Cliff served as The Shadow’s agent in the underworld. Reputed to be a killer, Cliff stood in with the gorilla element. It was Cliff who had passed the word to Burbank; news that the contact man had relayed to The Shadow.
“You know what’s up, Harry?” questioned Cliff, in a whisper.
“I know we’re to tail a couple of cars,” replied Harry. “Burbank told me to get the rest from you.”
“Driller Borson’s crew is on the move. Starting from the old Phoenix Garage, three blocks from here. At ten o’clock. I was down at the Black Ship when Skeeter Wigan showed up and passed the news to some of the gorillas.”
“Any idea where they’re going?”
“No. Driller is smart. Never lets his outfit in on the know until they get to their objective. But Driller’s not the only one concerned tonight.”
“Who else?”
“I don’t know. Some other crook leader with a crew of his own. The idea is to let the two outfits meet.”
Harry nodded. This fitted with The Shadow’s methods. He began to see the importance of brief instructions that he had received from Burbank.
“Dash clock right?” questioned Cliff.
“To the minute,” replied Harry.
“Ten of ten,” noted Cliff. “We only need a couple of minutes to get to the garage. Hawkeye is due here before we pull out.”
“Where has he been?”
“Checking up. Doing a sneak near the garage. Just to make sure they’re swarming. I tipped him off outside the Black Ship. He was watching the alley while I was in the joint—”
FINGERS drummed an interruption against the window. Cliff opened the door of the sedan and a hunched figure twisted in through the opening. A crafty, wizened face showed by the glow of the dashlight as “Hawkeye” joined his comrades.
“Spotted ‘em,” he whispered. “They got a coupe and a crummy old touring car parked in the garage. Looks like most of the crew is there. But they ain’t starting until ten. Driller’s a guy that works like a clock.”
“We can circle over that way, Harry,” suggested Cliff.
“Wait a minute.” Harry spoke quietly. “I want to try something, Cliff. There’s no chance of any one noticing us in here, is there?”
“Not much.”
“Well, here goes — when the second hand of that dash clock hits the sixty mark.”
As he spoke, Harry drew forth a small white tube that looked like the half of a cigarette. He pressed it between his fingers, then tossed it from the window of the car. The tiny object fell in the darkness beside the building.
“What’s that?” questioned Hawkeye.
“You’ll see,” replied Harry. “Keep your eye on the dash clock.”
One minute passed.
“Six minutes of ten,” commented Cliff. “We ought to move inside of three minutes.”
“I know it,” said Harry.
Another minute passed without comment. Cliff and Hawkeye were puzzled; but they kept further thoughts to themselves. Both had been instructed to join Harry Vincent at this spot. The job of trailing “Driller’s” crew belonged to him. Harry had the information about the garage. The rest was up to him.
Another minute. The clock on the dash showed four minutes before ten. A sudden fizz came from the wall where Harry had tossed the tiny tube. Staring, Cliff and Hawkeye saw a tiny blaze — like the squibby flash of a faulty firecracker. It ended with a slow white flame that continued to burn.
“Three minutes,” commented Harry. He was calculating the time between the toss of the tube and the flare. “Three minutes to the dot. All right. Let’s go.”
Cliff and Hawkeye offered no objection. Harry backed the car from the parking space. He turned left and piloted the sedan in the direction of the Phoenix Garage. They passed the building — dilapidated and deserted — in the middle of a block. It was not quite ten o’clock.
Hawkeye peered back as they rode by. Just as the sedan neared the next corner, the little man whispered news.
“There they come,” he informed. “Out to the street, and turning this way. The coupe’s in the lead—”
HARRY grunted a response. He let his car glide across an avenue and into the next block. He peered into the mirror. He saw the two cars reach the avenue and turn north.
“Heading up,” said Hawkeye.
Harry stepped on the gas. He swung a corner to parallel the course that the mobster cars had taken.
Two speedy blocks; then Harry shot into a cross-street, heading back to the avenue.
“Look for them, Hawkeye.” he ordered. “If you don’t spot them, we’ll know they turned off at the last street.”
Hawkeye was leaning from the window as they swung up the avenue. He bobbed back in beside Cliff.
“Half a block ahead,” he stated. “I lamped the touring car first crack. A guy with half an eye could spot that buggy.”
Harry chuckled. Straightened into the avenue, he could see the touring car himself. A half block behind, he was trailing the second of the mobster cars. An easy task in this traffic.
“Looks like they’re heading for one of the bridges,” remarked Cliff, as the course hung along the avenue.
“That means the job will be somewhere on Long Island.”
“Yeah,” added Hawkeye, “and it won’t be a cinch to tail ‘em after we get out in the open. If I was in one of them cars, I’d be looking back to see if any mugs were coming after us.”
“That’s what I’m counting on, Hawkeye,” put in Harry. “Keep watching. Pass me the word when you think it’s right.”
“You mean keep watching back? In case some other mugs are tailing us?”
“No. Keep watching ahead. Let me know when you think those fellows up front are liable to be suspicious.”
“All right. But how’s that going to help you?”
“I won’t stick so close after that.”
“Then how’ll you tail ‘em?”
Harry chuckled. This time Cliff joined him. They were swinging right, toward one of the big suspension bridges that spanned the East River. That was the course which the mobster cars were taking.
“How’ll you tail ‘em?” repeated Hawkeye.
“You’ll see,” laughed Harry.
“Do you get the idea, Cliff?” demanded Hawkeye.
Cliff nodded.
“It beats me,” growled Hawkeye. “If you stay close, they’ll spot you. If you drop back, you can’t tail ‘em. But that’s for you to figure out. I’ll tip you when I think those mugs are getting wise.”
With that comment, Hawkeye hunched his shoulders and squeezed close beside the door. As they rolled clear of the bridge and headed for a boulevard, the little spotter’s shrewd eyes were fixed steadily upon the rear of the decrepit touring car, two hundred feet ahead.
CHAPTER III. THE TRAIL
“THEY’RE getting leery.”
The comment came from Hawkeye. It was the first statement that he had uttered since the bridge. Yet the dash clock showed that the sedan had been traveling a full half hour since then.
The course had led along a boulevard. Then into a less-traveled road. It was on this highway that Hawkeye made his comment. He added reasons a moment later.
“Did you see the touring car speed up a bit?” he questioned. “It was like a warning, to the car ahead.
They’ve been watching back. Other cars have turned off this road. But we’re still coming along.”
“At a steady thirty-five,” remarked Harry. “Remember that, Cliff. It’s the pace they’re using.”
Cliff nodded.
Harry peered to the right. He spied a filling station a few hundred yards ahead. He slackened speed a trifle; then, as he neared the gasoline establishment, he swerved, applied the brakes and coasted up beside a gas standard.