Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 080 - The Condor

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THE CONDOR

Maxwell Grant

http://www.blackmask.com

? CHAPTER I. THE HIDE-OUT

? CHAPTER II. CRIME TO COME

? CHAPTER III. GASPED WORDS

? CHAPTER IV. THE SHADOW PREPARES

? CHAPTER V. THE SHADOW'S HOUR

? CHAPTER VI. COMPLETED THEFT

? CHAPTER VII. THE MAN AHEAD

? CHAPTER VIII. TIMED DEATH

? CHAPTER IX. THE SECOND AGENT

? CHAPTER X. ON THE SLOPE

? CHAPTER XI. CLIFF REPORTS

? CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOW'S JOURNEY

? CHAPTER XIII. THE MAN AT THE MILL

? CHAPTER XIV. THE TRUE STORY

? CHAPTER XV. MARQUETTE LISTENS

? CHAPTER XVI. THE STRONG ROOM

? CHAPTER XVII. THE SHADOW DEPARTS

? CHAPTER XVIII. MARQUETTE PREPARES

? CHAPTER XIX. THE NEW ALLY

? CHAPTER XX. THE ROUT

? CHAPTER XXI. DEEP STRATEGY

? CHAPTER XXII. THE CONDOR DECIDES

? CHAPTER XXIII. THE CONDOR'S THRUST

? CHAPTER XXIV. SPOILS OF THE CONDOR

CHAPTER I. THE HIDE-OUT

NEON lights revealed a hunched figure shambling along the sidewalk beneath the structure of an East

Side elevated. A wizened face looked up at the ruddy glare of the delicatessen sign; then the hunched

man scruffed on toward the blackened front of an empty store.

Reaching darkness, he paused.

This was one of those composite districts of Manhattan. Old buildings lined the avenue; the presence of

the elevated had discouraged the erection of more modern structures. Yet there were bright spots along

this decadent block; stores that enterprising merchants had opened in hope of mass business. These were

the places that the shambling man was anxious to avoid.

He preferred darkness; he gained it as he scudded to the shelter of an elevated pillar. Crouching until a

taxicab rolled by, the hunched man hustled to the far side of the street. Avoiding the lighted window of a

corner pawnshop, he took to a secluded byway.

A cautious glance over his shoulder. The prowler spied no followers. He looked upward to spy the

purple speck of light that marked the platform of an elevated station. No watchers there. He shuffled

hastily along his way.

He had passed the borders of the bad lands, this shifty, scurrying prowler. He was cutting deeper into the

underworld, to districts where danger lurked along forgotten streets. Yet the menace of the terrain was to

his liking. He had reached the quarter of Manhattan that he knew.

Ten minutes after his departure from the avenue, the hunched man arrived upon a grimy, deserted street.

Foot scuffles softened, he reached the blackened opening that marked an alleyway. His wizened face

showed white in gloom as he looked craftily about. Then, like a vanishing jack-in-the-box, he

disappeared as he ducked into the alley.

A whitened wall marked his goal. The hunched man moved stealthily as he approached it. Listening, he

could hear someone moving about in a darkened niche. He caught the glow of a cigarette, as shielding

fingers momentarily uncovered it. The hunched prowler stole forward and delivered a hoarse whisper:

"Cliff!"

THE cigarette glow reappeared, moving up and down as if in signal. Then, as the hunched man crept

closer, a guarded voice gave greeting:

"Hello, Hawkeye. Got anything?"

"Yeah." "Hawkeye" was close beside the man who had awaited him. "Real dope, Cliff. I've spotted Luff

Cadley's hideout."

"Where is it?" came the question.

"The old tenement past Burry's Garage," replied Hawkeye. "You know the joint. Just the other side of

the avenue; two blocks above Lebo's hock shop."

"Thought they were tearing the old dump down."

"They haven't started yet. That's why Luff's using the place for a hide-out. He's been looking for you,

Cliff. Don't waste time getting up there. Somebody's gunning for him. He won't be sticking around much

longer."

