Spark pressed back a section of woodwork between two panels. He unloosened a bolt that Tatterman had installed for protection while in the office. Spark, while waiting, had kept that bolt closed; probably by order of the big-shot whom he served.

Lenore thought that Spark intended to admit Crawley. She was wrong.

Spark's purpose was departure. As proof of it, he clicked the switch in his left hand and tossed it, with its cord, across the desk. The time bombs were ignited; the last five minutes had begun.

As the barrier moved away, Lenore saw a hunch-shouldered man just beyond the threshold. Undersized and scrawny, the fellow was Crawley Juke. Lenore noted a pasty face staring into the room; an instant later, she observed an oddity about it. Crawley was staring with eyes that were shut.

Spark turned to crowd through the opening. He came face to face withCrawley; stepped back, to stoop and eye the rogue's oddly staring countenance.

As Spark paused, Crawley moved, but not of his own effort. The spotter's huddled figure lost its balance; slowly, it folded forward. Gaining momentum with his topple, Crawley pitched headlong to the floor of the doomed office.

SPARK started to stoop, wondering at Crawley's collapse. He halted halfway to the floor and jumped backward suddenly, as though Crawley struck him as a victim of a plague. It was not Crawley's huddled form, however, that caused Spark's whipping move. Spark was looking upward, through the opened panel.

Lenore's eyes saw the sight that had astounded the crook. Where Crawley's figure had first crouched, there stood a being in black. Cloaked, with eyes that burned from beneath his black hat brim, the rescuer held a leveled automatic that squarely covered Spark.

The Shadow had crossed the crook's game. Like Crawley, the master avenger had arrived by the back route. His burning eyes showed no mercy for Spark Lethro. The Shadow was prepared to handle the sixth crook.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE FIFTH MINUTE.

TO Lenore Berkland, The Shadow's arrival at the paneled exit seemed miraculous. Lenore's imagination had become so strained that she had fancied she heard sounds at the door from the front of the store. She had pictured The Shadow there.

But The Shadow had spied the spotter in the front street. From the time of that discovery onward, The Shadow had turned the game to his own use.

Entering the front of the store, he had lingered there but briefly.

Edging out to the street again, he had spotted Crawley sneaking from his hiding place.

Unsuspected by the lurker, The Shadow had trailed Crawley to the back way, through pa.s.sages to the paneled barrier.

Crawley had given the seven raps; but another thump had followed. A stroke unheard by Spark Lethro. That tap had been the solid jolt of The Shadow's automatic handle, squarely delivered against Crawley's skull.

Crawley had remained upright until The Shadow pushed his stunned form forward. Then, instead of Crawley, The Shadow occupied the door.

Although Spark's crooked brain took in these details simultaneously, Spark did not halt to consider them. Instead, he showed quick ability to cope with The Shadow. As he leaped away from the avenging figure that confronted him, Spark took a quick shot with his revolver. The jab was luckier than Spark deserved.

His gun hand, in its motion, aimed almost directly for The Shadow.

With the flash of the gun, The Shadow was lunging forward. Spark's bullet punched a perfect hole through the side of the slouch hat brim, a sixteenth of an inch from The Shadow's ear. Only The Shadow's swift inward drive saved him from Spark's slug.

A roar from The Shadow's .45 dispatched a bullet that clipped the knuckles of Spark's right hand. The crook's fist jolted back and dropped.

Before Spark could tighten his losing grip on the revolver, The Shadow was driving toward him. Spark grabbed for The Shadow. But defeat was inevitable for Spark Lethro.

His gun hand wounded, Spark could do no more than retain a flabby hold upon his revolver while he tried to use it as a bludgeon. His left hand, clutching at The Shadow's wrist, was barely able to force back the muzzle that pushed closer to the crook's eyes.

Yet Spark possessed a frenzied fury in the unequal combat. The Shadow had not learned the reason. It was because Spark knew that two of the precious

five.

minutes had pa.s.sed.

