Gyp picked up the bottle and poured himself a drink. He eyed Skeeter thoughtfully. Then he spoke.
“So they’re all wiped out,” mused Gyp, “Driller and Gat both. The gorillas with them. Well, guys like that come cheap. But let’s get at the bottom of it. Can you figure out how The Shadow walked in on this set-up?”
“I think I’ve got it, Gyp. He was with the mob. That’s the only way I can figure it.”
“With the mob? Which mob?”
“Driller’s. The Shadow was passin’ himself as a gorilla named Tonk Ringo. Joined up with the outfit a couple of weeks ago.”
“What makes you think that The Shadow was Tonk?”
“I’ll tell you. First of all, Tonk wasn’t around when I was passin’ the word tonight. But he showed up at the garage just before we started out.”
“Who tipped him that a job was on?”
“I don’t know. I asked him how he got wise. He said Driller told him.”
“What did Driller say about that?”
“I never had no chance to ask him. It was when we was ridin’ out in the touring car that I asked Tonk. Driller was up ahead in the coupe. I didn’t think nothin’ more of it.”
“Well — maybe Tonk told you a fact. It was your job, though, to tip off the crew. But how did Tonk know about the job if Driller didn’t tell him?”
“Say — if he was The Shadow, he’d have found some way to know about it. There ain’t nothin’ he can’t find out. But that ain’t all, Gyp. This fellow Tonk had a bag with him.”
“What kind of a bag? A keister?”
“Sure. Sort of a little suitcase. I asked him what it was for. He says to hold the swag.”
“Likely enough.”
“Yeah. But Driller already had two bags up in the rumble of his coupe. One with the drills; the other for the swag. Cokey put them there. Well, when we got out on Long Island, it was Tonk that brought in the bags; and he had his own with the others.”
“What then?”
“He went into the room where the box was. Alone, with Driller. That’s where the trouble started. Driller was sort of stallin’ on the job. Gat went in to see about it. Shots. Then instead of Driller or Gat, out comes The Shadow.”
“He might have been in there beforehand.”
“Not much chance, Gyp. It’s easier to figure he was Tonk Ringo, with that cloak and hat in the bag he brought along with him. This ain’t no pipe-dream, Gyp—”
“I’m not sayin’ it is. How long was this Tonk Ringo with Driller? A couple of weeks you say?”
“Yeah.”
“And this was the first job he was in? The first one that brought Driller and Gat together?”
“Yeah.”
Gyp considered. His meditation ended with a nod.
“You’ve spotted it. Skeeter,” he declared, “The Shadow was Tonk Ringo. Do you think he was wise that you were getting orders from somewhere and passing them to Driller? That you were getting orders from me?”
“He couldn’t have knowed that, Gyp. I never came here. I didn’t see much of Tonk. It was Cokey that got him in with the mob. He must have bluffed Cokey. Listen, Gyp — I wouldn’t have come here right now if I’d thought that The Shadow was wise—”
“Cut it. This is the best spot for you. You’ve got to lay low. Keep away from the joints. And I’ve got to watch it too. Well — that’s easy.”
Gyp leered, and paced about the room. He stopped to pour himself another drink. He offered the bottle to Skeeter, who accepted. The little mobster began to lose his nervousness.
“Say, Gyp,” he declared, “this figurin’ that The Shadow was Tonk Ringo means somethin’. Do you know it?”
“It means plenty!” snarled Gyp, “It means too much.”
“You don’t get what I’m drivin’ at. It means that there’s some jobs The Shadow don’t bother about bustin’ up.”
“What, for instance?”
“He ain’t goin’ to bother one crook that’s after another.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Last week” — Skeeter paused to reach for the bottle — “Driller went out to get Reds Parrock. A grudge job. He got Reds, too. A couple of the mob dumped the corpse.”
“Was Tonk Ringo with them?” asked Gyp, quickly.
“No,” replied Skeeter, “but he was wise to what was bein’ pulled. He could’ve smeared the game if he’d wanted to. But he didn’t. That’s why I figure it that The Shadow ain’t goin’ to stop one crook from puttin’ the finger on another.”
“And you think that ought to interest me?”
“Sure it ought! Ain’t there one guy you’d like to see in the morgue? The guy that—”
“Never mind; I remember. I told you about Cuyler Willington.”
“Sure you did. And you said he was sort of a high-brow guy. In with mugs that had dough. Around ritzy joints, the kind of places that The Shadow might be watchin’. You said if it wasn’t for The Shadow, you might take a shot at this dude Willington—”
“I remember. Let’s forget Willington.”
“But Willington’s a crook, ain’t he? And if he’s a crook, The Shadow’s goin’ to find it out after you put Willington on the spot. And The Shadow ain’t goin’ to worry about—”
“Hold it Skeeter! Take another shot and then turn in. I’ve got a room here for you.”
Gyp opened the door and called for Mahmud. The Hindu appeared. Gyp delivered a jargon of words.
Mahmud nodded and turned to Skeeter. The puny mobster finished his drink, waved good-night to Gyp and departed.
Gyp Tangoli closed the door. He seated himself in an easy-chair and peered toward the ceiling. His dark-hued face showed a frown. A snarl came from his lips. Then an insidious leer replaced it. Gold teeth gleamed in the light.
Gyp’s claim as a big shot had been ended tonight. Hidden in this lair, the dark-faced crook had used Gat Lober and Driller Borson as his tools, with Skeeter Wigan as an intermediary. He had lost Gat and Driller. Skeeter had come here for refuge.
Yet, as he considered, Gyp Tangoli was sure that the link had been broken; that his hidden part had not been uncovered by The Shadow. To The Shadow, he was just a small-fry crook. That was cause for satisfaction.
That part settled, Gyp was considering Skeeter’s final statements. Crook against crook. The Shadow would not intervene. That was Skeeter’s theory. The case of “Reds” Parrock, rubbed out by Driller Borson, was tangible evidence.
Gyp Tangoli chuckled as he poured himself a night-cap. He was thinking of Cuyler Willington, the man whom Skeeter had mentioned. New crime — bigger crime — all would be possible, with Willington eliminated.
A new goal lay before Gyp Tangoli. It would start with crook against crook. It would finish with rampant crime. The way was clear. For Gyp Tangoli had gained an inside knowledge of the motives of The Shadow!
CHAPTER VII. THE NEW ALLIANCE
AT nine o’clock the next evening, Gyp Tangoli alighted from a taxicab on Broadway. Glittering lights above a marquee spelled the name “Club Cadiz.” This garish pleasure palace was Gyp’s destination.
The dark-visaged big shot nodded in response to the doorman’s greeting. He entered the night club and ascended a flight of steps, for the main room of the Club Cadiz was located on the second floor.
At the top of the steps, Gyp looked over a glittering scene. Tables were crowded at the Club Cadiz. A floor show was in progress. All eyes were toward the spotlight that centered upon a pair of acrobatic dancers.
Gyp nudged a headwaiter who was by the door. The fellow started, swung about and nodded as he saw Gyp’s dark, grinning face.
“Hello, Mr. Tangoli,” said the headwaiter. “You want a table? Expecting to meet friends?”
“I’m looking for Turk Berchler,” returned Gyp. “Seen him around?”