Margio is in with the big shots out there; he’s O.K.”
“All right. Use them.”
“What about the swag?”
“It’s likely to be a good haul,” replied Palermo. “Make your deal with Seligman. Pay off the gorillas. After that, it’s fifty-fifty.
“If The Shadow is bumped off — well, there’ll be lots for both of us after that. You must be on this job, Macklin.”
“Me?” The gangster’s question was uttered in a weak voice.
“Yes, you. Across the street from Hoetzel’s house is an open space where a few cars are parked. Drive up in your car, and back in there.
“You can watch the front and side of Hoetzel’s place. If The Shadow appears there, give him the rod.
You won’t be mistaken if you see him.”
Macklin thrust the envelope and the addressed paper in his pocket. He rose clumsily and started from the room.
FIFTEEN minutes after the departure of Gunner Macklin, another person called on Doctor Palermo. The new visitor was Thelda Blanchet.
Hassan ushered the young woman into the apartment, and led her to the Chinese room on the third floor.
There Doctor Palermo was seated in his Oriental throne, as silent and impassive as the bronze image of Chong that rested in the corner.
The physician smiled at his visitor. The girl was beautiful in the soft light of the Oriental room. The jet-blackness of her hair made her face seem molded of ivory.
She typified all that was alluring in femininity. The daring lines of her stylish gown added to her seductiveness.
Approval gleamed in Palermo’s eyes, and Thelda, detecting the man’s expression, rewarded him with a sophisticated smile as she seated herself close beside him.
“It seems a long time since I was here,” said Thelda softly. “Yet actually it was but a few nights ago. You told me then — you told me that it would not be long before — before you and I would—”
She paused, and gazed at the impassive face of the man beside her.
“It will not be long, I hope,” replied Palermo. “Still, we must wait. That night, when you were here, I had an unexpected visitor.”
The girl seemed to sense something ominous in Palermo’s words. She gripped his arm in momentary alarm, but the man remained as impassive as before.
“But you sent for me, tonight,” protested Thelda.
“Only to tell you of our danger,” was the reply. “The man who came here called himself The Shadow.”
“I have only heard of The Shadow,” said Thelda, “but I know that he is a strange, unaccountable man of mystery. No one has ever found him.”
“I have.” There was a note of pride in Palermo’s voice. “I have found him. I can destroy him. But I need your aid.”
“It is yours.”
“The Shadow,” said Palermo, “works with the daring of a criminal. He is not a man of the underworld.
He belongs to the highest realm of society.
“Knowing this, I have studied my complete records. They contain data concerning all those who move among the Four Hundred. One by one I have eliminated possibilities, until I have discovered the only name which cannot stand full analysis.
“The Shadow, when he chooses to mingle with the elite, appears under the name and person of George Clarendon.”
The name meant nothing to Thelda.
“George Clarendon,” continued Palermo, “will be at an exclusive affair tomorrow night. It will be held in the ballroom of the Larchmore Hotel.
“You will be escorted there by Mr. Herbert Archer, a young society man. You will be introduced to George Clarendon.
“If you are as beautiful tomorrow night as you are tonight, Clarendon will respond to your charms.”
The girl nodded. She began to understand Palermo’s plans.
“You will watch him carefully,” said Palermo. “Very carefully, and alluringly. Young Archer will leave you with George Clarendon. Perhaps you can detain Clarendon from then on.
“If he should depart unexpectedly, express your regret, and arrange to see him again. And should he leave tomorrow night, call me as soon as he is gone.”
There was silence in the mysterious room. Palermo was scheming in his mind. Thelda was considering the prospect of the coming night; but more than that, she was lost in the glamour of her present surroundings, in the presence of the man she loved. Palermo’s voice suddenly broke into her reverie.
“You must go now,” he said.
“No, no!” protested Thelda. “No, no, Albert! Let me stay a while—”
Doctor Palermo shook his head.
“Not yet,” he said. “You must go, and you must stay away until I summon you. That will be after we have ended this menace.
“Tomorrow night may bring us freedom. I am counting on you, Thelda.”
The girl rose sadly.
“You are in danger, here,” she said.
“Not here,” replied Palermo. “Here I am safe.”
“But you are lonely. Only Hassan is with you.”
“Not only Hassan.” A faint smile appeared upon Palermo’s countenance, as he waved his hand toward the corner of the room. “Don’t forget Chong. He is good company.”
The girl looked at the bronze image, with its folded arms, and its ugly, glaring face. She could not repress a shudder. The hideous metal idol seemed to disturb the melodious harmony of the Chinese room.
Thelda turned pleadingly to Palermo, but the man seemed obdurate. Silently, the girl left the sanctum.
For many minutes, Doctor Palermo sat motionless in his throne, while the gold dragon on his crimson robe seemed to writhe with the breeze from the roof.
Palermo was plotting new schemes, planning moves like a chess-master, far in advance. His eyes were on the bronze image of Chong; as he stared at it, the ugly smile came upon his face. It would have been difficult then to have decided which was more hideous — the horrible idol or its sinister owner.
CHAPTER XI. DEAD MEN DO NOT TELL
THE trap was laid. But even the man who had laid it could not foresee the outcome.
Gunner Macklin was acting in accordance with the instructions given him by Doctor Palermo. He was after big game tonight — game so big it appalled him. He did not even dare to mention the name of the man whom he sought to overcome. For Gunner feared The Shadow.
The gangster considered himself fortunate. In Louie Seligman he had a safecracker of the first water.
Besides the man who was to puncture Hoetzel’s strong box, Macklin had chosen four others.
“Bull” Goldman and “Carver” Brill were old reliables upon whom he could depend. With them were two Chicago gangsters, Artie Feldmann and Harry Boutonne.
Macklin smiled grimly as he drove uptown. He felt that he could rely upon any one of the four.
Macklin parked his car across the way from the Hoetzel house. A street light gave him a shadowy view of the building and the alley that led down the side. That was the way the men had gone.
Twelve o’clock had been the zero hour. Macklin had not arrived until five minutes later.
Macklin reached beside him and lifted a bottle. He swallowed a mouthful of liquor and steeled himself for what was to come.
The Hoetzel home was accessible only from the front or from the side. Palermo’s plans had called for an entrance from the side. The four men had gone by that direction, with Seligman, the safecracker, in command.
Louie alone knew the method of disconnecting a very important wire that controlled the burglar alarm.
Macklin had intrusted the man with that information.
The other four were lost in the blackness of the narrow alley, commanding the only approach — unless some one should reveal himself in front of the house. Any one who might enter that alley would go into the jaws of death.