Wrenching with a fitful tug, Spark managed to bob his head and get a momentary grip upon his gun. His thumb and trigger finger alone could function.

They served Spark in the pinch. Two seconds more, Spark would have had opportunity to fire, point-blank, at The Shadow. Within that time limit, The Shadow acted.

Twisting his right wrist, The Shadow swung a back-hand blow that found Spark's chin. Weighted with the bulk of the automatic, The Shadow's heavy hand delivered a haymaker. Taking the gloved knuckles straight on the jaw, Spark floundered backward.

The Shadow released the crook, let him roll to the little pa.s.sage that led to the front of the store.

AIDING the girl, The Shadow released her bonds. Lenore was frantic. She realized that The Shadow could not have learned about the threatening time bombs. A third minute had pa.s.sed; there were less than two more before the blast would strike.

Without a second's hesitation, the girl gripped the loose end of the adhesive tape that covered her mouth. With a quick tug, she ripped the gag away just as The Shadow had freed her feet. Hysterically, Lenore pointed beyond the desk, crying out: "The switch - Spark pressed it - the explosion - set for five minutes -"

The Shadow saw a coil of the wire that showed just past the desk. With a long, swooping motion, he plucked Lenore from the chair, steadied her on her feet.

Somehow, in that instant, The Shadow must have calculated the time element. He recognized that the interval was too short to make an escape by the long back pa.s.sage. The one outlet that offered a way to safety lay through the front of the store.

A triple-locked door barred that route. Two locks and a bolt were accessible from the inside; but there would be delay in opening them. A quick glance, however, told The Shadow that the locks could be handled. Spark Lethro had reached the pa.s.sage door. Half to his feet, the wounded crook was gripping one of the locks with his left hand.

The Shadow whisked Lenore straight into the pa.s.sage. Just as Spark turned the single lock, The Shadow pushed the girl inside. Catching the second lock with one hand, the bolt with the other, The Shadow pulled. Spark had unlatched his lock. The door swung wide.

A snarl from Spark. Inadvertently, the crook had aided The Shadow. Spark clutched at the cloaked rescuer. Ignoring the crook's grip, The Shadow hurled Lenore through the open door. Instinctively, the girl kept onward, toward the street.

Spark's one thought was to hold The Shadow, that the black-clad battler might perish with him. The Shadow had a different idea. He wanted safety; with it, he wanted Spark alive. The final minute showed a strange conflict.

With superhuman strength, The Shadow hoisted Spark straight upward.

Bundling the bulky crook above him, he started for the outer door, keepingSpark's arm aloft. Spark's left hand was clawing wildly, but it could not reach The Shadow.

BELLOWING like a wounded beast, Spark's only thought was to balk whatever The Shadow intended. Spark gained his chance just before The Shadow reached the outer door. There was an old cabinet in the corner of the store. Spark grabbed a shelf as he was carried past the bulky, antiquated piece of furniture.

The move stopped The Shadow short; his shoulders jolted backward; Spark lurched almost free of him. Lenore shrieked a warning from the steps to the sidewalk.

Twisted sidewise, The Shadow looked up to see the cabinet toppling downward, straight for his head. That crash threatened a stunning blow that would mean final doom. There was only one way to avoid it.

The Shadow dived forward, hurling Spark from his shoulders. Off balance, the crook sprawled at an angle, missing the doorway toward which The Shadow headed. Spark rolled over as he reached a corner inside the little store. The Shadow struck the door frame with his shoulder, jostled through and sprawled upon the steps where Lenore stood.

The thudding cabinet flattened on the floor with a terrific crackle.

Before The Shadow could turn to see the result; before he could make another attempt to bring out Spark, the smash of the cabinet was drowned by a more tremendous sound.

Like a rolling thunderclap, a subterranean blast quivered through the old store. Timed to strike as one, the explosions came with one m.u.f.fled burst. The whole interior of the store was shaken. Floors heaved upward. Walls caved. In that one tremor, the place was completely demolished. Ceilings crumbled to bring down tons of debris.

