“He said that in his last note,” reminded Lucky. “The one where he told us to stick the swag in that package box in the subway, with the key hid on top where he could get it.”
“He got the swag,” said Beak. “He mentioned that in the note I just burned. Says to do the same with any more we get. Unless we’re in a jam; then we’re to wait for new word.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Yeah.” Beak nodded emphatically. “He says something I wanted to hear him say. Something I was worried about. He says he’s wise that The Shadow got into the picture.”
“Well, he ought to be wise. All that hullabaloo around your old hideout got into the newspapers. The bulls found the joint.”
“With nothing in it.”
“Thanks to Goofy. That was smart of him: dragging out your stuff, taking it to his own place. And I was wise to get it away from there. They found Goofy’s body this afternoon.”
“The wise part was burning those letters. That was my idea, Lucky.”
“You should have burned ‘em in the first place.”
Beak ignored his lieutenant’s remark. He began to rub his rough chin. At last he spoke.
“We need new gorillas, Lucky,” stated Beak. “There’s a new job coming and it’ll be quick. If I know Steve, he won’t let grass grow.”
“On account of this mug Murson, that’s still missing?”
“Yeah. That’s one reason. The other’s that Steve is a live wire. He’s in soft and he’ll use his chances. Listen, now. I’ve managed to lay low. Nobody knows that you’re with me.”
“Nobody except a couple of the gorillas. And they’re in their own hideout.”
“Well, get going and pick up a new mob. Steve’s going to want it.”
“Said that, too, did he?”
“No. But he figures we’ve got the mob anyway. He don’t know how many gorillas we lost; I’ve got an idea that Steve’ll pick up some dope tonight. Savvy?”
Lucky nodded.
“Well?” Beak scowled. “What’re you waiting around for? I said start to build a mob!”
“O. K., Beak.”
Lucky chuckled as he walked from the room. He closed the door behind him.
Beak stepped over and locked it. Then the big-nosed mobleader settled back to read the latest newspaper one that Lucky had brought with him from his excursion to Dangler’s.
AT the home of Perry Delhugh, events were taking place that fitted with Beak Latzo’s prediction regarding chances for new crime. Perry Delhugh was in his study, dictating a letter to Benzig.
The letter, addressed to a lawyer named Richard Dokeby, pertained to funds that were in the attorney’s possession. It was in answer to communication from Dokeby himself; the original letter lay on Delhugh’s desk.
A gong sounded, announcing dinner. Benzig went to the typewriter as Delhugh left the study. Rapidly, the secretary completed his transcript of the letter. He laid it, with Dokeby’s communication, upon Delhugh’s desk.
The secretary joined Delhugh in the dining room.
They were sipping coffee at the end of the evening meal when a servant arrived to announce that Mr. Vincent had arrived. Delhugh turned to Benzig.
“Cranston’s man,” stated the millionaire. “Take him up to the filing room and get him started.”
“Very well, sir.”
Benzig departed. Delhugh ordered another cup of coffee. Again the doorbell rang. The servant announced Mr. Zurk.
“Take him up to the study, Chilton,” Delhugh told the butler. “Tell him that I shall join him there in a few minutes—”
Delhugh finished his coffee. Then he went upstairs. The door of the filing room was closed. He kept on into the study, where he found Steve Zurk awaiting him.
“Hello, Zurk,” greeted Delhugh. “How do you find the importing business?”
‘I like it, Mr. Delhugh,” returned Steve.
“So I understand,” smiled Delhugh. He brought a sheaf of letters from a desk drawer, ran through a few and discarded them, then passed the rest of the stack to Steve, so that the man could read the uppermost letter. It was from Joseph Daykin, head of the importing company.
A smile appeared upon Steve’s lips. It was one of genuine pleasure. Daykin’s letter, addressed to Delhugh, stated that his new employee had already displayed remarkable ability.
“You see what Daykin thinks of you,” commended Delhugh. “Keep up the good work, Zurk. Any comments of your own?”
“None, sir.” Steve spoke as he returned the letters. “Only that I’m getting the best break I ever had in my life. Thanks to you, Mr. Delhugh.”
Delhugh clapped Steve on the shoulder. The visitor arose; he and the philanthropist strolled from the study. At the filing room, Delhugh paused and opened the door.
“Bring Mr. Vincent into the study, Benzig,” he ordered. “I shall see you there.”
Delhugh went downstairs with Steve. Benzig and Harry went into the study. It was five minutes before Delhugh returned. He shook hands with Harry Vincent.
“HOW do you like my filing room?” inquired Delhugh. “Do you think it will serve Mr. Cranston’s purpose?”
“Absolutely,” returned Harry. “But it will take at least a week to go through all those records.”
“A long job,” nodded Delhugh, “but one which you appear capable of handling. Well, Mr. Vincent, I suppose you are anxious to proceed with your work. Benzig, you can go back to the filing room with Mr. Vincent.”
“Just a moment, sir.” Benzig was at the desk, blinking through his heavy-rimmed spectacles. “I saw Mr. Zurk with you in the hall. Did he come up here while you were still dining?”
“Yes,” returned Delhugh. “Why do you ask?”
“Because, sir, these letters — this stack — they were in your drawer—”
“I took them out myself, Benzig.”
“But these other two letters.” Benzig was a little nervous. “The one from Dokeby; and the reply I typed. Did you move them?”
“I may have. Look here, Benzig. Are you still suspicious of Zurk?”
“Not exactly, sir. But—”
“Out with it!” Delhugh’s interruption was an angry one. “What have you against the fellow?”
“Nothing, sir. I’m just worried about these Dokeby letters. With all those funds in Dokeby’s safe — two hundred thousand—”
“I understand, Benzig. Well, I feel sure that Zurk was not here long enough to read the letters. I came in only a few minutes after him. I had a chat with him here and downstairs. You are too apprehensive, Benzig.”
A trifle irritated, Delhugh took his place behind the desk. Harry and Benzig left the study. In the filing room, the secretary spoke to The Shadow’s agent.
“The man who was here,” explained Benzig, “was a former convict. I am a little worried about his visits. He comes three times a week. Steve Zurk is his name. Mr. Delhugh has been aiding him.”
“Mr. Cranston mentioned it,” observed Harry. “He said something, though, about two such men.”
“Yes. There is another — Jack Targon. I keep an eye on him, too. But he has never arrived ahead of time, like Zurk. This is the second occasion when Zurk could have pried about Mr. Delhugh’s study. But Targon never had the opportunity to do so—”
Benzig broke off. A bell was ringing from the hall, summoning him to the study. The secretary departed, leaving Harry alone in the filing room.
THE SHADOW’S agent set his lips and nodded slightly to himself. He was here on a definite task — the very one that Benzig had taken on himself; namely, to watch Steve Zurk and Jack Targon.
Already, Harry had gained information. Not only had he seen Steve Zurk and learned of Benzig’s suspicions of the fellow. He had also heard mention of a name and a statement regarding a fund in that person’s possession.