All that Slips claimed to know was that a package of cash had been delivered to him at Red Mike’s as advance payment for a job, with orders to follow telephoned instructions. He stated that he had intended to avoid a visit to Gardner Joyce’s office.
“I was going to scram,” he protested. “Honest I was, Cardona. You can’t blame me for picking up some loose cash, can you? It was soft. I figured if it was Larry Ricordo who was giving me the dough, he wouldn’t come after me if I beat it out of town. I knew he was laying low.”
Slips Harbeck’s plea was a shrewd one. He told his story convincingly, by using enough truth to support his fabric of doubts and lies.
Joe Cardona saw the game and took advantage of it. The detective knew that it would be difficult to convict Slips Harbeck of any crime, for the only actual testimony referred to the telephone call at Red Mike’s; and Gawky Tyson, the stool pigeon, had been the only listener.
But Cardona, by concentrating upon the story that Slips told, was establishing the most important point: namely, that Larry Ricordo was behind the crimes that had been attempted. To prevent further criminal activities — and Cardona feared murder — the arrest of Larry Ricordo would be a logical step.
If Slips was as important an underling as Cardona supposed, the capture of this lieutenant would embarrass Larry Ricordo, and put the big shot at a disadvantage. It was best for Slips to be absent for a while.
“We’re going to hold you, Slips,” announced Cardona. “We’ll need you later on. I’m out to get Larry Ricordo — and you’re not going to be loose to queer it. See?”
Slips nodded. He submitted weakly to Cardona’s decision.
The detective was somewhat surprised. He attributed the gangster’s lack of spirit to a fear of Larry Ricordo’s wrath. In that surmise, the detective went wide of the truth. Slips Harbeck did not mind a period behind the bars, simply because he was thinking of The Shadow. He knew that he had been treading dangerous ground. He was glad to get away from his predicament.
AFTER Slips Harbeck had been removed, Joe Cardona went to his office. He classified facts that he had learned; then rested at his desk. The detective had worked since early in the morning, quizzing Slips Harbeck. The tedium of several hours was beginning to tell. It was ten o’clock now. Cardona prepared to leave.
A man entered the office to interrupt. Cardona found himself facing Clyde Burke, reporter on the New York Classic. The newspaperman was the last person whom Cardona wanted to talk to at the present moment.
“Hello, Burke,” he growled. “I can’t talk to you now. Going out to get some shut-eye.”
“Been up a while, eh?” questioned Burke. “Who’ve you been grilling, Joe? Slips Harbeck?”
Cardona glared at the reporter with challenging air. Clyde Burke grinned. Cardona laughed gruffly.
“Beats me,” he said, “how you news hounds guess things. Why don’t you apply for a job on the force? We could use some smart detectives like you.”
“Not for me, Joe,” laughed Burke. “I can find out more without a badge than with one. What did Slips have to say?”
“You ask me? Why didn’t you come around to grill him yourself?”
“I wouldn’t have minded it, Joe. But I prefer sleep during the early-morning hours.”
“Well, you slept through it then. Come around tonight. Maybe I’ll have something for you.”
“The old stall. That makes it the usual story. Third degree failed—”
“Listen here, Burke.” Cardona’s interruption was a challenge. “Lay off that heavy stuff. Get me? I’m tired out, and I’m impatient. Beat it — I’m leaving.”
“Hm-m-m.” Burke seemed thoughtful. “Guess you did find out plenty from Slips Harbeck. Tell you what, Joe. Suppose we make it a compromise. Just a nice story that the police are holding Slips Harbeck as a possible suspect.”
“That’s all right.”
“And in return for it” — Burke’s tone was smooth — “you give me an idea of what he really did say.”
Cardona stared squarely at the reporter. He went back to his desk and motioned Burke to sit down.
Tapping thoughtfully upon the woodwork, Cardona talked terms.
“Just as I get through quizzing a prisoner,” he remarked, “you come along and quiz me. Well, I can’t blame you. But you know what I’m up against, Burke.”
“Yes, and you know me, Joe,” returned Burke. “You know what I’m up against. If I don’t get the news, somebody else may get it. I just want to protect myself, that’s all, and I know you’ll give me a break.”
“That’s right. You’ve always played fair, Burke. Here’s the terms. I’ll tell you what I’ve found out — but you’re to keep it out of the columns. I’ll count on you to bluff the rest of the news hounds after I duck out of here. In return, you’ll get a real story later on but you can’t bust it until I give the word.”
“Absolutely, Joe. I’ve worked that way before.”
“I know you have. I never figured out why. The paper’s paying you, but you use discretion — which makes you different from every other reporter that I’ve ever met.”
“That’s agreed,” said Burke quietly. “Leave it all to me, Joe. I can figure why you’re holding Slips Harbeck. He knows something about these would-be murders.”
“He knows plenty.”
“And the man in back of it?”
Cardona leaned across the desk and whispered the name in Clyde Burke’s ear.
“Larry Ricordo,” said the detective.
“The bird that was going to be a big shot?” questioned Burke. “I thought he had cleared out.”
“He’s come back,” asserted Cardona. “We’re going to arrest him when we find him. You see how I stand, Burke.”
“I’m with you, Joe. A story now may mean no pinch later. No pinch means I never get the real story that may be coming.”
“You’ve got it, Burke. I’m counting on you, old man. What are you going to tell the rest of the reporters when they show up?”
“Leave that to me, Joe. All right if I stick around here a while?”
“Sure.”
“Well, the boys will be in. I’ll tell them you went out long ago. No grilling — nothing. Slips Harbeck is just another gunman.”
Cardona grinned as he rose from the desk. He shook Burke’s hand, and left the office. The reporter took the desk and called the Classic to state that there was nothing new on the case that he was covering.
OTHER reporters arrived while Burke was phoning. The Classic reporter told them the same story, and left with the crowd. But when Burke had separated from his companions, he went directly to a cigar store and entered a telephone booth.
It was not the Classic office which he called this time. Instead, Clyde Burke telephoned to an office in the Badger Building, and conversed with an investment broker named Rutledge Mann. Briefly, Burke gave the facts concerning Larry Ricordo.
Clyde Burke was smiling when he left the store. His phone call had been an answer to Cardona’s puzzlement concerning the reporter’s connection with the Classic. The detective did not know that Burke, as a reporter, was an agent of The Shadow.
Through Rutledge Mann, who served as contact man by day, as Burbank served by night, the name of Larry Ricordo would be forwarded to The Shadow. What Cardona knew, The Shadow would know also.
Joe Cardona had quizzed Slips Harbeck. Clyde Burke, in turn, had quizzed Joe Cardona Another of The Shadow’s agents had served his master well.
CHAPTER XIII. THE VILLAINS MOVE
LARRY RICORDO was seated in the office above Professor Folcroft Urlich’s laboratory. The gang lord was perturbed. Before him lay a copy of the New York Classic. The arrest of Slips Harbeck was mentioned with the account of Joe Cardona’s discovery of a death trap in Gardner Joyce’s office.