He knew now why other spotted men had gone to meet death without an outcry. The steadily leveled automatic from behind was a sure silencer. As long as the road lay ahead, there was still a slim sliver of hope. A false move, and all hope would be blotted out instantly.
Somehow, Harry’s true connection with The Shadow had been discovered. Yet it seemed incredible that the Homicide Twins would act without first consulting Frank Marmosa.
In thinking this, Harry failed to realize the true state of affairs. Had he seen Marmosa at that very minute, he would have been enlightened.
The proprietor of the gambling den had taken over the duties of Harry Vincent. He himself was watching the patrons of his establishment. Steve Cronin was on the inside, in place of the Homicide Twins.
Marmosa had neglected to tell Harry that his mission to the bootblack shop was planned to spring a trap.
And now Frank Marmosa had forgotten Harry Vincent. It often paid to forget people in Chicago. The one hope that Harry held — that Marmosa would wonder about his absence — was a false one.
For while Harry pondered on that very matter, Frank Marmosa was smiling as he ushered one of his patrons to the door. It was the gray-haired man, who had lost so heavily.
THE sedan rolled into a squalid district. Harry had no idea whatever as to the location. He was only partly familiar with Chicago, and he had lost all sense of direction.
Anelmo guided the sedan down a side street, and pulled up before a dark building. Genara stepped from the back seat.
A few moments later, he pushed Harry Vincent out onto the sidewalk. Thereupon Harry was guided through a gate in a ramshackle board fence.
Anelmo produced a key and opened a door in the side of the house. Harry was shoved down a short flight of stairs. Another door was opened, and Anelmo switched on an electric light.
Harry looked about him. He found himself in a small stone-walled cell, hidden beneath the house. He realized that with the locking of the lone door, the place would become a soundproof vault.
It was a spot well chosen for murder. Here, locked away from the outside world, there would be no sign of the crime.
Harry shuddered as he looked at the businesslike automatic displayed by John Genara. He wondered why the Sicilian did not shoot him quickly, and end the mental agony.
Then the truth began to dawn. When gangsters put their victims on the spot, they either left the body in the car or dumped it out.
Yet Harry had been brought to this solitary place. Why? Because his captors must want information!
Thoughts of torture gripped Harry Vincent. Scarcely had his mind turned to this channel before his fears were realized.
There was a heavy chair in the corner. Anelmo propelled Harry thereto. Then he took a rope and bound Harry’s arms in back of him. He thrust a rod of iron through the rope. Harry knew what would happen next.
The first act of torture began. While Genara covered Harry with the revolver, Anelmo twisted the iron rod. A pang of pain shot between Harry’s shoulders.
“Stop!” he cried.
The turning ceased. Harry stared wildly into the dark visage of the Sicilian who stood before him. John Genara neither spoke nor smiled.
He seemed to wait Harry’s words. When the young man did not speak, Tony Anelmo seemed to catch an invisible signal from Genara. There was another twist of the iron rod.
THE pain was excruciating. Harry gasped. These men were inquisitors, but possessed a terrible grimness. They took it for granted that Harry knew what they wanted to know. They placed the burden upon him. Until he talked, they would not stop.
The first words that Harry would utter would be a starting point, They would form an admission that he could give the information they required.
“Why are you doing this?” cried Harry.
The twisting continued slowly.
“What do you want to know?”
The twisting became unbearable.
“Stop! I shall tell you!”
The words escaped Harry’s lips almost involuntarily. Evidently Anelmo realized that a point had been gained. He did not turn the iron bar an inch farther. Yet Harry knew that he must speak, or the torture would begin again.
“Tell me what you want to know,” he said.
“The Shadow,” said Genara. “Who is he?”
“I do not know.”
Again that twisting of the iron rod. Harry’s lips twitched, and he bent his head in pain.
“I do not know,” he repeated. “I would tell you, if I knew. I have met him. I have worked for him” — his words became slow and painful under the terrific strain — “but — I - do — not — know — who — he — is!”
Anelmo stopped the torture. Harry’s chin rested against his chest. The words had been virtually squeezed from him by the terrific pressure that Anelmo had induced.
Men spoke the truth beneath that torture. Genara and Anelmo had each been witness of the fact on more than one occasion. They knew now that Harry Vincent was telling all he knew.
“Where is The Shadow?” demanded Genara.
“Here, in Chicago,” admitted Harry.
“Where in Chicago?”
“I do not know.”
Anelmo was ready to turn the iron rod; but Genara stopped him with a quick gesture. He saw an opportunity to press a question. He leaned forward and spoke harshly, close to Harry Vincent’s ear.
“Did you telephone him last night?”
“No,” gasped Harry.
“Who did you telephone last night?”
“I called — my hotel,” gasped Harry. “About — changing my room.”
It was the same excuse he had made to Frank Marmosa. But it wouldn’t do this time.
The twisting began anew, and while Anelmo operated the iron rod that wrenched at Harry’s shoulder sockets, Genara still leaned forward, ready to catch any word that might be uttered.
Harry was overcome by the pain. His senses began to leave him. That proved to be his temporary salvation. Genara spoke to Anelmo, in Italian.
“Stop,” he said. “He is fainting. I don’t think we can make him tell.”
“Shall we kill him then?”
“No. Not until I have telephoned Borrango.”
GENARA walked from the room, leaving by the door which he had entered. But instead of going to the outer door, he went up another flight of stairs, and entered a room on the first floor of the building.
The place had been a store. Now it was closed. The windows were barred; the door was nailed shut. The entrance to the cellar was a massive door which Genara unlocked.
There was a telephone in the dark room, and it had never been disconnected. Genara lifted the receiver and dialed a number by the ray of a tiny flashlight.
He heard the ring at the other end. Then came the voice of Mike Borrango.
Genara spoke in Italian, and told his story briefly. When he had concluded, Borrango told him to wait a few moments for instructions.
Meanwhile, Harry Vincent was regaining consciousness. For a moment he did not realize where he was. Then the pressure of the ropes that bound his arms brought him to full understanding of the grim reality that threatened him.
CHAPTER XXI
MONK THURMAN SUGGESTS
MIKE BORRANGO had a purpose in telling John Genara to wait for a few minutes. The enforcer wanted to repeat the Sicilian’s story to Nick Savoli.
Borrango knew well where Genara and Anelmo had taken Harry Vincent, and he was sure that they would be free from disturbance. He had ordered Genara and Anelmo to bolt the door.
Should any one attempt to effect an entry, they could kill their victim before a rescue could be accomplished.
Nevertheless, Borrango was terse in his statements to the big shot. When he had summarized what had taken place, the enforcer waited Savoli’s comment. It was quickly forthcoming.