The Shadow - Gray Fist Part 3

Neither Cardona nor Markham saw the turning key. Cardona opened the desk drawer; took out the San Salvador doc.u.ments, and the forged note. He unlocked the door which The Shadow had just closed.

With Markham following, Cardona strode out into the night.

When the coupe had pulled away, a splotch of blackness moved beneath a street lamp. A soft whisper sounded in the night. The Shadow moved through darkness.

Joe Cardona had completed his investigation at Worth Varden's. So had The Shadow. The detective had formed his theory. The Shadow, too, had formed a theory. But where Cardona had merely fallen into the channel set for him, and had been deceived by Ruggles Preston's work, The Shadow had used keen deduction to learn the truth of matters that had occurred at Worth Varden's home.

LATER, the bluish light appeared within The Shadow's black-walled sanctum. White hands appeared upon the polished table. The girasol glimmered while The Shadow inscribed orders in his special code.

One order was to Cliff Marsland. It instructed The Shadow's agent in the underworld to continue his investigation of Seth Cowry's affairs.

The other order was to Harry Vincent. The Shadow was instructing that young man to make a preliminary investigation that would involve the friends and business a.s.sociates of Worth Varden.

The orders were completed. The Shadow folded the sheets before the vivid blue ink had time to disappear. Each message went into a separate envelope. The Shadow addressed each one, and placed both together in a larger envelope.

This container was addressed to Rutledge Mann, in the Badger Building, New York City. Its legend was in ink that would not fade. To-morrow, Mann would give the coded orders to Marsland and Vincent, respectively, when they called at his office.

The white hands moved. Something appeared between them. It was the gray paper-the doubled sheet that had separated into two. The hidden eyes of The Shadow considered it; a soft laugh rippled from TheShadow's lips.

In this gray paper, The Shadow saw the hidden hand of a master-schemer. He knew that Worth Varden had been handled only by minions; that behind the disappearance of the importer lay the craft of a supercrook.

The blue light flicked out. The laugh of The Shadow rose to its crescendo and died away. It was a presaging laugh. The Shadow knew that ways of crime must soon be met; that stirring episodes lay ahead.

As yet, The Shadow had not learned the ident.i.ty of the enemy whom he must meet; nevertheless, he had seen the evidence of fiendish craftsmanship. The Shadow had sensed the hidden power of Gray Fist.

Deep silence pervaded the blackened sanctum. Mystery held sway. The Shadow had fared forth in search of an enemy who dealt in crime. When The Shadow set out on such adventure, fierce conflict was intended.

The might of The Shadow was nearing a clash with the power of a superfiend. Soon, Gray Fist would find himself compelled to meet the master fighter who was coming from the dark to put an end to crime!

CHAPTER VI. MINIONS AT WORK.

IN deputing duties to his agents, The Shadow had chosen wisely. All those who served him were men of capability, well suited to the tasks to which they had been a.s.signed.

The disappearance of Worth Varden, following the prolonged absence of Seth Cowry, showed a direct link between a man of supposed respectability and a racketeer whose habitat was the underworld. Thus, while Cliff Marsland still worked upon the Cowry case, Harry Vincent had been ordered to study matters from the other angle, through an investigation of Varden's affairs.

On the morning following The Shadow's visit to Worth Varden's home, Harry Vincent called at the office of Rutledge Mann, in response to a telephone call from the investment broker. There he received his instructions. He started at once upon his a.s.signed task.

No news of Varden's disappearance had reached the newspapers. Joe Cardona was looking into the matter of the San Salvador Importing Company. Nothing had broken from that angle. Hence, when Harry Vincent visited the office of Worth Varden, he was informed only that the importer was out of town.

Harry possessed the manner of a prosperous young business man. He stated that he would call again within a few days; and although he decided to keep his business for discussion with Worth Varden alone, he did condescend to enter into conversation with a bespectacled secretary who worked in Varden's office.

