Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 115 - Seven Drops Of Blood

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THE SEVEN DROPS OF BLOOD
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," December 1, 1936.
Seven priceless rubies; seven ruthless killers to combat - but it was The
Shadow's unfaltering sixth sense that led him, step by step, to The Seven
Drops
Of Blood.
CHAPTER I
DEALERS OF DEATH
SIRENS shrilled along Fifth Avenue. Their whine rose above the hubbub of
the heavy traffic, where snorting taxicabs were poking their way past
automobiles and shooting in front of lumbering busses. It was quarter past
eight in the evening, a time when through traffic chose Fifth Avenue in
preference to the jammed routes near Times Square.
The splitting sirens were answered by the whistles of traffic officers,
who motioned cars toward the curbs. Gawkers atop the double-decked busses
craned to watch a pair of motorcycles zigzag through the traffic. Behind came
an armored truck, manned by uniformed policemen; another pair of motorcycle
cops formed a rear guard.
The cavalcade roared southward; reached a cross street and swung left.
Before the traffic officer could blow his whistle to start cars moving, a big
limousine detached itself from the congestion and sped after the convoyed
truck. The traffic cop started to blow his whistle, then grinned instead,
deciding that the limousine had not violated the left turn rule.
Half a block east of Fifth Avenue, the limousine stopped just in back of
the halted armored truck. On the right was a pretentious doorway that bore a
large sign:
KIRK PETTIGREW
Private Auctions
Two plain-clothes men were giving the nod to unload the armored truck.
They hesitated when they saw the limousine; watched the big car while the
chauffeur opened the rear door.
A lone passenger stepped to the curb. He was clad in evening clothes; his
well-formed face carried a masklike expression. He was tall, leisurely in
action. Apparently oblivious to the police, he produced a briefcase from the
limousine and waved for the chauffeur to depart.
The car rolled away. The plain-clothes men nodded anew to the officers
who
guarded the truck. Meanwhile, the tall arrival strolled through a storelike
room
that formed the front of the auction house. He reached a heavy door that bore
the sign:
AUCTION GALLERY
Another pair of plain-clothes men let him pass: for his appearance
required no question. The tall visitor entered a long room where two dozen
people were seated. At each side of the room were curtained doorways. Each of
these was guarded by a detective. There were two more doorways at the far end
of the gallery. They were also curtained, each guarded by a stolid detective.
Between the end doors was a platform, where a wizened-faced auctioneer stood.
An attendant approached the calm-faced arrival and asked for the
invitation card required as admittance ticket. The visitor supplied one that
bore the name "Lamont Cranston." The attendant carried the card to the
platform; the auctioneer read it and nodded. The attendant dropped the card in
a square-shaped platinum box. While this was taking place, a stocky,
swarthy-faced man approached the new arrival and spoke the greeting:
"Good evening, Mr. Cranston."
A SLIGHT smile showed upon the fixed lips of Lamont Cranston. Keen eyes
displayed a momentary flash. The swarthy-faced man was Acting Inspector Joe
Cardona, of the New York police. His presence indicated that he was in charge
of the law's forces.
"Good evening, inspector," came the calm, even tone of Cranston. "Quite a
surprise to meet you here. Do you actually expect trouble at this auction? Or
are you following one of your hunches?"
Cardona grinned.
"You're a friend of Commissioner Weston," he said, "so you ought to know
how little regard he has for any of my hunches. Since you know the
commissioner, I guess I can tell you what this is all about."
Cranston's calm face showed mild interest. Cardona looked about, saw that
no one was close by, then spoke in a low tone.
"It was a tip-off," he informed. "From The Shadow. I got one; so did the
commissioner. They tallied. If you ask me, I'd say that The Shadow was acting
on a hunch. But if you'd ever heard that voice of his over the telephone - an
uncanny sort of whisper - you wouldn't argue matters."
Cardona turned to watch the main doorway. It had opened; police from the
armored truck were bringing in display cases, carrying them to the platform.
The smile on the lips of Cranston showed a slight increase, and with good
reason.
This personage whom both Commissioner Weston and Inspector Cardona knew
as
Lamont Cranston was actually The Shadow. A master sleuth, who aided the law in
its battles against crime, The Shadow used the identity of Cranston to keep
close to the activities of the police.
