“But if I talk?”
“Speak — then you will learn.”
The terms were unconditional. Such was The Shadow’s way. Trigger blinked; then, in a voice that showed eagerness, the gangster made a plea.
“I’ll talk,” he said. “I’ll tell you what the lay is. But I’ll do more than that. I’ll tell you everything else I know. Maybe you’ll give me a break—”
“Speak.”
Trigger paused. His snakelike eyes continued their blinking. For a moment, they wavered as Trigger glanced about the room. Then, in a hopeless voice, the mobleader began to talk.
“It’s the Titan Trust Company,” he announced. “The big shot’s going to crack it tonight. Don’t ask me how — I don’t know. The orders I got were to be in the parking lot across from the door on the side street. He wants me to cover up with my crew. The bunch is coming out that way.
“I’m talking straight. It’s set for eleven thirty to the dot. That’s the time I’m to get there. That’s all I know about the job. But if you’ll listen” — Trigger paused earnestly — “I’ll give you an idea of what you’re up against. This guy is bigger than any big shot you ever heard of—”
“Speak.”
Again, Trigger shifted. He glanced about in half scared fashion. He seemed to fear consequences should he talk. Then came the dominating whisper of The Shadow. Trigger stalled no longer.
“I don’t know who the big shot is,” declared the trapped gangleader. “All I know is — he’s got everybody working for him. All except a couple of gangs — and if they don’t join up, it’ll be too bad for them.
“I had to get in the game. It would have been curtains if I hadn’t. He moves me around like he does the rest of them. Maybe you saw me get that note at the Pink Rat. That’s the way I get all my orders. Some guy comes up and slips them to me.
“What’s more, I pass them on the same way. You saw that envelope I gave to Greasy? Well, Greasy slips it to any mug he meets. The guy opens it — I figure he finds some dough inside it — and along with it an envelope addressed to some bird like myself. He delivers it — that’s all.
“You get it, don’t you? The mug that brought me my envelope don’t know where it came from. The guy that Greasy hands the envelope to don’t know that it came from me. That’s the way we’ve got to work.”
Trigger stopped. He had told all. He had mentioned The Crime Master. He had divulged the big shot’s system, so far as he knew it.
THE SHADOW saw the efficacy of the plan. Mobleaders like Trigger apparently formed an endless chain, with Greasy and small-fry denizens of the underworld serving as carriers. A single packet, thrust into a carrier’s hands, could go the rounds through these gangster workers!
The Shadow knew that Trigger had spoken the truth. Thus The Shadow had scored an important start against this supercrook called The Crime Master. The Shadow had let Greasy go. The Crime Master’s orders were still being passed along. The overlord of crime would not know that The Shadow had learned his plans for tonight.
Trigger began to speak again. His tone was pleading. Yet it carried a surety that it had not held before. The Shadow listened.
“I know you’re working to get The Crime Master,” declared Trigger. “Joe Cardona queered that raid on the armored car. They say Cardona found a message in some dead gorilla’s pocket.
“Gorillas don’t carry The Crime Master’s messages. Somebody wised up to that raid. Somebody planted that note on the dead gorilla. A wise guy told me he bet it was The Shadow. I know he was right.”
Trigger moistened his lips. He was staring toward a little clock that was ticking on a table in the corner of the room. He began to speak again, while The Shadow stood immobile.
“I guess you trailed me here,” declared Trigger. “I guess you saw me talking to Herb at the front door. Maybe you saw me wiggle my fingers-three times — making fifteen. Maybe you didn’t see me — it don’t make any difference.
“You know why?” Trigger’s voice became suddenly confident, also louder. “Because that meant fifteen minutes — and the time is up. That’s why I told you all I knew — because you’ll never have a chance to tell—”
Trigger had made three sidewise shifts. These nervous actions had taken him away from the direction of the door. Trigger’s blinking eyes had gained a glance toward the portal. Now, as he delivered the challenge, Trigger looked that way again.
“They’ve got you this time!” shouted Trigger. “They’ve got you!”
As he spoke, Trigger stared quickly toward the door; then, as The Shadow’s gaze shifted, the gangleader made a backward, sidewise leap toward the inner corner of the room, to avoid the line of The Shadow’s automatic.
Trigger’s cry had served as a signal. The door shot open as The Shadow swung. Herb and the gorillas from the Pink Rat sprang in view. Trigger Maddock had placed keen reliance on his henchmen.
In one brief moment, the tables had been turned. Trigger, wary for his own safety, had called The Shadow’s attention to the menace, that he might escape the first shot from the looming automatic.
In a twinkling, The Shadow, master of the situation, had been placed against unexpected odds. To use the knowledge that he had gained of coming crime, he must save himself from the danger which had so suddenly confronted him!
CHAPTER IV
THE NEXT CLUE
HAD Trigger Maddock been willing to sacrifice his own life for the fame of bringing doom to The Shadow, he might have gained success by his stratagem. Trigger had played his game well. He had gained The Shadow’s full attention by his statements concerning The Crime Master.
But Trigger, like all men of crime, placed his own self first. He did not care for the safety of the men who had come to save him. He was willing to throw them as bait to The Shadow, in order to save his own hide.
Through his eagerness, Trigger gave The Shadow a much needed break. Knowing that danger at the door would compel The Shadow to drop him for the moment, Trigger had grabbed opportunity as soon as it presented itself.
Herb and his two companions had not reckoned with The Shadow. They knew that Trigger was in trouble. They were ready to combat the enemy who had trapped them. But they had expected an ordinary foeman.
Three guns were flashing as the door swung inward. They were guns wielded by sharpshooters who were peering for their mark, guiding their aim by the direction from which Trigger’s voice had come.
Trigger, springing toward the corner, was a plain object to his henchmen. Their eyes swung back the other way, with gun muzzles following. But The Shadow, better than Trigger, was a master at the fadeaway. As Trigger sprang backward toward the corner, The Shadow, whirling, spun in the opposite direction, toward the door of the inner room.
Herb saw a twisting mass of blackness. He fired — a split second late. His bullet pounded the wall on the near side of The Shadow. A booming report came in answer. The Shadow, in his whirl, had loosed a shot straight for the door.
Herb crumpled. Above him, the other mobsters aimed to kill. But that one shot was but the first blast of The Shadow’s rapid fire. Zimming bullets came with bursting flame as The Shadow spat quick shots to the source of danger.
One mobster toppled forward; the other dropped back, with a cry of anguish. Five bullets, drilling in quick succession, had found human marks within the space of a single second.
Trigger and The Shadow had reached corners simultaneously. While The Shadow’s automatic was spelling its rat-tat-tat, Trigger’s right hand was starting for his pocket, ready for its famous draw. It was to be a match for quickness: Trigger, aiming as he pulled his gun from his pocket; The Shadow, swerving after his quick volley against the mobsters.