“By telling you facts that she did not learn,” responded Carl. “Even at that, she may have guessed right; but I doubt it. If she has actually told you the truth, though, you wouldn’t believe it. Which makes my information vital.”
Ring growled; but his words were incoherent. Carl put a prompt statement.
“Look here, Stortzel,” he declared. “I’ve been closer to this than you think. Purely by accident, you understand, but I’ve filled in facts. I heard of you; I guessed your game. I’ll work with you for fifty grand — and the dough will come out of the guy you’re after. That’s all I want — a cut from the take.”
Carl Randon’s tone had become harsh. He was talking the language that Ring Stortzel understood. The big-shot, however, had a question.
“If you know so much,” he sneered, “why don’t you grab the swag for yourself?”
“Why not?” Carl laughed roughly. “Because I’d put myself in wrong both ways. With him and with you. Even, if I croaked him, I’d be up against it. You’d think I was just another menace to your safety.
“What’s more, rub-outs aren’t my specialty. I’ve wanted to fix this guy, but I’d have to take it on the lam afterward. I’ve got dough of my own — a good reputation — everything I need. I want to keep it. But I’d be better off if this guy was finished; and with fifty grand more for my bank account, I’d be sitting pretty.”
Ring grunted; then made his decision.
“It’s a deal!” rasped the big-shot. “Spill the dope.”
“ONE condition,” remarked Carl. “I expect you to pull this job according to my plan. You won’t need an outfit, Stortzel. That would queer it. Leave those lookouts of yours where they belong.”
“Say” — Ring’s challenge was gruff — “what do you know about any lookouts? Who’s been talking to you?”
“Nobody,” laughed Carl. “I just figured it. Then I wondered why a Frenchman named Pierre Trebelon had left Gallion’s restaurant. I located him at a place on Exchange Street — Redley’s — and I happened to see a wise-looking guy come in there. A fellow with a long jaw.”
“Banjo,” muttered Ring. “Gave himself away, huh?”
“He did,” responded Carl, briskly. “I followed him here, a while ago. He made a call up to this room. No answer. He went out. I waited a while and saw you come in and ask for the key. I came up.”
“So that’s it.” Ring seemed impressed by Carl’s smartness. “All right. Forget Banjo and the rest of them. I’ll work it the way you say. Spill the dope. Who’s the guy we want to get?”
“Andrew Blouchet.”
Carl made his statement with emphasis. Ring responded with an oath; then a tirade of angry words.
“What’s the idea, mug? Trying to make a monkey out of me? Blouchet! Can the stall! If there’s one guy we know we don’t want, it’s Blouchet!”
“Did the girl name Blouchet?” queried Carl.
“The girl hasn’t talked to me,” snorted Ring. “That’s all you need to know, wise guy!”
“Then she didn’t name Blouchet.” Carl paused to chuckle. “No wonder. Fanchon has fallen hard for Andy. She wouldn’t want to put him in a jam. But there’s another reason, besides, why she would not name him. She would expect what I expected — that you would not believe the statement.”
There was a confidence in Randon’s tone that impressed Ring Stortzel. The big-shot’s growl showed that he was somewhat at a loss. Carl was prompt to follow up his statement.
“Here’s something I doped out,” he told Ring. “Did it ever hit you that Blouchet had guessed what was coming? That he had ditched the swag, while he got ready for you?”
“He didn’t show it,” objected Ring. “He was lucky — that was all.”
“Lucky?” queried Carl. “Not a bit of it. There was a sharpshooter named Duvale who mixed into that mess. I don’t know who he was; but he sprang the surprise that finished the attack.”
“Not until after Needler had found the safe empty.”
“Which was the way Blouchet intended it. Stortzel, he has dough in that safe of his, right now! But it’s not the cash that you sent to him.”
“Yeah?” Ring’s tone was eager. “More than a hundred grand? Other dough?”
“Maybe it’s more than a hundred grand,” replied Carl, cagily, “Anyway, it’s not the same money. I don’t know everything; I only know enough to know that Blouchet is the right guy.”
“You’ve been working with him, huh?”
“No. But I learned a few facts. I saw the first money, the night he got it. He had to hand me a phony story. So I made out that I was leaving for New York. I didn’t go. I had a friend up there mail him a post card, one that I mailed North in an envelope. I’ve been right here in New Orleans, Stortzel, doing some digging. I saw the dough for myself. But not from Blouchet.”
“He don’t trust you?”
“He’d croak me if he knew that I had wised. He thinks I’m just a local sap. He has a lot of friends in town, to keep up a front. Half the time, he pretends that he’s broke—”
“I GET you.” Ring’s rasped interruption denoted that he was convinced. “I’ll take a Brodie. What’s your system for getting Blouchet?”
“It’s nearly eight o’clock,” remarked Randon. “A fellow named Vincent is down at Blouchet’s. Vincent will be leaving shortly.”
“Vincent, eh? The guy who was there that night. We’d better include him in the rub-out.”
“No. He might make trouble. We want Blouchet alone. Listen — Blouchet thinks I know nothing. I have a key to his place. We can walk in on him, together. Remember — there’s coppers still around there. A crew barging in would queer the proposition. What’s more, Blouchet thinks he’s safe.”
“I get it. You’ll walk in, with me right behind you. Is that the idea, Randon?”
“That’s it. But we’ll need gats. I don’t want to use a rod of my own. How many have you got?”
“Two.” Ring pulled a stub-nosed revolver from his hip pocket. Holding it, he tugged open a bureau drawer and brought out a larger weapon. “Which one do you want?”
“Both loaded?” queried Carl.
“Sure,” grunted Ring. “What do you think I’d want with an empty one?”
“Give me the short one,” suggested Carl. “I can pack it more easily. Does it have a safety catch?”
“Naw! Say, what do you think I keep rods for? To use at shooting galleries? Here — shove this rod in your pocket. I carry it because it don’t show. You won’t have any trouble. I’ll pack the smoke-wagon, all right.”
Ring was holding both revolvers when he shoved the little one to Carl. The sleek man pocketed it and stepped toward the door. He added a final statement.
“I’ll be a block this side of Blouchet’s. When I make a wigwag, come up to me. If a copper sees me, it won’t matter. They know me, the police do. The way will be clear when I signal. We’ll blow in together.”
A grunt of approval from Ring Stortzel. The Shadow heard the closing of the door that announced Carl Randon’s departure. Slight sounds were coming through the dictograph, as Ring Stortzel prepared for his departure.
The Shadow paid no attention. He had other work to do. He went to the telephone.
WHILE The Shadow was making a brief call, the sounds from the dictograph ended. The door of Ring Stortzel’s room furnished the final thud that announced the big-shot’s departure. Only a few minutes had elapsed since Carl had left. Ring Stortzel was following the man who had presented the proposition.
A complication had developed. Carl Randon’s lucky discovery of Ring Stortzel had produced a new and unexpected situation. It was one that offered uncertainty; for while The Shadow had considered its possibility, he had not deemed it likely.