"I get you. Listen, Hawkeye: you put in the report call while I'm heading up there. Don't stall about it."

"O.K., Cliff."

The two men separated in the darkness. Hawkeye headed to the depths of the alley, while Cliff walked

out toward the street. That point gained, his pace became a brisk one. Unlike Hawkeye, who preferred

circuitous rambles, Cliff was making off in a direct line, straight for the avenue.

It was nearly a dozen blocks to the location that Hawkeye had named. Cliff, when he reached the

avenue, decided to make time by elevated. He hurried up the steps of a station and reached the platform

just in time to catch a northbound train.

Compared with the others aboard the jolting local, this new passenger presented an excellent

appearance. Cliff Marsland had few of the characteristics that indicated a type of the underworld. He

displayed the brawny build of an athlete. His expression was sober, almost sedate.

Yet there was a hardness to his chiseled features that marked him as a man who could be dangerous.

Cliff Marsland held a reputation in the bad lands. His bearing sustained it; at the same time, Cliff could

travel elsewhere without exciting comment or suspicion.

It was different with Hawkeye. The hunched man, when he prowled, was a furtive character - the type

that passing patrolmen would watch. The cops, however, seldom saw Hawkeye; his specialty was

keeping from their range of vision.

A contrast, Cliff and Hawkeye. Their friendship, had it been known, would have caused too much

comment. Cliff was a sharpshooter who could pack a powerful gat; Hawkeye, a spotter who could trail

the most difficult quarry. Of different ilk, it was wise for them to keep their meetings secret.

Particularly because of their real missions in the underworld. These two were engaged in the most

dangerous of all enterprises, one that would have spelled their doom had it been remotely suspected -

Cliff and Hawkeye were agents of The Shadow.

Their meeting tonight had been in behalf of that mysterious chief whose very name brought terror to men

of crime. Hawkeye, always on the trail of crime, had heard that "Luff" Cadley was in town. Luff had

known Cliff Marsland, at the time when the latter had been in prison, serving time for a crime committed

by another.

Luff had let slip that he was looking for Cliff. Hawkeye had passed that word along. It had reached The

Shadow; from the chief had come the order to make contact. Tonight had presented the first opportunity,

thanks to Hawkeye's search for the hide-out to which Luff had suddenly dived.

ALIGHTING from the elevated, Cliff Marsland headed for the old tenement building that Hawkeye had

designated. Cliff felt no need for caution as he made for the destination. It would be easy to find Luff and

learn what the fellow wanted. The best way would be to enter openly, through the main door of the

abandoned tenement.

Cliff knew the building. There was a fire escape at the rear; but it would be a mistake to use it. Luff

Cadley must be hiding out for a reason. He would be apt to mistake a friend for an enemy should the

friend come by the fire escape.

Cliff had ordered Hawkeye to report. That meant word to The Shadow through Burbank, a contact man

who relayed telephone messages. The report had been a matter of routine on Cliff's part. His real report

would come later, after he had talked with Luff.

Such was the burden of Cliff's thoughts as he entered the front door of the tenement that stood by Burry's

Garage. A doorless, blackened entrance, it gripped Cliff in a hollowness as he moved cautiously along a

creaking floor in search of a stairway.

Cliff had a flashlight, but he did not use it until he found the steps. Then he blinked the light intermittently,

to discover a turn ahead. Past that point, he could use the light less guardedly.

Cliff reached the turn. He pressed the catch of his torch and focused it above.

Grimy floors, bare walls, crumbling ceiling. Those were Cliff's first impressions as he reached the topmost

step. Then, swinging left toward the rear of the building, he discovered a corridor with doors at sides and

end.

Cliff paced along the corridor. All the while, his eyes were keen, noting door after door. They centered

on the barrier at the end. For a moment, Cliff was on the point of stopping; then he caught himself before

he committed the mistake.

