For Spud had that marked ability of appearing to be on his own. He knew how to keep underlings in line, to make them think that he was planning action of his own accord. That was why Spud had profited by shady business. Actual big shots who wanted dirty work accomplished could always depend upon Spud Claxter. Yet he, like Wolf Barlan, had been inactive recently. This fact was to come out during their conversation.
“DEATH sleep strikes four,” chuckled Wolf Barlan. “Say, Spud, the news hounds have got something to think about. This is just the sort of hooey we want. Physicians puzzled by the mysterious malady. They got that specialist on the job — Doctor Seton Lagwood. That’s the way I figured it would work.”
“Yeah?” questioned Spud. “Well, that’s the part I don’t like. That croaker is a smart guy, Wolf. Knows all about sleeping sickness and paralysis. The newspapers have been talking about the cures he’s worked on. I’d have fixed it so those stiffs were shipped to some different hospital, instead of the Talleyrand. Then some dumb doc might have got hold of them — not this fellow Lagwood.”
“Listen, Spud.” Wolf’s voice was a growl. “I’m running this racket — not you. It ain’t your job to pass out advice. I’m leaving the strong-arm end to you.”
“All right, Wolf.”
“But I ain’t saying you’re not smart.” Wolf paused cannily. “And it’s not bad dope to get opinions from a guy like you. You take what I order; if there’s any explanation coming, listen in and talk when I ask you. Get that?”
Spud nodded.
“Let’s look the lay over,” resumed Wolf, as he plucked a cigarette from a box on a table beside him. “I’ve been mighty careful with my plans. I brought you in because I needed some smooth workers and I wanted you to get them.”
“Which I did,” reminded Spud.
“Yeah,” agreed Wolf. “First there was Skeet Wurrick. He lamped the lay down at Valdan’s. Made sure the old boy went out of town yesterday afternoon. That gave Zug Poley the chance to go in and grab the stuff we wanted. He got it to the hideout like he was supposed to.
“Meanwhile, Skeet picks that apartment of Tanning’s. A cinch from the warehouse across the way. Near the Talleyrand Hospital. Skeet tips off Zug to heave the bomb at midnight. Zug does it. He beats it while Skeet is watching the time and making phone calls to see if the stuff worked.
“All goes great. Too late for the morning papers. When Valdan gets back to New York, he won’t be wise until he picks up one of these afternoon sheets” — Wolf rustled the newspaper that he was holding — “and the chances are he won’t get a chance to read one.”
“On account of Zug being ready,” chuckled Spud.
“That’s it,” agreed Wolf. “Skeet swiped Valdan’s papers. Zug moved out the stuff. Even if Valdan does read an afternoon newspaper, he won’t do nothing until he gets back to his joint. Then it’s curtains.”
Wolf leaned back and puffed his cigarette. He eyed Spud, who was nodding; but he caught a questioning glance in his henchman’s eye. Wolf laughed.
“It’s all clear to you,” chuckled the big shot, “except the reason why I picked the Talleyrand Hospital. You can’t see no reason for it. Well, I’m going to put you wise. What happens at any hospital when they get some kind of a case that they can’t figure out?”
“They call in a specialist — some croaker who knows more than the rest of them.”
“Sure. But where do they get him?”
“They pick the best bird who’s hooked up with the hospital, don’t they?”
“You guessed it. But suppose he don’t get anywhere with the job. What happens then?”
“Well” — Spud paused speculatively — “I guess the croaker goes out and talks things over with some other big boys. Looks for advice.”
“That’s it,” nodded Wolf. “A consultation. All the smartest croakers come in on the case. Do you get the point now?”
“Not yet.”
“Here’s the answer. Sooner or later, this Doctor Lagwood would get called on. See the idea? He’s a hot-shot on this sleeping sickness, like you said. Runs a sanitarium out on Long Island. Comes into the Talleyrand Hospital certain days every week. Now if there’s any croaker who might figure out this gag of ours — the death sleep, they’ve begun to call it — the one guy is Doctor Lagwood.”
“That’s what I said in the beginning.”
“All right,” Wolf leered. “Suppose other croakers got the victims first. They’d be stumped; then Lagwood would horn in to help them out. Since they called him in, he’d have to tell them any ideas he got, wouldn’t he?”
“Sure.”
“Then suppose he doped out something that would make trouble for us. A lot of croakers would be wise right away, wouldn’t they?”
“Yeah.”
“All right.” Wolf tossed his cigarette stump into an ash stand. “That’s why I wanted those four people to go to the Talleyrand Hospital. This wise croaker, Doctor Lagwood, will handle the cases all by himself. Without telling nobody, see?
“Then if he makes trouble, we’ll have a cinch. Rub Lagwood out and the other croakers will have to start in at the beginning. By shoving this under Lagwood’s nose right away, we’ve fixed it so we’ve only got one bird to deal with.”
WOLF reached for another cigarette, grinning with satisfaction. Spud’s crafty eyes had opened in understanding. When the underling spoke, it was with profound admiration.
“Say, Wolf!” blurted Spud. “You’ve doped it out nifty. I get the whole idea now. That’s why you’ve got Skeet hanging around, up there at the hospital. Watching to see how Lagwood makes out!”
“Sure,” laughed Wolf. “But that ain’t all. Look here; if the stuff works the way it’s supposed to, those saps are going to wake up inside of forty-eight hours.”
“Yeah.”
“And who’ll get the credit?”
“Lagwood.”
“Sure. Then, when we put the death sleep on some new victims, what will the police do when they find the stiffs?”
“Take them to some hospital.”
“Yeah; but what hospital?”
“I get it!” exclaimed Spud. “They’ll ship them to the Talleyrand, on account of this croaker Lagwood. He’ll be the big noise — the one doc they’ll leave in charge.”
“That’s it,” affirmed Wolf. “We’ll be playing the same alley all the way along. These croakers are smart boys, Spud. They don’t tell each other all they know. They call in help when they’re stuck; but when they’re riding high, they keep mum and let the rest of the profession guess.
“So the more luck Lagwood has, the better. We’ve shoved the whole works his way. It’ll be a cinch for Skeet to watch what’s going on at the hospital. Maybe he can get one of those attendant jobs; he says some mugs were fired for hitting the booze last week. Well — if he manages that, he can keep mighty close to what Lagwood’s doing.”
“And if the croaker finds out too much,” put in Spud, “we can have Zug rub him out.”
“That’s the ticket,” assured Wolf, “but we’re leaving Mr. Sawbones alone as long as we can. Skeet reports to you. From you, the word comes to me. Then I give the orders back to you.”
Spud Claxter nodded as he arose. He knew his business. He was the go-between; and he was too wise to aspire to any higher office. Serving as leader of Wolf Barlan’s minions was already a profitable job. Spud knew that he had been chosen because Wolf knew of his previous services to big shots. Spud was smiling wisely when he left the apartment.
WOLF BARLAN remained smoking by the window after Spud had gone. The big shot showed his fanglike smile. It increased the ugliness of his yellow, unshaven face. Wolf Barlan was pleased. He felt that he had accomplished something by his talk with Spud Claxter.