Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 219 - The Time Master

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THE TIME MASTER
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," April 1, 1941.
The Time Master... and master of evil too - until he met The Shadow in a
bitter clash for supremacy!
CHAPTER I
HALF-PAST FIVE
There were three customers in Tony's Barber Shop, which was not unusual
for
this time of day. It was after five o'clock, and the shop was located on a
Manhattan side street not far from a local station on the Seventh Avenue
subway,
toward which office workers headed on their way uptown.
Not that there were many office buildings in the vicinity, but there were
enough to assure Tony of some patrons after five o'clock. Tony always regarded
this as his busiest hour, when his revolving barber's sign would attract new
customers, along with the old.
At present, Tony was shaving a regular. The other two were comparative
strangers. One, a dark-haired man, was seated in the second barber's chair.
Finished with a haircut, he was letting Tony's assistant sell him on a facial
massage as a benefit to an oversallow complexion.
The other stranger, a burly individual, was getting a shoeshine,
meanwhile
rubbing his bristly face in anticipation of one of Tony's shaves. Tony was a
very careful barber, hence never in a hurry. Between times, he liked to glance
from the window, even in this season when nights were long and darkness early.
He often watched passers-by, to wonder if they were coming into the shop; but
at
present, his gaze was shifting occasionally to the door, as though he actually
expected someone.
Then, quite suddenly, Tony said: "Ah!"
The interjection brought stares from the new customers - stares in which
the regular patron could not join, for he was smothered deep in a hot towel.
The
strangers gave curious looks at the man who had received Tony's welcome, for
he
was the sort who deserved such inspection.
He appeared elderly, for his face was drawn and his shoulders stooped. He
carried an umbrella that he used as a cane. His neck was muffled by the high
collar of his overcoat, while locks of grayish, shaggy hair protruded from the
edges of his low, old-fashioned derby.
The stooped man was wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and threadbare
gloves. He stopped at a cigar counter just inside the door, to rattle a nickel
on the glass. Tony added to his income by selling tobacco as a side line.
Without a word, merely a grin, Tony opened the counter and supplied the
customer with a five-cent cigar, saying: "Good evening, Mr. Thull."
The stooped man gave an acknowledging grunt, pocketed the cigar, and
shambled out again. Tony watched until he was gone from sight, then did a
rather
surprising thing.
Going to the rear of the shop, Tony climbed up on a chair and set the
barber-shop clock. The clock was behind time, as everyone knew, for it
registered only ten minutes to five. Tony swung the big hand around the dial,
setting it at exactly half-past five.
"Why'd you do that?"
The query came from the burly man who was just winding up with the
shoeshine. Tony was only too ready to explain, for he had heard the question
often before.
"That's Mr. Thull," he said. "Full name, Mr. Armand Thull. Office right
down the street. Every day he stop here" - Tony gestured toward the clock -
"right at a half-past five. Sharp!"
The dark-haired man in the second chair looked at Tony, then at the
clock.
Finally, he drew a watch from his vest pocket.
"Sort of a human clock, this Mr. Thull," he said. "Looks like you're
right,
Tony, or rather, he is. It's just half past five."
"That's it," returned Tony, quite delighted. "Mr. Thull, he's one human
clock!"
"If that means he's cuckoo," growled the burly man, as he paid the
bootblack, "I'll agree. But this business of five-thirty on the dot is
screwy!"
He turned to the dark-haired man: "Say, bud, you're sure your watch is right?"
"It generally is," the other replied, "but I wouldn't bet on it."
"I bet on it," assured Tony, finishing with his customer. "Tell you what.
You do the same as other people. You call up telephone company. If the clock
not
right, I pay the nickel Mr. Thull give me for a cigar.
"Good enough."
Half chuckling, the burly man went to a pay phone in the corner and made
the call. He finished by dropping the receiver on its hook and staring at the
clock, while Tony, waiting for him at the now empty chair, questioned:
"What she say?"
"Five thirty-one," the burly man replied, slowly. "Just what your clock
says now. You're right, Tony. This Mr. Thull, or Stull, or whatever his name
is,
must be a human clock."
"You come here any afternoon," invited Tony. "Every afternoon, even
Saturday. Not Sunday, when the shop is closed, same as Mr. Thull's office. But
every, other day, you see the same. If he miss five-thirty on the dot, I give
free shave. Haircut, too."
THERE were other persons besides Tony who regarded half-past five as a
most
important time. They had no human clock to guide them, but they went by a very
accurate clock on the wall of the office where they worked.
