Shadow, the Mysterious Detective/Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII.
A HAPPY MOMENT.
When Shadow left us outside and entered through the door which he opened by aid of the pass-key taken from the captured "lookout," he turned aside from the hall, into the store.
As before stated, one marked peculiarity of his was his light tread, so light that none but a suspicious and very acute ear could detect it.
From his pocket he took a wax match and lighted it. Before it had burned so low as to necessitate his blowing it out, he had gained such additional knowledge as he required, which was principally that the movable articles in the room were in the same positions as when he had come here to eat oysters on several occasions.
The trap-door that had been cut through the floor behind the counter was open; to its head Shadow softly went.
Noiselessly as a cat he descended the stairs to the cellar, and there was guided forward by the light that shone through the breach in the foundation wall.
He soon reached the breach, without having aroused any suspicion of his proximity, and obtained a hasty although comprehensive glance into the vault beneath the bank.
The burglars had had easy work, and had already secured the "swag."
In fact, at that very moment two of their number were engaged in bringing loads of specie to the breach.
So close were they that Shadow could not retreat without discovering himself to them.
He shrank back against the wall, and edging away, paused only when a dozen or fifteen feet from the breach.
Through this the two burglars passed, entering the cellar beneath the store.
Shadow supposed that after depositing their loads both would return to the bank building. In this he was mistaken, for while one returned the other remained for the purpose of receiving the loads which now began to arrive.
The detective was in a box.
To attempt to retreat now was equivalent to detection: to remain, he would be spotted the very minute a light was brought into the cellar. While it was dark, and he even suppressed his breath, he was safe, but for no greater length of time.
Shadow at last determined on making an attempt to reach the stairs and mount them, so as to give us the word.
Holding his breath, he took a step, and then paused.
In a minute he took one more step and paused again.
He had not been heard.
Still another step.
And yet he was undetected.
Taking advantage of the bustle at the time of the delivery of each armful, he would glide along several feet. In this manner he had nearly reached the foot of the stairs, and so far as he could judge was unsuspected.
But as yet he had only had play when compared with the tact required to mount the stairs.
When half way up he overheard whispers. The words he could not comprehend, but, as he heard no movement toward the stairs, he thought they did not refer to him.
But they did.
The stairs had cracked and squeaked, notwithstanding his carefulness in stepping.
And the earth which had softened his footfalls so that they had not been heard, now performed the same kindly office for the burglars.
They were edging toward the stairs.
They reached the foot, as Shadow reached the head of them.
Any doubt which the burglars may have had was put to flight by hearing the sigh of relief which unconsciously fell from Shadow's lips as he took the last upward step.
At once there was a rush up-stairs by the villainous crew.
So promptly did they accomplish the ascent of the stairs that Shadow had no time to cross the store floor to the hall.
As already described, the bull's-eye flashed its light on him, after which there was a grand rush at him, followed by a low groan and the thud of a falling body.
"Poor fellow!" I inwardly exclaimed. "Poor Mrs. Morris—how her son's death will grieve her."
Meanwhile I was not idle.
My hand had dipped into my pocket, and now held a parlor match.
"Ready!"
So I lowly said to my men.
Then I suddenly struck the match, glanced around, sprang to the gas fixture my eye lighted on, turned on the gas, and in less than five seconds from the time of striking the match, the scene was lighted by a blazing gas jet.
"Surrender!" I sternly ordered, leveling a brace of revolvers, before the rascals had ceased to gasp in surprise at the sudden turn affairs had taken.
Then they turned and made a rush toward the trap-door behind the bar.
But with equal swiftness I sprang upon the counter, kneeling in a position to command the entrance to the cellar.
"The first man who tries to escape in that direction gets a bullet in his noddle!" I grimly told them, and they halted short in their stampede, and dumbly looked at each other.
"Close in, boys!"
This to my men.
"Now then, my hearties, you're fairly cornered, and the wisest thing for you to do is to cave."
"Don't give in, lads!" yelled a gruff voice. "We're almost as many as they are, and a good bold stroke will carry us out."
Thus encouraged, the desperate men made a wild, although irresolute and wavering charge.
"Stand firm!" I yelled to my men, and then aimed at the leader of the gang.
He had cocked his revolver, was aiming at my head with deadly intent.
It was my life or his, and I pulled the trigger.
Crack!
With a single groan, he sank to the floor, with a bullet in his brain.
"Close in now! And shoot every man who offers resistance!"
The men did as directed.
The charge had been only half-hearted anyhow, and the fall of their leader completely demoralized the remainder, and dropping their weapons, they flung up their hands in token of surrender.
In less than two minutes we had them all handcuffed.
When I had heard the last pair of bracelets click, I put up my revolver, but not before; and then I wiped the perspiration from my forehead.
It is singular how quickly a man begins to perspire in moments of excitement like this through which I had passed, but perspire he always does, and freely at that.
I had caught a glimpse of a body stretched on the floor at the farther side of the room from where I was perched on the counter.
"Poor Mat! Poor Shadow!"
So I muttered as I made my way toward the body. It laid just where I had last seen Shadow standing, in the full glare of the light from the bull's-eye lantern.
I reached the body, and—it was not that of Shadow!
I rubbed my eyes. No, it was not Shadow. I arose to my feet and glanced about the room. But naught was to be seen of the lithe figure of the mysterious detective.
Nobody had seen him go out by way of the hall. Then, I thought, he must have descended to the cellar.
But when we went down-stairs, we could find no trace of him there.
He had disappeared.
But how, or where to, not the wisest one of us could say.
Neither could I imagine how he had escaped with his life, when they made that wild rush at him.