“Very well. You shall have Tapper.”
“And Hawkeye, also. I have work for him.”
Farrow chuckled. He felt at ease by now. He was thinking of Hawkeye’s arrival at this apartment a few nights ago.
“Hawkeye knows who jolted him,” laughed Farrow. “You should have heard him talk about The Shadow. He’s still a bit worried, even though I have reassured him. When will you need Hawkeye?”
“Later to-day,” declared The Shadow. “You will hear from me. As for Tapper, you may give him the proper orders yourself.”
“Very well.” Farrow reached for the newspaper. He began to scan the columns. “I think Norris Tatson’s address is given here. Let me see. Not there — ah! Here it is. One hundred and ninety-eight West—”
Farrow paused abruptly. He had raised his head as he turned toward The Shadow’s chair. To his amazement, the spot was vacant. Silently, mysteriously, in full daylight, Farrow’s visitor had gone!
CHAPTER XIV. AIDS TO THE SHADOW
NOT long after The Shadow’s surprise visit to Slade Farrow, a young man entered the lobby of the Hotel Metrolite. The bell captain nodded as the arrival passed. So did the elevator operator, when the young man entered his car.
“Good morning, Mr. Vincent,” was the operator’s greeting.
Harry Vincent was a resident guest at the Metrolite. For several years, that hotel had been his New York headquarters. He frequently went away on business trips; but he always returned to the Metrolite.
At present, Harry was living in Suite 1010, which consisted of a small living room and bedroom. When he reached his suite, Harry sat down at a writing desk and drew an envelope from his pocket. It was a large envelope, quite bulky. In the upper left corner, it bore the return address:
RUTLEDGE MANN
INVESTMENTS
NEW YORK CITY
Harry had received that envelope from the investment broker only a short while ago. He had gone to Mann’s office in response to a telephone call. Mann had given him the envelope with orders to return promptly to the Metrolite.
Harry opened the envelope. Inside, he found four smaller ones, each of a different color. Red, yellow, green and blue. To Harry, this meant a definite progression. The envelopes were to be opened in turn; the red one first.
From the red envelope, Harry produced a folded sheet of paper. It proved to be a note, inscribed in code words of bright bluish hue. Harry read the message with no effort. Immediately afterward the words began to fade. The paper became blank.
Harry Vincent was sober as he stared from the window. New York, in daytime, seemed a city of safety.
Yet Harry could sense insidious evil, hidden dangers that lurked in Manhattan. As an agent of The Shadow, Harry knew that his chief was waging a new campaign against crime; but until to-day, Harry had not learned the full details of the case.
DIAMOND BERT FARWELL! Harry remembered the crook. He had encountered Diamond Bert when the fellow was masquerading as Wang Foo. Harry had fallen into the hands of the pretended Chinaman. But for The Shadow’s timely aid, Harry would have suffered death within those toils.
Diamond Bert at large! Harry could appreciate the struggle that The Shadow faced. In that faded codeword note, Harry had learned brief details of The Shadow’s recent adventures. In taking the role of Tam Sook, Diamond Bert had acted true to form. His disappearance from the laundry of Loon Goy and Hoy Wen was but further proof of his slippery ability.
Harry tore up the empty red envelope. He placed the other three envelopes in his pocket. Leaving his suite, he descended to the street and headed for an East Side subway station. He rode to Fourteenth Street. There he hailed a cab and gave the driver a destination. Riding in the cab, Harry produced the yellow envelope and opened it.
A new note with coded instructions. Harry’s eyebrows lifted as he read the orders. Here was something new in Harry’s experience. Contact work which he had not previously performed for The Shadow. Harry was meditative when the note faded. Then, his lips set in a firm smile. He tore up the yellow envelope and the blank paper. He tossed the fragments from the window.
The cab stopped at its destination. Harry alighted, paid the driver, and looked about. He was on a narrow street lined by dilapidated tenements. To his right was another thoroughfare that was only a block in length.
There was no traffic on the short street. The block had been transformed into an open-air market. Wheel to wheel, projecting from the curbs, were pushcarts that displayed all types of merchandise.
A babbling tumult filled the air. A motley throng of purchasers filled street and sidewalks. Buyers were walking from wagon to wagon, haggling, bargaining with these outdoor merchants. Troublesome gamins were sidling about, waiting for opportunities to pilfer from the stands. But the curb merchants were wary.
No matter how eager they became to make a sale, they invariably kept a watchful eye on the juvenile pests.
Harry strolled along the street. He looked at the carts as he passed them. The block was like a bargain basement on wheels. But Harry had no eye for purchase. He was noting the license plates on the push wagons. He reached the end of the block before he found the one he wanted.
This wagon was a fruit stand. It was presided over by a keen-eyed Italian, whose chief duty was watching out for petty thieves. Fruit offered most inducement to the roving gamins. It was a commodity too frequent to attract many purchasers. Almost last in the line-up, the Italian was doing very little business; and his glumness showed it.
HARRY stepped up to the Italian. The fellow turned in his direction, eager to make a sale to this well-dressed customer. But Harry’s inquiry did not concern the wares that were heaped upon the stand.
“Is your name Pietro?” inquired Harry.
The Italian stared suspiciously; then nodded.
“I want to talk to you,” stated Harry.
Again a suspicious stare. Then Pietro was reassured. Harry’s appearance passed his inspection. The Italian knew that this questioner was neither gangster nor detective. Those were the only two types of interrogators whom Pietro was anxious to avoid.
“I poosh da cart around da corner,” suggested the Italian. “Disa place, too many da keeds. All time dey grabba da banan. One time dey grabba three beeg bunch. What you wanta say?”
The question came as Pietro, wheeling the cart, reached a spot beyond the corner. Harry was following.
He looked about; seeing that no one was close, he spoke in a confidential tone.
“Remember a fellow named Tony Cumo?” questioned Harry.
“Tony Cumo?” returned Pietro. “Sure — Tony, he’s dead. What you wanta know about Tony?”
“He was a counterfeiter.”
“Sure. I know. He giva me da bad nickel. I getta myself in wrong. I tella da cops all about.”
“And after that?”
Pietro hesitated. He eyed Harry with new suspicion. He saw friendliness in Harry’s gaze. Pietro spoke:
“Tony, he have the friends. One friend, he aska me why I tella da cop. I say da cop aska me. Quattro uomini — four men — dey grabba me. Wanta keel me, Pietro. Dat’s all.”
“Who stopped them?”
Pietro shrugged his shoulders. Apparently, he did not care to answer the question. He shot a glance at Harry; then prepared to push his cart along the street. Harry spoke in a low tone, close to Pietro’s ear.
“The Shadow stopped them.”
Pietro paused. He darted a swift sidelong look; then listened as Harry spoke three short words in Italian.
These were words that had appeared in The Shadow’s message. Pietro understood.