Joe Cardona smiled. He understood Klein’s apprehensions. He knew that the inspector had talked with Commissioner Ralph Weston. Joe also knew that he, himself, rated highly with the commissioner except when failure was involved. That was the secret of Cardona’s smile. The detective intended to get results tonight.
“You say that the commissioner has my hunch,” remarked Cardona. “Maybe he has but the commissioner don’t know what I know. I’m going after a bird that may sing a song when I get him. I’ve been looking for him, and I’ve spotted him.”
“You mean you know who is responsible?”
“I don’t say that. I merely believe I can find a man that’s mixed in it.”
“Why haven’t you grabbed him? Who is he?”
“LISTEN to me, inspector,” argued Cardona quietly. “When we landed at Sartain’s penthouse, we found a dead man whom we identified. Duster Brooks — a smart crook. He had been working as Sartain’s butler. He tried to kill Hunnefield, the millionaire’s secretary.
“What was the logical answer? I’ll tell you. It looked like Duster’s job. He didn’t get away with it. Two of his men were dead. Hunnefield said there were others. Naturally, we wanted to get them; but it wasn’t a murder charge.
“I looked over the records. I found out that Duster Brooks was tied up with another gunman named Slips Harbeck. There was a chance of a connection. So I put a stool pigeon out to look for Slips Harbeck. He found him yesterday. Slips is hanging around a joint called Red Mike’s.”
“You let him stay there?”
“Sure. We had nothing on him. I was looking for other evidence before I grabbed him. Just wanted to know where he was — that was all. I figured the trouble was all over. I couldn’t implicate Slips Harbeck.
“Then — bang! Along comes this explosion at Barnsworth’s. That told me that Duster Brooks wasn’t the fellow in back of all the trouble. He was just working for some one else. Who pulled the job at Barnsworth’s? How was it done? I don’t know. But I figure that maybe Slips Harbeck does.”
“Very good, Joe,” commended the inspector. “It’s too bad you don’t have some evidence. You could grab this fellow Harbeck and make him talk.”
“I’ll get evidence,” stated Cardona grimly. “The stool is watching Slips Harbeck like a hawk. More than that, I’m going to be around Red Mike’s tonight. I figure that there may be another job in the offing.
That’s why I’m having Slips watched. If he starts out to make trouble, I’ll be in on the ground floor.”
“You’re using your head, Joe,” was Klein’s comment. “That’s the ticket. Get something on Harbeck. Then he’ll have to talk.”
“I’ll do more than that,” returned Cardona. “I don’t figure Harbeck as the big shot in this game. I think he’s the same as Duster Brooks — a little guy. I’m going to land the topnotcher!”
With that final promise, Joe Cardona stalked from the office, leaving Inspector Timothy Klein tapping the desk in thoughtful satisfaction.
JOE CARDONA had gained the right information when he had learned that Slips Harbeck was hanging around Red Mike’s. An hour after the detective had talked with the inspector Slips was at his accustomed table in the speakeasy. He was cautiously watching a man near the end of the room. Cliff Marsland, too, was there again, tonight.
Little did Slips realize that there was a third player in the game. A furtive, rat-faced prowler of the underworld was also in evidence. This was “Gawky” Tyson, a dopy character who was no more than a lesser pawn in the affairs of gangdom.
No one ever bothered the pitiful creature who now sat within the door of Red Mike’s speakeasy. But Gawky Tyson’s life would have been in jeopardy had gunmen realized the role which he played. Gawky Tyson was Joe Cardona’s stool.
Tonight, Gawky was watching Slips Harbeck closely, and with confidence. For the stool pigeon had received assurance from his boss, Joe Cardona, that detectives would be in the offing. He was to learn what Slips Harbeck intended to do, and to give the tip-off in case trouble was brewing.
Red Mike came sauntering through the speakeasy to talk to Slips Harbeck. His message was the usual one. Slips was wanted on the telephone.
