“What did I get by going up there?” Joe was demanding. “Nothing but an empty office. Waylock has cleared out. If Barth had shoved somebody else up there in a hurry without waiting until he saw me, he might have gotten somewhere.”
“It might make a good story, though,” mused Clyde. “According to those papers you found there, some of the suckers have already come in. Maybe there’ll be more. Aren’t you going to look into it, Joe?”
“Sure,” growled Cardona. “I’ll put a couple of men on detail. One to stay up there at the office; the other to check up on the rubes who have already come to town. I’ll attend to that after I get back to headquarters. Barth will get the report he wants, and if you think you can make a story about Waylock, I’ll have the dope for you tonight.”
Cardona and Clyde parted company.
Both Joe and Clyde had missed the trail. They had found and lost a clue that could have proved of vast importance both to the law and to The Shadow. By their laxity, they had left open a path that was destined to bring murder, followed by new and insidious crimes — crimes that would bring The Shadow back into action.
CHAPTER VII. THE PLANT
EVENING had arrived. Rook Hollister was seated in the living room of his apartment. The big shot had a caller. His visitor was Trip Burley. The two were engaged in an important discussion.
“The word goes out tonight, Rook,” Trip was saying. “There can’t be no argument about it. The only guy that stood up for you was Louie Caparani. And Louie—”
“I know all about Louie,” interposed Rook. “He was for rubbing me out if the job went sour at the Casino Rouge. We know how the meeting’s coming out. We’ve talked that part of it.
“Your job, Trip, is to pull the gag I told you. Spring this business about who’s to be the big shot when I’m through.”
Trip nodded. Then he raised an objection.
“Only one trouble, Rook,” he said. “Suppose Blitz and Louie agree on a guy between them. If they do, they’ll turn down my proposition.”
“There’s no bird big enough to suit the rest of the bunch, Trip. Suppose Blitz and Louie do pick the guy. Every other gazebo will be peeved, even though he won’t show it. But if you spring your gag and stick to it, the majority will be with you.”
Trip grinned. This satisfied him.
“You’ll be sitting pretty, Trip,” declared Rook. “They’ll give you credit for the idea. And they won’t be sore when it turns out to your favor afterward. Because when you’ve come up here and staged the next act, they’re going to figure you are a big shot.”
Trip’s grin increased. Rook motioned to the door of the dressing room. It was time for Trip to be on his way. The mobleader obeyed the big shot’s injunction.
“You’ll know how to reach me afterward,” reminded Rook, as he accompanied Trip to the elevator.
“See Prexy Storlick, up on the Hotel Moselle Roof. But use your bean about it.
“Forget this place. Pick your own headquarters. Act like you were a big shot. Any tips you need, you’ll get from me. All right, Trip. Good luck.”
Trip descended in the elevator. He came out into the garage and sidled to the street. He looked up and down as he made his exit. Seeing no one, he headed for a corner.
TRIP had gone scarcely more than a dozen yards before a figure moved out upon his trail. Hawkeye had followed Trip here. The crafty spotter had waited until Trip’s sojourn at Rook’s was ended. Hawkeye had resumed his trail.
Shortly after Hawkeye had started on Trip’s trail, a block of blackness detached itself from a wall on the opposite side of the street. The dark stripe became a cloaked form. It glided away in the opposite direction.
The Shadow, too, had been on watch to make sure that Hawkeye took up Trip’s path. Satisfied that his agent would not lose the trail, The Shadow was departing to manage business of his own.
More minutes passed in the secluded street. Then from the direction of the avenue two men put in an appearance. The light near the obscure entrance to the garage showed their faces.
One was Bart Koplin, the other Donald Manthell. As they reached the garage entrance, Bart motioned his companion through the opening. A bit puzzled, Manthell followed as Bart led the way to the secret elevator.
UP in his apartment, Rook Hollister had completed the packing of a large suitcase. He was standing in the lighted dressing room when he heard the slight buzz of the elevator. Instinctively Rook sprang toward the table where he kept the revolver. He stopped short grinning.
No need for that tonight. He knew who these visitors would be. But they were coming earlier than Rook had expected, and there was every reason why he should be out of sight when they arrived. Grabbing the suitcase Rook ducked into a closet in the corner of the dressing room.
The slight rumble stopped. The paneled door of the elevator came open. Bart and Manthell stepped out.
The latter was looking curiously at the light which had appeared at the top of the shaft. Then Bart closed the door and led the way into the living room.
Manthell gazed about at the sumptuous surroundings. Bart waved him to a chair and offered a box of cigars. Manthell smiled as he lighted a perfecto.
“Swell place you’ve got here,” remarked the man who looked like Rook Hollister. “But what’s the idea of the tricky entrance and the funny elevator?”
“It used to be a service elevator,” returned Bart. “The fellow who built the hotel lived in this apartment. He wanted a private way to his garage too. He rigged the elevator the way you saw it.
“I figured I might as well use it. It’s a shortcut to the back street and that makes it quicker to the subway. That’s why we came in this way instead of through the lobby.”
“You’ve treated me like a prince,” commented Manthell. “Giving me the lowdown on this fake contest stuff. Handing me that swell dinner and bringing me here so I could meet Mr. Sargon, of Enterprise Exhibitors—”
“Forget it, Manthell,” broke in Bart. “I’m trying to give you a break that’s all. When you told me you were no rookie at the movie business I figured Sargon ought to meet you.”
“I only worked in a few shorts when I was out on the coast. That was more than a year ago. Minor parts too. Then I had to go back to Ohio—”
“And when you heard of the movie contest you thought you’d take a stab at it. Well, we’ll tell all that to Sargon. Say” — Bart paused to eye his companion — “I’ve got an idea that you ought to like.” Bart arose and conducted Manthell into another room. He opened the drawer of a bureau to display a collection of stiff shirts. Swinging the door of a closet he brought out an expensive tuxedo on its hanger.
“Tog yourself in some of these glad rags,” suggested Bart. “There’s some dress shoes here in the closet. They’ll go well with the layout.”
“None of this is my size,” objected Manthell, looking dubiously at the detective’s bulk. “You’re a lot bigger than I am, Mr. Koplin.”
“These duds belong to a friend of mine,” explained Bart. “He’s about your build. Try them on, anyway.” Manthell complied. The clothes fitted him almost exactly. The shoes were a trifle tight; but he managed to squeeze his feet into them remarking that he would not be doing any walking while here.
They strolled out into the living room. Bart nodded approvingly as he noted the new sartorial effect. His face showed pleasure but Manthell did not guess the reason. Bart was observing an added resemblance between Donald Manthell and Rook Hollister.
“Help yourself to a drink,” suggested Bart indicating bottles and glasses on a sideboard. “Then make yourself at home. I’m going out to meet Mr. Sargon. I’ll be back in half an hour.”