There The Shadow could deliver his bold counterstroke against Gray Fist!
CHAPTER XIV
PRESTON GIVES ADVICE
RUGGLES PRESTON was seated in the living room of his apartment. The place was not commodious, for the Mandrilla was a rather antiquated building of cramped proportions. The apartment, however, was comfortable, and gave an impression of affluence.
The lawyer was at a small desk in the corner. Papers lay before him. At one side was a list of names. A dozen in all, they included persons who had gained success in worldly affairs. Among them was the name of Worth Varden. This had been crossed by a blue-penciled stroke.
Preston was consulting notations that he had made. He took his notes, tore them into fragments, and applied a match to the cluster of tiny sheets. He dropped the burning papers into a metal wastebasket, and went back to his desk, where only the list remained.
From a desk drawer, Preston produced a sheet of gray paper that spread into two portions as he pressed it between thumb and forefinger. Referring to his list of names, reverting to memory of the notations that he had just made, Preston inscribed a coded message. This completed, he moistened the edges of the gray sheets, and pressed them together so that they formed what appeared to be a single piece of paper.
Preston folded this. He inserted it in an envelope. He drew a slide from the desk and slipped his list of names into a pair of tiny grooves that lay beneath it. The slide went back into the desk. Preston’s list was effectively out of sight.
The envelope that contained the message was another matter. Preston glanced at a clock on the desk. It registered five minutes of eight. The lawyer tucked the envelope in his pocket and strolled from his apartment. When he reached the street, he walked along until he spied a parked coupe.
The car was empty; the window by the sidewalk was open at the top — just the fraction of an inch. Looking about, Preston made sure that no one was watching. He drew out his envelope and dropped it through the slit at the top of the window.
The lawyer had delivered his letter in an odd sort of mailing box. That task done, Preston returned to the apartment building. It was several minutes before a man came strolling along the street to stop at the coupe. This individual unlocked the car, entered it, and drove away.
A passing light showed the face of the man who had come to get Ruggles Preston’s message. It was a face that belonged in the underworld, yet which had frequently been seen elsewhere. The letter collector was Snakes Blakey.
BACK in his apartment, Ruggles Preston slouched idly in a large chair and lighted a cigar. The aroma of heavy smoke pervaded the atmosphere of the room. The attorney seemed comfortably pleased with life. His face took on a gleaming smile of happy satisfaction.
Preston sobered as he heard the ring of the apartment telephone. A puzzled look appeared upon the lawyer’s face. Striding to a corner of the living room, Preston picked up the telephone and lifted the receiver.
“Hello.” Preston’s tone was cautious. “Yes, this is Mr. Preston… Who?… What’s that?… Ah, you are downstairs… Yes, I can see you…”
As Preston paused to listen, his face showed tenseness. This call from the lobby had given him a shock. He was recovering, however, and he had controlled his voice effectively. By the time it was his turn to speak again, Preston had regained his suave smile. His tone was purring as he concluded the conversation.
“Certainly, Detective Cardona,” he remarked. “I shall be pleased to talk with you… Yes, I am alone… Yes, come up at once.”
Preston hung up the receiver. With hands behind his back, he paced across the living room. He reached the window and drew aside a draped curtain. All was black outside. This room was at the side of the apartment building. The roofs of lower houses loomed near by.
Turning back into the room, Preston displayed signs of craftiness. Evidently, from something that had been said over the wire, he did not expect difficulties from the surprise visit which he was receiving.
A man who was working against the law, Preston had naturally felt visible confusion when he had heard the voice of a man from detective headquarters. At present, however, the lawyer seemed to feel himself in good fortune because he had not encountered Joe Cardona face to face.
With the first surprise ended, Preston felt himself quite capable of dealing with the visitor. In fact, his face took on an eager glance as a knock occurred beyond the door of the living room. Preston strode forward to admit detective Joe Cardona.
THE swarthy sleuth was sober-faced, friendly, as he stepped into the light of Preston’s living room. The lawyer waved him to a chair and brought forward a box of cigars. Cardona accepted one with thanks.
“What can I do for you?” questioned Preston, while Cardona was lighting the perfecto. “I gathered from your conversation that you believe I can give you some important information.”
“You can,” returned Cardona.
“Regarding what?” asked Preston.
“Regarding a man named Worth Varden,” stated Cardona. “He is an importer who has disappeared from New York.”
“Varden?” Preston’s tone was incredulous. “Disappeared? When?”
“Two nights ago,” returned Cardona.
“Amazing!” gasped Preston. “Are you sure of it?”
“I have complete evidence of his disappearance,” declared Cardona. “More than that, I have facts that point to crime.”
“You mean that Varden may have met with some misfortune?”
“I mean that Varden may be involved in some mighty crooked work.”
Preston stared so incredulously that Cardona could not repress a grim smile. The detective took the lawyer’s manner for bewilderment.
“Let me give you the details,” explained Cardona. “I observe that you are surprised by what I have told you. I expected that you would be.”
“I am,” returned Preston, in a tone of admission.
“Worth Varden,” stated Cardona, “was hooked up with an outfit known as the San Salvador Importing Corporation.
“I heard him mention the concern.”
“The San Salvador bunch is phony. Varden knew it. That’s why he cleared out.”
Ruggles Preston sank into a chair opposite Cardona. He stared dumfoundedly at the detective. He did not seem capable of believing Cardona’s statement.
“Varden called me two nights ago,” announced Cardona. “I went to his home. He was gone. I found his confession along with papers that concerned the San Salvador.
“I have been investigating. I have found out that the company is shady. Varden had every reason to get out. I made careful inquiries at his office — not letting any one know that the police were concerned. In that way, I learned the names of certain persons whom Varden knew.
“I found out that you were a friend of Varden’s. I made a check-up of your affairs, Mr. Preston. Finding them O.K., I picked you as the man to come to see.”
“Because of Varden?” questioned Preston.
“Exactly,” returned Cardona. “The San Salvador mess is a government job. The lid will blow off within a few days. The Feds are working on it now. But I’ve got a job of my own that’s apart from the San Salvador affair. What I’m concerned with is to Varden’s advantage. That’s why I picked a friend of his to talk to.”
“Varden was scarcely more than an acquaintance of mine,” remarked Preston. “I was never his attorney. I always liked the chap. If he’s in trouble, I’d like to help him out.”
“He may be in real trouble,” insisted Cardona. “I’ll tell you why. When Varden called me, he said something about a man named Seth Cowry. Did you ever hear of such a man?”
“The name sounds vaguely familiar.”