The talk turned to the importing business; from that, it swung to Varden himself. By tactful conversation, Harry began to learn facts regarding the a.s.sociates of Worth Varden. He heard the names of men with whom the importer had been engaged in business enterprises, and he also learned of certain professional men who appeared to be close personal friends of Worth Varden.

During the afternoon, Harry worked on the list which he had thus compiled. He made several telephone calls which brought him further information concerning the men with whom Worth Varden had had a.s.sociations. When he returned to the Metrolite Hotel, his stopping place while in New York, Harry went to the restaurant and ordered dinner. At the table, he studied his list to see what work he could do in the evening.

Harry noted one name in particular. It was that of Ruggles Preston. He had heard Varden's secretary mention that the lawyer was a close friend of Varden's. Yet from what Harry had gathered, Preston did not represent Varden as an attorney.

One of Harry's specialties was his ability to visit lawyers. Harry's home was in Michigan. He had a mythical interest in property which contained gravel. It was an easy matter for him to call upon a New York attorney to discuss the handling of legal affairs pertaining to the property.

Moreover, Harry could create the impression that he was about to leave for Michigan, and therefore desired a preliminary interview without delay. He saw where he could use this plan with Ruggles Preston.

The lawyer's name was in the telephone book. Immediately after dinner, Harry called Preston's home. He talked in urgent fashion, and arranged to call upon the lawyer that evening. It was eight o'clock when Harry started from Times Square in a taxicab.

TWENTY minutes later, the cab rolled along a side street toward a large apartment house. Harry, looking from the window, failed to notice a sedan that was waiting by the curb, in the darkness. He alighted from the cab, entered the apartment building, and took an automatic elevator up to Preston's floor.

Back along the street, men were seated in the sedan that Harry's cab had pa.s.sed. They had seen the young man alight at the apartment building. A low voice growled in the darkness. It was the same voice that Worth Varden had heard the night before, from the man who had introduced himself as Joe Cardona.

"Do you think that's the mug we're after?"

"Don't ask me, Ruff," came a snarled reply. "If it is, we'll know it."

"How, Snakes?" questioned the first speaker.

"He'll be marked," was the answer. "I got the dope over the telephone."

"Who from? The same bird that tipped you off to Varden?"

"That's my business, Ruff. You know where I stand. You know that everything I tell you comes from Gray Fist. You stick to that. You're getting paid for it."

"Yeah. I'm getting paid. But I'm not going to quit, whether I get paid or not. Gray Fist has got the goods on me-like he has on everybody else, I guess."

The two men were sitting alone in the parked car. The driver had left; Ruff and Snakes were in the rear seat. They swung their conversation to a less important topic. Suddenly Ruff silenced his companion as a head appeared by the opened window.

"Who's that?" questioned Ruff.

"Gowdy," came the low answer. It was the man who had driven the car the night before. "Listen, Ruff.

There was a fellow snooping around here a minute ago. He went up along the street." "Where to?"

"I don't know. I tipped Caulkey and Jake to follow him. It looked like he was trying to listen in on what you were saying."

"Stick around, Gowdy. If he comes back, Caulkey and Jake will be on his trail. Give them the word to grab him if he snoops again."

"O.K., Ruff."

"Gowdy" sidled away from the car. He took his post beneath the steps of an old-fashioned house. He looked along the street toward a lighted corner. He saw two figures there; they looked like "Caulkey"

and Jake.

GOWDY'S speculation was correct. Two rough-faced characters were standing at the corner toward which the car driver had started. They were waiting by the door of a drug store. The man whom they had followed had entered the place.

Neither Jake nor Caulkey could see the man at present. He had sauntered to a far corner, and was loitering there. The gangsters were wisely keeping out of sight, until the man should return.

The man within the store was watching toward the door. At last, convinced that no one was observing him, he looked about for a telephone booth. He saw one, against the side window of the store. He entered it, and closed the door. An automatic light appeared.

