“All right, Hobey.”
Jericho’s truck had pulled away by the time men were sauntering from the cigar store. Pietro, passing for the last time, spied them but gave no indication. The huckster kept along to the end of the block. But he had counted the slouchers as they began to take their places in doorways and other secluded spots along the line.
When Jericho’s truck came rattling back for another load of rubbish, it passed the pushcart man. Pietro made a sign; Jericho grinned and nodded. He kept on until he reached the old building across the avenue from the cigar store.
While he loaded more junk, Jericho was conscious of lurkers in the dark. He kept at his work, knowing that they would not bother him. This load would go to an old garage, two blocks away, where Jericho was dumping the stuff. The African knew that Pietro had already headed for that old garage. A message was on its way to The Shadow.
MEANWHILE, other of The Shadow’s watchers were on the alert. Hawkeye was standing across the street from the Hotel Revano, awaiting the appearance of Chuck Galla and Trip Burgan. For Hawkeye had seen Chuck enter, half an hour before.
The two men came out. Hawkeye spotted them and flicked a cigarette into the gutter. Moe Shrevnitz, stationed in the hack-stand space, was prompt with his cab. He shot up in front of the door.
Neither Trip nor Chuck had asked the doorman for a cab. Apparently they had intended to set forth on foot for a few blocks. But Moe’s timely appearance made them change their minds. They stepped into the cab. Trip growled an address on the East Side.
Moe repeated it aloud. His voice was clear from the front seat, for he had opened the window beside him. Trip and Chuck heard Moe’s repetition of the destination. So did Hawkeye, slouching across the dusky street. Moe pulled away.
Hawkeye headed for a telephone. He put in a call. Like Pietro, he was relaying information to The Shadow. Through Burbank, these messages would reach their goal — The Shadow’s sanctum.
After phoning, Hawkeye headed out, grabbed a cab and made for the same destination that Trip had given Moe.
SOME twenty minutes after leaving the Hotel Revano, Moe Shrevnitz’s cab stopped beneath the overhanging structure of an elevated line. Trip and Chuck alighted. Trip paid Moe. The two headed into an old clothing store.
Moe swung his cab around the el pillars and parked on the opposite side of the street.
Soon a slouching figure came up beside the taxi. It was Hawkeye. The little fellow asked a quick question. Moe pointed out the clothing store. Hawkeye shambled across the street and went by the lighted front of the emporium. Seeing no sign of the men he wanted, Hawkeye found a courtyard at the side of the store and went through.
A blind alleyway was at the rear. There, Moe heard voices. He made out the shape of a rakish touring car. As he crept forward, he discovered that there were four men in the machine. Two gorillas in front; Trip and Chuck in the back.
A growled order from Trip. Hawkeye heard reference to the cigar store on Ninth Avenue. He edged back to the passage just as the touring car began to move. Lights blinked on. The car was on its way.
Hawkeye headed back to find Moe.
IN the meantime, Moe had gained another passenger. Some one had entered his car from the darkness beneath the elevated. Moe had heard a hissed order to cruise about the block. He knew who was in his cab. The Shadow.
Hawkeye, scurrying through the space beside the clothing store, saw Moe’s cab shoot away. The little man grunted angrily; then decided upon a course of his own. A report call; after that a quick trip to Ninth Avenue.
He waited for a few moments, though, to see if Moe would return. The taxi did not show up.
There was a reason. As Moe’s cab had turned the corner, keen eyes had spied a touring car swinging from an alley. The Shadow had spotted it as a mobster-manned machine. He had hissed a new order to Moe. The taxi driver had taken up the trail.
Thus were forces converging. Trip and his minions; The Shadow and his agents; both groups were heading toward the spot where men of both sides were already on watch. Events were due in the vicinity of Miles Crofton’s hideout!
CHAPTER XVIII. THE SHADOW’S STROKE
THE rakish touring car had reached its destination. It was evening by this time. The machine was parked almost unnoticed in front of the little cigar store, where only Hobey remained on duty. Chuck Galla alighted alone.
Chuck looked along the street. He saw a taxi stopping more than a block away. The driver got out and went into a hash house. Chuck was not suspicious.
A rattling truck came jouncing along the avenue and pulled up across from the cigar store. An electric street light revealed the figure of a huge African. Chuck watched the man go to a pile of debris and began to pick up chunks of lumber.
That meant nothing to Chuck. The whole district seemed clear. Chuck entered the cigar store. While he pretended to make a purchase, he spoke in a low tone to the man behind the counter.
“I’m going in the back room, Hobey,” he informed. “You turn out the lights, like you was closing the joint, see?”
Hobey nodded.
“Trip’s coming in,” resumed Chuck. “He don’t want nobody to see him. So you slide out as soon as you douse the glims. We’re going up to talk with Crofton.”
Again a nod.
“Crofton’s going out with us,” added Chuck. “So you move around with the mob and keep them posted. If anybody starts anything, hand it back. We don’t want to be bothered when we travel.”
Chuck walked into the deserted pool room. He turned out the light that he found there. Groping in the darkness, he made sure that rear windows were locked. These opened on an alley. Chuck moved back into the cigar store.
Hobey had turned out the lights. He had gone outside. Staring from the front window, Chuck could barely discern the shape of the touring car. The sidewalk between the automobile and the store front was completely dark. Chuck did not see Trip alight.
It was the opening of the door that told him his chief had arrived. Chuck spoke in the darkness. Trip answered with a low growl that formed a question.
“You told Hobey?” he asked.
“That Crofton was leaving?” questioned Chuck. “Sure. I told him that.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“Didn’t wonder why the guy was going with us?”
“No.”
“All right. Let’s go up.”
They made their way into the hall; then up the stairs. They reached the top. Trip tried the latch on a window that opened above the alley. It was locked.
“Come on.”
Trip groped to a door. He rapped. A nervous voice answered from the other side. It was Miles Crofton.
“Open up,” whispered Trip. “It’s me Trip — with Chuck.”
“All right.”
THE door opened. The two men entered a pitch-dark room. They left the door ajar behind them. It was then that something occurred near the end of the hall. The window-latch began to move. Under the impulse of a prying wedge of metal shoved between the portions of the sash, it was being unlocked from the outer side.
The Shadow had left Moe’s cab. He had come along the alleyway. He had chosen this mode of entry to reach the second floor above the cigar store. The window opened. The Shadow’s shape obscured the slight light that came from that direction.
Then The Shadow edged to the wall. Men were coming from Crofton’s apartment. The Shadow could hear their whispered conference. He made out the identity of each speaker, although the three were completely in darkness.