Neither Weston nor Cardona had ever guessed the double part that The
Shadow played. Sometimes, though, one or the other gained inklings of The
Shadow's plans and purposes. Joe Cardona, for one, had made a good guess
tonight. Joe thought that The Shadow had sent a tip-off purely on a hunch.
Cardona was right; that was why The Shadow smiled.
The magnitude of tonight's auction was something that the law had
overlooked. The little, withered man on the platform was Kirk Pettigrew, whose
size was no measurement of his importance in his chosen line. Pettigrew was
the
biggest auctioneer in New York. He specialized in the sale of jewels, thought
nothing of auctioning off half a million dollars' worth at one time.
Police were always present at Pettigrew's auctions; but a few competent
bluecoats and a pair of detectives had been considered sufficient in the past.
In watching announcements of Pettigrew's scheduled auctions, The Shadow had
observed that the present one was to involve more than two million dollars in
gems. The Shadow knew that crooks could easily gain the same news.
Pettigrew, accustomed to the routine of auctions, had not realized the
danger. The police, expecting the auctioneer to inform them if he needed extra
guards, had not been aware of the situation. The Shadow's tip-off - whether
founded on known menace, or merely given as a hunch - was so coldly logical
that it had awakened the law to prompt action.
"TWO million in jewels," confided Cardona to The Shadow, while police
were
placing the showcases under Pettigrew's direction. "Yet Pettigrew was going
through with it, just like any other auction. He intended to have the jewels
here an hour beforehand, with only two men to watch them. I changed his plans
for him."
Cardona paused, while the outside officers left the platform and departed
by the main door. The four detectives at the curtained doorways retained their
posts.
"We stowed the jewels in the bank vault," explained Cardona. "Pettigrew
came in here alone, to greet the customers when they arrived. He told them all
that the gems would arrive later. I showed up just after eight o'clock,
bringing a squad of eight men with me. I posted four outside, four in here.
Then I sent word for the armored truck to start from the bank."
The Shadow looked about, eyed Cardona's arrangement with approval. His
eyes took on a far-away gaze, as though wondering what lay beyond the
velvet-curtained doorways where detectives were on guard.
Cardona noted the questioning expression that showed itself on the
features of Cranston. Anxious to gain the full approval of the commissioner's
friend, Cardona produced a penciled diagram.
The chart showed the auction gallery - a long, rectangular room, with
passages on three sides. Those at the left and right could be reached by the
doorways at the sides. The third passage was beyond the far end of the auction
gallery. The two doors past the platform opened into it.
"This place used to be two buildings," stated Cardona, pointing to the
diagram. "Pettigrew made one place out of them; but he couldn't alter the old
hallways on account of permanent walls. As soon as I came here, earlier in the
evening, I saw that those three passages would be good spots for crooks to
hide
in. So I inspected them.
"They're all walled up and empty. The only way to get directly into them
is through an outer door off from the back passage. That door is plate steel;
it has three automatic locks on it, with special keys. Not only that, but the
only place it leads into is a courtyard that has all solid walls. Crooks
couldn't come from there. If they tried to get away through the courtyard,
they'd be bottled."
The Shadow nodded. People were crowding up to the platform to view the
exhibit of gems. The Shadow strolled forward. Cardona kept at his elbow,
adding
in an undertone:
"Just to be sure of everything, I left a detective at the steel door,
after we'd tried the keys and found the locks O.K. Pettigrew only has two sets
of keys. He gave me one and kept the other. The man I left at the steel door
was Lacey, one of the best I've got. He has stayed out of sight. After I
stationed Lacey, I came here and told Pettigrew to get ready for the auction.
He stayed in this room until I moved in with the squad. Lacey is at his post."
THEY reached the platform. The Shadow, though he seemed but casually
interested in all that Cardona had said, had actually considered every detail.
He was satisfied that the law had been thorough in its precautions. That
settled, The Shadow turned his attention to the displayed gems.
Kirk Pettigrew, wizened even to the top of his bald head, was beaming as
he pointed out the magnificent gems that he intended soon to auction. He was
also eyeing the customers present, observing that they included some of the
wealthiest persons in New York.
