CHAPTER V
MYLAND ADVISES
THE two men who next entered Caleb Myland’s study presented a marked contrast. To a criminologist such as Caleb Myland, they represented definite types.
One was a swarthy, dark-haired fellow of short, stocky build. His face, firm-jawed and stern, showed his bulldog characteristics. Myland needed no introduction to learn the man’s name. This was Detective Joe Cardona.
With the sleuth was a tall, stoop-shouldered individual, whose pasty face and nervous twitch were suggestive of the dope addict. The man’s eyes were blinking in the light. In his scrawny hands, he held an old felt hat that fitted with his ragged attire. This was Crawler Gorgan.
Cardona made the introduction in gruff manner. He pointed to his companion as he spoke to the commissioner.
“This is Gorgan, commissioner,” he said.
Rising, Weston proffered his hand. Gorgan accepted it awkwardly. He showed a trace of firmness in his grasp. Weston, turning, introduced both men to Caleb Myland. The criminologist merely bowed and pointed to chairs. Cardona seated himself and Crawler Gorgan followed.
“Cardona,” announced Weston, “I have told Mr. Myland substantially what you told me. I said that you were bringing Gorgan here to add his statements to your own. Mr. Myland is a criminologist of high repute. I want him to hear Gorgan’s testimony. After that, Cardona, you will be free to add further remarks of your own.”
Cardona nodded as the commissioner ceased speaking. Weston and Myland sat silent. Cardona took this as his cue. Turning to Gorgan, he said:
“Tell them about it.”
Gorgan licked his puffy lips. His blinking ceased momentarily as he turned his eyes back and forth from Weston to Myland. The man seemed to be steadying himself to talk. When his voice came, it delivered direct words.
“I look like a hop-head,” declared Crawler Gorgan. “I ain’t one, though. Joe here told you that, commissioner. I used to run a hockshop; and when I saw I was likely to get listed as a fence, I made a deal with the police. That was seven years ago, commissioner.
“I knowed the joints and I knowed the crooks. I wasn’t one of them, but it didn’t take much to make them think I was. They all knowed Crawler Gorgan — yeah, they thought they did, the scum!
“I wouldn’t play no stoolie — why should I? I’d never done nothing against the law. But when I got the chance to work undercover, I took it. Down in the Tenderloin, they figured poor Crawler Gorgan had gone blooie.”
Crawler paused to grin. He raised his right hand and rubbed it along his nose in the manner of a cocaine sniffer. The gesture was a perfect pantomime.
“That’s what they think I am,” resumed Crawler. “A dope. The hockshop sold out; I hang around the joints; and they figure I pull some small jobs every now and then. All the time I’m listening — and what I get goes to Joe Cardona.”
“I AM aware of that, Gorgan,” stated Weston. “You have an inside knowledge of affairs in the underworld. Therefore, I want you to answer this question. Have you ever seen a mysterious personage called The Shadow?”
“The Shadow!” Crawler blinked as he uttered the name. “Say, commissioner, it didn’t use to be healthy to see The Shadow. The guys that lamped him didn’t stay around to talk about it.
“But there’s some that have seen The Shadow — and I’ve heard what they’ve had to say. They were birds who didn’t get too close — like them that was battling with The Shadow the other night, after Deek Hundell got bumped.”
“Did The Shadow kill Deek Hundell?”
“No. I’ll tell you who got Deek. It was another guy that’s beating The Shadow at his own game. Listen, commissioner. The Shadow don’t pick the open. He stays in the dark and when he comes out of it, he’s ready for business. That’s why he’s a mystery. All in black — with eyes that glitter like fire. That’s The Shadow! When he opens up with those big automatics of his, there’s no stopping him. When he’s through, he slides back into the dark.”
“So I have heard,” interposed Weston. “But what about The Cobra?”
“He’s different.” Crawler’s tone was emphatic. “The Cobra is out for the big shots, commissioner. He picks the guy he wants; then walks in and gets him. He don’t wait, like The Shadow does, until there’s some crime being done. He lops off the big boys right when they don’t expect it — and he likes to have witnesses on deck.”
“You have seen The Cobra?”
“Me? Not yet. But I’ve met a dozen guys that have seen him. When he bumped Deek Hundell, there was a whole crew there. The Cobra comes in on them” — Crawler paused to make his description graphic — “right through a doorway. He was dressed in a sort of sweater — all brown — with a hood over his head. Painted eyes — like one of those cobra snakes — and he hissed, like a warning.
“They say Deek Hundell didn’t have a chance. The Cobra plugs him and douses the light. Bang goes the door and there’s a bunch of scared guys sitting around with Deek laying dead. That’s the way The Cobra worked.”
“Cardona tells me,” observed Weston, “that The Shadow figured on that occasion.”
“Yeah,” asserted Crawler Gorgan. “That was the part that came after. The Cobra made his getaway; and the crew didn’t have no chance to stop him. They were looking for The Cobra and they found The Shadow.”
“How did he happen to be there?”
“Nobody knows. Some guys have figured it out that he was checking up on Deek Hundell. Maybe he was out to get Deek, too. Anyway, the Cobra got in ahead of him and left The Shadow holding the bag. The Shadow had to fight his way out of it.”
COMMISSIONER WESTON pondered. Crawler Gorgan’s story was convincing. Despite the fact that the undercover man had seen neither The Shadow nor The Cobra, it was evident that he was telling accepted facts.
“Cardona,” Weston addressed the detective, “I find myself forced to accept your theories. I have doubted the existence of The Shadow. I doubt it no longer. As for The Cobra — well, I can supply a statement of my own.”
Weston paused to puff reflectively upon his cigar. When he spoke again, he addressed Crawler Gorgan.
“You have told me something, Gorgan,” he said, “that Cardona did not mention. You have spoken of The Cobra’s hiss. That was the one point that I required. I have heard that hiss.”
The listeners stared at the commissioner in surprise. Weston nodded seriously.
“Two nights ago,” resumed Weston, “I received a mysterious phone call. I heard a hiss over the wire — for all the world like the hiss of a snake — and then a voice. It said: ‘I am The Cobra. Tonight, I shall strike.’ That was all.
“I took it for a hoax. I hung up the receiver. That night, Deek Hundell was killed. The next day, Cardona came in with his story about The Cobra.”
“You didn’t tell me about the phone call, commissioner,” observed Detective Cardona.
“There was no use,” returned Weston. “I wanted to know more before I mentioned the fact. I am convinced now that The Cobra is a figure in the affairs of the underworld; and I have every reason to expect that I shall hear from him again. I made a mistake to hang up without engaging in conversation with this mysterious caller.”
Weston threw his cigar in an ash stand. His reflective tone turned to one of challenge. He pounded the table with his fist and issued a demand.
“What is the game?” he questioned. “Who is The Shadow? Why has he been mixing in the underworld? Who is The Cobra? Why has he entered? Who can answer it?”
“I can tell you plenty about The Shadow,” declared Joe Cardona. “I’ve seen him — even if Crawler here hasn’t. He’s pulled me out of jams — and you, too, commissioner. You didn’t know it, but I did; and if I’d tried to put you wise, you wouldn’t have believed me.