From the corner of his eye, he noted some stacked boxes at the end of the balcony. He realized that they would make an excellent hiding place for thugs. He was positive that men were stationed there.
The hallway had one light. Moving toward the end, Harry saw two doors, one on each side. As he approached, the door on the left opened and Harry found himself face to face with Andrew Blouchet.
The pleasant-faced young man surveyed his unexpected visitor. Harry, clean-cut and well-dressed, made an immediate impression.
“You rang my bell,” remarked Andrew. “My name is Blouchet. Did you wish to speak to me?”
“Yes,” replied Harry, with a nod. “I understood that there was an apartment vacant in this building. Yours was the only name that I saw downstairs. I thought that I would make inquiry. My name is Vincent—”
“Glad to meet you.” Andrew thrust out a hand in greeting. “Yes, there was an empty apartment; but I believe that it was taken today. The one across the hall.”
“Some one moved in?” queried Harry.
“Yes,” nodded Andrew. “An artist named Duvale. I doubt that he is there, though. He had very little furniture, because his own had not come in. Probably he went somewhere else for the night.” Andrew stepped across and rapped at Duvale’s door. There was no response, nor was there any glimmer of light from beneath the door. Andrew tried the knob and found that the door was locked.
“Too bad,” he said. “You know, there might be a chance that Duvale is not satisfied with the apartment. He’s using it as a studio, I believe. He probably rented it dirt cheap; and he might listen to reason if you offered him a higher figure.”
“What is the apartment like?” inquired Harry.
“Take a look at mine,” suggested Andrew, “and it will give you an idea. The two apartments are similar.”
THEY entered the apartment; Andrew closed the door but did not lock it. He pointed about the room; Harry nodded approvingly as he eyed the arrangement. He looked toward the two doors in the far wall.
“Two bedrooms,” explained Andrew. “Two of us used to live here.”
“The place is large enough,” commented Harry. “I’m from New York. We don’t have apartments like this, up north.”
“You have an apartment in New York?”
“No. I live at a hotel when I am there. My real home is Michigan. I hope I’ll get back there this summer.”
“You won’t be in New Orleans long?”
“Only for a month. I thought that I would spend that time here in the French Quarter. This old city pleases me. I want to see and learn as much about its history as I can.”
“You have friends here?”
Harry shook his head in response to the question. Andrew Blouchet smiled.
“Why don’t you take this apartment?” he questioned. “I am thinking of going on a trip. I can rent it to you in the meantime. I saved up a little money recently; and decided to go away a while.”
“How soon are you leaving?” queried Harry.
“Not for a few days,” replied Andrew. “But that is just as well, Vincent. I am staging a big party tomorrow night, and I’d like to have you come here. Since you want to see old New Orleans, it would be well for you to get acquainted with some friends of mine who know the city.”
“That would be excellent,” expressed Harry. “But I wouldn’t want to put you out on my account.”
“You won’t. You know, Vincent, we have a traditional hospitality here in New Orleans. When we meet people who share our sentiments regarding the old city, we like to make them feel that they belong.”
“I appreciate that, Blouchet.”
“Moreover, I, for one, make a sound judgment of persons when I first meet them. You have impressed me with your interest in the Vieux Carre. If I can aid you—”
ANDREW cut short. A sound from the door had made him turn. The barricade was swinging inward.
Before Andrew could say another word, a masked man had thrust himself into the room. Rangy, stoop-shouldered, the fellow was thrusting forward a shining revolver. Before Andrew or Harry made a move, the ruffian was followed by two others, masked like himself.
All three were roughly clad. Their masks were blue bandanna handkerchiefs with holes cut in them for eyes. The handkerchiefs went clear to the chins of the men who wore them. Staring, Andrew and Harry saw others in the hall outside.
“Stick up your mitts!” snarled the stoop-shouldered crook. “Back over to the wall! That’s the idea. O.K., Beef. Close the door.”
One of the followers complied. Three men were in the room; two outside in the hall. Harry knew who the long-limbed leader must be. This was Needler Urbin, chief of Ring Stortzel’s torpedoes.
Andrew Blouchet, however, had never heard of Needler Urbin. He had a different guess as to the man’s identity.
“Duvale!” exclaimed Andrew, in a low, tense tone. “So that was why you snooped downstairs and picked out my letter! I should have known it, after hearing you feign a French accent—”
“Pipe down,” broke in Needler, with a snarl. “No lip from you, mug!”
“Playing another part, eh, Duvale?” laughed Andrew. Though he, like Harry, had raised his arms, both showed no fear of their attackers. “You faked the Parisian talk so I wouldn’t know who you were when you started this rough stuff—”
“I said to pipe down!” reiterated Needler, his voice a harsh ejaculation. “Come on, mug! Spill what you know!” Approaching, Needler jabbed his revolver against Andrew’s ribs.
“Give us the combination to that safe. In a hurry. Get me?”
“There is nothing in the safe,” began Andrew. “Nothing, I assure you, that would be of interest to any of your caliber, Duvale. If this is a joke, end it. If not—”
“You want the heat?” queried Needler, with a snarl, “You want me to blow that tin box if you don’t squawk? We’ve got the soup with us. And listen, too; any more funny stuff won’t help you.” The final statement came in a rasp that Harry knew meant business. The Shadow’s agent spoke to Andrew, who was still eyeing Needler calmly.
“It looks tough, Blouchet,” warned Harry. “This is no masquerade. These fellows mean trouble!” Andrew’s smile faded. His eyes, however, held their glare. Looking beyond Needler, he saw the two henchmen drawing blackjacks from their hip pockets. He guessed that those were “persuaders” that would be used if Needler wanted rough stuff.
“How about it, Needler?”
The query was growled by one of the two thugs. Needler held up his left hand.
“Give him another chance,” he said, gruffly. “Come on, Blouchet. If that tin box is empty, we’d like to know it. If you don’t open it, we’ll know you’re stalling.”
Needler had shown strategy with his argument. Andrew, himself, had paved the way. Outguessed, he knew that his only course was to stage a counter-bluff. Harry Vincent realized the same. Andrew’s answer came. “All right.” He shrugged his shoulders as he spoke. “I’ll open the safe for you. If you want to see a collection of useless articles, you’re welcome to.”
BLOUCHET strolled toward the safe, while Needler motioned a thug to follow him. The second ruffian covered Harry Vincent. Needler himself stood watching with lowered gun, while Andrew began to manipulate the combination. Harry stared glumly.
Duvale, the artist; Harry had heard no mention of such a person. When he had listened in to the conversation of Ring and Banjo, he had heard them intimate that Andrew Blouchet was the sole occupant of an apartment on these premises. Because of that, Harry had sent an incomplete report to The Shadow.
Needler had been in here this afternoon; and he was to be inside tonight. Harry cursed his own stupidity.
He should have guessed that Needler might have used some game to enter. He had thought of that possibility too late. Even when Andrew had talked of Duvale, Harry had not guessed the answer that now sprang to his mind.