When Hawkeye went by, a taximan was talking to the door attendant. It was Moe Shrevnitz; but Hawkeye did not know him. As yet, Hawkeye had contacted only with Jericho. Hawkeye kept on his way. Moe, remaining, made an explanation to the doorman.
“That guy that just went in,” said Moe. “He had half a buck comin’ to him in change. He walked away before I could give it to him.”
“He must have meant it as a tip,” replied the doorman. “He has plenty of money.”
“It ain’t everybody who hands out half a buck these days,” observed Moe. “I’d like to carry that bird in my cab again. Who is he, anyway?”
“His name is Monte Agland,” replied the doorman, responding to the casual question. “A gentleman of leisure. He lives here at the Castellan. Mr. Agland and his valet, Hubert.”
Moe stepped back into his cab. He drove away, turned a corner and parked in front of a cigar store.
From there, he called the number that Harry Vincent had given him. He put in his report to the quiet speaker that replied. Receiving new orders, Moe reentered his cab, circled the block and drew up within view of the Castellan Apartments.
Meanwhile, Hawkeye was returning. Spying a cheap eating house across the street from the Castellan, Hawkeye went in and took a table by the window. It was dinner time. Hungrily, Hawkeye ordered a meal. He stalled with his food; and while he dawdled, he kept a watchful eye on all who came and went from the apartment hotel.
UP in Suite 1420, Monte Agland was talking to Hubert. He was questioning the valet about the errands that he had performed that afternoon. Strolling into his living room, Agland noted the package of laundry.
“The laundry,” he remarked in a casual tone, “I had almost forgotten that it was on your list, Hubert. By the way, do you have that disk I gave you?”
“Certainly, sir,” replied the valet. “Here it is. I showed it to the Chinaman as you told me. May I ask, sir, just what was its purpose?”
“Just a business custom among the Chinese,” laughed Agland. “I’ve dealt with a great many of them. They give these disks to good customers. No Chinaman will ever overcharge any one who carries such a token.”
“An odd custom, sir. I recall now that the Chinaman added a special ticket to your package. That red strip of paper on the bundle. Maybe you noticed it, sir.”
Agland nodded. Hubert went into another room. Agland opened the package. He dropped the slip on a desk, picked up two blotters and laid them like ruled edges, to hide portions of the Chinese characters.
He chuckled; then crumpled the slip and tossed it in the wastebasket.
THERE was a ring at the door of the apartment. Hubert answered the call to admit a well-dressed visitor. The man removed a muffler that was about his chin. He took off a hat with low-turned brim. He stepped into the living room, where Monte Agland greeted him. Agland dismissed Hubert and closed the door.
In routine fashion, Agland and his visitor displayed a common token. Agland showed the disk that he had taken back from Hubert. The visitor also produced a Chinese disk.
“This mug that works for you,” he said. “You haven’t told him anything at all?”
“Hubert?” inquired Agland, with a laugh. “Not a chance. The less he knows, the better.”
“He doesn’t even know who I am?” asked the visitor.
“Not a chance,” chuckled Agland. “Say — wouldn’t I be a dub to let him know that Ruke Perrin came up here to see me.”
“Think he’d recognize my name?”
“Probably. You’re pretty well known, Ruke, even though you do keep your rackets under cover. But there’s not many people who have ever seen you — outside of those in the rackets — so it’s safe enough for you to come here anonymously.”
“You’re right, Monte,” agreed Ruke. “There wouldn’t be any gorillas hanging around this swell joint. But let’s get down to business. Any word from Diamond Bert?”
“Yes. The job is set for to-night.”
“Good. I’ll have the mob there.”
A pause while they lighted cigarettes. Then Ruke made a casual remark.
“Diamond Bert is smart,” said the racketeer. “I can’t figure yet how he pulled that job at Tatson’s.”
“You were there, weren’t you?” inquired Monte.
“Sure,” replied Ruke, “but not on the inside. Diamond Bert had a fellow with him, but I didn’t get a good look at the guy. I was outside with the mob, grabbing Joland.”
“You took Joland away?”
“Yeah, but Diamond Bert picked him up afterward. I guess he’s got him now. Say — Diamond Bert is a slick customer when it comes to picking hideouts.”
“Agreed. I haven’t an idea where he is located. I send him messages in laundry bundles and get them back the same way. That’s all I know.”
“Not quite,” put in Ruke, with a grin. “You’ve seen the fellow who gave you the dope on Tatson; and on this job to-night.”
“You mean Norse,” returned Monte. “Of course I’ve seen him. I put those ads in the newspapers, so Diamond Bert could read them while he was in stir. But that’s all I’ve done. You had your job, too.”
“Shipping him those pigeons?” quizzed Ruke. “What of it? I didn’t know where the birds came from, did I? They were shipped to me first off. When Diamond Bert let them out from the big house, they flew back to the starting point.
“Say — you and I may be big wheels in the machine that Diamond Bert’s got, but there’s plenty of other wheels turning us. That’s the way I like it. I’ll bet there’s not one guy in the whole works that could queer the racket if he squawked.
“Take that safe at Tatson’s. How did Diamond Bert bust it? Don’t ask me. How’s he going to crack this box at Lewkesbury’s to-night? I can’t guess. It’s a hundred per cent straight through, this racket. I’m for it. All I was figuring is — what happens after to-night?”
“I don’t know yet,” admitted Monte. “All I can tell you is that Norse is out of the picture. He’s got nothing else worth while. But I’m playing a bet of my own. If it comes through, it will be the best of the lot.”
“Here’s hoping,” grinned Ruke. He tossed his cigarette in a stand. “Well, I’m on my way. I’ll see you later, Monte. Unless you want to phone me.”
“Meetings are better,” decided Monte, “unless things get hot. I’ll let you know if we have to lay low. But if it keeps on smooth like it has been, we won’t have any worries.”
Ruke Perrin arose and strolled from the apartment. Monte Agland called Hubert. The valet appeared, bringing Tuxedo, shoes and shirt. He carried the garments into a dressing room. Monte Agland changed attire with a swiftness that showed he was accustomed to formal dress.
Ten minutes later, Monte left his apartment. He descended to the lobby, whistling softly as he rode down in the elevator. The tips of Monte Agland’s fingers were in the pockets of his vest. Whistling ceased and a smile showed on the man’s lips as his right fingers encountered metal.
Safely in Monte’s pocket was the token that marked him as a man of crime. But to him, it was a talisman that brought wealth and luxury. A willing underling of Diamond Bert, Monte Agland was as dangerous a crook as any who carried a Chinese disk.
CHAPTER XVI. CRIME’S TRAIL
HAWKEYE was not at the restaurant window when Monte Agland reached the street. From his vantage point, the little watcher had spied Ruke Perrin when the racketeer had entered. Despite Ruke’s muffled garb, Hawkeye had recognized his features beneath the light of the marquee that fronted the Castellan Apartments.
Hawkeye had put in another telephone call. He had received orders to trail Ruke Perrin. When the confident racketeer had reappeared upon the street, Hawkeye had followed him. Hence this crafty trailer was not available when Monte appeared.