Konk Zitz had drawn his .38. He had buzzed an order to Tinker to do the same. Konk’s eyes were venomous as they stared through narrow slitted lids. Tinker’s pockmarked face was ugly in its evil leer.
“A SAFE cracker, eh?” snarled Konk. “Say — a punk could open that box! I’ve been listening to Tinker’s spiel. You pulled a fast one on him, Marsland, but it don’t get by with me!
“You clipped The Shadow, eh? Put him out of the fight; but didn’t cripple him enough to keep him from making a getaway. That don’t wash! Well, I’m wise to your game! That stunt of yours was framed.
“Plenty of guys know that The Shadow has mugs working for him. They never figured who his stoolies were. But we’ve spotted one of them. You’re the bird! It don’t take a mind reader to figure that. The way you flopped on this safe proves it.
“You were working with The Shadow in New York. He fixed that safe in the hock shop. Put the fritz on Tinker’s game and let you look like a hot-shot so that Tinker would bring you down here to crimp me.”
Cliff made no response. He met Konk’s vicious stare. The crook snarled a low laugh.
“Maybe you tipped The Shadow already,” suggested Zitz. “Maybe he’s going to show up here to stop the blow-off tomorrow night. Well — we’ll fox that bimbo. We’ll pull the blow-off tonight!
“You’ll go along with us, Marsland. And remember, it won’t do you no good to try a break. I could blot you right here; or in the car; or anywhere along the line. I’m just going to keep you for a while because it’ll work that way.
“If you get funny, it means a bump for you. And you won’t gain nothing, because a few shots and your dead corpse aren’t going to queer the blow-off. We can pull it anyhow, even if you do try to start trouble.”
Turning to Tinker, Konk gave a nod. Tinker stepped past Cliff and shoved his revolver against the prisoner’s ribs. With Konk close in back of him, Tinker marched Cliff out through the back door and past the empty house.
“Climb in,” growled Konk, as they reached the sedan. As he spoke, the big shot found Cliff’s automatic and yanked it from Cliff’s pocket.
Cliff entered the sedan. Tinker jostled in beside him and kept his gat against Cliff’s ribs. Konk whispered an order to his pock-faced henchman:
“Hold him here, Tinker,” said the crook leader. “I’m going back and crack that box. If Marsland makes trouble, plug him and I’ll join you in a hurry. We can scram and dump him somewhere.”
Konk departed. Cliff sat tight, indifferent to Tinker’s sullen glare. Cliff knew that this was no time for a break. Konk’s threat had been no bluff.
Death loomed in the offing. Cliff’s only bet was to prolong the interval. Konk would prefer to hold the matter of his execution until after the blow-off, whatever it might be. The leader would have to make new plans. By sitting tight, Cliff could learn them.
No chance to reach The Shadow. Cliff knew that he would have to make the break for himself. But he decided definitely to hold it until the final opportunity. Then, if luck enabled him to make an escape, he would know more about Konk Zitz’s game.
Yet Cliff harbored little hope for safety. This situation was one that he had long anticipated. It was the worst jam that he had ever encountered in The Shadow’s service. At the same time, Cliff could not forget the miraculous ability of The Shadow. Time and again, that master fighter had intervened to save his aids from the brink of doom.
FIFTEEN minutes passed. Then Konk appeared from the darkness, carrying the suitcase which he had left at Knode’s. He laughed gruffly as he climbed behind the wheel and laid the bag beside him.
“Didn’t have to use the drills,” he informed Tinker. “That box wasn’t tough. Knode’s got nothing on us. Keep your gat steady, Tinker.”
Konk drove the car by a circuitous course until he neared the Phoenix Hotel. He parked the car in a space between an empty garage and a dilapidated wooden building. He alighted, and growled another order for Tinker to watch Cliff.
Konk strolled away and headed for the hotel. He was snarling to himself as he walked along; and he acted in pleased fashion. He had left the car far enough from the hotel. If Cliff tried a break, Tinker could give him the works without bringing coppers to the scene.
The crook leader entered the Phoenix Hotel by the rear entrance. He strolled into the lobby, looked about and nodded as he spied Bart Drury. The reporter had arrived for his chat. Konk strolled up to Bart.
“Have a cigar, Drury,” he offered. “Been waiting long?”
Drury shook his head.
“Slide up to the room,” suggested Konk. “The boys are having a poker game. They know you’re coming. I’ll be up.”
Drury arose and went to the elevator. Konk lighted a cigar of his own. As he did, he delivered a sidelong glance toward the taproom. He saw Dopey standing with the detective, “Mushmug.” They had heard the words which Konk had spoken to Drury.
Konk strolled into the taproom. He stopped in feigned surprise, as he saw his henchman talking with the dick. A frown showed on Konk’s face; then he grinned.
“Thought you were upstairs, Dopey,” said Konk. “That’s where I’m going. The poker game ought to be running high right now. How about you?” — this was to Mushmug — “Ever play any poker?”
The dick shook his head.
“Too bad,” observed Konk. “I was going to invite you up. Well, I’ll see you later. You’ll be dropping up later, Dopey?”
“In about half an hour, Konk.”
Konk turned and went back into the lobby. His lips formed a sour leer as he neared the elevator. He had talked with Dopey before. The underling knew what to do. He was to stall Mushmug while Konk and the crew departed by the rear exit of the hotel.
After that, Dopey would shake the detective and make his own departure to join one lone, waiting crook. Thus Konk Zitz’s outfit would be complete, ready for the blow-off which Konk had set twenty-four hours ahead of schedule.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE NIGHT ATTACK
“SOMEBODY on the phone for you, Mr. Burke.”
Clyde arose from his typewriter. He was in the local room of the Enterprise, rewriting stories for the morrow. The night copy boy had brought the message.
“Hello… Burke…” It was Drury’s voice that Clyde heard over the wire. “Listen. I had somebody else ask for you. Don’t let the copy boy know I was calling…”
“All right,” agreed Clyde. “Something hot…” Drury’s tone was strangely interrupted as it continued. “Want you with me… Slide out quietly…”
“Where to?”
“Cooper’s cigar store. Parking lot just the other side of it. Green sedan with a Maryland license…”
Clyde finished the call, went back to the typewriter and pulled his half-written page from the carriage. He told the copy boy he was going out for a cup of coffee. Strolling from the office, he headed toward the parking space that Drury had mentioned.
There, Clyde found the green sedan. It was empty and it stood in an obscure corner. No attendant was on duty, for the lot closed at eight o’clock and it was now half past nine. Clyde approached the car.
Two men arose suddenly from the darkness. Guns jabbed Clyde’s ribs. A third man appeared; the first two shoved Clyde into the back seat of the sedan while the third man took the wheel.
Covered by the revolvers, Clyde kept grimly silent. He knew these captors to be pals of Konk Zitz’s. Though Clyde had wondered at Drury’s peculiar speech across the wire, he had never believed that a trap was awaiting him. Drury was not with this trio. Clyde wondered what had happened to the star reporter of the Enterprise.
The thugs offered no explanations. They kept sullen silence while the driver piloted the machine through secluded streets until he reached an open road. Then came a stretch of a broad highway. They turned into a dirt road.