“What’s that, boss?” inquired Drury.
“I’ll have to concentrate on Rush,” replied Knode. “So, since the mayor has ordered hands off at the Phoenix, that’s the place to work. Those toughs are a bad lot. They actually should be watched.
“The police are quitting. So it’s your turn. With Burke on hand if needed. You don’t rate so badly, do you, with that head guy? What did you say his name was?”
“Konk Zitz.”
“All right. Make friends with him. But be discreet. Don’t get too close with him.”
“Konk was sore at me.”
“On account of my previous editorial. But, after all, it cleared his crew from blame in the Rubal case. He should be well disposed. And with this present editorial, taking the police off the job would—”
“You’re right, chief. Say — Konk will treat me like a pal.”
“I don’t want that, Drury. Just form sufficient contact to gain his confidence. That’s all.”
Drury nodded. He strolled from the office and Clyde Burke followed. Drury arranged for Clyde to meet him later at the lunch wagon near the Phoenix Hotel. Clyde agreed. Drury went out. Clyde sat down at a desk and used a fountain pen to inscribe a brief, coded note.
The streets of Latuna were aglow beneath the evening darkness when Clyde Burke stopped at the Wilkin Hotel and left an envelope for Room 623.
A few minutes after Clyde’s departure; a quiet-looking young man came in and inquired for the key to that room. It was Harry Vincent. With the key, The Shadow’s agent received Clyde’s note.
On the sixth floor, Harry slipped the sealed envelope under the door of Room 640. That was the room occupied by the guest known as Henry Arnaud. Thus did word of new developments come to the hands of The Shadow.
CHAPTER XVI
CLIFF SENDS WORD
TWO days later. Again, evening was settling upon Latuna. Lights were aglow in the living room of a suite at the Phoenix Hotel. Konk Zitz was enjoying an early dinner that a waiter had brought to his room.
Two other men were present: Tinker Furris and Cliff Marsland.
“What’s the matter, Tinker?” growled Konk, dropping a chicken leg that he had been gnawing. “All afternoon you’ve been sitting around like you had something worrying you. Spill it!”
“I’m wondering about the blow-off,” retorted Tinker. “Maybe it ain’t none of my business. I’m wondering, just the same.”
“So that’s it?” questioned Konk, turning his attention to a chicken wing. “Well, it’s coming. Tomorrow night.”
Cliff Marsland sat silent, without making a move. This was the word for which he had been waiting. Tinker, however, showed no signs of pleasure.
“It ought to be tonight,” he said. “Should have been last night.”
“What do you know about it?” snarled Konk.
“Well,” admitted Tinker, “maybe I don’t know much—”
“You’re right you don’t! Listen, mug, while I tell you a few things. You’ve asked for them, so I’m talking. Marsland can listen in.
“The whole crowd knows there’s going to be a blow-off. They’ve figured it, even though they don’t know what it’s all about. But the blow-off couldn’t come until the police chief yanked his coppers off this beat of theirs. That’s simple, ain’t it?”
Tinker nodded his understanding.
“There was no hurry for the blow-off,” went on Konk. “It could come next week — maybe next month. Sooner the better, of course, but no big hurry so long as we all played goody.”
“I get that, Konk.”
“Glad you do. Well, Grewling yanks the bulls. Two nights ago. But it came kind of sudden. It wouldn’t have been good stuff to move right off. So I began figuring things out. I got word — I got ideas, I mean — that tomorrow night would be best.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you why. Tonight there’s a bunch of stuffed shirts meeting by request of the mayor. Going to give Police Chief Grewling a hearing. Up at that wealthy guy’s house. Strafford Malden — that’s his name.”
“The mayor’s going to be there, ain’t he?”
“Sure. And both the newspaper editors. Big Mouth Knode and Saphead Dunham. How do you like those monikers, Tinker?”
“They sound all right. But it makes me think tonight would be the time to pull the blow-off.”
“Yeah,” admitted Konk, “it would, in a pinch. But there ain’t going to be any pinch. I sort of figure tomorrow night would be better.”
“Well, your word goes.”
“THAT’S the way to look at it, Tinker. You see, I want to make these mugs look like a bunch of palookas. Hit them when they think they’re all settled. I’d sort of like to see what happens up there tonight.”
“You mean with Grewling?”
“Yeah. It won’t hurt us either way. Suppose Grewling gets the bounce. The mayor will make some dub police chief. He won’t watch here, because the mayor called that quits. So we can move tomorrow night. Boy, won’t we make that new chief look like a goof!”
“That ain’t bad, Konk,” affirmed Tinker, with a grin. “But what if Grewling keeps his job?”
“Well,” explained Konk, “he’ll have to shake hands with the mayor. They’ll compromise. Promise to work together. This hotel was their sore point. They won’t talk about it. If they do decide to put men back on the job, it’ll be a couple of days before they do.”
“That sounds likely enough.”
“So we’ll move tomorrow night anyway. And if Grewling is back on the job, we’ll show him up. The skids will be under him proper when we pull the blow-off.”
“It works great both ways, Konk.”
“You’re right it does! Don’t get me wrong, though. The blow-off is what really counts. I just figured it would be real ripe tomorrow.”
Zitz attacked the remnants of his dinner. Several minutes passed; then Tinker brought up another subject.
“Say, Konk,” he remarked, “I was thinking about something else. This guy Drury. He dropped in to see you last night. He was here the night before. You said something about him coming up late tonight.”
“That’s right. He is.”
“Well, it ain’t such a good idea, is it, to be pals with a news hawk like him?”
Konk chuckled as he pushed his plate aside.
“I’m horsing the mug,” he declared. “Kidding him along while I pump him dry. Listen. He’s spilled some good stuff, without knowing it. He’s let me in on what Knode’s going to do next.”
“What’s that?”
“Pan the mayor.”
“He’s been doing that all along.”
“Sure. But it’s going to be on account of us.”
“How?”
“Well, Drury’s looking for a story. He’s admitted it. Some funny business to be pulled by this outfit. So Knode can throw the harpoon into Rush. That’s a laugh, eh?”
“You’re going to give Drury a story?”
“So I’ve been telling him. But that’s a stall. I’m keeping him eagerlike. So he won’t wise up that the blow-off is due. He’ll get his story tomorrow night.”
“Great stuff, Konk.”
Zitz made no reply. Instead, he rose from the table, tossed his napkin aside and lighted a cigarette. He strolled about for a few minutes, then nudged his thumb toward the door.
“So long, mugs,” he said. “Tell the boys downstairs I want to see them in about ten minutes. Then go on out and eat. Come back inside an hour. We’ll stage a poker game. Tell the waiter to come up for this table — no, never mind. I’ll call him.”
KONK was stepping toward the telephone when Cliff and Tinker went out. To Cliff, the action was suspicious. He wondered if Konk had made the statement to cover the fact that he was about to make an outside call.