They were both in a pinch; silence would only drive them deeper. Harry had something to cover; namely, his actual identity, for he was registered under his right name at the Hotel Framton. The best out was to talk, especially while he and Clyde were together. Then they could make their individual stories correspond if quizzed separately, later.
“This mess is my fault,” asserted Harry, in a sober tone, looking squarely at Rook. “I was a fool to get into it; and I did worse to drag Burke along.”
“So you’re admitting it, eh?” chuckled Bart.
“Hold it, Bart,” snapped Rook. “Let the gink talk. We’ll hear him out.”
“If you’ll only let us out of this,” pleaded Harry, “I’m willing to tell you all about it. Everything that happened to me—”
“Spill something,” interrupted Rook. “Maybe you’ll get a break if you quit stalling.”
“ALL right,” agreed Harry, “here’s how it happened. I was broke. Trying to sell life insurance but the company wouldn’t even give me a license or a drawing account until I’d brought in some prospects.
“I was cold canvassing. So I met a lot of people I didn’t know. A couple of weeks ago, I received a mysterious telephone call at the insurance office. Some speaker with a very odd voice, a whisper, offered me money if I would aid in a search for a man who was supposedly dead.”
“For me?” quizzed Rook.
“For Rook Hollister,” acknowledged Harry. “And you answer his description.”
“Go on,” chuckled Rook.
“The money came in a letter,” resumed Harry. “After I had accepted the proposition, I wanted to make good. Whenever the calls came in again, I was promised a thousand dollars if I located you, Hollister.
“But I doubted my own ability. I knew Burke here; he was on a vacation. So I offered to split with him if he helped out. We were working together. Burke called me a while ago and told me he had a hot lead — that he’d be over here at the Roof Cafe. So I came over.”
“Is that right, Burke?” snapped Rook, turning suddenly toward the reporter.
Clyde nodded. His gesture showed dejection.
“Where’d you get this lead of yours?” demanded Rook. “The one you called Loman about? This business about Donald Manthell?”
“I saw a two-reel movie this afternoon,” admitted Clyde. “A short entitled ‘Papa Pays.’ It’s running over at the Calabria Theater. There was a fellow in the reel that looked like you, Hollister.
“I’d run into Koplin when I was reporting a fake contest handled by a promoter named Waylock. I knew Koplin worked for Enterprise Exhibitors. So I went up there and found out how to reach Koplin. Then I called Loman” — Clyde nodded his head toward Harry — “and told him to meet me on the roof.”
“What else?” demanded Rook.
“Nothing,” replied Clyde wearily.
“And you?” Rook swung and snapped the question at Harry.
“I’ve told all I know,” returned Harry. “If I could give any more details, I would.” Rook eyed Harry steadily. After a brief inspection of the agent’s face, the big shot turned to Bart and nudged his thumb toward the door of an inner room.
“Shove them in there,” he ordered. “Tie them up right. We’re holding them.” Bart complied. He marched the captives into the other room. He called back for rope; Rook told him he had enough already; that he could take belts from the prisoners and bind their feet with them.
WHILE Bart was engaged in this work, Rook strode over and closed the door to the inner room. He came back to talk to Prexy.
“What about this fellow Loman?” asked the big shot. “You say he was looking over at the hotel next door?”
Prexy nodded.
“Picking out Buzz Dongarth’s room?”
Prexy rubbed his chin.
“I wouldn’t say yes,” he declared, “and I wouldn’t say no. There’s a lot of customers who look over that direction. I wouldn’t have been suspicious of this guy except that he began to look around afterward. Then I took a Brodie on him knowing Burke.”
“Hm-m-m. That makes it different. This guy’s admitted he’s working for The Shadow.” Rook began to pace. “But the question is, how deep he’s in. The Shadow is smart. He’s not going to tell any of his stooges too much about himself.”
Rook paced in silence while Prexy watched him. The door of the inner room opened and Bart emerged.
The private dick closed the door behind him.
“Look here, Bart,” stated Rook. “I want you to hop over to the Calabria and see if that two-reeler is running there, with Manthell in it. You told me Manthell had worked in shorts some time ago.”
“He told me that himself,” acknowledged Bart. “Sure, Rook, I’ll go over and find out. And tomorrow I can go to the insurance office where this Loman guy claims to work.”
“Yeah?” Rook’s question was scoffing. “That’s just what you won’t do. That would be handing The Shadow a lead — making an inquiry for Loman. Here’s the way it stands. Loman has told us enough; and Burke has chimed in with it. We can believe them, if we find out that two-reeler is showing at the Calabria.
“If the picture is there, he knows that we’ve heard the straight goods. If it isn’t, then’s the time to put the heat on these mugs. But I’ll bet you’ll see the short at that theater.
“I’ll tell you why. If either Loman or Burke knew a lot about The Shadow, they’d have said nothing. It’s because they don’t know a lot about him that they talked at all.” Rook paused. Bart grunted.
“They know more than they’ve said,” decided the private dick. “I saw Burke with Cardona one day; saw him again down at headquarters. He’s just the sort of bird that would be working for The Shadow direct. Getting tipoffs, passing them to Cardona.”
“Right enough,” admitted Rook, with a surly laugh. “A newshawk on The Shadow’s pay roll. That would account for a lot. Burke was mum for a starter; it was this other sap who turned yellow and squawked.
“It’s likely Burke brought up Loman instead of Loman bringing in Burke. So much the better — if that short picture is at the Calabria. If the picture is on the screen, we know how both Burke and Loman got here. We don’t care how much else they know.
“Because The Shadow is too foxy to have these dumb-bells fixed with a lead directly back to him. We’ll keep them guessing and we’ll keep The Shadow guessing. Let him try to get them by looking for them.” With this conclusion, Rook waved both Bart and Prexy to the outer door. They departed, the private dick starting for the theater, the proprietor returning to the roof.
Prisoners in the little room, Harry and Clyde heard the muffled closing of the outer door. Grimly, the trussed agents were whispering future plans. In undertoned agreement, they decided between them they could cover vital facts concerning The Shadow, no matter how heated Rook Hollister’s next quiz might prove.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE SHADOW’S STRATEGY
NIGHT had passed. New day had come to Manhattan. The city lay basking in the brilliance of glaring sunlight. But those burning rays failed to reach a spot where darkness always ruled.
That was The Shadow’s sanctum. The Stygian abode lay hushed in inkiness, its solid walls holding it as spectral as a tomb. It was not until a faint swish denoted a living presence that man-made light brought illumination to this sable-walled chamber.
A click; a glow upon a polished table. White hands beneath the light. The Shadow began a summary of findings that had brought a sharp change to his plans.
Harry Vincent was missing. The agent had not reported when due. Early this morning The Shadow, himself, had visited Harry’s room at the Hotel Framton. Listening through the dictograph, he had heard sounds of Buzz Dongarth moving about in the next room.