They were the clerks in the Coastal Jewelry Exchange, which was located
on
the tenth floor of an office building on the East Side, not far from an
express
stop on the Lexington Avenue subway.
The Coastal Jewelry Exchange did a large wholesale business, and operated
on a very exact schedule. It opened at nine in the morning and closed at
five-thirty. When that time came, the manager donged a little bell as a signal
that clerks were to bring all gems to the vault. Usually there were late
customers, haggling over prices, but the closing bell was meant for them, as
well.
Because of its very valuable stock, the Coastal Exchange not only
demanded
this routine, but had taken other precautions. It had chosen the tenth floor
because it was the top one of the building, and the only other tenant of that
floor was a clothing supply house on the opposite side of the hall. The
clothing
company always closed at five.
In addition, the stairway was barred by steel gates at every floor above
the second. The Coastal Exchange also had an excellent alarm system, by which
an
immediate signal could be sent to the ground floor, where two private
detectives
were always on duty. After the closing hour, when everything was in the vault,
a
watchman went on duty.
Clear over on the other side of town, the employees of the Coastal
Jewelry
Exchange had never heard of Tony's Barber Shop and its human clock. They knew
that their own clock was always right, and that was sufficient. They liked to
see how quickly they could close the place after five-thirty. Usually, three
minutes proved enough. On this day, however, the Coastal Jewelry Exchange was
to
stay open somewhat longer.
First indications came when the door opened inward before any of the
reluctantly departing customers could reach it. The door stopped halfway,
which
made the customers halt halfway, too. Then a long-fingered hand snaked through
the opening, set its forefinger against a light switch and pressed.
The move did not extinguish the lights; only those in the ceiling. There
were smaller lights around the counters, where clerks were gathering up the
jewel trays. There were three clerks and they stopped in consternation, as did
the manager, who was standing near the vault, behind the central counter.
Trayloads of jewels scintillated in many vivid hues as they caught the
glow
of the counter lights; but all eyes were attracted by a different glitter,
that
came from the hand of the man who had opened the door
He was a tall man, his face obscure in the semi-darkness that he had
produced. He wore no hat and his hair was sleek, its color difficult to
determine in the gloom. His extended hand was lower, however, which was why it
caught the light from the counter. The object that it displayed was a large
revolver.
The man in the doorway gave an ugly laugh that was meant for customers
and
clerks alike. As they cowered, he brought his other hand into sight and flung
a
suitcase in front of him. As it slapped the floor, the suitcase came open. He
gestured with his gun, then ordered in a hard-toned voice:
"Dump those trays! In it!"
Trembling clerks advanced between shrinking customers and dumped the
jewels
into the suitcase. Meanwhile, the tall man kept staring beyond them, toward
the
manager, who was shifting away from the vault.
The manager was trying to reach a switch that would signal an alarm
below,
but the harsh-toned invader detected his purpose and made a significant shift
of
the gun.
"This is a stick-up," he grated. "That means stick where you are, or it's
all up with you!"
He laughed harshly, either at his own idea of a jest, or the ludicrous
way
in which the manager halted in a corner, just short of the alarm switch. By
then, the clerks had finished pouring the gems into the suitcase. They closed
the suitcase and pushed it toward the man with the gun.
Instead of stooping, as the manager hoped he would, the tall robber
remained erect. With one foot, he hooked the bag; despite its heaviness, he
scuffed it deftly through the doorway into the hall.
THE clerks saw then that he had two companions waiting for him. Both were
hard-looking men, who wore rough clothes and caps; each had a revolver in his
fist. The chief robber - he was wearing an overcoat - ordered one of the hard
men to pick up the suitcase, which the fellow did. Then:
"What about the elevator?" queried the tall robber. "Did you ring for
it?"
"Not yet. I've got twenty seconds more -"
"Then go ahead and ring it," interrupted the tall man. "I'll join you,
while Jim here" - he gestured toward the other thuggish gunner - "is keeping
these boobs covered."
The next twenty seconds were long-drawn for the helpless men who faced
three guns. The hallway was dim, for the crooks had unscrewed the lights near
the door of the Coastal Jewelry Exchange.
At first, no one stirred, not even when the tall man, after a sneer that
told time was up, turned and walked off toward the elevator; for Jim, the
remaining thug, still had customers and clerks at the point of his gun.
