I don’t think the cops would believe me, even if I did hand over the scroll. If I could only—”
“Let me see the scroll,” crackled the seated visitor. “I should like to examine it.”
Jerry nodded. He produced the bloodstained document from his typewriter case. Rayne received it and studied the inscription closely. His smile betokened satisfaction; then his eyes narrowed as he asked:
“Did you make a copy of this?”
Jerry produced a typewritten sheet and gave it promptly to his visitor. His voice was frank as he explained:
“That’s the only copy, Mr. Rayne. I simply made it for my own protection, in case of emergency. I hit it off on the machine to-day; but I made no carbon. What’s more, I don’t remember half of it. Just a lot of Latin to me.”
RAYNE reached for his portfolio. Opening it, he dipped his hand inside and produced an envelope.
From this, he removed a stack of bank notes. Jerry stared, goggle-eyed, at sight of the currency. Rayne counted off a sheaf of notes and held them in his right hand.
“Here is five thousand dollars,” he declared. “My price for the purchase of the scroll. Will you accept it?”
Jerry reached for the money; then stopped.
“Only if you’re on the level,” he decided, grasping the scroll that Rayne had placed on the arm of the chair. “No crooked business for me, Mr. Rayne, no matter how much jack you’re willing to ante.”
“You are honest,” commended Rayne, with a satisfied nod. “Very well, Kobal; I can assure you that this is honest money. This scroll belonged to a friend of mine” — quietly, Rayne reached out and took the parchment from Jerry’s hand — ”to an old friend, who trusted me. He is dead, poor Bigelow.” Sadly, Rayne’s head shook, while his mild quaver softened. “He is dead; and the scroll was stolen from him.
“Gladly would he have placed it in my hands. You have done a noble service, Kobal, in reclaiming the scroll from thieves. I am wealthy; it is as a reward for your honesty that I am offering you this money.”
The hand with the bills stretched forward, trembling. Jerry Kobal was impressed with the belief that Rayne’s offer was genuine. The ex-crook’s hesitation ended. He clutched the money gladly.
“Five thousand bucks!” he exclaimed. “Say — this gives me a swell break, Mr. Rayne! I appreciate your generosity; and if there’s anything else—”
“There is,” crackled the visitor, with a smile. “One important condition, Kobal. You are to leave town to-night. Travel far — so far that none of your old associates will find you. Moreover, you are to say nothing about this transaction. It must remain an absolute secret!”
“Trust me,” grinned Jerry. “I’ll be out of here in fifteen minutes. Now that you’ve staked me, I can get somewhere. It’s a tough uphill grind for a fellow after he’s been in stir. But with cash — honest cash — for a start, I’ve got the chance I’ve wanted.”
Montague Rayne was rising. Jerry helped him to his feet. The wrinkled-faced visitor thrust the scroll into his portfolio. He started toward the door; Jerry hurried ahead and unlocked it. Rayne offered a trembling hand in parting; Jerry received it and returned the visitor’s clasp.
Pocketing his money — cash which he felt was fairly earned — Jerry Kobal watched the huddled figure of Montague Rayne go hobbling down the hall. He heard a last cackle of pleased satisfaction. Closing the door, the ex-crook began to pack his few effects, in preparation for the distant trip that his benefactor had ordered.
A quick transaction had been accomplished. The missing scroll had been bought, paid for and delivered; again it had changed hands, this time without violence. All within a brief span of time while agents of The Shadow, stationed outside the Hotel Santiago, were still awaiting the arrival of their cloaked chief!
CHAPTER XIV. THE CREEPER’S THRUST
AT the very time when Jerry Kobal was congratulating himself upon the acquisition of five thousand dollars, his name was being discussed by two members of The Creeper’s clan. One was Zimmer Funson; the other, his right bower, Hal. The two were seated in the bookie’s living room at the Hotel Parkview.
“No line yet on Jerry Kobal?” was Zimmer’s query. “Say, Hal, I thought you could come through with something. You did a good job locating Dopey Delvin.”
“That was luck, Zimmer,” returned Hal, with a shake of his head. “It’s tougher, finding Jerry. You’re sure you’ve got the right dope about him?”
“Straight from The Creeper. This guy Slugger knew him and slipped him the scroll. Jerry was supposed to have headed for the Hotel Alcadia; but he didn’t. He’s pulled some double cross.”
“Sure he’s not at the Alcadia?”
“It’s been covered. Not by us; but by some other bunch. Well, we’ve got the only lead; we know that Jerry Kobal used to play the races once in a while, after he came out of stir. We’d know him if we saw him.”
“That’s enough, isn’t it, Zimmer? Give the guy time; he’ll bob up. That’s why I left Wally and Steve down at Townley’s.”
“You told me that Jerry Kobal owes Townley some dough.”
“Sure! Fifty bucks.”
“So you left Wally and Steve there. That’s a hot one. The guy won’t blow into a joint where he owes dough.”
“You’re wrong, Zimmer. This guy Kobal pays his debts. Townley told Wally that he always shows up when he’s flush.”
“Maybe it’s a good hunch, Hal. Say — Townley doesn’t know that you fellows are hooked up with me, does he?”
“Not a chance of it.”
“All right. Slide on down there and stick with the others.”
SO far, the henchmen of The Creeper had made no guess as to Jerry Kobal’s whereabouts. It had taken agents of The Shadow to track the crook who had gone straight. They were still arrayed about the Hotel Santiago. Hawkeye had just arrived; he was covering the alley at the back.
Hawkeye’s lateness, however, had produced a doublefold result. Not only had Montague Rayne gained a chance to enter; the old hobbler had also found opportunity to leave by that unwatched rear exit. Cliff, occasionally entering the lobby, had not spied Rayne either coming or going; nor had the clerk, still dozing behind his desk.
Hawkeye was close beside the rear door when he heard a whisper in the darkness. It was The Shadow, again arrived upon the field which his aids were guarding. Hawkeye slid aside; The Shadow moved inward toward the lobby. He stopped to watch, as a man came down the stairs and walked over to the desk.
“Checking out, Mr. Kane?” came the voice of the awakened clerk.
A nod from Jerry Kobal, as the ex-crook placed his typewriter on the floor. The Shadow moved back to the exit. His whisper to Hawkeye was a sharp one. The little spotter skidded away, heading around the block to contact Moe Shrevnitz in the cab.
The Shadow waited. From the outer exit, he caught a glimpse of Jerry Kobal, strolling toward the front door of the hotel. Jerry’s bill was paid; he was on his way. The Shadow swiftly took the course that Hawkeye had followed.
Arriving out front, Jerry looked about, intending to start toward the elevated. At that moment, Moe’s cab wheeled up; the driver delivered a friendly grin at the man who had come from the hotel.
“Taxi?”
Jerry nodded. He entered the cab. He ordered Moe to take him to the Pennsylvania Station. The cab pulled away. At the same moment, Cliff Marsland hailed a chance cab that had swung in from the Bowery. Climbing aboard, he spoke to the driver.
“See that hack?” queried Cliff, pointing out Moe’s cab. “Tail it, bud. I want to talk to the guy that’s riding in it. It means a fin for you, if you don’t lose the guy.”