“I’m sorry, Douglas,” she said. “Very sorry that I gave you cause to be displeased. It is late, and I am tired. Good night.”
Without glancing at either her father or her fiance, Virginia Devaux arose and went from the room. Douglas Carleton followed her with his eyes. A sarcastic smile appeared upon his thin lips. When the girl was out of sight, the young man turned to Devaux.
“Thanks,” he said. “She’s got a crush on Milbrook, and the sooner she gets over it, the better.”
“Agreed,” remarked Devaux dryly.
Douglas Carleton glanced at his watch. His expression changed as he noted the time.
“It is just as well Virginia has retired,” he said. “I made an important appointment over the telephone. I intended to leave within a few minutes, anyway, but I didn’t have time to break the news before the argument began.”
FIVE minutes later, Douglas Carleton was riding downtown in a taxicab. He dismissed the vehicle on a side street, then strolled along in the direction of the nearest corner.
A car was waiting by the curb. With a quick glance to make sure that no one was watching him, Carleton entered the automobile. The man at the wheel slid the car into gear.
“Been waiting long?” questioned Carleton.
“Couple of minutes,” growled the voice of Gats Hackett. “Figured I’d have to wait longer than that.”
“Not to-night,” laughed Carleton. “Had a fight with the gal just after you called up. Her old man sided with me, and that put an end to it. She went to bed in a huff.
“Great guy, old Devaux. He’ll be the right sort of father-in-law. That’s why I picked the jane — on his account.”
“Pretty wise,” commented Gats.
“Wise enough,” rejoined Carleton. “But that’s washed up for to-night. There’s something more important to think about. Give me the lay.”
“It looks great,” said Gats. “Squint figures the message got to The Shadow, although he hasn’t been able to spot the guy. That part doesn’t surprise me. Lots of people have tried to spot The Shadow. Anyway, we’ve got two of his stools on the list. Harry Vincent and Rutledge Mann.”
“Do they figure in to-night?”
“Not so far as I can see. We’re playing one shot — that The Shadow has got that note. If he has, he’ll fall sure — and we’ll be on hand to see him get the works.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“Well, we may have to help things along a bit. If we do, you’ll see some real fireworks. They don’t call me Gats because I’m a good ping-pong player. When they hand out a moniker like mine, it means plenty. Just the same, lay low is my motto, when you can follow it.”
“Let the others mix it up.”
“Right. Zipper Marsh can have the grief to-night.”
“You think he’s prepared for it?”
“You bet. He’s a tough gazebo. With Dobie Wentz cashing in — picture in the papers and all that — you can bet your last nickel that Zipper will be set.”
“Maybe he’ll get cold feet.”
Gats Hackett guffawed in response to Carleton’s expression of doubt.
“You don’t know Zipper!” declared the gang leader. “He’s smart, and he’s careful. He never backs out of a job. Besides that, he don’t know anything about the phony note we sent The Shadow. Savvy?
“Here’s the whole lay. Zipper planned this job out on Long Island. He’s got the watchmen fixed at Grayson’s place. He’s got his mob along with him — not a big crowd, but a tough outfit just the same. Dobie Wentz was scheduled to be with them.
“Dobie had an argument with Zipper, and got talking too much to Squint Freston. All on the q.t., you know, so Zipper never got wise. After Dobie spilled the beans, we grabbed him, wrote out the message to The Shadow, and left it on Dobie. Vincent got it; it went to Mann; now, if we’ve got any luck at all, The Shadow has it.”
“Which means,” interrupted Carleton, “that he will butt into Zipper’s affair on Long Island.”
“Right,” responded Gats. “Now, Zipper likes to crack safes all on his own; but when he does, the other boys are laying near. Zipper’s sure to know that Dobie has gotten his. What does that mean? I’ll tell you. Maybe somebody has found out something — that’s the way Zipper will size it up.
“So to-night, the other boys will be watching for trouble. When The Shadow goes in there, he’ll fall into the neatest trap a guy could find.
“But that isn’t all. We framed the note to bring him there at two thirty. Zipper works on schedule, like a railroad train. His time isn’t two thirty to-night. It’s two o’clock. The job will be under way when The Shadow gets there. Just the time when they’ll all be on the lookout.”
“Great stuff, Gats,” exclaimed Carleton, “Say — this is the kind of a job I like. If it goes through like you’ve planned it, the big times will be just around the corner.”
The car had crossed a huge bridge to Long Island. Now it swerved into a narrow side street, and came to a stop. Three men came out of the darkness and climbed into the car.
These were Gats Hackett’s mobsmen. Carleton viewed their arrival with pleasure. It showed that Gats was sparing no effort to see that plans worked out to-night.
“No talk of The Shadow now,” whispered Gats to Carleton. Then, in a louder tone, he said: “There may not be much doing to-night, boys. We’re going to lay low, that’s all. There may be a gun fight with some soft swag laying loose after it’s over. If it looks right, we’ll crash in; if it doesn’t we’ll scram. So have the old smoke wagons ready when I give the word to go.”
The car rolled on through silence. The mobsmen at the wheel knew his destination. The automobile neared Jamaica; then took a narrow road and pulled into the driveway of an empty house. A hundred yards away, the trees of a broad lawn denoted the presence of another building.
Douglas Carleton glanced at the dial of his watch. It was after one o’clock. He smiled in the darkness. Here, with Gats Hackett, he was waiting the outcome of this vigil. He, Douglas Carleton, clubman turned gangster, was the man behind the plot to end the career of The Shadow! The plot that was at this moment about to unfold in the Grayson mansion!
CHAPTER VI
OUT OF THE DARK
IN the corner of a paneled room, a gaunt man with twisted shoulders was working on the combination of a safe set in the wall. His face — cunning and evil in expression — held the semblance of a smile as he turned the dials before him.
A table lamp provided the illumination for the room. It was resting upon a taboret that the safe-cracker had chosen for the purpose. Its small, thick shade had been carefully arranged so that the light would shine directly upon the safe.
The remainder of the room was obscure. The black safe-front afforded no reflection, although the rays of light glistened upon its surface. Pieces of furniture showed dimly in the background; beyond them were the blocklike surface of drawn window shades.
Zipper Marsh was at work in the home of Adolph Grayson. Free from molestation, with all prepared for his task, the cunning crook was performing his job with calculated deliberation.
That was Zipper’s method. He never operated haphazardly. His associates constituted a gang of well-chosen underlings. They took care of the details.
Egotistically, Zipper liked to imagine himself the principal character in a dramatic presentation. After the prologue came Zipper Marsh; after him, the epilogue.
So it had been to-night. Bribed watchmen, gangsters on guard, a trusted henchman at the wheel of a waiting car — these formed the mise-en-scene of Zipper Marsh’s star performance.
The twisted crook paused in his work. It would not take him long now. A little rest would make the rest of the task easier.