Out of the night had The Shadow come; into the night had he returned.
An unwitting spy was leading this master of darkness to an evil lair where a man higher up awaited!
CHAPTER III
THE BIG SHOT
“STACKS LODI is outside, chief.”
“Bring him in, Twister.”
The man who uttered the order was seated in a deep-cushioned chair, in the corner of a sumptuous apartment. His words were spoken in a harsh monotone that befitted his importance.
For the speaker was none other than “Hub” Rowley, big-time gambler and racketeer, a man whose disdain for the law had gained him fortune, and whose smooth and devious cunning had kept him aloof from the toils of the police.
Here, in his apartment on the twentieth floor of the Hotel Castillian, Hub Rowley dwelt in royal state. The portals of his abode were under the jurisdiction of “Twister” Edmonds, Hub’s bodyguard. The magnificent suite occupied half the floor.
Attired in garish dressing gown, cigarette in hand, and a half-emptied glass upon the table beside him, Hub Rowley appeared to be a gentleman of leisure.
His hardened face, with pudgy lips and thick black eyebrows, marked him otherwise. Yet Hub preferred to keep up the pretense. He considered himself an aristocrat, even though he bore the stamp of the underworld.
The door opened, and Twister, a wiry, leering fellow, ushered in the visitor. Stacks Lodi, wearing a rain-soaked overcoat and carrying a dripping hat, came into the presence of his chief.
Stacks was a suitable underling for such a master as Hub Rowley. Stocky, swarthy, and shrewd of eye, he was schemer rather than mobster, yet his deportment showed him to be a hardened product of the school of crime.
“Hello, Stacks,” greeted Rowley, in a methodical tone.
“Hello, Hub.” was the rejoinder. “Nothing doing tonight.”
“So I supposed,” remarked the big shot. “Call Twister. He’ll get you a drink. I guess you can use it from the way you look.”
Twister, stepping out through the door, heard the order and promptly reappeared. Stacks Lodi threw his hat and coat on a table, and took a chair near Hub Rowley. Both men watched Twister Edmonds while the man uncorked a bottle and poured out a supply of liquor for the visitor.
IT was one of those minor incidents that happened to attract the attention of all concerned. Hence it was not surprising that none of the three observed what was happening at the half-opened door while their interest was centered on the bottles.
There, from the gloom of the dim outer room, came a tall, gliding shape that stopped when only partially in view. Gleaming eyes detected that the men in the room were looking elsewhere. Those same eyes spied a pair of curtains that led to another part of the apartment.
There was not an instant’s delay. A tall form clad in black moved boldly into Hub Rowley’s reception room. The Shadow stood in full view; then, with swift, silent stride, the black-garbed visitant glided toward the curtains beyond which lay darkness.
It was a cool, daring venture; and one that succeeded only by the fraction of a second. Hub Rowley, glancing up, noted that the door was ajar. He grunted his disapproval as his eyes swept about the room, stopping at the curtains just after The Shadow had vanished behind them.
“Close that door, Twister,” ordered the big shot. “Stay outside. I’ll let you know when I need you.”
Twister handed the drink to Stacks, and obsequiously obeyed Hub Rowley’s order. A few moments later, the big shot and his caller were alone in the room, neither one suspecting that a hidden listener was there to hear the conversation.
“Nothing to report, eh?” growled Hub.
Only that some fellow called to see the old man,” declared Stacks. “That was about nine o’clock The guy went away at ten. You told me that some fellow was coming there, and to lay low until after he had gone. That was the time for the tip-off; but it didn’t come.”
“I doubted that it would,” said Rowley, in a calm tone. “In fact, I felt rather sure that I would not need you tonight. Just the same, I wanted you there — in case—”
Stacks nodded.
“O. K. by me, Hub,” he affirmed. “Scully acted grouchy because he was getting soaked in the drizzle. I told him it was all in the night’s work. Sent him away when I figured all was off. Say, Hub” — Stacks paused to consider his words — “who was that bird that came to see the old man tonight? I wouldn’t be asking you to tell me if he hadn’t looked like some one I’ve seen before—”
“There’s no harm in your knowing,” interposed Hub Rowley. “That was Farland Tracy, the lawyer. He represents old Houston Boswick.”
“Now I remember him!” exclaimed Stacks. “He was the guy who came to see you about young Westling, Boswick’s nephew — the time the kid dropped ten grand in your uptown joint when—”
“Say Louie Gurtz’s joint,” corrected Hub in a cold tone.
“Well — Louie Gurtz’s joint,” repeated Stacks, with a sheepish grin. “I always call it that, Hub, except when I’m talking to you. Anyway, I remember Tracy now. He came to see you about getting back Westling’s I O U, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” admitted Hub Rowley, “but I still have it. Just holding it — that’s all. Westling knew he was in a jam, so he went to his uncle’s lawyer. When Tracy came to me, he asked me to go easy on the boy. I figured that if I didn’t, the old man would throw the nephew out, so I talked it over with Westling himself.
“That’s the way it looked to the kid. A throw-out — no dough for me. So I’m holding Westling until I want him, that’s all. I’ve worked the same way before.”
“What did the lawyer think about it?”
“Well, he’d like to have that I O U, all right. I’ve got a few more of Westling’s, besides. Just about twenty grand in the hole — that’s where the kid stands.”
“He’ll never have the dough to pay it.”
“That’s what Tracy told me. But I talked with Westling. His uncle’s estate is coming through one of these days. Twenty grand — with plenty of interest.”
“I guess you’re sitting pretty, Hub,” said Stacks admiringly. “But listen — if the dough’s sure, what’s the good of going through the place while the old man is away?”
“Stacks,” remarked Hub reprovingly, “sometimes it is not wise to know too much. That applies to you. Understand? However, just to ease your mind, I’ll ask you to recall my policy concerning every I O U that I hold. What do I do when one isn’t paid?”
“You collect it.”
“Right. Do I stop with the face amount?”
“No. You take plenty over.”
“How much over?”
“No limit. Whatever you can get.”
“All right,” concluded Hub. “Westling didn’t pay. His uncle’s lawyer told me that the old man wouldn’t pay. The old man’s got some dough that I know about. It’s likely to he Westling’s later on. If I can get it now, I will. If I can’t get it now, I’ll get it after Westling has it. The sooner the better — that’s all.”
THERE was silence. Stacks Lodi sensed the keenness of Hub Rowley’s words. Stacks, with Scully and others, had invaded Houston Boswick’s home not long ago. Their search for a treasure vault had brought no results.
But Stacks could see the probabilities. Somewhere, Hub Rowley must suspect, the old man had hidden wealth. Hub Rowley intended to get it.
Stacks shrugged his shoulders as he thought of Drew Westling. The young man was a weakling, and a spendthrift. What could he do to oppose Hub Rowley? In fact, it would be easy for Hub to force Drew Westling to do his bidding.