seats, inside the turnstiles.
"But we can't dope out how one was shoved into the managing editor's office at the Evening Classic."
"Very soon," said Zerndorff quietly, "I shall tell you who the men may be. You must find out those men that you suspect.
"Then we shall fit like this" - he joined his spread fingers - "and we shall know enough to make those arrests that Mr. Inspector wishes."
"We've been looking for planted bombs," said Burke. "We haven't found any. Maybe that means there's going to be no more explosions."
"We think there were four killed in the Classic office, and there were a lot badly injured," said Cardona.
"We've identified the managing editor and two reporters; but we think there was another there - a Russian."
Zerndorff raised his brow.
"A cab driver brought him to the Classic office along with one of the reporters, Tewkson. The other reporter, Grimes, met them.
"It may be that the Russian was going there to warn Raynor, the managing editor. There was a five-thousand-dollar reward, you know."
"It is strange," said Doctor Zerndorff. "It is very strange, yes. These men that say they are communists, that want no money. They are the first to try to get money when it is offered to them!"
"Maybe we can bait some of them!" said Burke bluntly.
The white-haired criminologist shrugged his shoulders. He seemed speculative for a few moments; then he spoke slowly and thoughtfully, making much of his words.
"We have to deal with a carefully deliberated crime," he stated. "Not the kind that springs from anger or from the quick impulse. It is the crime of the plotter, of the man that moves by stealth.
"Who is the man? Maybe I could tell you now. But I must have more time to think; I must not make a big mistake. It may not be just the one man - it may be two or three. But these will be the men who plan.
"Beneath them are the little men, those who have placed the bombs where they have exploded. You must find them, Herr Inspector. Have them for me!"
"You're right, professor," interposed Burke. "Joe Cardona will get the small fry. Leave it to him. But how long will it be before you haul in the big shots?"
"It shall not be long. I shall tell you this. It is not the time of which I am thinking. It is of explosions."
"Just what do you mean by that?"
"There have been one - two - three - four," replied Doctor Zerndorff, counting on the fingers of his left hand. "Perhaps there shall be no more. Perhaps" - he pointed to the last outstretched finger - "perhaps there shall be one more, yes?
"If that is so, I can promise you, there will be no more after that."
"We don't want any more if we can help it!"
"Listen to me, Herr Inspector." Zerndorff's voice was emphatic. "My brain" - he tapped the fingertips of both hands against his forehead - "my brain is understanding. I am like one who is in dreaming, yes?
"People I can see. Faces I can recognize; but I cannot grasp. Should they move once, I shall have them.
But I can only wait.
"Perhaps they shall not move. If they do not, my brain shall work of itself and I shall find them. You understand me, yes?"
"It's plain enough to me, chief," said Cardona, tuning to Inspector Burke. "The professor here knows what he is doing. I've been in the same fix myself. He's waiting to play his trump card. That's all."
"I get you!" said the inspector. "All right, professor, we're counting on you!"
Doctor Zerndorff rose and the other men followed. The three went downstairs together in the elevator.
On the ground floor, the professor placed his finger against his lips, and then spoke softly in the mellow light of the empty hallway.
"Up to now," he said, "these men have struck for just one thing - to frighten. Perhaps they shall try to scare again. I think so, yes.
"Perhaps you, Herr Detective, can discover them before they strike! A bomb - you may find somewhere.
But after that, they shall not try to scare. They will only protect themselves.
"They may fight, yes? If they do, who is the one they shall fight? The police? I say no! The police are too many.
"Here is the one" - he tapped his chest expressively. "I am the one, yes; the one that they shall fight! They know that I know. You understand? There is danger, or there will be danger, here in New York, for me!"
"That sounds logical, chief," observed Cardona, looking at Inspector Burke.
"So," said Doctor Zerndorff quietly, "do you think that I shall wait? No, no! It is for my own safety that I should see these men in prison.
"You may think of the public, Herr Inspector. That is good. I think, too, of the public - but," he smiled, "I think also of myself!"
He went to the outer door and carefully unbarred it. Standing in semidarkness, he peered across the street. An automobile lurked beside the opposite curb.
"See?" whispered Doctor Zerndorff. "It may be now. I am suspicious. Friend or foe, I know not. So go, my friends, and remember that I shall solve this plot for you!"
Burke and Cardona stepped to the street. The door closed behind them. They heard the click of bolts.
The inspector coughed uneasily.
"Let's get the lay, Joe," he said.
The two men walked boldly across the street. They saw two shadowy forms seated in the front seat of the sedan. Cardona's fingers sought the butt of his automatic.
"What're you doing here, buddies?" he asked.
Something sparkled on the breast of the man beside the wheel. In the reflected light of the street, Cardona recognized the badge of a secret-service agent.
"Hello, Cardona," came a low voice. "That's Inspector Burke with you, eh?"
"Right-o!" replied the detective.
"We watched you go in," came the voice. "We've been waiting for you to come out. We're detailed here to protect Doctor Zerndorff."
Cardona was positive of the identity of the men. He looked at Burke and the inspector nodded his approval.
"We may have a po
lice detail up here, later on," said the detective.
"Okay," came the voice from the car. "Tell them we're here. We'll know them."
Cardona hailed a passing taxi. He waved to the men in the sedan as he and Inspector Burke entered the cab. Then the street became silent. The secret-service men's automobile remained across the street.
The lights in the upstairs apartment went out, but the government men continued their vigil. In their keeping was the safety of the man in whose hands might lie the key to a nationwide plot of which the Manhattan explosions might be but forerunners.
A car going rapidly passed close by the parked automobile. The sharp eyes of the secret-service men were busy as they peered into the darkness of the passing coupe. It contained only the driver. One of the secret-service men sat up suddenly and nudged his companion.
"Did you hear that?" he exclaimed.
"No," said the other, "what was it?"
"It sounded like a low laugh - like a whispered laugh!"
The eyes of the watchers followed the taillight of the coupe until it disappeared in the distance. Then both men settled back to resume their vigil.
One - the man at the wheel - was calm and indifferent. The other was thoughtful and his mind was troubled.
For through his brain passed the haunting recollection of a sinister sound - a laugh so unreal that he could scarcely believe that his ears had not deceived him.
He felt confident that the coupe had come down that street for some special purpose; yet he could not imagine what its mission might have been.
The secret-service man was not acquainted with the underworld of New York. Had he known more, he might have understood. He would have attributed that laugh to more than fancy.
For that tone of sinister merriment had struck terror into the hearts of many gangsters. It was the laugh of The Shadow!
CHAPTER IV. THE HANDS OF THE SHADOW
INSPECTOR BURKE and Detective Cardona were sitting in the office at police headquarters. Outside, through the misty night, a clock boomed out the hour of eleven. The two men had just returned from their interview with Doctor Zerndorff.
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