The stone steps seemed to lurch. The door frame held for a moment, then buckled as brick walls cracked above it. Ma.s.ses of masonry were beginning their downward deluge. They toppled, crashed like a stone cataract to the sidewalk.

In the second that it took for the flood to strike, The Shadow acted to save himself and Lenore.

Driving up from the steps at the moment of the doorway's buckle, The Shadow caught Lenore with one arm. The girl was spun from the danger spot. The Shadow's grip carried her clear to the curb. Staggering as she slipped free, Lenore rolled to the asphalt, five feet beyond the farthest reach of the bombarding masonry.

Shakily, she arose. She heard a weird whisper - a hissed tone that spoke a command for silence. Lenore understood. She was to forget the episode of the cloaked rescuer.

Nodding, she looked about, expecting to see The Shadow. The street was blackened. Her mysterious rescuer was gone. Awed, Lenore stared, hardly able to piece the details of her amazing adventure. The Shadow's quick departure left her dumbfounded.

FROM somewhere, sirens wailed. They were distant; but something occurred closer. Headlights cleaved the darkness of the street. A taxicab wheeled up beside Lenore. Two men scrambled to the street.

Lenore was gripped by strong arms as she began a dizzy sway. The man who caught her was Joe Cardona. Resting in the inspector's arms, Lenore saw the anxious face of the other man who had arrived. She gave a glad cry as she recognized her uncle, Glen Mogridge. Spasmodically, Lenore tried to tell that she had been captured, but had managed to escape. Pointing toward the ruins of Tatterman's store, she blurted the name of Spark Lethro. Cardona turned her over to Mogridge.

As the girl's uncle helped her into the cab, Cardona clambered into the ma.s.sed debris. He stopped upon the brick-covered stone steps. Using a flashlight, Joe saw something move from beneath the shattered door frame.

A mashed face glared upward. Cardona recognized a countenance that had once been Spark Lethro's. He saw a left hand thrust forward, as if to make a convulsive throw. Lips coughed a last statement; all that Cardona could hear was the word "jinx." The left hand flopped. Spark was dead.

Cardona thrust his hand beneath the crook's stilled fingers. He caught a solid object that had the hardness of a small pellet. Grimly, Cardona closed his fist upon the object. He pocketed it as he turned to meet the arriving police cars.

Amid the slackening noise of sirens, Cardona thought he heard a whispered laugh, grim and mirthless, from the darkness close by. When Cardona stared, he saw no one.

BRISKLY, Cardona put officers in charge of the devastated scene. Boarding the cab, he ordered the driver to go back to Berkland's.

When they arrived at the oil magnate's residence, the occupants of the cab saw a parked coupe. Standing on the sidewalk was Lawrence Woolford, arguing with the policeman who guarded the house.

Woolford saw Lenore when she alighted with Mogridge. Immediately, the young man began words of explanation. He said that he had been delayed in coming to the house.

Cardona cut Woolford short; ordering him to come inside. The group went up to the study. There, Cardona learned the details of Lenore's telephone call.

Lenore explained how she had noted the time-table after Woolford had hung up.

As Lenore completed her statement, Cardona heard a sound at the door from the library. He looked to see the tall form of Lamont Cranston.

The Shadow entered; his disguised face wore a solemn expression. Quietly, he pointed to the written transcription of the telegram that still lay upon the desk. He produced the one that he himself had received.

"The messages were for me," explained The Shadow. "I went to Tatterman's after I talked with Ungler here, but I did not go there directly. I have just come from the vicinity. I saw the results of the explosion."

"Lucky you didn't go there earlier, Mr. Cranston," observed Cardona.

"Miss Berkland was nearly trapped in that blast. But what about these telegrams? You got one, Mr. Cranston; and one came here."

"The second one came just before my arrival," stated The Shadow, pointing to the desk. "It was addressed to Mr. Mogridge; but Ungler said that he was not here when it came."