There were four large, glass-topped cases in the display. Each was
divided
into velvet-lined sections. One case displayed a resplendent array of diamonds
set in pendants, necklaces and brooches. These were from various collections;
some of the pieces were of huge value and they stood out conspicuously among
the lesser items.
Two cases contained gems of other sorts. They, like the first, had prize
pieces that were easily identified. The Shadow recognized a celebrated topaz
that had once garnished a king's scepter. He saw clusters of amethysts and
emeralds. It was the fourth display, however, that commanded chief attention.
Every item in that collection was a rarity. Pettigrew called attention to
a solitaire ring with a fifteen-carat canary diamond. He indicated a platinum
brooch that contained a clustered design of emeralds. He paused to announce
the
merits of a sapphire bracelet.
"Observe those blue stones," announced Pettigrew, in a wheezy tone.
"There
are twenty-four in all - every one a perfect match for the other. A marvelous
item for a collector! I can assure all prospective purchasers that it would be
impossible to duplicate this bracelet. This is from the De Leon collection; it
was thirty years before the full two dozen sapphires could be matched."
No one was listening to Pettigrew. All eyes were upon the center of the
showcase. There lay a sight beside which the bracelet and its small sapphires
seemed trivial. The object was a six-pointed star of gold. Each point of the
star was set with a massive ruby; a seventh ruddy stone adorned the center.
Those jewels gleamed a blood-red crimson. Each showed a sparkling depth that
captivated the eye.
Pettigrew saw where interest was centered. His wheezy tone became a
dramatic one.
"THE Seven Drops of Blood," declaimed the auctioneer. "Once the prized
possession of the Maharajah of Bolopore. Each ruby, so the legend tells us,
cost the life of a prince who owned it. Hence the stones were known as the
Seven Drops of Blood. This unmatched star of Oriental workmanship adorned the
royal turban of the maharajah.
"The assassination of the maharajah produced such political upheavals
that
British intervention was necessary to place the proper successor on the
throne.
Finding his treasury rifled, the new ruler of Bolopore was forced to sell the
Seven Drops of Blood in order to pay the costs of intervention. The ruby star
was finally purchased by Tobias Berkland. After years of ownership, he has
placed it on sale."
As he finished speaking, Pettigrew waved a withered hand toward a tall,
elderly man who was standing near the platform. The Shadow recognized Tobias
Berkland, a retired oil magnate. With Berkland was his daughter, Lenore, a
former debutante whose portraits had often appeared in the society columns of
the New York newspapers.
Tobias Berkland was a man of dominating appearance. His profile was
sharp,
almost eaglelike. His high-bridged nose supported a pair of spectacles,
through
which, observers could see the glint of cold, gray eyes. Lenore bore a
striking
resemblance to her father; but the feminine softness of her face gave her a
distinctive beauty. Her sharp profile actually added to her appearance.
Lenore was speaking, as attention turned in her direction. The Shadow was
close by; as buzzing conversation ceased, he heard her words.
"Lawrence may be here at any moment," the girl was saying. "Since I have
his card, he will not be admitted here -"
"Don't worry about Woolford," broke in Berkland. "Speak to your Uncle
Glen
when he arrives. He will see that Woolford is admitted."
The name of Lawrence Woolford was one that The Shadow recognized.
Woolford
was a young society man who was engaged to Lenore Berkland. The uncle to whom
Berkland referred was a man named Glen Mogridge. He, too, had been in the
news.
As brother-in-law of Tobias Berkland, Mogridge had recently been made
president
of a subsidiary oil company of Berkland's.
Berkland's annoyance concerning Woolford was explained a moment later. As
persons began to turn away from the platform, the sharp-faced oil magnate
stepped up to speak to Pettigrew. Lenore remained beside the platform, looking
toward the main doorway, hoping to see her uncle, Glen Mogridge.
As The Shadow and Cardona were starting to find seats, they paused at the
sound of Pettigrew's gavel. With the others, they looked toward the platform.
"I have an announcement before the auction begins," wheezed Pettigrew.
"Mr. Berkland informs me that today he accepted an offer for his rubies.
