“I have met Gunner Macklin,” said Clyde thoughtfully. “He was brought into court while I was a police reporter on the Clarion. They never hung anything on him.
“He was a material witness in that case — and since then, I understand, he has been living a life that is above suspicion.”
“You would recognize him, if you saw him?”
“Yes.”
“Good! We may encounter him, later on. In the meantime, we are taking steps to guarantee your safety.
You have learned facts that involve Doctor Palermo. You have been marked for death!”
THE statement made Clyde shift uncomfortably. Harry smiled at Burke’s lack of composure.
“Don’t worry,” he said, in a low tone. “I may be in the same boat. We are up against a formidable antagonist.
“Doctor Palermo is planning new and more insidious crimes. Through Gunner Macklin, he can command forces of the underworld — men who will murder for money, without knowing who their employer may be.
“Palermo lives in a veritable fortress. He considers his position impregnable. But while he remains in his place of safety, forty stories above the street, he can act only through his mobsters.
“They can prove no match for the man who commands us!”
“George Clarendon—”
Clyde put the question in a puzzled tone. He knew that his employer was a man of mystery, but he had not classed him as a man who could cope with forces of the underworld. Harry Vincent smiled.
“You have met him as George Clarendon,” he said quietly, “but that is not his real identity. He is a man who has assumed various personalities — so many, that even I, who have aided him on many occasions, do not know who he actually is.
“There is but one identity by which I can define him, and that identity is as mysterious as the man himself.
“The man who commands our actions is The Shadow!”
Clyde Burke opened his mouth in startled amazement. He tried to speak, but words were lacking. A medley of surprising recollections were passing through his mind.
“The Shadow,” repeated Harry softly. “A man of mystery. A man of power. A man with a supermind, who appears in strange disguises; whose own identity, when he assumes it, is hidden beneath a black cloak.
“A man whose cry of triumph is a mocking laugh, which brings terror to the hearts of his enemies.”
The words of Harry Vincent came as a revelation to Clyde Burke.
He recalled the strange personality of George Clarendon; how the man could appear and vanish almost miraculously. He remembered that creepy laugh that he had heard, and he had vague recollections of the figure in black that had brought him safely to his room.
His tongue loosened.
“The Shadow!” he exclaimed. “I have heard of him. I have listened to his voice over the radio. They say that his identity is unknown, even in the broadcasting studio.”
“That is true,” said Harry.
“I have heard his name mentioned,” went on Burke. “It has been spoken in a whisper, by close-mouthed crooks who have feared him.
“Some have said he is a supercriminal. Others have claimed that he is a great detective. Which is true?”
“I do not know,” replied Harry frankly. “I can tell you only that The Shadow never fails those who work in his behalf. Furthermore, he has brought disaster to the schemes of dangerous men.
“Now he plans to thwart the machinations of a villainous person— Doctor Albert Palermo. It is our duty to obey The Shadow. Do you agree?”
Clyde Burke silently gripped Harry Vincent’s hand.
“Remember this.” Harry Vincent’s words were emphatic. “Gunner Macklin and his gangsters cannot defeat The Shadow. As The Shadow’s agents, we will offset their attacks.
“Palermo may be safe in his Gibraltar, but while he remains there, his schemes will be thwarted, due to the helplessness of his underlings. This means —”
“That Palermo will be forced to come into the open!” exclaimed Clyde.
“Exactly,” agreed Harry, with a smile. “The Shadow has uncovered Palermo’s channels of activity. He is prepared to stop them at every point. We are to aid in that work.”
Clyde Burke arose.
“I’m going back to my office,” he declared. “Don’t be worried”—he noted Harry’s glance of apprehension—”I’ll be careful. I’m going to pick up some of those clippings. I’ll return in a few minutes.”
Going down the corridor, Clyde pondered on the revelations made by Harry Vincent. The newspaperman had been alarmed by the first disclosures. Now he felt confident and mentally at ease.
He opened the door of his office, entered the room, and closed the door behind him. A form precipitated itself from the corner. Clyde saw the foe just in time. He grappled with his adversary, a strong, powerful individual.
Small, but wiry, the ex-reporter fought grimly. Then an arm tightened about his neck. Clyde found himself staring goggle-eyed into the brutal face of his opponent. The man’s lips wore an evil sneer.
The pressure relaxed. Clyde slumped to the floor, half-unconscious. He could barely see the man bending over him, holding the upraised butt of an automatic.
The blow was about to fall upon Clyde Burke’s skull. Weak and choking, Clyde could only stare in helplessness.
Then a powerful fist shot into view. It clipped the gunman squarely on the chin. The leer became an expression of ugly surprise as the would-be murderer toppled to the floor.
Harry Vincent helped Clyde to his feet. As though in a dream, Clyde felt himself being helped back to the other office. Harry rested him in a chair, and gave him a drink of cold water. Clyde gulped the liquid and felt better.
“I looked out the window in the alcove,” explained Harry quietly. “The office on the floor above was empty. I suspected that you had entered a trap. I hurried over to help you.”
“Thanks,” gulped Clyde. “But what about the fellow you cracked on the chin?”
“I left him there,” answered Harry. “He doesn’t even know what hit him. We can let him lie there. One of Macklin’s men. We’ll recognize him if we see him again. I took a good look at his face. I brought your clippings along, too.”
There was a slight noise at the closed door. An envelope fluttered in through the mail chute. Harry opened it. When he had finished his hurried reading of the message, he let the paper fall to the floor — a blank sheet.
“We have our orders,” he said quietly.
He opened a closet door and brought out a large suitcase. From this he extracted articles of old clothing, two automatic revolvers, and two envelopes.
He threw trousers, shirt, sweater, and cap to Clyde.
“Put them on,” ordered Harry.
In a few minutes, the two men were garbed as typical roughnecks. The clothes completely changed their appearance. It would have been difficult to identify them.
Harry placed their discarded garments in the suitcase. He pocketed one envelope and gave the other to Clyde Burke.
“A couple of tough guys from Chicago,” declared Harry, with a broad grin. “Artie Feldmann and Harry Boutonne. We’re looking for Gunner Macklin and his gang of gorillas. These letters”—Harry tapped his envelope—”are introductions from a big shot in Chicago.”
CHAPTER X. PALERMO PLANS
THAT night, Doctor Palermo received a visitor in his apartment. The two men sat in the living room on the fortieth floor. The guest was a tall, powerful fellow. His face, from a short distance, seemed handsome. Closer view showed that it bore expressions of both brutality and cunning.
“So you missed your man again,” Doctor Palermo was saying. There was a subtle sarcasm in his voice.
“Yeah, we missed him,” replied the visitor. “Bugs Lakey went out to get him. Had a bead on him from an office across the way. But the guy wouldn’t open the window, and he couldn’t chance it through the glass, on account of the noise it would make.