“Good work,” commended Wheels. “You’re playing careful aren’t you?”
“I am,” returned Carpenter. “I pass as a most desirable resident of Seaview City. I have a very attractive cottage near the beach. My wife and three children are living there. I go home every night — except when there is special work to do — as there will be to-morrow.”
The pause that followed was broken by Hooks Borglund. Evidently the fourth king was annoyed because of his own inactivity. His voice showed that he was desirous of maintaining his prestige.
“What about me?” he asked. “I’m ready — when you say the word. I can deliver plenty—”
“Not yet,” interrupted Wheels. “Keep on cooperating; that’s enough right now. Your chance comes later, after we hit a snag. You’d better drop Shifter for a while, Hooks. Stick around the hotel to-morrow night — and the rest of the week. Be there in case Carpenter needs you.”
“O.K.,” responded Hooks.
“If Carpenter comes through,” declared Wheels, “we’ll be a half million ahead at the end of this week. That’s counting on Big Tom and Shifter to keep on pumping. There’s two full months ahead, and the big pay-off will be in the middle of September, when the beauty pageant is staged.”
“We’ve paid expenses, and the profits are starting. I’m figuring on six million by the end of this season; a million each for you fellows; two for myself. Fair?”
“Sure thing,” came agreeing voices.
“The little cops are greased,” continued Wheels. “They’ll stay that way. As I figure it — from the inside — there’s not going to be any changes in the city system. That makes it all jake. With the mobsters working cheap, we’re all set.
“I had a hunch some wise bird might butt in and make trouble, but I’m not worried now. Tomorrow is the big day — the beginning of the real money.”
A match flickered, but it did not reveal a face. The pungent aroma of cigar smoke floated through the room. It reminded the gathered men of that other night, when Wheels Bryant had smoked in the dark. Evidently Wheels favored a particular brand of cigars.
“Any questions?”
There was no response to the inquiry from Wheels. All the masters of crime were satisfied with present instructions.
“Big game!” said the leader, in a low growl. “Big money! That goes for all of us. I picked the crowd of you, because I knew you could deliver. Stick with it. Carpenter has the floor to-morrow. Watch him come through. That’s all.”
One by one, the men left the room. Big Tom Bagshawe was the last of the four kings to depart. Only Wheels Bryant remained. The light of his cigar glowed and moved slowly up and down; then it was extinguished in an ash tray. The ace had gone.
THERE was a movement in the room, during which a slight knocking sound could have been heard. Silence followed. At last, the switch clicked by the wall.
In the light that filled the room, a person stood alone. Tall, sinister, and unearthly, this being was a weird presence. Clad in black cloak, his features hidden by a broad-brimmed slouch hat, he seemed to be viewing the places where the gathered crime masters had located themselves during their brief conference.
A soft laugh came from unseen lips. It was the laugh of The Shadow. Unobserved, the master of the dark had come to this place. A silent witness, he had attended the meeting of the men who plotted evil.
Even the long hands were gloved in black. Only two eyes betokened the presence of the personage within those all-concealing garments. Burning eyes they were — eyes that sensed some meaning in everything they saw.
The black cloak swished as the awesome apparition moved to the center of the room, and stopped by the huge desk. There, black fingers lifted the half-smoked cigar that lay in an ash tray, and then replaced the partly consumed perfecto.
A whispered laugh came from beneath the broad-brimmed hat. The Shadow moved past the desk, and seated himself in the chair — the very spot that Wheels Bryant had chosen. He placed his hands upon the edge of the desk.
There was a slight noise at the door. With a rapid movement, The Shadow swung away from the desk, and stretched his tall form in the narrow crevice behind the open door of the cabinet at the side of the room. The outer door opened, and Big Tom Bagshawe entered.
The gambler looked surprised when he saw the light. He surveyed the room suspiciously, but his glance passed over the unmoving stretch of black that came from beside the cabinet door.
Then Big Tom nodded as though he understood. He left this room dark; but Wheels Bryant had remained. Evidently the big shot had turned on the light before departing.
Big Tom went to the desk and turned the lock. He helped himself to a cigar from the humidor on the desk, and went out extinguishing the light as he departed.
There was a swish in the dark. A soft clicking came from the desk. Then followed a succession of almost indistinguishable sounds.
When Big Tom Bagshawe returned to the office a short while later, the light that he turned on revealed no shadow on the floor.
This time, the room was entirely empty. But Big Tom, when he sat at the desk, appeared surprised. Once again, he pulled his keys from his pocket and locked the desk.
Puzzlement showed on his puffy face. He walked about the room and closed the open door of the cabinet. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders, he went back into the gambling rooms.
Big Tom Bagshawe was not the man to worry about trivial matters. He was absent-minded at times. Where he suspected nothing, he looked for nothing.
He, alone of the five plotters, might have divined that an unknown personage had been here tonight. But Big Tom did not suspect that The Shadow had come and gone!
CHAPTER VI
THE BIG NIGHT
CROWDS were thronging into the luxurious Club Catalina. The resplendent lights of Seaview City’s brightest cafe threw their reflection across the board walk. The largest crowd of the season had arrived.
From a high room of the Hotel Pavilion, a tall figure watched the gathering throngs. He could see the people wending their way to the Club Catalina. He could also observe the dim lights of the second floor, which shone dully through drawn curtains.
The watcher turned away from the window. He was dressed in evening clothes, and presented an immaculate appearance. His face might have been chiseled from stone, so fixed in expression did it appear.
From a vest pocket, this man withdrew a small card, which bore the name of the manager of the Club Catalina — an underling long in the employ of Big Tom Bagshawe.
Upon the reverse of the card appeared these written words:
Introducing Mr. Lamont Cranston.
Accord Membership Privileges.
The card was signed with the manager’s initials. As the hand that held the card moved toward the vest pocket an object sparkled on one finger. The sparkle changed from brilliant blue to a dull deep-set red. Only one rare gem carried those mysteriously changing hues. The stone upon the finger ring was a fire opal.
As Lamont Cranston walked slowly across the room, his firm lips parted, and a low sinister laugh came from between them. No mirth was registered upon that immobile countenance; yet the laugh was weighted with sardonic mockery.
The laugh of The Shadow!
Guised as Lamont Cranston, millionaire and traveler, the man of mystery was planning another visit to the gambling den, where he had surreptitiously entered and departed only the night before.
In the lobby of the Hotel Pavilion, Lamont Cranston passed two men who were talking near the door.
One was Herbert Carpenter, polished and well-groomed. The other was a portly, middle-aged man who seemed the personification of prosperity. These two were going somewhere together.