“Sure,” replied Clink. “I’ve got to introduce myself, don’t I? He won’t believe I’m who I say I am, unless I have that coin.”
Cady produced the mounted rupee from his pocket and passed it to Click. Still noting the racketeer’s pleased grin, Cady ventured a question:
“You’re pulling the job tonight, Clink? Without slipping the news to Jed?”
“He don’t need to know until after. You’ve got enough sense to know that.”
“Sure. I know his end is to beat it to Europe with the swag. But what gets me is how you’re going to snatch it in the first place.”
“That’s all set, Cady. But the big shot needs you for something else. You and Cooler Caplan. He’s the boy that can drive that big bus of mine plenty fast.”
“I get you, Clink. Cooler and me — we’re to help the big shot with his get-away.”
Clink eyed Cady steady and noted an eager grin on the underlings ratlike face. The idea of meeting the big shot evidently pleased Cady. Clink nodded; he clamped an approving hand upon the seated crook’s shoulder.
“I’ll spill you the whole story later, Cady,” proposed Clink. “Beat it out and eat; then come back. Cooler will be here then. I’ll let you both in on the lay.”
“Keep away from the Skyview Plaza. Let them think you’ve quit, like you did at the Goliath. You’ve got an important job tonight. You’ll realize that when I spill the whole story.”
Cady nodded as Clink conducted him to the door. He knew Clink’s penchant for holding back important information until the zero hour. Cady had worked for the smooth racketeer before. With Clink, when you guessed his plans, it was wise not to say too much — so Cady knew from past experience.
CLINK HURON closed the door when Cady had gone. Taking the chair that Cady had occupied, the racketeer lighted a cigar and grinned as he puffed away.
Slow-moving events had reached the natural culmination that had been expected. Crime was ready to strike tonight. But with culmination had arrived new twists: cross-currents that demanded clever strategy.
Even yet, plans might need last-minute changes. That was one reason why Clink had dismissed Cady until later. But as Clink viewed the coming perspective, he could see success and nothing else.
Cady and “Cooler” would start out first. Clink would wait here until the big shot’s final call. Then, with ready henchmen, he would follow opportunity.
Puffing his cigar, Clink summed all possibilities and grinned in satisfaction. But in his summary, the confident racketeer gave no heed to a factor that was due to enter in the game.
That factor was The Shadow. As yet, Clink Huron had failed to suspect the presence of that unknown foe to crime.
CHAPTER XIV. THE CHANCE CLUE
EVENING had settled over Washington. The lights of the capital city formed a twinkling array when viewed from the entrance of the mammoth Union Depot. But the stocky man who beckoned to a taxicab, was no sight-seer. His tone was brisk as he snapped an order to the driver:
“Hotel Skyview Plaza. And make it snappy!”
The arrival was Detective Joe Cardona. Under his arm the New York sleuth was carrying a fiber folder.
As the cab rolled from the terminal archway, Joe sat stolidly with eyes focused straight ahead.
The trip to the hotel took a dozen minutes. Cardona paid the driver in a hurry; then walked into the lobby, looking about suspiciously as he entered. He studied three uniformed bell boys; recognizing none of them, he approached the desk.
“Is Mr. Knight in?” queried the ace.
“Sorry, sir,” replied the clerk. “Mr. Knight went out about fifteen minutes ago. He and another gentleman, sir.”
Cardona hesitated; then drew back his coat and flashed the badge on his vest. “I’m from New York headquarters,” he confided in a low tone. “My name’s Cardona. I’m a friend of Mr. Knight’s. Seeing he’s not here, I’d like to talk to the manager.”
“Certainly, sir,” nodded the clerk. “The office is directly opposite. You will find Mr. Howley in there, sir.”
Cardona went to the office and introduced himself to Howley. The manager was a dignified gentleman, who appeared quite surprised by the arrival of a. New York detective.
“If you have a complaint, Mr. Cardona,” he began, “you should take the matter to our Washington police headquarters, before coming here. We do not like to make any charge against a guest.”
“It’s not a guest I’m looking for,” explained Cardona. “I’m after a guy who’s working here as a bell hop. I traced him from the Hotel Goliath in New York. I’ve gotten some real dope on him; and my hunch is he’s working here. Take a look at this photo.”
Cardona had opened the folder. From it he drew a rogues gallery photograph and passed it to the manager. Howley uttered a surprised exclamation.
“It’s that chap Cady!” he announced. “The new man who gave us the Florida references. We just had a letter from Florida this afternoon, stating that he had never worked at the places he claimed.”
“I got this from Boston,” announced Joe, tapping the picture. “Parker Cady is his full name. He was pinched up there, a couple of years ago. We hadn’t anything on him in New York.”
“I should be glad to aid you in apprehending the scamp,” stated the manager, “but, unfortunately, Cady has left our employ. He went off duty this afternoon and did not return.”
“The same gag he pulled at the Goliath,” growled Joe. “Have you any address? Know anything about him?”
“Absolutely nothing,” replied Howley. “I shall have the house detectives on the lookout: if you wish, I can notify detective headquarters.”
“We can do just that,” agreed Cardona. “You’ve got enough for a complaint of your own against him. Grab him, if he shows up. I’ve got someone to see in the meantime.”
There was a telephone book on the manager’s desk. Cardona opened it and began looking for a name.
He did not find it. He turned further back in the book.
“For what name are you looking?” inquired the manager.
“Releston,” replied Cardona. “Senator Ross Releston; but he’s not listed.”
“He lives at some hotel, I believe,” declared Howley. “It may, by chance, be the Barlingham. I am not positive but I can—”
“Here’s another that will do,” put in Cardona. “It’s Caleb Wesdren. He’s listed.”
Cardona pointed out Wesdren’s name. Howley noted the telephone number and the address; then remarked:
“That’s not far from here. You could be there in a few minutes by taxicab.”
“I could?” queried Cardona. “Then that’s the bet. I’ll do better by calling than by phoning. Pass the word to watch for Cady, will you, Mr. Howley?”
“Certainly,” responded the manager. “I shall notify the house detective at once. Thank you, Mr. Cardona, for bringing this matter to our attention.”
CARDONA departed abruptly. He hailed a cab outside the hotel and gave the driver Wesdren’s address. The distance was further than the manager had stated. It was fully twelve minutes before the car reached the quiet street where Wesdren’s house was located.
“Can’t see the numbers, bud,” informed the taxi driver, “but this ought to be it. Unless it’s the big place up ahead.”
“I’ll find it,” stated Cardona.
Leaving the cab, Joe noted the house at which the driver had stopped. It was an old brick homestead that did not impress him as Wesdren’s logical residence. But the next house on the street was a brownstone mansion, with walls that looked like the bulwarks of a fortress.
The house occupied a wide front. Looking past it, Cardona saw that the grounds extended through to a row of squatty buildings on the next street. Squeezed between structures that looked like storage houses or garages was a brown building that matched the mansion.