Then, from behind the counter in the corner, the manager began a cautious
move. He was just out of Jim's sight, which he regarded as very fortunate,
since
the tall man in the overcoat had not ordered his henchman to move forward
through the doorway. To avoid attracting Jim's notice, the manager edged very
slowly toward the alarm switch, positive that he could press it before the
elevator arrived.
The bell wouldn't sound up here in the office. It would be heard only in
the lobby on the ground floor. It wasn't possible that crooks could have
tampered with the wiring of the alarm, which had been placed deep in the
building wall. This robbery, which crooks believed to be practically
accomplished, would certainly end in a surprise.
So it would, but the surprise would come to those who tried to thwart
this
clockwork crime. The man who was engineering it was a Time Master who
preferred
to appear in person, so that his schemes could be kept to perfect schedule.
This
was work arranged beforehand by the Time Master.
Nothing could retard such crime, unless the challenge itself came from
the
realm of the unexpected, delivered by someone whose tactics could match the
Time
Master's own!
CHAPTER II
THE CLOCK TICKS
DOWNSTAIRS, all was quiet in the lobby of the office building, while
crooks
were so deliberately gathering loot from the Coastal Jewelry Exchange. The
detectives posted there were still on duty, and would be until the office
manager arrived from the tenth floor; but they had relaxed their normal vigil.
They were supposed to watch suspicious persons who entered the building,
but they expected none so late in the day. Such details had not escaped the
Time
Master when he originally mapped the raid that he had made. The lack of
vigilance by the detectives, a customary thing so late in the day, was one
reason why the Time Master had made a last-minute appearance.
There were two elevators in the building, and they operated on a very
simple system. When one went up, the other came down, and vice versa. They
were
under the direction of an elevator starter who wore a natty uniform and was
something of a watchman in his own right; but he, like the private dicks, was
a
trifle careless.
When he watched the moving dial above an elevator and saw it near the
second floor, coming down, he took it for granted that the car would arrive in
a
few seconds, so he invariably signaled for the other car to go up. This was
another little detail that fitted into the checkered pattern of the Time
Master's plan.
The near elevator, which happened to be coming down, had made a stop at
the
sixth floor long enough to take on three or four passengers. Instead of
receiving three or four, it had really taken only one, a man who happened to
be
loaded with some sample cases from a wholesale bookseller's.
Watching the dial of the near elevator, the starter saw it approach the
second floor, so he signaled for the far elevator to go up.
Hardly had the far elevator started, before the near elevator stopped at
the second floor, and for some peculiar reason, remained there.
Of course, the starter was annoyed, but did not feel himself to blame.
Someone on the tenth floor had been buzzing steadily for an elevator, and he
didn't care to keep people waiting too long. But while the starter was still
wondering why one elevator had stalled at the second floor, something
startling
occurred.
A big alarm began to ring with a clangorous peal that echoed throughout
the
lobby. The two detectives sprang from the doorway and shouted at the elevator
starter, though he couldn't hear them in the deafening clangor.
He knew what they wanted: an elevator. He knew why they wanted it,
because
the bell that was stirring the entire neighborhood happened to be the burglar
alarm in the office of the Coastal Jewelry Exchange.
Helplessly, the starter pointed to the dials. One elevator was
approaching
the tenth floor, the other was stalled at the second. Not wanting to wait
while
one car completed its full trip and came down again, the dicks took the most
obvious course. They dashed for the stairs leading to the second floor, in
order
to get the car that had stopped there.
They found the reason for the delay. A man with sample cases had been
leaving the elevator, when one case had broken open, scattering books in the
elevator and on the floor outside. The operator was trying to help the book
agent gather up his wares, and both had become excited when they heard the
brazen furor of the alarm from downstairs.
Of course, the detectives couldn't waste time. They simply hustled the
book
agent out of the car with his cases, kicked a few loose books after him, and
hopped into the elevator. One dick was slamming the door, while the other
jostled the operator and told him to shoot the elevator to the top.
In their own haste, the detectives were forgetting that the other
elevator
had already reached the tenth floor.
Naturally, the operator in that car hadn't heard the alarm, for his door
was closed and he was far up the shaft when the clanging began. But he did
notice that something was wrong when he opened the door on the tenth.
There was no one waiting for the car, and some of the hallway lights were
out. Peering along the hall, the elevator man saw something else.
Outside the office of Coastal Jewelry, he saw the steady figure of Jim,
holding the revolver that controlled the clerks and customers inside. With his
rough clothes and tilted cap, Jim looked very tough. The elevator man
hesitated.
