“Say!” exclaimed Cardona. “Are you the man who took that note to Charles Blefken?”
The man nodded.
“Where did you get it?” demanded Cardona. “Tell us all you know about it!”
“You ain’t goin’ to hold me, are you?” pleaded the man.
“Not if you answer all the questions I want to ask you. We’ll let you go. What’s your name?”
“DUNC MILLER,” said the cabman. He had evidently anticipated the question, for he pulled his identification cards from his pocket.
“I’ve got my cab outside. I didn’t tell Blefken all I knew about the man who gave me the note, because the fellow asked me to keep mum. He came up to me on One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, over by Eighth Avenue. Gave me the note and the century spot.”
“Yes? What did he look like?”
“Good-looking chap. Talked very keen, but nervouslike. He had on a dark suit. He was kinda white — his face. Looked like somebody was after him.”
“Middleton, all right! Go on.”
“That was all — then,” said the cabman. “When I read about Blefken being killed, I figured this was the fellow you were after. But I thought sure he’d beat it, and I was afraid to butt in. I don’t want to buck any gunmen.
“This afternoon, I was reading the papers again, and I see now that you only want him for a witness, and that you’ve got the real murderer all sewed up.
“Well, I was thinking about telling what I knew, but didn’t know whether it would do any good, until tonight — well, tonight I see the fellow again.”
“Where?” Joe Cardona’s voice was eager.
“Right up by the same corner. I followed him along, and he went down a little street until he came to an old house. He went in through the side. I watched, and a light showed in the back room on the second floor.
“Here’s the address.” The man fumbled in his pocket and brought out a sheet of paper. “Look, I’ve drawn the way the house looks. Right here is the door—”
“Great!” said Cardona. He showed the paper to Inspector Klein. “I’m going up there right away. If Middleton’s still around, we’ll nab him.”
“Better take this fellow with you,” said Klein.
“I thought you weren’t goin’ to hold me, chief,” protested the cab driver.
“I’ll do better than that,” said Cardona. “You’re going to be here a while, aren’t you, inspector?”
“Yes.”
“All right, I’ll ride up in this man’s cab. I’ll stop off at the Fourth District and pick up Clark. If that call comes in from Philadelphia, hold it. I’ll ring in from the district station.”
Cardona and the cabman hurried to the street. The detective climbed into the cab, and the vehicle sped uptown. It had hardly passed the nearest corner before a car shot after it.
Flash Donegan was at the wheel of the pursuing automobile. Beside him was Cliff Marsland. Flash and his companion had seen the cab stop at headquarters. They had seen Cardona come out with the taximan.
Therefore, while Flash evidently had a purpose in trailing the cab, he was not staying too close to it.
Cliff had no definite idea concerning Flash Donegan’s purpose. He was now a member of the racketeer’s newly formed mob. He had met Flash Donegan the night that Dip Riker had suggested he be added to the organization. He had passed Donegan’s keen inspection.
Tonight, he had been called upon this special duty. Flash was noncommittal, but Cliff knew that the gang leader was bound upon an important mission. Flash had selected Cliff because he appeared to be the most capable gat wielder of the outfit.
Flash spoke while they were riding uptown. It was one of the first times that the suave man had expressed himself.
“Get ready, Marsland,” was Donegan’s statement. “We’re going to work quick when we get started. I’ve been on the lookout for this bozo.
“I’ll do the talking if I get the chance. You handle the rest. Dip tells me you know how to shove a gat in a guy’s ribs and make him savvy. I believe him!”
The trailed taxicab stopped half a block away from the district station house. Joe Cardona alighted and spoke to the driver. Flash pulled up his car a short distance behind. Cliff admired the nerve of the racketeer. They were close enough to overhear Cardona’s words.
“Stick here,” the detective said. “I’m going inside. If I don’t come out right away, somebody else will. After we get near the place, you’re finished for the night. All right?”
THE taxi driver grunted an affirmative reply. Cardona disappeared. Then it was that Flash Donegan showed the quickness that had gained him his nickname.
Nudging Cliff, he clambered from the car. Cliff followed, as Flash approached the taxicab and appeared suddenly beside the driver.
“Get going,” ordered Flash, as he opened the door of the cab.
Dunc Miller responded. Flash had one hand upon the handle of the door. His other hand held an automatic. The gun was thrust into the startled taximan’s ribs.
Cliff jumped in the taxi, and Flash Donegan followed. Only for a second did he leave the man uncovered. Now, his gun was through the window from the rear seat, jabbing into the back of the driver’s neck.
The cab was in motion. As it swung up the street, Flash spoke rapidly. He was giving instructions and asking questions at once. The cab driver was following both.
“Go around the block,” ordered Flash. “Now give me the dope. What did you tell that dick?”
“I told him — I told him — ” the man stammered.
“No stalling!” came Donegan’s command. “Spill it quick, or you’ll swallow lead!”
“I told him I’d found out where a guy named Middleton lives,” blabbed Miller.
“All right,” growled Flash, “that’s what I want to know. Speak quick! Write this, Cliff.”
Cliff Marsland quickly scrawled the address that the taximan gave. Flash continued his interrogation, but by the time the cab was completing the circuit of the block, it was evident that Dunc Miller’s supply of information was exhausted.
Flash leaned back from the front seat, his automatic still in readiness. He nudged Cliff Marsland.
“Give me that paper,” he whispered. “I’m getting out. You stay with this cab. Make him drive up an alley and give him the bump.
“Pick a spot over by the Club Yama” — Flash gave the location of an East Side night club — “and meet me in there. How long do you need?”
“How long do you want me to take?”
“Half an hour.”
“O.K.,” Cliff concurred.
Flash ordered the cab driver to stop. The racketeer leaped from the vehicle at the end of the block where the police station was located. Cliff saw him sauntering to his car. Joe Cardona had not reappeared.
“Move along,” growled Cliff.
He was thinking tensely as the cabman obeyed. The big objective tonight was Jerry Middleton. Cardona was on his way to find the missing man.
Evidently, Cardona had been delayed in the detective district. There would be another delay — how long, Cliff did not know — when the detective found the cabman missing.
Flash Donegan was also after Middleton, and he had a better chance than Cardona to get there first. But the racketeer was not going in person. For he had made an appointment to meet Cliff in thirty minutes at the Club Yama.
A race between the forces of law and the hordes of crime! It was Cliff’s duty to arrange another entry. Some one must get there for The Shadow — and that person must reach Middleton before the others!
CLIFF could not perform the mission himself. He knew that he must not jeopardize his position with Flash Donegan. That appointment at the Club Yama must be kept. There was only one course — Cliff must get word to The Shadow!