Something had glimmered in the light. A shining object wedged from the very edge of that door at the

corridor's end. Cliff had recognized it on the instant. The object was the muzzle of a revolver, pointed by

some lurker in a darkened room.

"Luff!" Cliff gave the name hoarsely, as he slowed his pace instead of stopping. "This is Cliff. Cliff

Marsland!"

Pausing, Cliff let the beam of his flashlight swing upward. The gleam bathed his face. As he stood tense in

that barren corridor, a hoarse greeting answered. A door creaked in welcome. Cliff clicked out the light.

Advancing through darkness, he reached the door and entered. A nervous hand gripped his arm. Cliff

heard the door swing shut. Then came the flare of a match. Fingers shook as they applied it to a

kerosene lantern. A light suffused the room. Cliff Marsland and Luff Cadley stood face to face.

CLIFF had known Luff as a hard-faced, heavy-built fellow who prided himself upon his strength. The

man had changed in the few years since Cliff had seen him last. Luff's shoulders were stooped; his face

was drawn and pale. Only his eyes still showed a sparkle of what had once been a defiant flash.

"Been hoping you'd find me, Cliff," confided Luff, his voice half wheezy. "I looked around for you; hut I

had to give it up. Afraid somebody would lamp me."

"Somebody who's gunning for you?" questioned Cliff.

"Yeah." Luff nodded nervously, and his face looked troubled. "Murk Feeny. Said he was going to bump

me after I got out of stir. I heard about it after I hit town. That's why I took a dive out of sight. Say - you

ain't seen Murk, have you?"

"What would I want with him, Luff?"

"I don't mean that, Cliff. I just figured maybe you'd seen him hereabouts. Watching this place."

"Nobody outside when I came in, Luff."

Luff looked pleased. He rubbed his hands and looked at the closed door; then blinked suspiciously.

"How'd you find this place?" he demanded. "If you guessed where it is, maybe Luff would, too."

"Pal of mine was looking for you," explained Cliff. "He's the only fellow who could have spotted this

hide-out. I put him on the job when I heard you were looking for me. I'm glad I came in the front door,

though."

"Say" - Luff blinked again - "I'd have plugged you sure if you'd come in by the fire escape, Cliff. It's just

outside the window. I moved into this room so I could watch it."

As he spoke, Luff gestured toward narrow windows. They were covered with old window shades,

patched so that no glimmer of light could filter through their tattered surfaces. Cliff studied Luff's pale

face. He noted eagerness as well as nervousness.

Something was irking Luff's brain. The crook was thinking of opportunity that he had awaited during his

stay behind prison walls. He needed aid in crime; that was why he had sought Cliff Marsland.

Here in his hide-out, Luff Cadley was ready to spill news to a former pal, unwitting that his listener had

become an aid of The Shadow.

CHAPTER II. CRIME TO COME

"FIFTY-FIFTY, Cliff," spoke Luff Cadley, in a wary tone. "Fifty-fifty on a job that's going to be a cinch.

Are you in?"

"I'm listening, Luff." Cliff had taken a seat on a battered couch and was eyeing Luff, who sat forward on

an upturned soap box. "I'm listening. Spill it."

"I can't take no chances, Cliff" - Luff's tone was almost pleading - "and that's why I'm offering to divvy. If

you're in, all right; but if -"

"What do you mean by 'no chances'?" Cliff was noncommittal in his interruption. "What's the catch?"

"There ain't none, Cliff. Not if you come in. It's the way I stand, that's all."

Cliff watched Luff steadily. Without making a single promise, The Shadow's agent was cagily leading the

ex-convict into further discussion. Luff was anxious to talk; Cliff knew that an indifferent attitude would

accomplish more than any other.

"There's Murk Feeny and his crew," explained Luff. "They're gunning for me, Cliff. While I was in stir,

Murk said he'd rub me out if I ever showed up in New York. The tip was passed to me."

"And yet, you're here."

"Yeah. It means I'm taken chances with the bulls, too. I wasn't no goody-goody in the Big House.

