Strolling from the office, Clyde left the hotel and headed for a drug store to put in a telephone call to Burbank. His visit to the Goliath had given him nine names for a starter. That was the number of new guests whose names began with T. On the list was the name of Stanton Treblaw.
IN his sanctum, The Shadow received a call from Burbank. Over the wire came the names that Clyde Burke had gained from his visit to the first of the G hotels. The Shadow wrote down the names in ink that did not fade.
Studying the nine, The Shadow paused at the name of Stanton Treblaw. It was one that he had seen before. Hands moved from beneath the light; a glimmer came from the corner of the black-walled room. The Shadow was referring to one of his many files.
The corner glimmer ended. The Shadow returned through darkness to the table. He put in a call to Burbank, gave brief whispered instructions to the contact agent; then extinguished the bluish light.
A soft laugh sounded in darkness; after that a swish. Silence followed.
The Shadow had departed. He had found a trail that commanded his attention. He had learned that Stanton Treblaw, listed as a collector of rarities, had left his secluded New Jersey domicile to visit Manhattan.
To The Shadow, this was a matter of more than passing interest. Faring from his sanctum, The Shadow was on his way to visit Stanton Treblaw.
CHAPTER IV
THE MENACE STRIKES
SIMULTANEOUSLY with The Shadow’s departure from his sanctum, a man was alighting from an elevator on the twenty-fourth floor of the Hotel Goliath. Though well dressed, this individual did not look like a representative guest of the fastidious hostelry.
Pasty-faced, with drooping lips, the fellow had the countenance of a dope fiend. His eyes, furtive and restless, had watched the elevator operator with suspicion. In leaving the car, the visitor had sidled out in a manner that had kept his face from the operator’s view.
Moving through a silent, carpeted hall, the pasty-faced man found a stairway and ascended to the twenty-fifth floor. He moved sneakily along a hall, stopped in front of a door marked 2538, and scratched at the barrier instead of knocking.
The door swung inward. The pasty-faced man stepped in to face a brawny, square-jawed fellow who eyed him glaringly. As soon as the door had closed behind them, the big man growled angrily.
“What’s been keeping you, Crawler?” he demanded.
“This.” “Crawler” yanked a copy of the Classic from his overcoat pocket. “They ain’t been sellin’ it more’n ten minutes. I had to take a squint through the pages, like you told me, Duster.”
“You found the ad?”
“Sure.” Crawler opened the paper at page thirteen. “Here it is, Duster. To this guy Signet.”
“Duster” took the newspaper. He leered in ugly fashion as he noted the wording of the advertisement. He handed the copy to Crawler and told him to pocket it.
“That means we’re all set?” questioned Crawler.
“It means this mug Treblaw has what we want,” acknowledged Duster. “Whatever it is we’re after.”
“Ain’t the chief told you yet?”
“He wised me to snatch whatever papers the old bozo has in his room. Providing the ad was in the Classic. That covers the job.”
“Let’s go, then.”
Duster shook his head. He drew a chair over by the door and ordered Crawler to climb up and look through the transom. When Crawler was on the chair, Duster spoke.
“See that door over across?” he quizzed. “No. 2537?”
“Yeah. Is that Treblaw’s room!”
“No. The old guy is next door to us, in 2536. But I’ve got a couple of gorillas over there in 2537. The mugs nearly queered the lay!”
“How come?”
“One of them stepped out about ten minutes ago. Let the door slam behind him when he was coming over here to see me. Hadn’t been in here five seconds before old Treblaw opened his door and stuck his nose out into the hall.”
“You saw him, Duster?”
“Yeah. Through the transom. The old geezer must have heard the door slam. He looked up and down for a couple of minutes.”
“Did he see you?”
“No, I had the light out. I waited about five minutes; then I sent the gorilla back where he belonged. Told him to tell his pal to lay low until I called for them.”
“You think old Treblaw’s wise?”
“I think he’s worried, Crawler. That’s all. But it means we’ve got to handle this smooth. That’s why I was sore about you blowing in late. If you’d come ten minutes ago, we’d have been better off.”
Duster motioned Crawler down from the chair. He produced a key and handed it to his companion.
“Sneak in on him, Crawler,” ordered Duster. “This pass-key is good for any door in the whole joint. I’ll follow up with the gorillas. But you pull the sneak.”
Crawler nodded. He pushed the chair away from the door and, began to open the barrier. He motioned for Duster to extinguish the light. Duster complied.
Crawler started to edge into the hall. Suddenly he stopped. He grabbed Duster’s arm. The two peered from the blackened room.
THE next door had opened. Stanton Treblaw, attired in slippers and dressing gown, was stepping into view. In one hand, the old man was holding an empty glass pitcher.
Duster and Crawler saw Treblaw look about. Then they watched the old man waddle down the corridor and make a turn to the left.
“Get going,” growled Duster. “There’s an ice water faucet down by the elevator. He’s gone to fill the pitcher. Now’s your chance. Slide in.”
Crawler ducked quickly into the hall. The door of Treblaw’s room was closed. Crawler inserted the pass-key, turned it and made a hasty entrance. He shut the door carefully behind him.
Duster had edged back into 2538. He was on the chair again, peering through the transom. He saw Treblaw reappear, his pitcher filled with water. He watched the old man unlock the door of 2536 and enter.
Dropping from the chair, Duster moved from his own room. Sneaking across the hall he tapped on the door that hid the waiting mobsters.
STANTON TREBLAW, back in his own room, was placing the water pitcher on a bureau. The old man was holding the pitcher in his left hand; his right was resting in the deep pocket of his dressing gown.
Treblaw’s face was cunning. It bore an expression that had often worried Wickroft. Peering in sidelong fashion, Treblaw was watching the door of a closet, using the bureau mirror to observe the reflection. With his left hand, the old man poured water into a glass that rested on the bureau.
The gurgle of the liquid indicated that Treblaw was occupied. Slowly, the door of the closet began to open. The figure of Crawler came into view. Unarmed, the pasty-faced crook was ready to spring forward upon his prey. Treblaw’s eyes glistened their reflection from the mirror. The old man set down the pitcher and started to reach for the glass. Then, with a sudden twist, he swung about. His right hand snapped out of the dressing-gown pocket.
The old man’s claw was gripping a .22 automatic. Puny though the weapon was, it caused Crawler to stop short, his pasty face aghast. The swiftness of Treblaw’s action had told the crook that he faced an enemy who would not quail.
“Thought I was napping, eh?” wheezed Treblaw, glowering at Crawler. “Waiting for a chance to come in here. Well, I gave you the opportunity. Now let’s hear what you have to say about it!”
Crawler had raised his hands. Remembering what Duster had said about the door across the hall, he knew that Treblaw had suspected the presence of the gorillas. The old man had made the trip with the water pitcher in order to learn if a prowler on this floor chanced to have a pass-key to the door of this room.