He was taking a long chance.
JUST past the outer corner of the elevator was a man who looked like
Jim's
twin, except that he was in motion. He had his revolver raised as a cudgel and
was ready to slug the elevator operator when the Time Master gave the word.
About that time, the elevator man gathered his nerve and began to creep
along the hall. His idea was to flank Jim, tackle the fellow, and count on the
crowd in the office to be with him. A bold plan, but far less risky than it
seemed. By creeping toward Jim, the elevator man put himself away from
immediate
harm.
Stepping from beyond the elevator, the tall Time Master nudged the
slugger
who had moved ahead of him. Silently, the two slid into the elevator, where
the
Time Master silently closed the door. The elevator being his chief objective,
he
had spared the operator purely as a matter of convenience.
How the fellow would fare when he encountered Jim at the door of the
jewelry exchange, or what might happen to Jim, were matters that did not
concern
the Time Master.
The tall crook was carrying the suitcase with its load of pelf. He set it
on the floor beside him, placed one hand upon the starter lever, while with
the
other he drew a watch from his pocket.
It was a very special watch, with a large second hand that revolved about
the outer dial. It also had an inner dial, actuated by a stop mechanism.
Checking, the Time Master noted that he was running slightly ahead of
schedule,
which, to his precise way, could be almost as bad as being behind time.
In glancing downward at the watch, the Time Master kept his face turned
so
that even his thuggish companion could not notice it. All that was really
discernible was his hair. It caught the elevator light directly and revealed
streaks of gray amid the sleekness; something that would not have been
noticeable ordinarily.
The Time Master had put away his gun; observing the fact, his pal started
to do the same. Though the Time Master's gaze was downward, he noted the act.
"Wait, Marty" he said coolly. "You may need it. Be ready, in case Bert
requires your assistance. Remember your orders: you are to join Shiff. You
should reach him just when the police cars arrive -"
The Time Master broke off for two reasons. His watch was recording the
time
he wanted; in addition, he could hear the mad clatter of an elevator coming up
through the next shaft.
Releasing the starting lever, the tall crook let his own elevator drop,
carrying himself and Marty to the ground.
As they descended, Marty edged forward with his gun, a pleased look on
his
hardened face. The crook was anticipating a chance to use the weapon when they
reached the first floor. Like the Time Master, he knew that the detectives
were
coming up in the other car; that only one man would block their path: the
elevator starter on the ground floor. Marty's only regret was that Bert might
take a whack at the fellow first.
Bert was the phony book agent who had gotten off the other elevator at
the
second floor.
Things had gone well with Bert, exactly as the Time Master had promised
that they would. The detectives had been in too much of a hurry to stop and
question him. Nor had they wanted him along as supercargo on their trip to the
tenth floor. There was no way in which Bert could have participated in the
trouble on the tenth, so they naturally regarded him as bona fide.
So Bert was, in his own special way. He was a genuine killer, who handled
a
gun in professional style. Disregarding the sample cases that he had brought
down on the elevator, Bert had stolen to the stairway that led down to the
first
floor. He was giving his drawn revolver an expectant juggle as he watched the
elevator starter, who was at the bottom of the stairs.
Bells were still jangling madly, and the starter, watching the dials of
the
elevators, had remembered that he was a watchman, too.
Noting that the far car was coming down, at last, the starter saw his own
chance to go up and help trap the robber on the tenth. He had drawn his own
gun,
but it looked toy-like compared to Bert's. Nor did the starter have it ready
for
anyone who might come from the elevator, since he expected to see only the
operator.
He was due for a surprise, in the shape of another sizable gun, when
Marty
stepped out from the arriving car.
As for matters on the tenth, no new hands were needed there. Things were
already under complete control. The detectives, arriving in their elevator,
had
looked along the gloomy hall to see Jim still covering the Coastal office.
They
also saw the intrepid elevator operator creeping in on the crook.
Unlike Jim, the operator heard the slight clang of the elevator door,
gave
a quick look backward and spied the detectives.
The operator beckoned; the dicks raised their guns. With a yell
calculated
to confuse Jim, the bold elevator man made a low, rapid dive straight for the
huddly thug. The shout brought a response from within the office, where
taut-nerved clerks and customers had reached their limit of endurance.
Wildly, they drove for Jim, as the crook twisted in the clutch of the
first
attacker. Their surge fairly overwhelmed the thug, sending his gun flying from
his hand. The two detectives hurled their weight upon the pile-up, poking
their
guns through the mass of bodies, to find the burly form beneath.
