Cliff Marsland considered. He gave no sign of being interested in Punks Gumbert’s proposal. Yet he made no refusal of the offer; and that fact caused Punks to become urgent. The mealy-mouthed gangster began an account of racketeering operations. He pointed out soft ways to make money.
“Get with Duke Scurley,” advised Punks. “I’ll put you wise to the way to work with him. You’ll be in soft, Cliff, I’m tellin’ you—”
“All right,” decided Cliff. “When do you want to take me to see Duke?”
“Tomorrow night,” returned Punks.
“All set,” said Cliff, rising from the table. “I’ll meet you here, Punks.”
THE scrawny gangster grinned as Cliff departed. Punks Gumbert saw a prosperous future. It would fix him well with Duke Scurley to bring in so capable a worker as Cliff Marsland. Moreover, with Cliff as his pal, Punks would gain higher status in Duke’s outfit.
Punks, in reviewing his conversation with Cliff, thought that the most important phase had been the conclusion. Punks, in his description of what had happened to Spud Jagron, had been merely endeavoring to excite Cliff Marsland’s interest.
To Cliff, however, the preliminary discussion had decided his plan of action. Cliff had come to the Black Ship on three successive nights, hoping for some break that would give him a clew to how Spud Jagron had been bumped off. He had gained the break — and with it the knowledge that Spud Jagron might still be alive!
If so, where was Spud Jagron now? The gangster with the scarred jaw had not been seen in the underworld. Police and gangsters, alike, believed him dead. There was mystery here — and the key to it lay through contact with Duke Scurley.
Cliff Marsland had read the accounts of two deaths; he knew that the police regarded Merle Clussig’s end as murder and that strange circumstances shrouded the demise of Dustin.
Cliff knew nothing of what The Shadow might have learned. At the same time, he realized that somehow, Spud Jagron must be connected with one or both cases.
The situation seemed incredible. How could Spud Jagron still be alive — and yet not seeking vengeance against Duke Scurley, who had taken him for a one-way ride?
Was Sailor Cook also living?
The answers were unfathomable to Cliff, but they would not be to The Shadow. Cliff Marsland’s report would weld another link in the chain which was being formed to reach the source of strange crime.
Cliff knew well what his next instructions would be: to join with Duke Scurley and to learn the spot where the gang leader took his victims.
With a thousand dollars waiting for each gangster that he delivered, Duke Scurley would soon send another victim along the route which the others had followed. Cliff Marsland, as Duke’s underling, could gain insight into what had happened to Spud Jagron. That, Cliff felt sure, would lead to someone higher up — the crime master whom The Shadow sought!
The deaths of Merle Clussig and Wycroft Dustin were linked with the strange fate of Spud Jagron. That was something which Cliff Marsland knew must be true — something which hitherto, only The Shadow had known!
CHAPTER XI. A STRANGE VISIT
THE SHADOW was in his sanctum. Before him, on the illuminated table, lay a report from Cliff Marsland. One day had elapsed since Cliff’s meeting with Punks Gumbert. During that time. Cliff had communicated with The Shadow and had received orders in return. This message was the assurance that tonight Cliff would certainly meet Duke Scurley, the racketeer who had put Spud Jagron on the spot.
Another report appeared between The Shadow’s hands. This was from Rutledge Mann. The investment broker had followed instructions, but so far had received no replies to his attempt to interest financiers in new inventive products.
There was grimness in the whispered laugh that come from The Shadow’s unseen lips. The Shadow knew that he was dealing with a master plotter — a man who moved with convincing precision. Merle Clussig — Wycroft Dustin — both had known the identity of the supercrook; both had died.
Would Duke Scurley also prove a blind clew? The future alone would tell. It was probable that the unknown plotter behind the game of insidious murder had been cagy in his dealings with Duke Scurley.
Much depended upon Rutledge Mann. If the investment broker could discover a financier linked in any way with either Merle Clussig or Wycroft Dustin, a definite step would be taken.
Again, The Shadow laughed. His weird mirth betokened a further thought. The unknown plotter had duped both Clussig and Dustin, because they possessed scientific skill which he required. Were there other persons, of similar ability whose services had also been turned to usage?
The Shadow was seeking to uncover such persons. A new report appeared as evidence of that fact. This was from Clyde Burke. The reporter had been accumulating all the data that could be gained through the Classic office. His lists, however, were apparently of no importance.
A typewritten column gave the names of various men whose scientific accomplishments were recognized.
Columned beside these were the particular branches of work which these individuals had performed. It was not in the lists themselves that The Shadow gained the thought which inspired his next action. It was in the lack of data that he found the inspiration.
Across the bottom of the typewritten sheet, he wrote two words in ink: Medical Developments.
The words dried, then faded.
Their meaning was plain. In his quest for data which might be useful to The Shadow, Clyde Burke had uncovered news of no scientific devices which might be used in crime; also, however, he had produced no information referring to recent developments in medical science.
Ear phones appeared. A tiny light flickered from darkness. Burbank’s voice quickly responded as The Shadow spoke.
“Instructions to Burke,” ordered The Shadow. “Obtain names of all physicians who have produced new methods or theories. Report complete data as soon as obtained.”
Darkness pervaded the sanctum. When this order had been accomplished, The Shadow would have at his disposal the final details that would enable him to eliminate all possible fields wherein the hand of the master plotter might be found.
Somewhere in Manhattan, isolated from discovery, might be a third dupe who shared the knowledge which Merle Clussig and Wycroft Dustin had possessed, namely, the ability to point out the evil man whom The Shadow sought! Until the last possibility had been eliminated, The Shadow would seek for such an individual.
EVEN while The Shadow’s keen brain was working on this problem, definite proof of his theory existed in another section of Manhattan. A tall, dark-haired man with furrowed brow was nervously pacing back and forth within the confines of a sumptuous living room.
A phone bell jingled. The tall man strode to a table and picked up the receiver. He spoke in short, brusque terms:
“This is Doctor Joseph Barratini,” were his words. “Who?… Oh. Yes. You say Doctor Rupert Sayre is waiting downstairs?… Very good. Tell him to come up immediately.”
Doctor Barratini hung up the receiver and walked over to the window. From this room, high up in a mammoth Manhattan apartment building, he could see the myriad lights of the vast city. Something in the scene made him shudder, as though he feared hidden places among those lights.
There was a knock at the outer door. Barratini steadied himself with an effort. His face became composed. He strode across the room and opened the door to admit a serious-faced young man who gave a friendly nod and extended his hand.
This was Doctor Rupert Sayre.
Barratini invited his guest to sit down. Cigars were lighted; the visitor looked quizzically toward his host.