“First off,” declared the big shot, “you’re out a raiding crew. The only guy left is Skeet. He looks to be the best of the lot. You’re right about him using brains last night. We can count on him to lead the next raid. You’ll have to pick the four best gorillas you’ve got in the outside crew. Who are they?”
“Louie and Gabby, to begin with,” returned Spud, promptly. “Then there’s two other guys. Muggsy McGilly and the fellow that came with him — Cliff Marsland.”
“Marsland, eh? I’ve heard of him. Did time up in the big house. He’s been doing good since he got out of stir. Say — how’d you land him for the outfit?”
“Luke Gonrey knew him. Luke fixed it.”
“Well, he’s worth a couple of ordinary gorillas. Get hold of those four bimboes tonight. Send them up to the hideout. Skeet can break them in.”
“For a job tonight?”
“Yeah. Listen, Spud, we’re going to pull something that’ll turn this town upside down. Something I just got wind of from a smart guy I know. Did you ever hear tell of Teladron?”
“Who is he? One of them Greeks that owns a chain of restaurants?”
“The name’s Greek all right,” snorted Wolf, “but it don’t refer to a person. Teladron is the name of a play. What they call a modernized version of a classic tragedy. Here’s the dope on it. In the newspaper.”
Wolf fumbled through the pages of the journal that he had been reading. He noted an advertisement and a column article. He chuckled.
“This play opened in Philadelphia,” he stated. “They tried it down there and it clicked like wildfire. All the ritzy folks were making week-end trips to Philly just to see that show. Well, Teladron closed in Philadelphia, and it’s opening here tonight.
“The promoters have opened the old Galloway Theater. Seats fifteen hundred people, and you know what the prices are going to be? Five bucks up to twenty bucks top; and there won’t be a seat empty.”
“How come?” questioned Spud, amazed.
“The censors weren’t going to let it open,” explained Wolf. “The box seats were sold; before the regular advance sale started, the censors put the ban on it. They’d seen the show down in Philly. They said nix. Then the promoters pulled a smart one. They got an injunction against the censors on the grounds that they couldn’t pass decision on a show that hadn’t appeared in New York.”
“So it’s opening?”
“Yeah. Teladron tonight at the Galloway. Maybe it’ll be toned down; maybe it won’t. The whole cast may be pinched. But the show runs this one night, at least. That’s why the prices skyrocketed. The promoters aren’t going to deal with agencies. Ticket sale starts at five o’clock, at the theater.”
“Where do we come in?”
“First of all on the box office receipts. I figure they’ll take between ten and fifteen grand. That goes up to the manager’s office. One guy with a gas bomb can take care of that. But that’s chicken feed.”
“I told you the boxes have been sold. I’ve learned who’s got them. This show is going to be as big as the opening of an opera season, except that it’ll be flashy as well as ritzy. You’ve heard of Peter Caldoon, haven’t you?”
“Yeah. The South African diamond king. Has a couple of Pinkertons with him for a bodyguard.”
“That’s the guy. The rocks he wears are worth fifty grand, and he never carries less than that amount of dough with him. Well, he’s got one box, with the dicks there with him. In another box we’ll find Halwood, the banker. His wife’s due to show up with a big layout of sparklers. That ain’t all; but there’s no use in going through the whole list. The point is, we’re going to get all the swag in sight.”
“By gassing the boxes, eh? But what about the rest of the folks in the theater? What about the actors?”
“Listen, Spud. You know what those bombs will do. Their action is terrific. The gas goes everywhere; then drops. Valdan invented it for war purposes. Claimed that a big-sized bomb could cover the area of half a city block.
“Maybe he exaggerated; but it’s a bet that if your outfit chucks a half dozen, there won’t be nobody left to squawk. The newspapers say that the audiences in Philly were paralyzed with laughter when they saw Teladron. Well, we’ll give this New York crowd a taste of real paralysis. Actors along with the audience.
“You’ve got five men. One comes in from back stage. One goes up to the manager’s office, while another covers the lobby. The other two cut down in by the boxes. The first guy busts a bomb square on the stage. Changes the action into a still picture. That’s the cue.
“The guy that’s after the box office dough is watching from the balcony. The mug from the lobby is lamping the stage from downstairs. The fellows by the boxes are looking in too. Masks ready; on they go. Out come the bombs.”
SPUD was staring open-mouthed. The tremendous scope of this scheme stunned him. His lips moved, but made no utterance. Wolf watched him, chuckling, while Spud finally found his voice.
“You — you mean” — the mobleader stuttered — “we’re going to hand the death sleep to everybody in that theater? Fifteen hundred of them—”
“That’s it,” returned Wolf, leering. “Customers for a lot of hospitals this trip; not just the Talleyrand. When the gas hits, the fellow upstairs hops for the manager’s office and drops another bomb. He grabs the dough and comes downstairs. Meanwhile the two by the boxes are making grabs for bank rolls and jewelry.
“There’s two ways out. Across the stage and through the back alley; or out by the lobby. Remember — both those ways are covered. The fellows there have extra bombs. The pineapples will work in the open if they’re needed.
“You be around, but not too close to the theater. The crew heads for the hideout with the swag. That’s where you meet them. Remember, the bulls don’t know yet that we’re using gas. They won’t be thinking about the death sleep hitting in a whole theater. If they got the gas idea at all, they’ll figure it’s limited. Not big enough to paralyze fifteen hundred people all at once.”
“What about an outside crew?” inquired Spud.
“Get one,” ordered Wolf, “but do it cagey. A big bunch of cheap gorillas; have them report in different places near the theater and stay there. They won’t know what job we’re pulling. Tell them if they see any guys with masks making a getaway, they’re to help out. Get it?”
“I’ve got it,” nodded Spud. “Even if The Shadow does get on the trail of some small fry, he won’t be able to figure out what’s happening until it’s over.”
Wolf motioned with his thumb. Spud arose and moved slowly toward the door. It was the signal to scram. On the way, he paused to put a question on a different matter.
“Say, Wolf,” he remarked. “There’s one guy in that bunch of victims from last night — lying up there at the hospital — one guy who might blab—”
“The taxi driver?”
“Well, him, too. But he wasn’t the one I was thinking about. I mean the inside man you had at Galder’s. He didn’t have no chance for a getaway. Suppose Cardona picks him out and begins to quiz him after he wakes up. It may lead back to you—”
“Don’t worry,” interrupted Wolf, with an evil leer. “He’s not the only bird I know. The fellow you mean is Bud Jardell; he was at Galder’s under the name of Huring. He’s being watched by another fellow — an inside man — that I’ve got planted at the hospital.”
“But Skeet ain’t up at the place no longer—”
“I know that. I was only using Skeet to keep tabs on Doc Lagwood. This other guy I refer to is watching the patients. I’ve tipped him to see that Huring doesn’t pull anything. We didn’t know about this guy Throckmorton being wise to the Galder set-up, or we’d have handled Throckmorton like we’re going to do with Huring.”