The man who was telephoning was a husky chap with a firm, square chin. He was wearing old clothes, which took away the clean-cut appearance which should have been his natural possession. He dropped a nickel in the phone box, lifted the receiver, and paused a moment before dialing his number.

Coincidentally, Jake and Caulkey, the waiting gangsters, had moved down the side street a few paces.

The street was dark at the spot where they stood. They could not be seen from within the drug store. As chance would have it, however, the man in the telephone booth was partly visible to the two outside.

Jake gripped Caulkey's arm. The first mobster had happened to glance toward the window where the phone booth was located. He growled quick sentences to Caulkey.

"Say!" uttered Jake. "There's the guy! Look! In the phone booth. He's goin' to make a call."

Drawing Caulkey, Jake edged close to the window. Both mobsters watched with avid eyes while the man within began to use the dial.

"Say"-Caulkey's voice denoted recognition-"I know that bird. It's Cliff Marsland. I wonder what he's doin' around here."

"Ps-s-t!"

The slight hiss came from beside the two mobsters. Both turned. They saw a man beside them. He identified himself with a short growl. It was the gangster called Snakes.

"Get along, you guys," ordered Snakes. "I'm watching here. I came up from the car. Get down there and lay for this guy when he comes back. Stay out of sight with Gowdy."

As Caulkey and Jake moved away, Snakes pressed closer to the window. His form was stooped and hunched. He watched with sharp, beady eyes. His voice came in a low mumble that ended with achuckle.

While the two mobsters had been identifying Cliff Marsland, Snakes had been observing the actions of the man in the telephone booth. Something that he had noted seemed to please him. He was watching Cliff's lips-as much as he could see of them. He could not catch the conversation, although he did manage to pick up disconnected words.

CLIFF MARSLAND was talking to Burbank. Completely ignorant of the fact that a man was watching from without, The Shadow's agent was giving information to the contact man.

"I'm following Ruff Shefflin," Cliff was saying. "He's a pretty tough guy. Big mob leader. I've got a hunch he may have made trouble for Seth Cowry."

"Where is he now?" came Burbank's question over the wire.

"Parked in a sedan near the Mandrilla Apartments," informed Cliff. "There's a bad egg with him-a fellow named Snakes Blakey. That's what gave me the hunch. Snakes is supposed to be the neatest trailer in the business."

"Have you been observed?" questioned Burbank.

"No." Cliff's tone was positive. "I'm going back to listen in again. I'll call later when I've found out whether this means anything or not."

Hanging up the receiver, Cliff rose to leave the booth. He threw a glance toward the street as he did so, but noticed no one outside the window. Snakes Blakey, wary sneak of the underworld, had wisely eased away to escape notice.

When Cliff reached the street, there was no sign of Snakes. The stoop-shouldered gangster was keeping out of sight behind a row of parked cars. He took up Cliff's trail after The Shadow's agent had started along the side street toward the apartment building near which Ruff Shefflin's car was located.

Cliff was wary as he reached the automobile. He approached cautiously, straining his ears to catch any conversation that might be pa.s.sing between Ruff and Snakes. As Cliff's call to Burbank had indicated, The Shadow's agent had not overheard the preliminary talk between the gangsters. Nevertheless, Cliff knew that two such ruffians as Ruff Shefflin and Snakes Blakey could not be in this vicinity for other than a doubtful purpose.

A low whistle sounded near the sedan. Cliff Marsland barely caught its sound. He looked about, straining his eyes toward the street.

In that glance, Cliff glimpsed Snakes Blakey. Then, in answer to the sneaky mobster's call, three men leaped from the cover of a house beyond the sidewalk. They caught Cliff Marsland unaware. The Shadow's redoubtable agent went down under unexpected odds that were too great for him.

The quickness of the encounter was fortunate. These attackers were armed. They would not have hesitated to use their guns if necessary. Cliff was a natural fighter, who would sooner risk death than surrender to such foemen. A swinging hand, however, clipped Cliff a sidelong blow with a revolver.