Therefore, the Seven Drops of Blood will not be auctioned. For the benefit of
those who are interested, I may mention that the rubies were purchased by the
International Association of Jewelers, for display at their coming exposition.
The price set for the seven rubies was three hundred and fifty thousand
dollars."
AWED voices buzzed about the auction room. Amid the murmur, The Shadow
and
Cardona walked to the side of the gallery, toward the nearest empty seats.
Their
destination was not far from the curtained doorway at the left side of the
room.
They halted, however, before they reached the spot that they had chosen.
Above the buzz came a sharp report; it was a gunshot. The Shadow and
Cardona wheeled. Even as they spun about, a second gunburst followed the
first.
They saw the source of the fire; they viewed its murderous result.
Standing in the rear doorway to the left of the auctioneer's platform was
a man dressed in baggy Hindu attire. His face was concealed by a heavy black
beard; his head was topped by a brilliant turban. Because of the man's attire,
it was almost impossible to gauge his height. It was certain only that he was
of more than medium build.
A glove covered the bearded man's right hand. That glove was fingerless;
but his fingers, themselves, were out of view. One was hooked to the trigger
of
the smoking revolver that the killer carried; the others were hidden beyond
the
handle of the weapon. Knuckles alone were visible. Their hue could not be
determined in the dull light by the curtained doorway.
The bearded entrant had fired his first shot point-blank for Kirk
Pettigrew. The withered auctioneer was slumping to the floor of the platform.
The killer had sent his second bullet toward the attendant to whom The Shadow
had given his invitation card. The attendant was beside the platform; he, too,
had been an easy target. He was sagging when The Shadow saw him.
In less than two seconds, a killer had delivered double death. His gun
was
still pointed toward the platform; his eyes, peering through narrowed slits,
were beadily viewing the wealth displayed there. The killer was faced by a
score of witnesses, among them armed representatives of the law. He seemed
contemptuous of their presence, and with good reason.
The bearded man had stepped in from the curtained doorway. Through the
draperies behind him bulged the muzzle of a machine gun, trained on the throng
that filled the auction room. From the other rear curtain, on the right side
of
the platform, loomed the barrel of a second machine gun.
One false move would mean death - not only for the individual who
attempted it, but for every person in the room. Dealers of death had arrived
to
take command; and among those who stood helpless before their machine guns was
The Shadow!
CHAPTER II
VANISHED WEALTH
WHATEVER the full purpose of the crooks who had entered, it was certain
that they did not intend further slaughter, unless necessary. The Shadow
recognized that fact the moment he viewed the killer. Unconsciously, the
bearded murderer had lowered his revolver after its second recoil.
The death of Pettigrew and the attendant had left the way clear to the
platform. Berkland still stood there; his daughter was near him below the
platform, but they were on the side away from the jewels. Furthermore, the
sudden fate of the auctioneer and his assistant had stunned the others
present.
Hands were coming up instinctively, among them those of Joe Cardona and
the four detectives. They, like the rest, had been caught completely off
guard.
In their vigil, they had posted themselves too far inward from the curtained
doorways. They were covered by the machine guns.
The Shadow had passed the detective at the side door. Joe Cardona was
between The Shadow and the platform. Nevertheless, The Shadow let his
briefcase
slide to the floor behind the detective. In the calm fashion of Cranston, he
raised his hands. A machine gun was pointed in his direction. The Shadow did
not care to be the person who might start a quick-triggered gunner on a
campaign of slaughter.
If no visible resistance should be offered, crooks would depart without
using their machine guns. Their leader had chanced two revolver shots,
believing that the sound would not carry through the thick door that formed
the
main entrance of the auction gallery. But once the machine guns began to
rattle,
matters would be different. A whole squad of outside police would hear. That
was
why The Shadow reasoned that the machine guns were intended chiefly as a
threat.
Studying the bearded murderer, The Shadow was impressed by the
effectiveness of the man's attire. It was impossible to tell whether or not
the
murderer was actually a Hindu or a masquerader. The Shadow decided, however,
that the outfit was a disguise; The Shadow's reason was the bagginess of the
attire. It looked like the sort of garb that could be put on or discarded
without a moment of unnecessary delay.