They've got me listed. You know that, Cliff."

Cliff nodded; the gesture encouraged Luff.

"And then, besides that, there's" - Luff hesitated; then leaned forward - "there's The Condor. He won't

take me, Cliff, on account of how I stand."

"The Condor?"

Luff nodded. He arose and crept forward, his eyes shining beads that glistened from his pale, hollow

features.

"There was a mug in the Big House," stated Luff, "who they called Cuckoo Gruzen. Remember him,

Cliff? Kind of a daffy guy? But sort of wise-looking, too?"

"I remember him. Doing a stretch for bumping some guy in a brawl."

"Yeah. Most everybody thought he was bugs. But he wasn't. I found that out when he talked to me.

Cuckoo Gruzen was all set for a sure thing when he got mixed in that fight and wound up in stir. He had a

rod on him when he was pinched."

"I remember. What happened to Cuckoo?"

"He croaked. Sickly guy; you remember what he looked like. Couldn't stand the gaff in the Big House.

But he knew he was going to kick off. He got a chance to spill me the lay. About The Condor."

Luff paused to lick his pasty lips. Cliff looked unimpressed. His very attitude encouraged Luff to further

statements.

"THIS ain't no pipe dream, Cliff," assured Luff. "The Condor is a big-shot; there ain't nobody can match

him. Six years ago he started working. He passed the word to smart guys what they were to do."

"Jobs for all of them?"

"Yeah. And most of them have probably cleaned up already. But that ain't all there is to it. That's just the

beginning. Figure it like this, Cliff.

"A bunch of smart workers, each starting out. Plenty of time ahead - six years it was, when The Condor

passed the tips along. Each guy to bring in his load of swag, making sure, though, that nobody was

wise."

"And Cuckoo Gruzen was one of them?"

"Right. But knowing he was croaking, he passed his lay along to me. All I got to do is make the haul and

breeze in with the stuff. Providing it's before the thirteenth."

"Of this month?"

"Yeah. That's when the six years is up. That's when The Condor quits waiting. Him and the guys that

have pulled their jobs move out. After then, there's no stopping them."

"Who is The Condor?"

"Don't ask me. All I know is how to reach him. Cuckoo spilled the dope. And it don't matter who shows

up with the swag. Even Cuckoo had never seen The Condor."

Cliff's lips soured. His expression indicated that he doubted the fanciful tale. Again, Cliff had used the

best way to lead Luff along. Spying doubt on his visitor's countenance, Luff became more anxious to

convince his listener.

"Don't you get the gag, Cliff?" quizzed Luff. "The Condor wants smooth workers. He don't care who

they are. He set the jobs. It don't matter who pulls them. As long as a guy shows up with the swag, The

Condor will know he's good."

"I begin to see it," nodded Cliff. "That jam Cuckoo got into put him out of the running. So he passed the

tip to you."

"That's the idea, Cliff. But he only wised me to one job, because that's all Cuckoo knew about."

"And what's the lay?"

FOR the first time, Cliff had made a mistake. His direct question put Luff on guard. Mistrustful even of a

man whom he considered a pal, Luff shied away. He backed to the soap box, sat there and eyed Cliff

warily.

"I'm grabbing the swag," he volunteered. "That ain't your job, Cliff."

"Go to it," responded Cliff, with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Good luck to you, Luff."

As he spoke, Cliff arose from the cot and strolled toward the door. His new display of indifference

restored Luff's confidence. The pasty-faced crook came to his feet and quickly blocked Cliff's path.

"Don't walk out," he pleaded. "I gotta count on you, Cliff. Listen: I can't go to The Condor after I make

the haul. I gotta duck on account of Murk and the bulls. But I'm passing you the stuff, see? So you can

join up with The Condor."

"And fifty-fifty means -"

"That whatever you get out of working with The Condor, you slip me half It's going to be big dough,

Cliff. Steady dough and you'll be in on it."