With a grin, Slips went to the inner room. He heard the voice across the wire. He performed his former ruse — that of letting the door rest ajar.
Once again, Slips Harbeck was getting instructions which he was not to conceal. But tonight, there were two listeners on the other side of the door — men who paid no attention to each other. One was Cliff Marsland; the second was Gawky Tyson.
“Sure thing.” Slips was talking in a tone that carried, despite its feigned caution. “Yeah… Yeah… I won’t slip up tonight… One-man job, eh? A little later? O.K… Office of Gardner Joyce… 2020 Sharon Building… Wait till I get that straight… Signed contract in the desk drawer… Inner office… Grab it and wait there for a phone call… That’ll be you calling?… No? What’s the idea?… I say ‘Nothing doing.’… I see; if I want to have this straight. You’ve got a fellow fixed to call that number. Right?… Then I just tell him O.K., if I’ve found the contract. If I haven’t, I say ‘Nothing doing’… I see; if I haven’t found it, it’s because the contract must be in the safe. I wait there then… Yes, until you show up to crack that box… Right-o. I’ll be ready to grab the phone as soon as the guy calls up… Bring you there if I need you…”
Just as Slips Harbeck sauntered from the inner room, Cliff Marsland was reaching the outer door of the speakeasy. Slips caught a glimpse of the disappearing figure. He grinned.
There was no doubt about it now; Cliff was an agent of The Shadow. He had probably left to relay his information to his mysterious chief.
Once again, Slips had bluffed. He was not to go to that office tonight. The whole affair was a blind. Slips could not figure the game; but that did not worry him. He decided to follow his previous policy; to wait a few minutes; then leave the speakeasy and double back into his upstairs quarters.
WHILE Slips Harbeck was planning thus, Gawky Tyson arose and left Red Mike’s. The furtive little gangster was accosted in the darkness before he had gone a dozen yards. He saw three men looming before him. One was Joe Cardona.
“What did you get?” demanded the sleuth, in an undertone.
In quick, breathless tones, the stool pigeon gave the information that he had received. Joe Cardona grunted and spoke to his men.
“Lay here, boys,” he told them. “Grab this bird Harbeck as soon as he comes out. You hang across the street, Gawky. Give the whistle when Slips shows up. Then beat it. I don’t want you around.”
“I don’t want to be around,” yapped Gawky. “I’ll scram quick enough. They’d get me if they knew I was tippin’ youse guys off.”
Cardona stood a short distance away while his men moved close to the speakeasy. The ace detective was thinking. He had two objectives tonight. One was the capture of Slips Harbeck; the other was the spoiling of crime. By taking Slips, he was eliminating the gangster’s visit to Gardner Joyce’s office.
As Cardona mulled over the situation, he began to take the natural reaction to the details which Gawky Tyson had obtained. Slips Harbeck had a mission tonight. He was to enter Joyce’s office and there await a telephone call.
If no answer came, the call would probably be repeated. But that would not go on indefinitely. The word would get to Slips Harbeck’s chief that the gangster was not there.
Cardona specifically remembered that Gawky had said the call would come from some one whom Slips did not know. “O.K.” would be the answer, meaning that the job was done. “Nothing doing” would signify that the contract had not been found.
Then what? Harbeck’s chief would arrive! If the police were there when he landed, he could be captured on the ground! This was opportunity.
Joe Cardona quickly formulated his plan. He needed no help right away. His two men must remain here to grab Slips Harbeck. That was essential to Cardona’s present scheme. It would obviate the possibility of communication between Slips and the man above.
The detective turned and walked rapidly along the street. His mind was set. He would visit Gardner Joyce’s office in the Sharon Building. He would receive the message and summon Harbeck’s chief. There would be time then to call other detectives and have them stationed outside the office building. They could follow the visitor in; Joe himself could make the capture.
Cardona reached a side street where his police car was parked. He leaped to the wheel and drove away. He was confident that his men would do the work at Red Mike’s. In this belief, Cardona was right.