Proof of The Shadow's opinion came as the murderer stepped toward the
platform. It was then that the machine gunners edged into view, to make room
for another pair behind them. Like their leader, the men with the machine guns
were attired as Hindus; but their garb lacked the smoothness of their chief's.
Their beards showed false in the light. Their ungloved hands were obviously
stained with a hastily applied dye that glistened too conspicuously.
The bearded killer did not seem to worry over the fact that his men had
revealed themselves as disguised ruffians. He had four machine guns backing
him, instead of two. Of the submachine type, those guns could be easily
handled
by the individuals who held them. Moreover, another pair of faces showed in
reserve; one at each door. There were six bearded followers behind the master
crook.
THRUSTING his revolver beneath the girdle of his robe, the murderer
stepped upon the platform. Pettigrew's body had stilled; the fake Hindu shoved
one of the auctioneer's hands away from his path, using a shuffling foot
motion
for the deed. He stopped at the display cases, wrenched the first one open.
With a shoveling motion that kept his fingers from view, the crook
scooped
up masses of diamonds and brought them from the case. He looked about for a
place to put them. He saw the platinum box that contained the special
invitation cards delivered by those who had come to the auction. The crook
poured the diamonds into the box; thrust his hand into the showcase and
scooped
out more gems.
Satisfied that he had plucked the items that had large value, the killer
wrenched open the second case and rifled it. He did the same with the third
case, then turned to the fourth.
An awed gasp came from witnesses; the killer paused to glare savagely.
Mumbles died. Men and women shrank back, fearful that the killer would give
the
order for the machine guns to start blasting.
With gloating air, the murderer picked out the contents of the last case.
Viewers saw the solitaire with the canary diamond; they glimpsed the emerald
brooch. A bluish flash followed as the murderer added the sapphire-studded De
Leon bracelet to his collection. He paused to eye a final trophy, then thrust
his hand into the case.
Up came the murderer's clenched fist. Gleaming from his fisted fingers
was
the ruby star. The killer clamped it to the front of his turban, then lowered
his hand. From the turban gleamed the Seven Drops of Blood. With the proudness
of a Hindu potentate, the killer faced the helpless crowd before him and
grated
an ugly laugh from the depths of his black beard.
Disguised henchmen leered from their doorways. As their leader turned his
head, they could see the sparkle of the bloodlike trophy. Though they held
their machine guns leveled, the supporting crooks let their eyes rest upon the
Seven Drops of Blood, those hoodooed gems that had again changed hands through
death.
The Shadow had awaited this one moment, from the instant that he had
known
it would be due. It was his signal for action. It meant that attention would
be
briefly diverted from his inconspicuous figure. Standing at the very back of
the onlooking throng, The Shadow had his opportunity.
Though an automatic rested within a special pocket of his full-dress
coat,
The Shadow did not reach for the gun. He knew how futile attack would be; if
he
should try to down one pair of machine gunners, the other two would break
loose
with rapid fire. The action that The Shadow planned was a silent shift. He
made
it in perfect fashion.
His tall form, slowly lessening, sank crouched from view behind Cardona
and the detective. Huddled, The Shadow twisted to the left. With edging
motion,
he thrust one foot to the curtained doorway on his left. His body followed.
For the moment, he was fully in view. Men from the rear doors would have
seen him, had they been watching keenly the spot where he moved. Eyes,
however,
were away. When one machine gunner chanced to glance toward Cardona and the
detective, all that he saw was the faint rustle of the curtains.
For a moment, the gunner fidgeted with the trigger of the submachine gun.
He nudged the bearded crook who stood beside him. Both henchmen eyed the
curtains suspiciously. The rustle had ceased.
The fake Hindus dropped their suspicions. They concentrated on the massed
throng. Neither saw the hand that crept from beneath the curtain, to move
under
the fringed edge of an Oriental rug. The Shadow clutched his briefcase, drew
it
back along the same path.
WITHIN the darkness of the side passage, The Shadow quickly prepared
himself for the part of lone defender. From the briefcase, he whipped black
cloak and slouch hat, donned the garments in the gloom. Close by the curtains,
he could hear a sharp click from the auction room. The murderer had closed the
lid of the large platinum box. He was ready for departure with the swag.