Cliff considered. Luff grinned in pleased fashion. He did not know the thoughts that were rushing through

Cliff's brain. The Shadow's agent was balancing future possibilities. He could see that Luff plotted

immediate crime; ordinarily, that should be prevented. But if one crime, allowed to pass, should uncover

many, the game would be greater.

"I'm spilling you the straight dope, Cliff," assured Luff, misunderstanding Cliff's deliberation. "Listen - I'll

give you a tip. You won't have no trouble getting in with The Condor, after I pass you the swag."

"Why not?" inquired Cliff, mechanically.

"Because," whispered Luff eagerly, "there's something in the swag that will let The Condor know you're

ready to work with him. Something that you'll keep out, to show at the right time. But I ain't telling you

more" - Luff shifted warily - "not until I've pulled the job. Savvy?"

Cliff nodded. He wanted to hear further details; but he knew it would be unwise to press the pasty-faced

crook. He had gained an inkling; it would be enough for tonight. The proposition now was to keep Luff

waiting until The Shadow could be informed.

"Are you in, Cliff?"

Cliff was still nodding as he heard Luff's question. He was trying to think of the best stall that would hold

Luff here in the hide-out until later.

"The job's going to be a cinch for me, Cliff," Luff assured. "I can spring it tonight and pass the swag to

you in a hurry. It's down my alley, Cliff, this job."

Still nodding, Cliff understood. Luff's chief ability was safe-cracking; but only on a limited scale. He was

contemplating a one-man job. That meant the swag could not be heavy. These would be details for The

Shadow.

A MOTION from Luff ended Cliff's hazy speculation. The pasty-faced man had shifted. He was staring

at a window, noting a slight motion of a blind. Cliff saw him fidget, reaching for his revolver.

"The windows are open, aren't they, Luff?" inquired Cliff calmly, as he gripped the crook's arm.

"Yeah," whispered Luff, tensely. "Open, so I can hear anything outside."

"Then it's just a breeze," assured Cliff. "Both of the shades are moving. Don't get jittery, Luff."

The crook grinned weakly. He turned to Cliff and nodded sheepishly. His expression showed that Cliff's

presence gave him courage. But as Cliff watched the man's face, he saw a new flicker come over it. Luff

was trembling, his eyes staring toward the door.

At the same instant, Cliff heard a sound behind him. He wheeled, to stare with Luff. While Luff was

shaking, backing away, Cliff became rigid. While Luff was worrying about the windows, someone had

opened the door. Upon the threshold stood a big-jawed man whose dark face wore a malicious scowl.

A grimy fist was displaying a leveled .38; behind the ugly-faced intruder were two backers, each with a

ready gun. Cliff needed no introduction to these ruffians. The big-jawed man was Murk Feeny; the others

his henchmen.

A killer who held a grudge against Luff Cadley, Murk was here for murder. His leering face showed evil

triumph. His glowering eyes indicated his one purpose. Luff Cadley was slated for the spot.

The ex-convict knew it, as he whined from the wall. A few years in the penitentiary had sapped Luff's

courage. Pitiful in expression, Luff was showing his fear of death.

It was not so with Cliff Marsland. Stolidly, The Shadow's agent met Murk's gloating gaze. His lips were

set, despite the tone of a sneer that Cliff heard from Murk. Cliff knew what was passing in the murderer's

mind; he had encountered others of Murk's ilk in the past.

Murk Feeny had come here to rub out Luff Cadley. Such a job, to Murk, included all who might be

present with a would-be victim. Cliff Marsland knew that his own plight was desperate. He, like Luff,

was due to die.

Yet Cliff was steady, despite the threat of looming guns. He waited stolidly, in hope that some break

might come. He was ready to go down fighting when Murk Feeny gave the signal for slaughter.

CHAPTER III. GASPED WORDS

"Two of you," sneered Murk Feeny, eyeing the contrasted faces before him. "Well, we didn't figure on

you, Marsland, but we ain't kicking because you're here. We knowed you was a pal of Luff's."

