Ping Slatterly studied the document. A slow grin appeared upon his ugly lips. He finished his perusal and gave the paper back to its owner.
“Say, Goldy,” he exclaimed. “that’s a real lay. The New City Bank—”
Ping’s voice stopped as the gang leader caught a scowl on Goldy Tancred’s face. The big shot sneered contemptuously. Bewildered, Ping looked for an explanation of the action.
“Smart, aren’t you?” quizzed Goldy. “Why do you think I gave you this written layout? I’ll tell you why — because I didn’t want you to open your mouth about it. The first thing that you do is begin to talk.”
“I didn’t get the idea,” responded Ping, in a sullen tone. “You always used to talk about what you wanted done.”
“Not any more, Ping.”
Wearing a cryptic grin, Goldy Tancred struck a match and ignited the paper which bore the plans for the next crime. He let the sheet burn nearly to his fingertips; then blew out the flame and let the ashes drop with the charred remainder into a metal wastebasket.
“There’s been some double-crossing around here,” remarked Goldy. “I don’t know who’s responsible for it, but I can show you the result. Come here.”
HE led this visitor to the corner by the window. The bookcase had been drawn a few feet away from the end wall. Goldy pointed to the half of a rubber ball, which was adhering to the wall like a suction cup.
“What is it?” questioned Ping Slatterly.
Goldy Tancred held his finger to his lips. Ping nodded that he understood the command for silence.
Goldy pulled the rubber hemisphere from the wall, and revealed the microphone attachment. He covered the apparatus with the improvised muffler, and pressed the half ball so it stayed in place again.
“A dictograph,” declared Goldy “It’s been here a couple of days at least. That’s why I’m playing mum. Just to get in the habit. They can’t hear anything over the line since I covered it up with the silencer I invented.”
“A good stunt,” commended Ping. “But say, Goldy — who put that thing in here — and where does it go?”
“That’s the trouble,” said the big shot. “It’s got me guessing, Ping. I figured maybe it was some gag Cardona worked up — just to see if he could find out who was after me. But when I traced the line, what do you think I found?”
“Somebody at the other end?”
“No,” snarled Goldy. “If there had been, it would have been too bad for the guy. It’s smarter than that, Ping. This thing is hooked up to a telephone in an empty apartment. I can’t trace it from there on.”
“Why didn’t you rip it out?” queried Ping.
“And let the guy know I’m wise?” scoffed Goldy. “No, sir. I keep it covered up, except when I talk with Curry once in a while. Then I take the lid off; if anybody is listening, they don’t hear anything important. Curry was the one who found the thing.”
“How?”
“Happened to be shifting the bookcase. Spotted the hook-up. Now, listen, Ping. You’ve got your orders. You remember what I showed you on that paper. Be ready; that’s all. Lay low, until the right time. I’ve got the rest fixed.”
Ping nodded.
“What’s more,” added the big shot, “I don’t want you to take any chances coming in here. Cardona is still squawking that there must be somebody trying to get me — and he thinks it’s the same bozo who bumped off those two electrical engineers at the Olympia.
“It wouldn’t be funny, would it, if he spotted you around here? He might think you were the bird he wanted and in a way, he’d be right. You never were after me; but that wouldn’t matter if Cardona suspected you of that double killing—”
“Say” — Ping’s interruption came as a protest — “what’s the use of goin’ back to that, Goldy? I thought you said that we were goin’ to keep mum around here.”
“The dictograph is covered,” smiled Goldy. “Nevertheless, you’re right about it, Ping. I’m glad I worried you some — it won’t do you any harm. That’s all. You know the lay. Do your fadeout.”
Ping Slatterly laughed and strode toward the door. Curry met him there, and went along with him to the usual route on the floor below.
Goldy Tancred picked out a comfortable chair and sat down to light a cigarette. While puffing away, he looked up to see Bowser Riggins at the door.
The bodyguard nudged his thumb toward the bookcase. Goldy laughed and nodded.
“Got it muffled,” he said. “Pull off the cap, Bowser. Then we’ll talk a lot of foolishness, and let them listen in to nothing.”
THE bodyguard went to the corner and removed the rubber hemisphere. He started chatting with Goldy and the big shot responded. None of their talk had any bearing upon current crime. Goldy seemed to enjoy the farce of providing a distant listener with useless information.
Curry appeared at the door. He made a gesture that indicated a new visitor. Goldy raised his eyebrows, as though questioning Curry about the importance of the person outside.
“It’s the reporter,” explained the servant. “You know the one I mean — this fellow Burke, from the Classic.”
“Show him in,” ordered Goldy. “No — just a minute, Curry.”
While the servant paused, Goldy signaled to Bowser to again cover the apparatus on the wall. The big shot had decided that some turn of the reporter’s conversation might prove troublesome. Goldy never placed too much confidence in any newspaperman.
CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW SPEAKS
“HELLO, Burke,” greeted Goldy Tancred, when the reporter appeared. “Why the visit? Anything new?”
“Nothing new,” returned the reporter. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Yeah?” laughed Goldy. “Well, you’ve came to the wrong place. I told you all I knew the other night.”
“Listen, Goldy” — Clyde spoke in a confidential tone as he drew up a chair — “I’ve been talking to Cardona — sounding him out a bit — on the subject of that list you said he had.”
“That’s a hot idea, Burke,” remarked Goldy. “Cardona won’t tell you what he thinks, so you come around to me. You’re working in circles. Trying to pump me all over again, trying to make a lot of trouble.”
“Not at all,” returned the reporter who served as The Shadow’s agent. “Figure it this way, Goldy. I get around places; and I hear a lot of things that Cardona doesn’t. All right. If somebody is trying to put you on the spot, it won’t hurt for me to find it out, will it?”
“I get the idea,” said Goldy, as his smile became unpleasant. “You want me to take you on as a stool pigeon. Is that it? Fine work for a newspaper reporter!”
“Put it that way if you want,” returned Burke. “Just the same, it’s only part of my job. Look here, Goldy; if I can spot the fellow who killed Reardon and Furness, it will be a scoop for the Classic. It won’t do you any harm; maybe it will do you some good.”
“Nothing doing,” growled Goldy. “I’m out of it — see? That’s all I’ve got to say.”
The finality of the big shot’s tone indicated that the interview was ended. Clyde Burke smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He arose and turned toward the door.
“So long,” said Goldy, resuming his affable tone. “That means you, too, Bowser. Scram. I’ve seen enough of you tonight.”
The bodyguard joined Clyde Burke, but as he strolled to the door, Bowser caught a glimpse of Goldy Tancred’s right hand. The big shot holding his first two fingers crossed.
Bowser knew the meaning of the signal. He was to repeat it at the door of the hotel lobby. Seen by a lurker across the street, it was a sign that Burke should be followed until further orders.
Something in the reporter’s manner had excited Goldy’s suspicion. Perhaps it was the fact that Burke, while conversing, had stared directly across the room toward the bookcase. At any rate, Goldy was inclined to consider Burke as a menace. The big shot picked up a telephone, called a number, and conducted a short conversation with a party at the other end.