Moving along the passage, The Shadow neared the end. There he turned; he
saw a shaft of light ahead. Thugs had spread open the nearer of the curtains
at
the rear doorway. Creeping forward in the darkness, The Shadow neared the
light.
Invisible in his approach, he was almost beside a guarding ruffian when he
stopped.
A figure lay sprawled upon the floor; The Shadow knew that it was Lacey,
the detective whom Cardona had assigned to guard the rear door. The Shadow saw
Lacey's hand extended, its fingers wide apart. He immediately guessed a detail
that Cardona had not mentioned.
Cardona had let Lacey keep the duplicate keys to the rear door. Someone -
perhaps the master murderer - had entered the auction gallery before Cardona
went on duty. That intruder had entered a passage without Pettigrew's notice
and had slugged Lacey. He had taken the detective's keys. Crooks could only
have come from the blind courtyard in the rear. That was the route by which
they must intend to depart.
The Shadow planned to let them go until they were clear of the auction
gallery. That was the only way in which he could insure the safety of the
helpless persons who stood thronged before the machine guns. Though he could
have delivered a flanking fire at this moment, The Shadow waited. He knew that
he could not down all the crooks at once.
There was a shift along the corridor. Crooks were backing through the far
door. The Shadow saw a closer stir that blocked the view beyond. Crooks were
retiring from the nearer door as well. The Shadow moved forward as two of the
three crooks hurried along the rear passage, away from him. The last of the
nearer trio came through.
As the man pulled his machine gun free of the curtains, he sidestepped.
He
tripped over Lacey's outstretched arm. Thrusting his hand toward the wall to
stop his fall, he clamped The Shadow's shoulder in the darkness. Eyes glared
from the bearded face. Covered lips started a snarl.
The cry finished abruptly as an automatic thudded downward. The Shadow's
gun found the side of the fake Hindu's turban. Only the thickness of the
thug's
headgear saved him from complete oblivion. The machine gun tumbled heavily
upon
Lacey's body, as the crook sagged groggily to the wall.
HOARSE whispers echoed along the passage, their words indistinguishable.
The Shadow gave a growled reply. It satisfied the thugs beyond. They thought
that their pal was announcing that he would join them. The darkness aided The
Shadow's ruse; fortunately, the curtains had dropped into place when the crook
sagged.
Though a machine gun lay at his disposal, The Shadow did not seize it. He
wanted to be sure that all was well in the auction room. Extending his
automatic, he carefully pressed back an edge of the curtain and peered toward
the platform. He saw everyone staring toward the rear door on the other side.
One machine gunner was still in the auction gallery, cagily covering
every
person in the room. He was the rear guard, stationed there until the others
had
gained a start. His task was to follow quickly, after a given interval.
Meanwhile, he was keeping his machine gun slowly on the move, warning everyone
to hold position. The Shadow saw a perfect opportunity to move along the
passage and cut off the crook from his comrades.
Before The Shadow could drop the curtain, there came an unexpected break.
The last crook edged forward, snarling as he viciously gestured with his
machine gun. His purpose was to make people quail; then would come his
retreat.
One man misunderstood the motive; that man was Tobias Berkland.
With a wild spring, Berkland leaped for the machine gun and grabbed the
barrel of the weapon, to thrust it upward. The crook wrenched away, tripped
Berkland with a sidethrust of his foot. The quick kick ended the oil magnate's
attack.
Instinctively, Cardona and the detectives shot their hands for their
guns.
They were too late. The barrel of the machine gun was swinging downward, more
rapidly than they could draw their revolvers. Men who thronged the auction
gallery pushed shrieking women to the floor, to save them from the doom that
seemed a certainty.
Only The Shadow could avert the slaughter that threatened. His plans of
stealthy pursuit were ended. Shouldering through the curtain which hid him
from
view, he sprang into the auction room, aiming for the far machine gunner.
From The Shadow's lips, hidden by the collar of his cloak, came a laugh
of
challenge that quivered his defiance to men of crime.
CHAPTER III
THE CLOSED TRAIL
THE SHADOW'S challenge came at a timely instant. It was delivered just as
the machine gunner's weapon reached firing level. It halted the finger that
was
about to pour a leaden hail into a clustered mass of hapless people.