Murk beckoned with his gun. He edged into the room, to back Cliff and Luff against the wall. Murk's

henchmen followed. A trio in the center of white-plastered walls, they covered their victims from close

range.

"We've been looking over some hideouts," snarled Murk, shifting his gaze from Cliff to Luff. "Places you

might have picked but didn't. So we took a Brodie and came here. Kind of a dumb cluck, ain't you,

Luff?

"If you'd used your noodle, you'd have fixed that crack under the door. But you didn't and we wised

after we sneaked in here. And we didn't take no chances after we spotted that light.

"These bozos ain't the only torpedoes with me. There's two more guys in the hall, and a couple that I just

chased around back. Just so's to cover the fire escape, in case you tried to scram."

"Honest, Murk," whined Luff, "I ain't done nothing to have you gunning for me. I've been in stir. Up there

in the Big House there ain't been no chanct for me to queer any racket you've been -"

"Cut it!" snarled Murk. "You know why you're going on the spot. You went away for safecracking, didn't

you?"

Luff nodded weakly.

"Yeah," affirmed Murk, "and there was one box that you busted that the bulls never knew about. The one

at Tim Rooney's gambling joint, where you snatched the IOU that Flash Lodo wanted.

"You got two grand for the job; and it was worth it to Flash. He was in for thirty on that IOU; and I was

Tim Rooney's partner. Both of us took it on the chin for fifteen grand.

"Well, Flash Lodo got his. I gave it to him. And you'd have got yours if you hadn't gone to the Big House

right after that. You were sitting pretty when you were up the river, even if you didn't think so."

Murk shifted his gaze to Cliff. His murderous scowl increased.

"So you're Luff's pal, eh?" snorted Murk. "Only one he's got; and I don't know of any mugs that pal

around with you. That fixes you, Marsland, along with Luff."

Stepping back, Murk nodded to his henchmen. Their revolvers came up as Murk's lowered. Cliff and

Luff were each covered by a .38; the two torpedoes looked toward their chief.

"Give it," rasped Murk.

CLIFF'S body had become rigid. The others had not noticed his instinctive preparation for this moment.

Before either henchmen could obey Murk's command, Cliff hurtled forward, diving for their leader.

Murk swung back to ward off the attack. Twisting free, he sent Cliff half sprawling to the floor. His

revolver bounded from his hand. Murk sprang to regain it; as he did so, his two henchmen swung to

cover Cliff.

At that instant, a ripping sound came from one window. The patched shade was whipped aside. In from

darkness bounded a blackened figure. A flash of crimson came from the lining of a sable-hued cloak.

Brilliant eyes flashed from beneath the brim of a slouch hat.

Hidden lips uttered a fierce laugh that stopped assassins short. Wheeling toward the window, Murk's

henchmen faced the enemy who had made such startling entry. From Murk, who was stooping with hand

on gun, came the gasped recognition:

"The Shadow!"

Revolvers flashed as Murk's minions aimed. But as the torpedoes acted, they saw mammoth muzzles that

looked before them. Fists had thrust forward from the blackness of the cloak. Thin-gloved hands were

ready with their automatics.

The big weapons boomed automatically. Each .45 spat its tongue of flame. Like ruddy darts, those

flashes pointed to their targets. Crooks wavered, fingers on triggers, then sank to the floor, their revolvers

unfired.

Murk Feeny was aiming on the rise. He fired one quick shot as The Shadow wheeled. The bullet singed

the folds of The Shadow's cloak. Murk swung to aim again. Cliff Marsland, rising from hands and knees,

made a headlong dive to stop him.

A single shot thundered in the close-walled room. Cliff heard it while in motion. Then he hit Murk with a

flying tackle, bowling the big crook to the floor. Rising above his antagonist, Cliff prepared to deliver a

knock-out punch. He stopped his blow; with raised fist he stared at Murk's face.

Those ugly lips were coughing incoherently. Evil eyes were bulging from their sockets. Beyond Murk lay

his useless revolvers; the crook's body was sagging limp in Cliff's grasp.