"That's right," nodded Mogridge. Then, to Cardona: "I was with you at the time, inspector."

"We know that," returned Cardona. He turned to Woolford and snapped the quick question: "What do you know about these telegrams?"

"Only what Lenore told me," replied Woolford. "She only mentioned the second one. I regarded it as none of my business. Lenore has already told you that."

Cardona eyed Woolford suspiciously. Joe was about to make a further quiz, when he thought better of it. Stolidly the ace declared: "There's one man I want to talk to. That's Ungler. He's got something toexplain. He did a sneak out of this house. I'd like to know where he went to -".

Cardona stopped short, staring at the door to the library. There, upon the threshold, his face wearing a smug smile, stood James Ungler. The returned secretary gave a courteous bow, then stepped aside to admit a man who was with him. Cardona saw Tobias Berkland.

"UNGLER has told me all about this," declared the oil magnate, stepping into the room. "I sent neither of those telegrams. Some other person must have sent them from Boston, unless they were faked. I did not come in on the train that arrived at eight. I was on the train that I intended to take: the one due at nine-thirty."

Cardona glanced at the desk clock. It showed exactly half past nine. He shot a questioning glance; Berkland smiled.

"Ungler showed intelligence," explained Berkland. "After Mr. Cranston had gone, Ungler doubted that the telegrams were genuine. He decided that I might be on the train due here at nine-thirty. He went to the station at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street. He wired my train at Stamford, telling me to get off when I reached One Hundred and Twenty-fifth. I met Ungler and joined him. We came here by cab."

Cardona stood bewildered. Again, the case seemed air-tight. The matter of the telegrams was simple; they could have been easily faked. But who was the man responsible for sending them?

As on a previous night, Cardona stared at faces. He saw Berkland's confident expression and realized again that the oil magnate could hardly have a purpose in stealing and returning his own gems. He noted Mogridge, remembered that the mustached man was Berkland's brother-in-law; also, that there was no need to question his recent actions. Mogridge had been with Cardona before either telegrams had been received; and he had stayed with Joe ever since.

Woolford had a simple story to which he could stick. He could claim no knowledge of anything until after Lenore called him and that was just before the hour set for disaster. As for Ungler, the secretary had explained all his suspicious actions by contacting Berkland when the oil magnate arrived from Boston.

To break the tension, Cardona dipped his hand into his pocket. His closed fingers came out; they approached the desk and opened. Cardona spoke the simple sentence: "This was on Spark Lethro."

Berkland uttered an elated cry; he clamped his hand upon the sixth ruby and held it to the light. Showing it to Mogridge, Berkland nodded and declared: "The stone is genuine. It is the sixth Drop of Blood!"

"There is still a seventh," put in Cardona, gruffly. Then, in a tone that he expected at least one man to understand, he added: "When we get the seventh ruby, we'll have the master crook."

No one commented on Cardona's statement; but there were lips that showed the slightest semblance of a smile. Those lips were The Shadow's. They lacked agreement with Joe Cardona.

The Shadow knew that deeper plots must be uncovered before the ident.i.ty of the master crook could be revealed and proven.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE SHADOW'S MISSION WHEN The Shadow left Berkland's, he went directly to the Cobalt Club, there to meet Commissioner Weston. Later, as Cranston, The Shadow attended the scheduled midnight banquet in honor of a well-known actor. It was three o'clock in the morning when the affair ended.

Instead of traveling to the New Jersey residence where he lived as Cranston, The Shadow boarded his new taxi and made a change of make-up. When he left the cab, he was Henry Arnaud. In that character he went to the hotel where he had registered under the mythical name.

The Shadow had not forgotten his special mission. He still intended to locate Professor Antonius Hanlock, the missing expert who claimed a new process in the manufacture of synthetic gems. The message on the sapphire was as important as before; but haste was not essential. It was too late, tonight, for The Shadow to follow the plan that he had made for reaching Hanlock.

Moreover, tonight's events were ones that promised an aftermath tomorrow.