Burbank’s voice responded.
“Report from Vincent,” came the contact man’s voice. “Another call to Yocum. He has heard from Bert. Directions: first alleyway below the Elite Garage on Marwell Street. Door at the end of the alleyway. Come immediately.”
“Report received,” whispered The Shadow.
Earphones clattered. The little bulb went out; then a click extinguished the bluish lamp above the table. A swish; a whispered laugh. The Shadow had departed from his sanctum.
Marwell Street. A short, little-frequented thoroughfare on the fringe of an undesirable district. It would be easy to find the garage that Burbank had mentioned. The Shadow was going to the appointed destination.
Diamond Bert had made a rendezvous with Slade Farrow. The in-between contact was Yates Yocum, a man to whom Farrow had been required to give no name. So The Shadow had left the job of calling Yocum to his agent, Harry Vincent. Harry had gained the required information. He had called The Shadow, through Burbank.
TWENTY minutes after The Shadow had left his sanctum, a splotch of blackness glided beneath the dull light of a street lamp. Just ahead was the brick, windowless wall of the Elite Garage. Then came a faint swish in the darkness. Keen eyes peered into the entrance of an alleyway.
The Shadow had arrived at the location named by Yocum. Stealthily, he moved forward in the darkness.
As he reached the innermost portion of the blind alley, he stopped. Unseen, he stood against a wall.
Some one was entering the alleyway, stumbling through the dark.
Muttering curses, this arrival reached a spot near to The Shadow. He opened a door, the very one that The Shadow sought. A glimmer of light revealed a rough, unshaven face. It showed a sweatered figure as the man stepped through the opening. The door swung shut; but not all the way. A chink of light showed at the edge. The Shadow glided forward.
Peering through the crack, The Shadow saw the rowdy standing in a small, lighted entry. Straight ahead was a second door, sheathed with metal, that displayed a peephole in the center. The sweatered man was holding the palm of his hand toward the hole. A moment later, the inner door swung open. A second gangster joined the first.
The two spoke. The Shadow could hear their growled words. He also saw the arrival pass something to the man who had stepped out. A dull glint in the light revealed the object as a metal disk.
“The trick’s yours, Hunky,” said the man who had stepped from the inner door. “I’ll be back in the morning. If anybody shows up, make ‘em flash the coin.”
This was evidently a reference to the Chinese disk. It had been the token of admission for “Hunky,” the new arrival. He had given it to the man who was going off duty. That fellow would need it to identify himself in the morning.
“O.K., Luke,” said Hunky. “Say — has anybody gone in to-night?”
“Only Tam Sook,” returned Luke, as he moved toward the outer door.
“He shows up every night, don’t he?” questioned Hunky.
Luke paused to grin.
“Sure he does,” he returned. “Why shouldn’t he? This is his joint, ain’t it?”
“It’s supposed to be. But I can’t figure it. That Chink’s got a place of his own, down in Chinatown. What’s he want to come up here for? With guys like us watchin’ his place?”
“Search me. But what’s the good of talkin’ about it? You’re gettin’ your dough, ain’t you?”
“Sure.”
“Then don’t squawk. When Tam Sook comes down, keep your mug shut. He’s your boss. He goes in an’ out when he wants.”
“O.K. by me.”
The Shadow drew back into darkness. A moment later, the outer door swung open and Luke stepped into the alley. The Shadow waited until the gangster had blundered through the darkness, past the old garage.
Hunky was the new inner guardian. The Shadow wanted to allow time before entering. It would be a mistake to appear too soon after Hunky had gone. Meanwhile, The Shadow was considering the case of Tam Sook.
HE had heard of this Chinaman. Tam Sook was a prosperous Chinese merchant. One whose name had never been connected with crime. But it was plain now that Tam Sook had been a secret agent of Diamond Farley. As Wang Foo, Diamond Bert had gained contacts with Chinamen during his checkered past.
Tam Sook had provided this place. He had been making visits. He was inside at present. Those facts brought The Shadow to a single conclusion. This house, with dilapidated walls three stories high, could be the hideout that Diamond Bert had chosen. Herein, Diamond Bert would meet Slade Farrow.
The Shadow had come in Farrow’s place. With a reason. That would be apparent later. First, The Shadow must enter. Time had elapsed since Luke’s departure. The Shadow moved forward; then halted and quickly swung back to the darkness.
The door was opening again. A squatty figure blocked the light. The Shadow glimpsed a yellow face, bland above the American garb that the man was wearing. Only for a brief instant did the face show in the light. In that moment, The Shadow recognized the features of Tam Sook.
A frequent visitor to Chinatown, The Shadow had seen the Chinese merchant several times before. He waited while the door swung shut and Tam Sook made his way through the alley. New silence came; The Shadow’s laugh was a mere whispered echo.
Had Tam Sook completed final preparations for Diamond Bert’s arrival? Had Diamond Bert already reached this house? If so, had Luke been instructed not to tell Hunky; or had Diamond Bert come in by a secret entrance? What if Diamond Bert had not yet come here?
These were the questions that had brought The Shadow’s laugh. There was one way to answer them; to keep Farrow’s appointment for him. Whether Diamond Bert had arrived or not, The Shadow could deal with the situation. Three minutes after Tam Sook’s departure, the cloaked observer moved forward and opened the outer door.
The Shadow reached the inner barrier. He peeled the glove from his left hand. The girasol sparkled in the light; then the hand dipped beneath The Shadow’s cloak. It reappeared, holding The Shadow’s Chinese disk. This relic from the old days of Wang Foo was identical with the token that Diamond Bert had given to Slade Farrow.
The Shadow moved to the right of the door. He held the palm of his hand to the closed loophole. Only the disk showed, with its dull red character. The girasol was out of sight, behind The Shadow’s hand.
With his gloved right knuckles, The Shadow rapped sharply on the inner door. The loophole clicked open; an eye spied the disk in The Shadow’s palm. But Hunky, the inside observer, saw no more than the disk within the hand. The closeness of The Shadow’s palm blocked further vision.
The loophole popped shut. Bolts began to click as Hunky drew them. The Shadow’s left hand still remained at the center of the door. But his right hand had taken up another task. Swinging from beneath the folds of his black cloak, The Shadow’s gloved fist appeared with an automatic in its clutch.
His weapon ready, The Shadow was prepared to spring a prompt surprise the moment that Hunky opened the door. The disk had worked its charm. A .45 would do the rest.
CHAPTER IX. THE DEATH TRAP
THE sheathed door swung inward. Hunky stepped aside to view the entering visitor. In his hand, as a precaution, the sweatered gangster was holding a revolver. He was ready to use it, should emergency require such action.
But Hunky, hard-faced and vicious, had expected no such arrival as the one who appeared. The gunman’s bristly face quivered as his gaze encountered fiery eyes that peered from beneath a hat brim.
Directly below those burning optics was the looming muzzle of an automatic. Faced by The Shadow, Hunky lost all sense of motion. He staggered backward like an automaton, his quaking legs acting of their own volition.