The Shadow held the clew to The Red Blot’s next stroke. The master plotter was using Socks Mallory as his right arm.
Murder was in the offing. Tony Loretti was to be the victim.
Was it to satisfy Mallory’s grudge against the big shot? Or was there a hidden purpose behind the contemplated deed?
Again, The Shadow’s soft laugh made strange whispers come in tremors through that little room. The gaslight flickered as though the ghoulish reverberations had swayed the flame. The purpose did not matter. The Shadow’s object was to meet The Red Blot’s minions.
A black-gloved hand extinguished the gas. Softly, The Shadow departed from Spider’s hideout. Newspaper and note lay in darkness, at the exact spots where The Shadow had found them. There was no token remaining of The Shadow’s visit.
A silent figure hovered along the darkened street. It crossed a thoroughfare beneath an elevated line. Nearing a more prosperous avenue, the weird form paused beside a parked cab. The door opened so quietly that the sleepy driver did not notice it.
The taxi man’s first knowledge that he had a fare came when a solemn voice spoke through the window. The driver stared in startled amazement; then grinned when he heard the uptown address which the speaker gave.
A long ride ahead; a good fare to collect. That satisfied the driver. He nodded as he heard the final instructions from his unexpected passenger, thinking only of the fare.
“There are two entrances,” explained the even voice. “One on the avenue; the other on the side street above. Go past the first. Turn the corner. Stop at the second. You will see the words ‘Club Janeiro’ above the door.”
The Club Janeiro! There, tonight, The Shadow would make use of his newest clew. At that pleasure palace, the master of darkness would await the next stroke of The Red Blot!
CHAPTER X
THE CLUB JANEIRO
“You say the murderer escaped — with five of you there to seize him?”
The question came from Commissioner Weston. The police official was talking to Detective Merton Hembroke.
“One of us was there to seize him,” responded Hembroke laconically. “Four of us were in the local; Markham was the only one in the express.”
“Inefficient!” growled Weston. “Very poor judgment on the part of Markham.”
“Markham did quite well tonight,” rejoined Hembroke. The detective seemed to be completely at ease in his mild correction of the commissioner’s statement. “He suspected trouble on the express. That’s how he happened to be there. He didn’t prevent the murder; but he recognized the man who killed Spider Carew.”
“That’s good!” exclaimed Weston.
“Moreover,” continued Hembroke, calmly seating himself on the opposite side of the commissioner’s small desk, “the man who killed Spider was already wanted for murder.”
“Ah!” Weston looked up in surprise. From the moment that Detective Hembroke had arrived at the apartment, there had been one startling statement after another. Merton Hembroke was an unusual sleuth. He had the faculty of whetting a listener’s interest; and he was unfolding a keen description of the subway shooting, which Weston was accepting with eager ears.
“Wanted for murder,” repeated Hembroke. “A former racketeer — supposed to be somewhere other than New York. A crook known as Socks Mallory!”
The name brought a prompt response. Weston was on his feet, pounding his desk. His voice sounded loudly in that little office as he seized a piece of paper and thrust it into Hembroke’s hands.
“Socks Mallory!” cried the commissioner. “Look at that, Hembroke! That’s the name Spider Carew gave me over the telephone! Socks Mallory — working for The Red Blot!”
“There are two names here,” remarked Hembroke.
“Certainly!” exclaimed Weston. “The other is the man whom Mallory is out to get. Carew told me that, also.”
“Tony Loretti!” Hembroke whistled. “Say — you know who he is, don’t you, commissioner?”
“He runs a night club,” returned Weston. “I’ve been to the place. A shady character, this Loretti — but one who seems to keep clear of crime.”
“Yes,” agreed Hembroke, “but there’s more to it than that. Tony Loretti put Socks Mallory out of the running, so far as the nightclub racket was concerned. No wonder Socks is out to get Loretti!”
“Where could we find Loretti?”
“Up at the Club Janeiro. That’s his headquarters. Socks Mallory tried to run that place until Loretti chased him out. But Loretti is safe enough tonight, commissioner.”
“Why?”
“Because we’ve got Mallory bottled up in the subway. Maybe they’ve caught him by this time.”
Commissioner Weston shook his head as he heard Hembroke’s words. It struck him that this time the detective might be far from right.
“Suppose Mallory has made his escape?” suggested Weston. “He doesn’t know that Spider Carew told me about Loretti. If Mallory is free, the Club Janeiro will be the place where he will go. That’s where we’re going, Hembroke. Right now!”
The detective smiled and nodded in response.
“You and I,” added the commissioner, “and five men from headquarters.”
“Just one thing, commissioner,” objected Hembroke cautiously. “If Socks has made a getaway and is heading for the Club Janeiro, it wouldn’t be wise to have too big a crowd laying for him when—”
“Don’t worry about that,” returned the commissioner grimly, as he picked up the telephone to call headquarters. “I’m taking charge of this expedition, Hembroke. You’re my right-hand man tonight. We’ll post our watchers properly.”
TWENTY minutes later, Commissioner Ralph Weston and Detective Merton Hembroke alighted from a taxicab at the Club Janeiro. They strolled through the front door.
As they entered the huge central room of the gay night club, the commissioner’s quick eye noted five detectives posted at tables just within the door. Motioning to Hembroke, Weston moved toward another table.
Hardly had the two seated themselves before a head waiter approached and spoke to Commissioner Weston in a low, careful tone.
“Good evening, commissioner,” said the man. “Mr. Loretti told me to welcome you here. He is in his office, should you care to see him.”
Weston glanced sourly at Hembroke. The detective responded with a similar expression. Coming here unannounced, Weston had been discovered immediately.
“What about it?” Weston asked the detective.
“We might as well see Loretti,” returned Hembroke. “He knows we’re here.”
The commissioner nodded to the head waiter. The man conducted Weston and Hembroke to the rear of the large dining room. The trio passed through an archway. A short passage; then a corridor that led off in both directions.
The waiter kept on, however, until he reached a door at the end. He knocked; a voice responded. The man opened the door and ushered Weston and Hembroke into a fair-sized room that had the appearance of an office.
There were two persons here. One was a middle-sized, dark-faced man with black hair, who showed gold teeth when he grinned. The other was a black-haired woman attired in a gorgeous Spanish costume — clothes which betokened her nationality.
The smiling man arose and bowed. He extended his hand to Ralph Weston, and nodded to Merton Hembroke.
“It pleases me to welcome you here, commissioner,” he said. “I am Tony Loretti. This lady is Senorita Juanita Pasquales. She has full charge of the Club Janeiro.”
“How did you know I was coming here?” demanded Weston.
“Very simply,” responded Loretti. “About five minutes ago, my head waiter reported that two detectives had come into the Club Janeiro. He heard them say something about watching for the commissioner. So I instructed my man to await your arrival and to invite you here.”