CHAPTER XXXIX. THE HAND OF THE SHADOW
A low-built coupe was whirling along a Pennsylvania highway, its yellow hood shining in the moonlight. Two men were laughing as they watched the road flow rapidly beneath the wheels of the car.
"Great work, Frenchy," said the man at the right. He turned and opened a box that lay in the center of the seat.
The box was cubical, measuring approximately one foot in each dimension. It rested free between Chefano and Frenchy; its opened lid revealed a shimmer of sparkling contents that caught the glint of the dash light. Chefano closed the lid and turned a key. Leaning back, he stared forward through the windshield.
"Lucky it was gems instead of gold," asserted Frenchy, his eyes intent on the road ahead. "They must have used the gold for other purposes and sent the sparklers over here because they were easier to carry."
"That's probably the idea," said Chefano. "I wonder how that messenger brought them in. He must have smuggled them."
"Getting by the American customs would be easy," was Frenchy's reply. "Easy, compared to sneaking them out of Russia. Why worry about it, Chefano? We've got them. That's enough."
"Yes, and we're lucky. I wonder who it was that let those fellows loose. Could it have been The Shadow they were talking about? Was that him fighting Jupe on the tower, do you suppose?"
"Probably. And he got what was coming to him."
"I wonder where Jupe went."