Stunned, The Shadow's agent offered no resistance. He was shoved, unconscious, into the waiting automobile.

GOWDY clambered to the wheel, expecting Ruff Shefflin to order him to drive away. It was then that an interruption came. Snakes Blakey appeared beside the car and spoke in a low tone to the gang leader. "Stick here, Gowdy," ordered Ruff, after he had heard what Snakes had to say. "You Jake-and Caulkey-wait back where you were. There's a guy coming out of the apartment building. Get him.

Know the sign?"

"A gray mark on his sleeve."

"You can see it when he reaches the light," declared Ruff. "Bring him along, too-with this bird."

So saying, the gang leader clambered out of the sedan. He joined Snakes. The two walked away.

Gowdy remained at the wheel; Jake and Caulkey moved back to the house where they had watched for Cliff Marsland, and had responded to the signal given by Snakes.

At the corner, Snakes motioned Ruff into a waiting taxi. He gave an order to the driver. As the car rolled downtown, Ruff began to speak inquiringly to his companion. Important though Ruff Shefflin was as a gang leader, he took orders from this sneaky mobster, Snakes Blakey, who represented Gray Fist.

"Where are we going?" questioned Ruff.

"You're going to scare up the mob," chuckled Snakes. "You remember those emergency orders I told you to be ready for? Well-I think you're going to get them to-night."

"You mean on account of this guy we grabbed?"

"On his account-and maybe more. Listen, Ruff-I watched the guy telephoning, along with Jake and Caulkey. They didn't see what I saw."

"What was that?"

"Maybe you'll know later." Snakes was cryptic in his snarl. "Maybe - later; I've got work to do, for Gray Fist. You'll have plenty, too, I figure. You be down at the hide-out in the Tenth Avenue garage, where you've got Varden. You'll hear from me there."

"O.K.," returned Ruff somewhat reluctantly.

Snakes ordered the cab to stop. He stepped out on the sidewalk, near the corner of Fifty-eighth and Seventh Avenue. Ruff Shefflin barked a new destination to the driver. The cab rolled along.

As a minion of Gray Fist, Ruff Shefflin could make no protest to Snakes Blakey's guarded statements.

The gang leader shrugged his shoulders as he rode southward. His mind reverted to facts that he knew; that one prisoner was already in the sedan up by the Mandrilla; that another might soon be in the bag.

Perhaps it was the actual pa.s.sage of events that gave Ruff Shefflin such ideas. For while the mob leader was still riding in his cab, Harry Vincent was coming from the automatic elevator in the apartment house where Ruggles Preston lived.

HARRY had learned nothing in his visit to the lawyer. He had discussed legal matters, had artfully turned the talk to tariffs, and thus to importing. He had heard Ruggles Preston mention that he had a friend named Worth Varden who was an importer.

Nevertheless, Harry, when he reached the lobby, decided to put in a call to Burbank. He saw a telephone booth in an isolated corner. He entered it and made his call. In response to Burbank's quiet query, Harry Vincent reported no results.

Something prompted him, however, to give a brief list of Varden's friends. He also mentioned that he wasat the Mandrilla Apartments, and that he would prepare a complete report for Rutledge Mann when he reached the Metrolite Hotel.

This duty done, Harry sauntered through the lobby. As he went into the revolving door, he caught the reflection of his overcoat in one of the gla.s.s panels. He noticed a mark upon his sleeve, near the shoulder.

It looked like chalk-a grayish chalk-when Harry examined the mark in the light beneath the marquee of the apartment house. Harry brushed at it as he walked along. He wondered where the mark had come from. He remembered that he had given his hat and coat to Ruggles Preston; that the lawyer had placed both in a closet, and had later brought them out.

Harry was still brushing at the mark as he neared a parked and darkened sedan by the curb. He stopped a moment by a light just beyond the car, and brushed vigorously at the mark on his overcoat. Then, instinctively, Harry turned.