CHAPTER XIV
THE FALSE THRUST
THREE days had passed since The Shadow’s running fray with Loco Zorgin’s mob. Newspapers had been filled with details of the daring robbery through which supposed dynamiters had rifled the Colonnade Trust Company.
At detective headquarters, the work had been attributed to local mobs. Police were on the lookout for signs of the swag. Captured mobsters had been quizzed; but it was apparent that those arrested had been no more than members of a cover-up crew.
On the evening of this third day, Detective Joe Cardona, acting inspector on the case, was seated at his desk at headquarters talking with two of his men. Cardona, a man of stocky build, showed grimness on his swarthy features.
“We’ve got to get at the guys in back of it,” announced the detective. “There’s no mystery about how they pulled that job. They must have been working for a week from the cellar of that empty house. Drilling so they could plant the dynamite.
“It was that fight out on the avenue that fooled us. It started about the same time as the blow-off. It gave the inside gang a chance to crawl through the hole and grab the swag. They delayed their get-away until we had finished pulling in some of those fellows outside.”
“The inside gang had nerve,” insisted one of the subordinates. “It wasn’t long after the fight that we found where the explosion had been. It was a fast get-away, Joe.”
“We’re dealing with a fast-moving bunch,” declared Cardona. “We’ve got no line on them either. The only mugs good enough to have pulled that job — fellows like Soup McClannley or Digger Wight — haven’t been seen around for months.
“Our only lead is to spot the cover-up crew. But there’s no use for the dragnet until we know better where we stand. I’ve got a hunch, after looking over some of those mugs we brought in, that Loco Zorgin headed the outside mob. But until—”
Cardona broke off as he heard footsteps in the hall. He waited until a newcomer entered.
THE arrival was a man of wiry build, who was wearing his hat tipped back from his forehead. Cardona recognized Clyde Burke, reporter from the Classic.
A real friendship existed between the ace detective and the newshawk. There were times, however, when Cardona chose to be noncommittal with Burke. This was one of those occasions.
“Nothing new, Burke,” informed Joe. “I’ll let you know when anything turns up.”
“Nothing on either end?” queried Clyde. “No dynamiters? No mobs?”
“None,” replied Cardona. “Ask the boys here, if you don’t believe me.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Joe,” decided Clyde.
Turning about, the reporter nearly ran into a brawny newcomer whom he recognized as a detective sergeant named Markham. With a nod to Markham, Clyde kept on. He was satisfied that Cardona had nothing for him.
For Clyde, secretly an agent of The Shadow, was interested chiefly in Cardona’s opinions on the mode of robbery. Clyde had gained facts in a message that he had received through Rutledge Mann. He knew that dynamite charges had not admitted burglars to the vault of the Colonnade Trust.
The Shadow had recognized that the criminals had used the short-range disintegrating ray invented by Professor Jark. Though the power of the ray was limited to a distance no greater than the depth of its projector, the crooks had, by moving the machine constantly forward, found it a simple task to burrow their tunnel through steel and concrete.
Dynamite had covered up this work. Cardona had no clue to the actual means that the crooks had used in tunneling. And Clyde, after a glance at the sleuth’s glum face, had decided for himself that Cardona had not gone far in his search for the leader of the outside mob.
That was where Clyde had made a mistake. Back in Cardona’s office, Markham was speaking in a low tone. Receiving a nod from the ace, Markham went out. He returned a few minutes later, bringing a scrawny, dope-faced man who was attired in baggy trousers and grimy sweater.
This was “Bagger” Lungley, a mobster who had turned hophead. Since he had joined the ranks of the cokers, Bagger had turned yellow. Some smart detectives had threatened to frame him unless he turned stoolie. Bagger would once have scorned such a threat; but the prospect of a visit to the Island worried him, now that he had become an addict of the “snow.”
So Bagger had resigned to the ultimatum. Markham had brought him in tonight, believing that he knew something. Bagger’s drawn countenance showed that he knew what was coming.
Cardona smacked on the heat.
“Hello, Bagger,” he growled. “Coming clean at last, are you? Well, I’m telling you something. I know who was in the outside at that bank job the other night. Some of the birds we pinched weakened when we talked to them. It looks like you know what I know; and I want to check up on what those fellows said. So let’s have it.”
“I’ll talk,” promised Bagger. “Honest, Joe, I’ll talk, if you’ll give me a decent break from now on. Don’t make no ordinary stoolie out of me, will you, Joe? I can be worth more to you if you go easy with me.”
“That’s a go,” promised Cardona. “Hear it, boys?” The dicks nodded. “See that, Bagger? Now, come clean.”
Bagger licked his lips warily; then spoke.
“It was Loco Zorgin,” informed the newly initiated stool pigeon. “That’s the straight news, Joe — no grapevine chatter. Because — listen, Joe — I met one of the gazebos who was in on it. See? And he was talking to me about joining up with the mob.”
“How soon?”
“Any time now. Maybe tonight.”
“Who’s the mug?”
“A fellow named Clatz. Hangs around the Pink Rat. That’s where I’m to hang out. Waiting, in case he’s got the job for me. Says that so many of Loco’s crew got bumped or pulled in that Loco needs more rods.”
“The Pink Rat, eh?”
Cardona arose and began to pace his office. Suddenly he turned about and faced Bagger squarely.
“Listen, you,” ordered Joe. “Go down to the Pink Rat like you’re supposed to. Stick there and go through with the deal if it comes your way. Don’t worry about anything. If you join up, tell me what happens. That’s fair enough, eh?”
“Thanks, Joe,” whined Bagger. He shifted toward the door. “You — you mean I can slide along? Just act like I wasn’t no stoolie?”
“That’s it. Scram.”
Bagger departed, sneakily. He did not want to be spotted in the neighborhood of police headquarters. Cardona allowed time for consideration as he sat down at his desk. Then he gave an emphatic thump with his fist.
“That’s where I’m going,” he told the listening dicks. “Down to the Pink Rat. I’m giving Bagger rope. I’ve got a hunch he’ll be signing up tonight. I’m going to trail him and the other guy, Clatz.”
“Going alone, Joe?” queried Markham.
“No,” replied the ace. “All three of you are coming with me. You’ll stay further off. I’ll give you the high sign if I need you along. Come on, let’s get started.”
WHILE Joe Cardona was concentrating on the Pink Rat, another crime investigator was still keeping close watch on the Black Ship. It was from that dive that The Shadow’s first tip had come. Tonight, as on previous evenings, Cliff Marsland and Hawkeye were posted within those portals.
But another was on the job as well. The Shadow was lurking in darkness outside the notorious dive. From a darkened alleyway, he was watching all who entered and departed. Tonight, there would be no delay if the tip should come again.
About an hour after the scene at headquarters, The Shadow saw two stalwart thugs emerge from the Black Ship’s portals. Three minutes later, Hawkeye sidled into view. The little spotter headed for the alley where The Shadow stood. It was the direct route toward the place where Hawkeye usually compared notes with Cliff.