"I've got him!"
The manager of the Coastal Jewelry Exchange heard the triumphant chorus
as
he pressed the big light switch. Unpiling men were clutching their mobster
captive, dragging him into the light, exultant because they had overcome one
of
the Time Master's squad. But their exuberance faded when they took a good look
at Jim in the strong light from the office.
They had gone to too much trouble in that capture. Jim was nothing but a
clothing dummy from the wholesale place across the hall! Even his garb showed
differently in the light. The suit was a fancy one, part of the clothing
company's new line; the cap, too, was quite sporty.
Marty had rigged the dummy in such apparel, and had chosen a similar
outfit
for himself. Marty, who had been a customer in the clothing place when it
closed, had simply ducked out of sight when the office force left.
With a half-hour to wait, Marty had prepared his dummy twin not only with
clothes, but with an imitation gun, to be ready when the Time Master arrived.
Marty had moved up when his chief appeared, dragging "Jim" along with him.
Even
there, the ruse had not ended.
The Time Master had purposely placed Jim where the dummy, even if real,
could not see the Coastal manager sneaking for the alarm switch. Not only had
trapped men been bluffed by the dummy, the fake thug, "Jim," had been used as
a
decoy to bring up the detectives who blocked the Time Master's path below!
CHAPTER III
THE DOUBLE BLUFF
IT was too late now for those about to overtake the Time Master.
Similarly,
it was just too soon for arriving police to trap him before he left the
building. The Time Master knew that the alarm was either connected with the
nearest precinct, or that word had gone there promptly.
But he had figured it all in his calculations. He knew that police would
not arrive in less than five minutes, and the Time Master had allowed exactly
four.
The only other element was people on the street, and it was negligible.
The
Time Master knew their tendency to shunt away from any trouble. The strident
alarm was the very sort that would hasten their departure.
In fact, the street had started to clear with the first clang of the
discordant bell. Like pedestrians, automobiles were hustling from the block.
There was one exception.
The clearing of the street opened traffic for a taxicab that was already
on
its way to that particular address. Instead of deterring the driver, the alarm
bell attracted him.
Whipping up to the gloomy curb in front of the building, the driver made
a
momentary pause to drop a passenger, then, at a sharp order from that same
passenger, the cab shot around the corner. The stranger from the cab made
quick
strides into the beleaguered building.
This newcomer was a creature that darkness, itself, might have conjured.
He
was clad entirely in black, his garments consisting of a slouch hat, flowing
cloak, and thin gloves. One of his fists held a drawn automatic, of .45
caliber,
a weapon that indicated its ability by its very size.
No better fighter could have arrived at a more timely moment. This being
from darkness was The Shadow.
Superfighter who battled crime, The Shadow had somehow learned of
intended
robbery at the Coastal Jewelry Exchange. Though delayed until after crime had
been accomplished, The Shadow was arriving at a moment that was even better.
He
had reached the place just as the Time Master's elevator landed at the ground
floor!
The events that The Shadow saw were like a silent pantomime, in which he
immediately joined. Silent, because no other sounds could be heard above the
continuous clatter of the alarm.
First, The Shadow saw the elevator starter, gun in hand, step toward the
door of the arriving car. The door must have slashed hard when it opened, but
its action was rubbery, noiseless.
Out from the car sprang Marty in cap and clothes that, in the
well-lighted
lobby, looked too fancy for a thug's attire. But Marty's hard face, the gun
that
he handled, were proof enough as to his ilk. Marty didn't shoot; his job was
to
scare the uniformed man away from the elevator. He succeeded.
With a wild shriek that couldn't be heard, the starter dived for the
nearest shelter - the stairway to the second floor. The Shadow couldn't get a
look clear up to the top, but he guessed what was on the second floor. Totally
disregarding Marty, The Shadow fired as far up the stairway as he could, not
just once, but again.
Marty didn't even hear those shots, nor did Bert. But the latter
witnessed
their effect. In eager style, Bert had been thrusting himself down the steps
to
meet the fleeing elevator starter. Before Bert could shoot, he saw a bullet
crack the marble two steps below; then, still coming downward, Bert barely
caught himself as another shot pinged almost at his feet.
Madly, Bert tried to turn and go up. The Shadow, starting in from the
door,
saw the motions of the thug's feet, but couldn't fire again, for the elevator
starter was reaching Bert. Remembering that he, too, had a gun, the man in
uniform tried to use it, by taking a slug at Bert while grabbing him with the
other hand.
