“Might use you on a job here,” he suggested. “Tomorrow night. That’s why I’m in town.”
“A job for Konk Zitz?” inquired Hawkeye.
“No,” replied Tinker. “A lay that I wised up to on my own. I can let you in on it, Hawkeye, if you can get me the guy I want.”
“Who’s that?”
“A bird you used to travel around with. Fellow named Tapper. Pretty good safe-cracker, ain’t he?”
“Not many better.”
“Can you get him?”
“Maybe.” Hawkeye was cagey for a moment; then, looking around warily, he turned to Tinker and spoke in a whisper. “Tapper’s like me. We’re both dodgin’ the bulls. Ain’t no use takin’ too many chances.”
“This one’s a set-up — for a guy like Tapper.”
“Yeah. I’ve heard of set-ups before. So has Tapper. It was a set-up put him in the Big House. We’re keepin’ out of stir, Tapper an’ me—”
“Listen,” interrupted Tinker, with a low growl. “You know where old Cobleton’s hock shop is, don’t you?”
“Sure!” responded Hawkeye. “Next block to where Bingo’s old speak used to be.”
“Well, Cobleton’s would be a cinch, wouldn’t it?”
“Sure — for a guy that’d want to drag away a lot of theatrical trunks an’ old stage stuff. Every busted vaudeville troupe unloads its junk on that guy.”
“That’s what people think. But I know different. Heard it from an actor that had some jewelry along with his old curtains. He hocked a back drop with Cobleton, then asked him about getting cash for the rocks. This ham saw some of the sparklers that old Cobleton had in his safe.”
Hawkeye looked up and blinked. Tinker Furris laughed. He saw awakened interest.
“Cobleton thinks that junk is a good blind,” whispered Tinker. “But it ain’t no longer, now that I’m wise. He leaves the hock shop at night. It’ll be a cinch — with Tapper for the job. Well — are you getting him?”
“Sure!” responded Hawkeye. “I’ll talk to him.”
“All right.” Tinker pushed the bottle toward the little man. “Have another drink. Then slide out. Meet me here tomorrow night, with Tapper. In the back room. And listen. This means taking it on the lam, see? Latuna for us, as soon as the job’s over. Before the bulls get on our trail. We’ll be all set when we get with Konk Zitz.”
Hawkeye nodded slowly. He finished his drink, growled a good-by and slouched from Luke’s joint. Reaching the alley, he turned away from the direction of the street where he had spied Tinker Furris.
A SHREWD smile showed on Hawkeye’s lips as the sweatered spotter neared a lighted area. Hawkeye was heading from the borders of the underworld. His mission for tonight was accomplished. Out of many passers he had spied one who looked like quarry. From that one he had learned the details of a contemplated plan.
There had been method in Hawkeye’s reluctance to join forces with Tinker Furris. For Hawkeye had long since left the paths of crime. Accepted as a crook by the underworld, this crafty worker was doing his part to offset men of evil.
Hawkeye had gone straight since his discharge from Sing Sing. That, however, had been but his first step in a new career. After abandoning crime as a profession, Hawkeye had done his part to beat the workers of the underworld. He had become an agent of The Shadow.
Through his connections in the bad lands, Hawkeye had become a useful aid to the hidden master who battled men of crime. Whatever Hawkeye learned went to that superfighter whose very name had become terror to all crookdom.
Tinker Furris had come to New York to complete a deed of crime. That finished, he intended to leave for the town of Latuna, to serve as underling for “Konk” Zitz, a powerful crook leader whose whereabouts had long been undiscovered.
Two clues from Hawkeye to The Shadow: Known crime to be thwarted; unknown evil to be forestalled. Such would be Hawkeye’s contribution to the chief whom he now served. Yet the double information offered a dilemma to Hawkeye, despite the enthusiasm that the crafty spotter felt.
To prevent Tinker Furris from completing crime; yet to leave Tinker free to join Konk Zitz in Latuna — such would be The Shadow’s problem. How The Shadow would accomplish both was a puzzle to Hawkeye.
Yet the crafty smile did not fade from Hawkeye’s lips. His part was done. The action lay with The Shadow. And Hawkeye, acquainted with the prowess of his hidden chief, could feel no doubt. Somehow, Hawkeye knew, The Shadow would solve the problem.
CHAPTER II
THE SECOND LINK
ON the following morning, a rotund, chubby-faced man alighted from a taxicab near Times Square. The steady rain had ended shortly after dawn; and the freshness of the morning air brought a pleased smile to this leisurely, methodical-looking individual.
The chubby man paused outside the entrance of the mammoth Badger Building; then, with a reluctant manner, he entered the lobby and took an elevator. He alighted at one of the higher floors and strolled along a corridor until he reached a door that bore the lettering:
RUTLEDGE MANN
INVESTMENTS
With a smile that denoted ownership, the chubby man entered to greet a stenographer and an office boy who had arrived before him. He walked into an inner office where he found a stack of newspapers on his desk, with a small pile of letters close by.
Opening the letters, Mann read them briefly until he came to one that was written in ink of vivid blue.
The message could not have been deciphered by an ordinary reader, for it was in code. Mann, however, perused it with ease. At the same time, he was careful to note every detail of the odd epistle. He seemed to be memorizing the letter as he read.
Mann placed the message on his desk, when he had finished. He stared meditatively from the window and began to tap his forefinger upon the desk as he recalled what he had read.
While Mann was thus engaged in thought, the writing on the letter started to fade. Words disappeared in irregular order, as though some ghostly hand had stretched forth to eradicate them. When Mann again turned toward the desk, the sheet of paper was a total blank.
The investment broker did not appear surprised. He simply crumpled the blank sheet and tossed it in the wastebasket. Then he rang for the office boy.
“Go down to the Times Square news stand, Horace,” ordered Mann. “I want you to obtain some more out-of-town newspapers.”
“Did I forget some, Mr. Mann?” questioned Horace, anxiously. “I brought all that were on your list, sir. At least I thought I did—”
“You did,” interposed Mann, quietly. “The ones that I want were not on my original list. Buy some recent journals — all that you can obtain — from the city of Latuna.”
“Yes, sir.”
After Horace had left, Mann drew a fountain pen from his pocket and began to write a message of his own. It was in the same ink of vivid blue; it was also a note in code. As soon as the ink had dried, Mann folded the sheet and sealed it in an envelope.
The message that Rutledge Mann had received was from a man named Slade Farrow, a criminologist who was ever ready to aid The Shadow. Slade Farrow was Hawkeye’s sponsor. It was Farrow who had turned the ex-crook straight.
Last night, Farrow had received Hawkeye’s information. Using special ink supplied him at The Shadow’s order, Farrow had passed on the word to Rutledge Mann. For this chubby-faced gentleman who posed as an investment broker was actually an aid of The Shadow. Mann served as contact agent between the active workers and their mysterious chief.
In writing to The Shadow, Mann had merely repeated the report as received from Hawkeye. But he had also taken on another duty. One of Mann’s functions was to go through out-of-town newspapers in search of items that might give inklings of crime. The stack of newspapers on his desk were there for that purpose. No Latuna paper was among them. So Mann had sent out for those journals.