“Possibly,” replied The Shadow. “He is the only Wolfenson of prominence. He has a magnificent estate on Long Island. He prefers to live a secluded life, I understand.”
“This message,” affirmed Barth, nodding wisely as he tapped the newspaper, “appears to be conveying information from one person to another. Probably naming a certain objective. Perhaps one criminal is notifying another where to strike. Cranston, this requires investigation. I shall communicate with Tobias Wolfenson at once.”
“His telephone is probably unlisted.”
“I shall go directly to his house on Long Island. Accompanied by a squad from headquarters. Can you come with me, Cranston?”
“Hardly. I am entertaining tonight at my home in New Jersey. But why the squad, commissioner? I should think that your ace detective — what is his name — should be sufficient.”
“Joe Cardona? Yes, I was thinking of him, Cranston. Cardona is at present an acting inspector. Making routine trips through the underworld. I shall have him drop that duty tonight. Pardon me, Cranston, while I call headquarters.”
BARTH went to the telephone and put in a call. Returning, he applied himself to hasty eating, explaining the speed with which he was finishing his dinner.
“Cardona is joining me here,” announced Barth. “I told him to bring three picked men. Inspector Egglestone will take up Cardona’s usual duties tonight.”
Just as Barth was finishing his dessert, an attendant arrived to inform him that Inspector Cardona had arrived outside. Rising hurriedly, the commissioner shook hands with his friend Cranston and departed.
A thin smile appeared upon the lips that looked like Cranston’s. That smile remained until The Shadow arose, a few minutes later, and also strolled from the Cobalt Club. When he had reached the street, this being guised as Cranston indulged in a soft, whispered laugh.
By subtle measures, The Shadow had set a false trail for the impulsive police commissioner. Intrigued by hope of an unusual crime hunt, Barth was heading for Long Island. With him, he was taking Joe Cardona; the ace detective would be absent from the underworld tonight.
That was the end which The Shadow had sought. The temporary elimination of Joe Cardona fitted with the plan that he had made for tonight. Aided by his agents, The Shadow was ready to complete the steps that would frustrate crime and give him direct approach to the city of Latuna.
CHAPTER IV
IN THE PAWNSHOP
AT eight o’clock that same evening, Hawkeye entered the obscure doorway of Luke’s Joint. Sidling through the room where thugs convened, he found another doorway and peered into a smaller room. He spied Tinker Furris seated at a table. Hawkeye entered.
“Hello, Hawkeye,” growled Tinker. “Say — I thought you was bringing Tapper. What’d you do? Tell him to meet you here.”
Hawkeye shook his head. He sat down at the table and spoke in a troubled tone.
“Tapper ain’t comin’,” he informed. “He can’t take no chances, Tinker. I don’t blame him.”
“Why not?”
“On account of The Shadow.”
“The Shadow!”
“Yeah. It looks like he’s watchin’ Tapper.”
A change came over Tinker’s pockmarked face. This mention of the underworld’s great foe was disconcerting. Tinker laughed; but the tone was not genuine.
“If The Shadow is trailin’ Tapper,” asserted Hawkeye, leaning across the table, “he may be trailin’ me next. It ain’t safe for neither of us to make a move. We got to look like we was turnin’ goody-goody. See?
“There ain’t nothin’ that The Shadow could pin on us; but if he’s watchin’, there’s no chance of pullin’ a dodge. I figure Tapper’s got the right idea. He says stick in New York. No scrammin’ for either of us—”
“Then the deal’s off?” broke in Tinker, savagely. “You mean I got to pass up this cinch job at the hock shop until I can dig up some guy that’s as good as Tapper?”
“I ain’t sayin’ that,” returned Hawkeye. “I’m tellin’ you first that Tapper wants to stay out of it an’ I’ve got to stick by Tapper. Now that that’s in your noodle, I’ll give you the rest. I got a guy that’ll work with you.”
“As good as Tapper?”
“Better than Tapper.”
Tinker looked incredulous. Hawkeye grinned; then threw a wary look toward the door. No one was in sight. Hawkeye spoke.
“DID you ever hear of a guy who was named Cliff Marsland?” he questioned. “Well” — Hawkeye grinned again as he saw Tinker nod — “I got hold of Cliff an’ he’s comin’ here to work with you tonight.”
Tinker was impressed. He had heard of Cliff’s reputation in the underworld. In the bad lands, Cliff was rated as one of the best lieutenants that any big shot could desire. He had a reputation as a killer. But there was one point that came as news to Tinker Furris.
“Cliff Marsland ain’t no safe-buster,” objected the pock-faced crook. “He’s a good guy. If he wants to head for Latuna with me, Konk Zitz can use him there. But this box up at Cobleton’s hock shop—”
“Listen, Tinker,” broke in Hawkeye. “I’m wisin’ you to somethin’ that only a couple of guys know. Cliff Marsland can knock off any tin box that you show him — an’ he don’t need no soup for the job, neither.
“That’s his real racket. That’s why he’s got the bulls goofy. He don’t have to trail around with a crew of gorillas all the time. When things get hot, he loafs. Looks like he’s takin’ a vacation, see? But he ain’t. He’s workin’ on his own, safe-crackin’—”
“He’s coming here tonight?” quizzed Tinker, convinced enough to interrupt.
“Sure!” nodded Hawkeye. “Maybe he’s outside now. I told him to wait there. Didn’t want to mention your name to him until I could find out if it was O.K.”
“It’s oke. Lamp those mugs in the outer room and see if he’s there.”
Hawkeye went to the door and peered craftily. His eyes lighted. He made a beckoning gesture. Backing into the room, Hawkeye made way for a stalwart, broad-shouldered chap. Tinker Furris caught sight of a firm, chiseled face. He recognized Cliff Marsland.
Introductions were brief. A few minutes later, Tinker and Cliff were engaged in a businesslike discussion as they considered the matter of Cobleton’s safe. Tinker made his terms.
“Hawkeye wants to be out of it,” he announced. “I was going to offer half the swag to him and Tapper. So I’ll make the same proposition to you, Cliff. Fifty-fifty. If Hawkeye thinks he ought to come in for a cut, he gets it from you.”
“Count me out,” insisted Hawkeye.
“All right,” resumed Tinker. “Well, Cliff, that means me and you. We take it on the lam for Latuna afterward. You’ll break in with Konk Zitz. You, instead of Tapper.”
Cliff nodded his agreement. Hawkeye, seeing that matters were settled, arose and made his exit in his usual wary fashion. Cliff and Tinker completed their plan of action. Then they left Luke’s Joint.
COBLETON’S pawnshop was an isolated building despite its East Side location. The low roof of a garage was on one side; a deserted house on the other, with a street of alley proportions running between the hock shop and the empty house.
The lower floor had barred windows; but the second story offered opportunity for attack. The best means of entrance lay at the back of the house, where a high fence was an attraction for second-story workers.
But while Cliff and Tinker were on their way to Cobleton’s, another visitor arrived there before them. Gliding past the front of the pawnshop, a phantom figure paused to study the building. Dim, almost invisible as it stood by a shrouding wall, this shape showed the outline of black-cloaked shoulders, with a slouch hat above.