The Shadow had beaten Murk to the shot. The would-be killer had taken a bullet while Cliff was surging

forward. Murk had not fired; the shot that Cliff had heard was a blast from The Shadow's automatic.

STARING upward, Cliff caught sight of a bolting figure. Luff Cadley had dived for the door; he was

making a mad dash to the corridor. Beyond the open portal, Cliff caught the sudden glimmer of

flashlights. Revolvers barked their echoes from the bare-walled hall.

Cliff heard a whining cry; then into his path came the wheeling shape of The Shadow. Cliff heard the

challenging laugh of his black-clad chief. He saw the flashes of automatics; he heard the double thunder

of two guns.

The Shadow was pumping hot lead down the corridor. Flashlights made distorted glares as their holders

let them fly through the air. Hopeless shots responded from half-loosened revolvers. With those echoes

came the thud of bodies.

A clatter outside the window. Henchmen were coming up the fire escape. The Shadow swept in that

direction. Again he laughed, a sinister challenge as he leaned out to meet the foe. Oaths spat from the lips

of the men who had been below.

On watch, they had not seen The Shadow crouched outside Luff's window. They had witnessed the

ripping of the blind; that was all. At last they saw The Shadow's outline; they aimed upward for their

target.

Automatics were already delivering. Clanging bullets ricocheted from the open ironwork. One crook

gave a wild cry as he lost his hold and plunged to the concrete just below. The other dropped and fled.

He had been lucky; a step of the fire escape had shielded him from those bullets that The Shadow had

dispatched in darkness.

Cliff Marsland had gained Murk Feeny's gun. Standing in the center of the room, Cliff stared about.

Prone bodies on the floor. Blackness at the window. The Shadow had swung out to the fire escape.

The kerosene lantern, shining from atop a soap box, had escaped all attention. Its illumination had

persisted through every scene. For a moment, Cliff thought that the strange drama had reached its close.

Then, from the hall came a creeping figure. A hoarse cough issued from whitened lips. Hopeless eyes

looked up toward Cliff. Luff Cadley had returned.

THE ex-convict was in bad plight. Murk's henchmen in the corridor had stopped his flight with a barrage

of bullets. The Shadow's intervention had saved Luff from immediate death, but Cliff saw that the wounds

were mortal.

Luff's cough was a dying one. Minutes alone would mark the remainder of his life. Yet Luff had somehow

regained the nerve that had once characterized him. His lips managed a grin as his fading eyes saw Cliff.

Luff's hand rose pleadingly. Cliff stooped beside the dying crook.

"The swag," coughed Luff. "You - you can get it, Cliff. For - for The Condor. All - all yours, Cliff. I - I'm

through."

Cliff nodded as he crouched close to Luff. He made no effort to prompt the crook. He could see that

Luff was trying to tell all he knew.

"Walpin," gasped Luff. "Michael Walpin. He - he has pearls, Cliff. Worth - worth a hundred grand. With

them - with them - the Blue Pearl. Show it when you see - see The Condor."

Luff's eyes closed. For a moment, Cliff feared the man was through. Then Luff's lips moved weakly, his

statement barely audible.

"Take - take the swag," groaned Luff, feebly, "to a place - a place called Paulington. Paulington, Cliff -

then Mountview - Mountview Lodge."

Luff's lips weakened. Apparently the dying man's strength was gone. Cliff whispered a question in Luff's

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THECONDORMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.THEHIDE-OUT?CHAPTERII.CRIMETOCOME?CHAPTERIII.GASPEDWORDS?CHAPTERIV.THESHADOWPREPARES?CHAPTERV.THESHADOW'SHOUR?CHAPTERVI.COMPLETEDTHEFT?CHAPTERVII.THEMANAHEAD?CHAPTERVIII.TIMEDDEATH?CHAPTERIX.THESECONDAGENT?C...

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Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 080 - The Condor

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