“Of course. But Crix is the only name he gave me.”
“This lay bothers me, Bart,” said Bumps, in an uneasy tone. “I don’t quite get it. If Crix was after Venturi, why didn’t he get Venturi?”
“Bumps,” returned Bart, “I don’t know the details myself; but I’m going to tell you all I do know. Crix said it would be all right. He will need you shortly, and he knows that you are capable. So I’m going to explain all that’s necessary.”
“Shoot.”
“Well,” continued Shallock, “this fellow Crix dropped in to see me more than a month ago. He had me guessing from the minute he began to talk. He knew plenty about me — enough to make a lot of trouble; and when it developed that he was offering me a proposition, I listened.
“He asked me if I had ever heard of Victor Venturi. Of course, I said I had. Crix told me that he had been to Europe, and that he had learned Venturi was tied up with some big proposition. That sounded logical; Venturi used to be a pretty important man in Italian politics. An undercover agent — now retired.
“Crix said that Venturi would come to America on secret business — something involving plenty of money — and that by covering Venturi, we could come in on the dough. Crix wanted me to have a mob ready, and to keep some one like you watching Venturi. That’s how it started.
“But after that, Crix discovered something new. Venturi is here on business, yes — but Venturi is the blind. The real negotiations for money were turned over to another man!”
“Then we’ve got on the trail of the wrong guy!” exclaimed Bumps Jaffrey, in a disgusted tone.
“Yes” — Bart Shallock weighed his answer — “and no. Crix has found the right man. He is handling the job. But if Venturi finds out that matters are going sour, he will step in and make trouble. Venturi is the safety man, Bumps. It’s our job to eliminate him so that Crix can do his work.”
“That’s different.”
“Crix came in to see me to-day,” continued Bart. “He ran into trouble on the first job. He made a getaway, but it was close. He doesn’t intend to take chances. He wants Venturi covered; he wants men ready to help him on the next job.”
“I get you, Bart.”
“So it’s up to you to be ready, Bumps. Keep covering Venturi. Keep watching any one who is interested in what he does. Be ready for quick orders.”
“Right.”
Bart Shallock drew a roll of bills from his pocket. He counted off some notes of large denomination.
“Ten grand, Bumps,” said the confidence man. “That’s just the beginning. Satisfied?”
“You bet!” exclaimed Bumps Jaffrey.
Bart Shallock arose. Without further word, he walked from the room.
A few minutes later, Bumps Jaffrey followed. Confidence man and gang leader had completed their conference.
BLACKNESS stirred on the other side of the room. The figure of The Shadow came into view. Tall, spectral, like a living ghost, the mysterious form of darkness stood in the center of the deserted room. The low, whispered laugh of The Shadow raised sinister echoes. The black-garbed phantom followed the path that the others had taken. At the bottom of the stairs, a gloved hand turned the knob of the door that led into the speakeasy. There were only two men there now — Duke and another. They were engaged in conversation. Unobserved, The Shadow stepped into the big room. Gliding along the wall, his figure moved like a living silhouette until it reached the outer door, where it mysteriously disappeared. Neither Duke nor the other man caught a glimpse of the weird form.
A soft laugh reverberated through the alleyway. Then The Shadow was lost in the darkness. Tonight, The Shadow had learned the name by which the supercrook was known — the odd name which Harry Vincent had learned about, but had not heard.
Crix! That was the soubriquet of the man The Shadow wanted — the stranger who had dropped from the dirigible Munchen. His real identity was unknown even to Bart Shallock, his chief lieutenant.
The Shadow was dealing with a supercrook — a man whose ways were mysterious, whose very person was obscure. The Shadow had not learned where Crix might be; but he had learned the name of the man Crix had ordered watched.
Victor Venturi — one time secret agent for the Italian government — now here in New York at the Dexter Hotel. That was all the clew The Shadow needed. Crix was watching Venturi. The Shadow would watch Venturi also.
Two hunters after the same quarry; but one hunter would be watching for the other. Through their mutual interest in the affairs of Victor Venturi, a meeting between Crix and The Shadow would be inevitable. And the Dexter Hotel would be the scene. That fact, The Shadow knew.
The Shadow always knows!
CHAPTER X
WORD FROM ABROAD
A TALL man entered the lobby of the Dexter Hotel, carrying a suitcase. A bell boy relieved him of his burden, and the man approached the desk. He signed the name Henry Arnaud to the register.
While the clerk was reading the signature, this new guest spoke in a quiet, even voice:
“I would like a room on the eleventh floor; one that opens on the west side of the courtyard.”
The clerk looked up in surprise. This was an unusual request. He fancied that the guest had been here before, and had been satisfied with a room in that portion of the hotel.
“Very well, Mr. Arnaud,” he said. “I shall give you Room 1108.”
A man standing near the desk watched Henry Arnaud go to the elevator. This observer then strolled across the lobby and approached a man who was seated at a writing desk.
“Say, Jerry,” he said, “I just spotted a guy that we’d better watch.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“He picked a room on the eleventh floor. Inside room. Maybe he wants to keep an eye on Venturi.”
The other man nodded. The pair were gangsters, in the employ of Bumps Jaffrey. Their faces gave an inkling of the trade which they followed, but at the Dexter Hotel, which had reached a decadent stage, the management was not particular about the social characteristics of the guests.
A few minutes later, the two gangsters went up in the elevator. They found the location of Room 1108, and watched the door for a short while. When they went away, it was because they were convinced that Henry Arnaud had retired. From now on, the new guest would be under surveillance of Bumps Jaffrey’s men.
WITHIN his darkened room, Henry Arnaud was smoking a cigar beside the open window. He had closed the transom above the door, but had left a small crack open. This had deceived the gangsters. They had fancied that they could not be heard in the outside hall; but they were wrong. Arnaud’s keen ears had heard them arrive; Arnaud also heard the mobsmen leave.
The new guest laughed softly as he opened his suitcase, which lay upon the bed. In the darkened room, he began a transformation. Within a few minutes, the room seemed devoid of any person, yet a living presence still remained. Henry Arnaud had become The Shadow!
A figure slowly thrust itself through the open window. Head and shoulders; then body and legs; finally a black-cloaked shape was clinging to the sill.
A squidgy sound occurred as suction cups pressed against the brick wall of the deep courtyard. Hanging like a mammoth bat, The Shadow poised himself above the paving that shone white nearly a dozen stories below.
With regular motion, the strange figure moved along the wall until it reached a corner of the building. It turned, proceeded, and stopped close beside a window where light showed through a drawn shade. This window indicated the inner room of the suite occupied by Victor Venturi, who had registered as a resident of Naples, Italy.
A blackened hand appeared at the window. The sash moved softly upward. The hand dropped; the figure crouched and became invisible against the darkness of the wall. But through the tiny crevice at the bottom of the shade, two sparkling eyes peered into Venturi’s room.