Swinging full about, Bert came reeling down the stairs, locked with his
adversary. His gun thrust across the other's shoulder, Bert stabbed shots for
the outer door, where he knew the real opposition was. He didn't see The
Shadow,
nor could Bert's shots have found the cloaked fighter, for they were
hopelessly
wide. But Marty spotted the direction of Bert's aim and turned. He spied The
Shadow, too late.
The Shadow had started a lunge toward Marty. It was needed, that quick
move, as a protection against Bert, later. If Bert overwhelmed the elevator
starter, as was likely because the crook had the advantage of a downward
drive,
the odds would immediately change.
Bert would have a human shield, and could fire with impunity against The
Shadow. So The Shadow was obtaining a buffer of his own in the person of
Marty.
With a wide swing of one arm, The Shadow sent Marty's gun hand upward,
the
mobster's shots therewith picking filigree from the ornamental ceiling of the
lobby. Feinting a swing with his own gun, The Shadow made Marty duck around;
immediately, the crook's gun hand was pinned in back of him. Back to The
Shadow,
he was clawing with his free hand; but Marty was finding only air.
Meanwhile Bert, finishing a tumble upon the prisoner he held, was about
to
add a gun slug to his victim's head, when he saw The Shadow clutching Marty.
Promptly, Bert used the better course - of hauling his half-dazed prisoner up
in
front of him as a protection. Then, as the fellow sagged away, Bert, more by
accident than design, made a bold thrust.
Driving straight forward, he shoved the captive ahead of him, hoping that
through a physical clash Marty might be relieved. Bodies met in a sudden
tangle,
Marty clutching one-handed at the elevator starter, Bert trying to get his gun
past both their heads to slug or shoot The Shadow.
Bert might as well have tried to catch a chunk of night and put a label
on
it. There was a swirl of darkness as The Shadow wheeled, taking three others
with him. He still gripped Marty, who now clutched the starter, and who, in
his
turn was in Bert's grasp.
Their figures looked like cog-wheels in a machine that The Shadow had set
in motion. The Shadow was coming right around, dropping Marty to get at Bert,
knowing that Marty wouldn't have time to profit by the shift.
A gun stabbed from the elevator. Its report couldn't be heard, but The
Shadow spotted its flash and felt the whiz of the bullet past his cheek. This
was intervention from a new source, instigated by a foe who hadn't been
included
in The Shadow's mental picture.
The Time Master was taking a hand at a very vital moment. He had almost
reached the limit of his well-planned schedule.
The shot broke up the whirling group. With a drive, The Shadow sent the
elevator starter sprawling from between the crooks who clutched him. Following
through, The Shadow took a long leap across the tumbling form in uniform,
toward
the door beyond, where he wheeled suddenly, intending to fire back at Bert and
Marty.
However, those two, inspired by the Time Master's act, had been quick
enough to come along. Hooking them as they tried to slug him with their guns,
The Shadow carried them right out through the door and sprawled them to the
sidewalk in tumbles that made them lose their guns.
In that twist, The Shadow saw a police car tearing in from the next
block,
its siren faintly audible, since The Shadow was away from the immediate
clangor
of the alarm bell. Counting upon the police to suppress Marty and Bert, The
Shadow started back into the lobby to settle the Time Master, whose gun stab
he
had seen, but not the man himself.
Had the Time Master paused to take a shot at the recumbent elevator
starter, he would have met his own doom, for The Shadow, coming from darkness
again, was no target at all. But the Time Master hadn't waited.
Carrying his bagload of jewels, he had run past the stairway, toward a
door
at the rear of the lobby. It was a metal door, locked at nights as an
assurance
against marauders. Its purpose worked in reverse.
The door hadn't as yet been locked, so the Time Master went through. The
shots that The Shadow spurted after him would have found the fugitive through
any ordinary door, but the steel barrier simply bashed the bullets, in return
for the dents they gave it.
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THETIMEMASTERbyMaxwellGrantAsoriginallypublishedin"TheShadowMagazine,"April1,1941.TheTimeMaster...andmasterofeviltoo-untilhemetTheShadowinabitterclashforsupremacy!CHAPTERIHALF-PASTFIVETherewerethreecustomersinTony'sBarberShop,whichwasnotunusualforthistimeofday.Itwasafterfiveo'clock,andtheshopwasloca...

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