Cardona was examining the disk. He placed it on the desk, laid a thin sheet of paper over it and took an impression by rubbing the paper with a pencil. Lifting the paper, he tossed the disk back to Duff.
“Keep it,” ordered the detective. “Go down to Red Mike’s. Contact the fellow that comes there. Go where he tells you. But tip me off, the first chance you get. Understand?”
“But Joe — maybe the big shot will get wise—”
“Leave that to me. Whoever I send around there won’t be too close. But remember” — Joe was rising as he spoke — “play on the level with me. Or—”
Cardona had no need to complete the statement. Duff was nodding as he slouched toward the door. He waited for Cardona and watched the detective open the barrier to peer into the corridor. Joe gave a wave of his hand. Duff scurried from the little office and headed down the corridor to a secluded side door.
OUT on the street, Duff Corley looked about nervously. He seemed to fear the presence of skulkers in the dark. Hands in coat pockets, the scrawny mobster was using one to grip the disk that Cardona had returned to him. That disk was the talisman that could protect him in the underworld and with the law as well.
A man was approaching. Duff slunk into the darkness and saw the arrival enter the side door that he had left. He caught a glimpse of the man’s face and recognized him as Clyde Burke, a newspaper reporter who frequently visited the underworld. Relieved, Duff shambled hastily away.
Meanwhile, Clyde Burke had entered the corridor. He strolled past the office — now darkened — where Cardona had held conference with Duff Corley. He turned into a wider passage and there stopped before a lighted doorway. Looking in, Clyde saw Joe Cardona seated at a desk. The reporter entered.
The detective looked up hurriedly. As he did, Clyde saw a sheet of paper that Joe had been examining.
The dick turned the paper over and pushed it aside. Through it, Clyde could see the outline of a blackened circle that looked like the impression of a coin.
“Hello, Burke,” greeted Cardona, in affable fashion. “If you’re looking for a story, I haven’t any.”
“Too bad,” mused Clyde. “You’re here at headquarters; yet you don’t know what’s going on around the place.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well — either the dragnet’s working mighty good or else it’s slipping. When crooks come strolling out the side door, all alone, it looks rather unusual.”
“Who did you see?”
“A fellow that looked like Duff Corley. Got a bad rep, that bird. I’ve run into him before. But I never suspected to see him strolling around here.”
“Lay off, Burke,” growled Cardona. “I know what you’re aiming at. A good story for the Classic — crooks dropping in to see their pals, the dicks. Well, if you run it, you’ll have a black eye down here—”
“Don’t worry, Joe,” assured Clyde. “I just mentioned what I saw for your own information. Apparently you knew that Duff Corley was here.”
“I did,” returned Cardona. “I called him in here. For a little chat. That was all. But it ended nowhere, like most first interviews. So there’s no story in it. But maybe, later on—”
“Corley will drop in again?”
“Yes,” promised Cardona. “And that may mean a scoop for you, Burke. But in the meantime, nobody is to know that Duff Corley was around here. You get the idea, don’t you?”
“Sure,” responded Clyde. “I’ll keep mum, Joe. I was only kidding when I came in. But remember, I’m in when it breaks.”
“If it breaks,” corrected Cardona. “Right now it means nothing at all.”
As he spoke, the detective reached for the sheet of paper. He folded it, keeping the marked side down so that Clyde could not see the impression of the Chinese disk. The detective thrust the paper in his pocket and arose from his chair in nonchalant fashion.
Clyde Burke strolled from the office. He showed no haste in his departure from headquarters. But his footsteps quickened after he reached the street. Clyde stopped at a store a block away. He entered a telephone booth and dialed a number. A quiet voice responded.
“Burbank speaking.”
Briefly, Clyde made a report of his short trip to headquarters. He told of seeing Duff Corley; he mentioned the paper that he had seen on Cardona’s desk. He expressed the emphatic opinion that there must be a connection between Duff’s visit and the penciled impression of what appeared to be a coin.
Report given, Clyde Burke strolled forth and headed in the direction of the Classic office. His mission, brief though it was, had been accomplished. For Clyde Burke was a secret agent of The Shadow.
Through Burbank, contact man who reached The Shadow, Clyde had reported his chance discovery.
Coming events were in the making. The future smacked of crime. Mysterious doings in the underworld included Duff Corley among those concerned. The Shadow, mysterious battler of crime, had been furnished with a clue. Coming events would concern The Shadow also!
CHAPTER II. GREEN LIGHTS
THRONGED mobsters crowded Red Mike’s. This dive was one of the most popular in the underworld.
It had changed location on various occasions, chiefly after police raids. But the name had traveled with it.
This was in deference to the brawny, red-haired proprietor who managed the improvised bar in the corner of the main room. Red Mike was a fixture in the Tenderloin.
One characteristic seemed to be the sole qualification that gained admission to Red Mike’s. That was toughness. Sluggers, dock wallopers, gorillas — these were the types that formed the habitues of the joint.
Red Mike’s was a meeting place for the hardest characters in slumland.
The aristocrats of the underworld avoided this dive. So did the weaklings. Petty thieves, hop-heads and other small fry were not wanted. Stool pigeons stayed away from Red Mike’s. That was a source of comfort to Duff Corley when he slouched into the underground den.
For although Duff was playing the part of a stoolie, he had no fear. Among the mobsmen assembled were a dozen whom he knew well. He grinned in twisted fashion as he pictured what would happen if any one challenged him as a stool. Pals would rally to his side. The accuser would be mobbed.
Duff knew that Cardona had evidence that he and “Spider” Mertz had met at Red Mike’s. That was proof that one of the detective’s stoolies must have been around. But as Duff recalled it, he and Spider had met outside the joint. That was where the stoolie must have spotted them.
It was inside that they had transacted their business. Over in the far corner, by the door that formed an emergency exit from the dive. Duff chuckled as he took a seat at the very table where Spider had given him the Chinese disk. It was far from the outer door. No wonder no stoolie had viewed the conference of the other night.
This table was Duff’s accustomed spot when he visited Red Mike’s. It was the logical place where the emissary would look for him. As he slouched at the table, Duff thrust a hand into his pocket. His clenched fist gripped the Chinese disk.
THOUGH as tough in appearance as any gorilla in the place, Duff was yellow at heart. The viciousness of his evil features offset the flimsiness of his frame; that was why he passed as a hard customer. But Duff knew his own limitations. He was a greenhorn with a gat. His punch lacked wallop.
So Duff relied on his face to get him into places like Red Mike’s. He used his cunning to gain an equal rating with his associates. When he worked with crooks, Duff supplied ideas; and usually managed to get himself appointed to some duty that would allow a quick getaway when the cops showed up.
Spider Mertz thought that Duff was foxy. That was why Spider had named him for a post with the unknown big shot. But Joe Cardona had called the turn. He had spotted Duff for a yellow rat. Duff had caved when Joe had began to question him. Right now, in his usual fashion, Duff was trying to keep on both sides of the fence. In so doing, he was acting in the very fashion that Cardona had hoped.