“I’ll take the trouble.”
“The bulls will be laying for you. Don’t forget — you threatened Claris when he put you in stir. You said you’d get him when you came out. Maybe—”
“That don’t mean nothing, Squeezer. Every judge gets threats like that. I went on good behavior in the big house. I’m supposed to be reformed. Claris ain’t thinking about me. The bulls have forgotten the threats I made. Six years is a long time, Squeezer.”
“Maybe you’re right about the bulls, Luke. But there’s one guy ain’t going to forget the threats you made.”
“Who’s that?”
“The Shadow.”
Luke Zoman stopped short. He stared coldly at Squeezer. He seemed to detect awe on his companion’s ratlike face. Then, with a disdainful leer, Luke delivered a harsh guffaw.
“The Shadow!” he snorted. “Say — it wasn’t The Shadow who put me in stir. What does he know about me?”
“He knows plenty about everybody,” retorted Squeezer. “Say — there’s been times when you guys in the big house was safer than us birds that was out. The Shadow’s been smearing some mighty sweet rackets while you was in stir.”
“So it’s him you’re scared of, eh? Going to let me down? An old pal of mine” — Luke’s tone was sarcastic — “but you ain’t pal enough to help me get even with that mug Claris, that ought to have been rubbed out six years ago.”
“Listen, Luke.” Squeezer’s eyes flashed angrily as the rat-faced mobleader came to his feet. “I ain’t lost any of my nerve. I’m still a pal of yours. I’m willing to back you even if your ideas are goofy.
“But it ain’t good sense for me to help you bump Claris. It means I’ve got to scram along with you. I got enough dough to pay off my mob for helping me. I got enough to scram along with you. But where’s the gravy? I can grab off dough here in New York, but nowhere else.
“If there was cash in bumping Claris, I’d chance it. But he’s got nothing in his house. It’s just an idea of getting even — and it leaves us flat at the finish. That’s why I’m arguing with you.”
“Talking like yourself now, Squeezer,” declared Luke, with a grin. “That’s what I wanted to hear. So if there was dough at the end of the trail, you’d be with me?”
“Sure thing, Luke.”
“Well, the dough will be there. Go through with this along with me. Scram when I scram. Stick close, like a pal. There’ll be plenty in it for you.”
“How much is plenty?”
“One hundred grand!”
SQUEEZER DYSON stared. His face showed his incredulity. An offer of one hundred thousand dollars, coming from a man just out of Sing Sing, was more than he could understand.
Luke Zoman grinned. “One hundred grand,” he repeated. “That’s what I’ll pay you, Squeezer. That’s how much I’m willing to cough up to get even with Judge Claris. Are you on?”
“For a hundred grand?” Squeezer laughed hoarsely. “Say — I’d bump a whole jury along with a judge to get hold of that dough. Sure — I’m with you — only—”
“Only what?”
“Where’s the dough coming from?”
“Is that all you want to know?”
“That’s all!”
“You’re with me if I put you wise?”
“I’m with you — and the mob, too.”
A leer showed on Luke Zoman’s face as the ex-convict stalked to the window. Luke made sure the sash was locked. He lowered the shade clear to the bottom. He beckoned Squeezer Dyson toward a little table in the corner. From his pocket Luke pulled out an envelope.
A letter slid from the frayed end of the envelope. With it came three or four small newspaper clippings; also an object that looked like a white card, about the size of a postal. This object was the first that Luke picked up. He turned it over as he handed it to Squeezer. The rat-faced mobleader stared.
The picture was that of an oddly shaped mansion that stood upon a raised mound that looked like an island in a blackened sea. Beyond the building was sloping land that raised to a ridge of wooded mountains.
“That’s where the dough is coming from,” asserted Luke Zoman. “Half a million — all mine — waiting in that house. What’s more, I don’t make a move to get it; yet it’s in the bag, Squeezer — and a hundred grand is yours, if you stick with me on this Claris deal.”
Squeezer Dyson was staring at the picture. His face showed interest; also doubt. Luke Zoman leered. He saw that his companion was ready to be convinced.
“You want the low-down, eh?” quizzed Luke. “Well listen, pal, and I’ll hand it to you. Take a good look at that picture, bo. It means a hundred grand to you.”
While Squeezer, half nodding, sat staring at the picture, Luke picked up the clippings and the letter. He threw a suspicious glance toward the door; satisfied that no one was listening, the ex-convict began the explanation that was to convince his pal.
CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW’S CLUE
“REMEMBER, Squeezer” — Luke Zoman’s first words came in a warning tone — “I’m letting you in on something just to prove it’s real. We was pals before I went to the big house; but this was something I didn’t wise you to even then.”
“Spill it, Luke,” nodded Squeezer.
“What’s more” — Luke’s tone was savage — “it had a lot to do with why I went up the river. The bulls would never have got me if they hadn’t been tipped off. That picture in your mitt is the reason why I was in stir.”
“You mean the house?”
“I mean the guy that lives in it.” Luke laughed. “I should say the guy that used to live in it. Thaddeus Culeth. That was his moniker. The smoothest crook in the business — and the dirtiest. He’s dead now” — Luke tossed the clippings on the table — “and there’ll be no more double-crossing from him. He kept his mug shut while he lived; he died without squawking to nobody.”
“What was his game?” queried Squeezer.
“His game?” snarled Luke. “Double-crossing. The real game was ours. Mine and — but never mind the names of the other guys. I ain’t telling them to nobody.”
Luke paused to lick his dry, puffy lips. He fingered the clippings on the table. He laid them in a little stack; then clutched the letter that he was holding.
“There was six of us,” stated Luke, “and we pulled some big jobs. Cracking banks, pulling blackmail, working other rackets that made dough. And old Thaddeus Culeth was the brains of the outfit. Living there in his old house, like he wanted to be away from the world.”
“In the middle of a lake, eh?” questioned Squeezer, tapping the blackened foreground of the photograph.
“That’s no lake,” corrected Luke. “It’s a swamp. The only ways to get at it are from an old road that cuts through from the right and another road that goes across the swamp. Hits the edge of the high ground, that second road does.
“Well, we used to sneak in and out of Thaddeus Culeth’s place. We brought in the swag. He held it. That old geezer hatched up new jobs. Sent us out on them. And all the while, he was stowing away the gravy. Wanted a million before he made the big cut.
“We was saps. We fell for the game. Then came the double cross. A job went wrong. One of our outfit got bumped. We didn’t figure nothing phony until a second job was queered. Another guy was rubbed out. That left four of us.”
“Was Culeth in back of it?”
“Sure. We figured that after the second job went blooey. So Jimmy” — Luke caught himself — “one of us says he’d go and talk to Culeth. He did. We was to hear from him later. We didn’t.”
“You mean Culeth got him?”
“That’s the way it looked. There was only three of us left. We began to do some tall figuring. It wasn’t safe to walk in and see the guy no longer. We couldn’t squeal on him. It would have put us out of luck and he was too well covered. He could have cleared himself.”