No crook had ever ignored The Shadow's challenge. The bearded machine
gunner was no exception. To his maddened brain flashed one vital thought: When
he began his barrage, he would have to take out The Shadow ahead of all
others.
The crook wheeled, aimed his machine gun straight across the platform,
above the body of Kirk Pettigrew. As the muzzle of the "typewriter" swung, The
Shadow fired. His bullet clipped the shoulder of the aiming thug.
Staggering backward, the fake Hindu let the machine gun hit the platform.
He started to clutch his shoulder; then stumbled against Berkland, who was
rising from the floor. The magnate made a grab for the wounded crook. Before
the two could grapple, Lenore tried to intervene in her father's behalf.
The girl came between The Shadow and the bearded thug. Wildly, the crook
seized the girl and wrested her toward the curtained doorway. Cardona and the
detectives had their revolvers. They fired above the thug's head, hoping he
would drop the girl and dash for cover. The gunman ignored their fire.
It was The Shadow who made him drop his prey. Aiming from the near edge
of
the platform, he dispatched a bullet that passed less than an inch above the
girl's shoulder. The slug scorched the crook's temple and clipped the tip of
his ear. That shot was sufficient. The thug hurled Lenore aside with his left
arm, then made a lucky dive through the curtain.
Cardona and the detectives had ended their fire. They were caught in a
stampede. The people in the auction room were swarming for the outer door. As
someone yanked it open, the outside police and detectives surged inward. The
meeting produced complete confusion.
Amid the panic, Cardona broke loose. He knew that the menace was greater
than before; that crooks might return to loose the full hall of their machine
guns. As Joe came free, he saw that The Shadow was ahead of him. Completely
clear of the rush, The Shadow was across the platform. He had picked up the
dropped machine gun. He was making for the far curtains.
As he neared that spot, The Shadow heard a scurry from the passage
beyond.
He ripped the curtains from their hangings; he sprang past the opening. Ahead,
he saw two figures scramble toward the rear door.
One was the thug whom The Shadow had slugged with a glancing blow. The
crook had fled without his machine gun. On the way, he had overtaken the other
man - the machine gunner whom The Shadow had badly wounded.
The Shadow unleashed the machine gun as he took up the pursuit. The
weapon
drove a steady stream of protecting bullets, as advance warning to any who
might
try to block his path.
Reaching the door, The Shadow saw that it was open. Crooks had not waited
to close it in their flight. Nor had others rallied to cover the fleeing pair.
The rattle of The Shadow's machine gun had told them that they could expect a
foeman whose equipment was the equal of theirs.
BACK in the auction gallery, Cardona had rallied his detectives. Joe
could
guess what had happened to Lacey. He feared that, despite The Shadow, the door
to the courtyard would be blocked.
Hurriedly, Cardona found keys on Pettigrew's body. He led a dash along
the
rear passage. One factor spurred Cardona to increased speed. The rattle of The
Shadow's machine gun had ended.
When Cardona reached the rear door, he found the pathway open. He sprang
out into the courtyard, stopped short to stare at a yawning gap in the center
of the concrete space. It marked the route by which the crooks had come and
gone. The glow of the city, reflected by the sky, shone down amid the
courtyard
walls to reveal this proof of crimedom's strategy.
Crooks had burrowed from a neighboring cellar. They had cut upward until
only one large cement block remained to block their path. Cardona, himself,
had
walked across that shell earlier today. When the hour for attack had come, the
disguised crooks had broken the last bar into the courtyard.
In their departure, the crooks had used a system. The leader of the band
had started off with the swag. Others had followed, in pairs. The last duo,
routed by The Shadow, had fled without their machine guns; but they had gained
摘要：

THESEVENDROPSOFBLOODbyMaxwellGrantAsoriginallypublishedin"TheShadowMagazine,"December1,1936.Sevenpricelessrubies;sevenruthlesskillerstocombat-butitwasTheShadow'sunfalteringsixthsensethatledhim,stepbystep,toTheSevenDropsOfBlood.CHAPTERIDEALERSOFDEATHSIRENSshrilledalongFifthAvenue.Theirwhineroseabovet...

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