“Oh, yes,” replied Bob. “How’s everything there? Was Mr. Young in good health when you left?”
“Quite.” Harry Vincent smiled. “In fact, he intends to come to America himself. With another friend of yours, Ronald Stokes — son of Sir Hubert Stokes—”
“How soon?” inquired Bob, trying to feign enthusiasm.
“I fancy they are on the ocean now,” declared Vincent. “I have no knowledge of their sailing, but they may arrive within the next fortnight.”
Bob Maddox was thinking quickly. Both names mentioned by Vincent were familiar to him, not only through papers belonging to Bob Galvin, but also through letters which now rested in Theodore Galvin’s desk — letters which the nephew had written to his American uncle during the past year.
It was this latter fact that gave him a sudden suspicion. The Shadow had been at that desk when he had been seen by Betty Mandell!
“Six o’clock,” observed Bob, glancing at his watch. “By Jove, I didn’t know it was so late. I say, old fellow, where are you stopping?”
“At the Astorbilt.”
“Suppose I stop there for you — in about an hour? I should like to have you dine with me. We shall have more time to talk. I have a few important phone calls to make; I must dress—”
“Certainly,” said Harry, rising. “I shall return to the hotel, to expect you between seven and half after—”
“Between half after seven and eight,” suggested Bob.
AS his visitor waited, Bob turned to the desk. Two letters were there, addressed to Robert Galvin.
Bob noted that Harry Vincent was observing them. He sidled over and picked up the letters quickly, turning them so his visitor could not see the addresses. He called for Briggs. The man entered and Bob gave him the letters.
“Take care of these right away,” he said in an undertone. “When you go out. Understand?”
Briggs nodded. Bob turned to shake hands with Harry Vincent. Briggs ushered the visitor to the door. When he returned, Bob was at the telephone.
“Keep on the lookout, Briggs,” he said, in a low voice, as he covered the mouthpiece of the instrument. “Be sure that bird has gone.”
“He’s left, all right,” said Briggs, moving toward the door.
Bob was talking to some one now. He was discussing the man who had just left. Briggs divined from the conversation, that the Chief was on the other end of the wire.
“If this guy Vincent is O.K.,” said Bob, “we’ve got to get busy before these birds show up from South Africa. But he may be a phony — sent by The Shadow to work in with me.
“If that’s the case, I’ve planted the idea with him. He saw those fake letters addressed to Bob Galvin. He saw me give them to Briggs—”
His voice cut off as he listened. Briggs knew that he was getting instructions. Bob uttered the word “yes” at intervals as he kept the receiver close against his ear. His face bore a smile when he laid aside the telephone.
“It’s all set, Briggs,” Bob said. “You go down to Brindle’s. Keep your eye out for Moose Shargin. Hand him the letters and give him this note.”
Bob seized a sheet of paper and scrawled a few lines in pencil. He folded the message and handed it to Briggs.
“Tell Moose to tear it up,” he added, “but drop the pieces. Say it low — just make sure that Moose is wise. He’ll probably know what to do, anyway. Don’t act suspicious, whatever you do.
“Wait, now — don’t say a word to Moose unless he doesn’t tear the note. Get me? You’ll probably be watched while you’re there; but don’t let on.”
BRIGGS put the note in his pocket, with the letters. He left the house and walked leisurely to the nearest elevated station.
Some twenty minutes afterward, he arrived at Brindle’s. He took a table in a corner and waited. Moose Shargin appeared, accompanied by Garry Elvers. They sat near by.
Briggs moved over and spoke to Shargin as one would address an acquaintance. He laid the letters and the note on the table as he spoke.
The gang leader did not refer to the note until Briggs had stepped away. He opened it rather slyly and noted its contents.
Shargin’s hands dropped beneath the edge of the table as he tore the paper and let the pieces flutter to the floor. He glanced at his watch.
“Kind of early, Garry,” Shargin said. “Let’s drop down the street and kill an hour at the News Reel Theater. They’re showing some shots of Jake Bernie being quizzed on that kidnapping he pulled.”
The men left the restaurant and strolled to the theater. It had one entrance and one exit, that led back to Broadway.
Back in Brindle’s, Briggs was finishing a sandwich. He left the cafe shortly afterward.
Following his departure, a middle-aged man entered the restaurant and chanced to take the table where Moose and Garry had been. The man ate slowly and thoughtfully, apparently paying no attention to the people about him.
When he left the restaurant, the torn pieces of paper were no longer on the floor. When they came to light, they showed beneath the dash lamp of an automobile, which was parked on a side street near Broadway. Two long, white hands deftly united the fragments so the message could be read.
Leave with your friend at nine o’clock. Will wait until I hear from you at destination. Will join you then.
The dash lamp was extinguished. A soft laugh sounded within the car as this man slipped out into the darkness.
Only a shadow moved along the sidewalk. It reached Broadway and its shape was lost. It reappeared, a motionless blotch, outside the exit of the News Reel Theater. It was still there when Moose Shargin and Garry Elvers came from the movie house.
As the gangsters walked up Broadway, the patch of darkness followed them.
Hiram Mallory’s theory had worked. He had counted on The Shadow to follow any trail that might lead to the imprisoned Bob Galvin.
Moose Shargin and Garry Elvers were the two redoubtable personages who were leading Mallory’s enemy into the trap!
CHAPTER XVII
MOOSE SHARGIN and Garry Elvers stopped by a pair of steps that led to a basement door. They were in the heart of New York’s Chinatown. They were standing outside a spot well known to those members of the underworld who knew the ways of the Chinese. This was the lair of Wing Toy.
The gang leader and his bodyguard held a muffled conversation. They looked around them suspiciously; then, as though satisfied that no one was watching, they descended the steps.
They did not glance behind them as they tapped upon the door at the foot of the steps. Even when the barrier opened mechanically, they glanced only straight before them as they entered.
Hence, they did not see a shadowy form that almost floated across the narrow street to merge with the darkness of the cracked stone steps.
Shargin and his underling were in a long, dilapidated passage. The wall on the right was blank, save for a single door some twenty feet ahead. On the left were various doors all closed. These indicated that the place had once been a hop joint. Now it showed signs of disuse.
The only person in the passage was a tall, solemn-faced Mongolian. He had pressed the button to admit the gangsters. Now he was standing by what appeared to be his accustomed post — the single door on the right of the passage.
The corridor terminated in a heavy metal door, which evidently led to a large room at the end of the passage.
Moose, with the air of one familiar with his surroundings, approached the Mongolian guard and muttered a few words.
The big Chinaman scanned the speaker’s face in the gloom and grunted an expression of assent. He pressed a button beside the door.