The squidge came from rubber suction cups. Pressed firmly, then twisted for release, these served as the invisible means of support which enabled The Shadow to make his upward progress.
Cliff, as chance would have it, happened to stare up to the third floor of the Hotel Spartan where a light that showed weakly through a lowered shade marked the location of Tex Lowner’s room.
The lower right corner of the window seemed to fade from view. That was all; no further motion followed. Yet Cliff, as he lingered, realized that the darkness veiled a batlike form that was hanging from the outside wall!
As Cliff strolled across the street, he paused suddenly at the sound of slinking footsteps. Into a patch of light came a scrawny figure. Cliff caught a glimpse of a pasty face; then he saw the arrival turn into the alleyway behind the Hotel Spartan. A light glimmered as the scrawny man entered a rear door.
That action meant much to Cliff Marsland. Those in the know could enter the rear door of the hotel in order to visit persons who were living there. This man had come for such a purpose. The very incongruity of his arrival was startling — for it gave Cliff the sudden realization that this man must be on his way to visit Tex Lowner.
It was the recognition of the scrawny man’s pasty face — the last visage that Cliff had expected to see here to-night — that amazed The Shadow’s agent. Wildly, Cliff wanted to report to his invisible chief, stationed on the wall high above. That, however, was hopeless. It was impossible to reach The Shadow now. Yet Cliff knew that in the situation which must be surely coming, The Shadow would be able to cope with whatever might occur.
The pasty-faced, scrawnily built man whose face Cliff had glimpsed, was none other than Rabbit Gorton!
The second of the two whom Cliff had been ordered to locate had come to the rear entrance of the Hotel Spartan.
Tex Lowner was in the hotel; Rabbit Gorton had just entered. The two were sworn enemies — the bitterest foemen in all gangdom. Enmity, like friendship, could be a force that would draw two gang leaders together, but where enmity existed, meetings would mean trouble.
Such was the case to-night. Rabbit Gorton had come to see Tex Lowner. An encounter impended; The Shadow would be there to view it! What would result if guns broke loose?
Cliff could not tell. Moreover, he could not enter to see. The Shadow’s order had been given; Cliff had been sent off duty. It was loyalty to The Shadow that made Cliff reluctantly move along the street; it was the same loyalty that made him pause when he had reached a point a block away.
Here, lingering, Cliff knew that he could leave the vicinity if his absence would be best suited to The Shadow’s needs. From here, also, he could head back to the Hotel Spartan if The Shadow needed him.
But how was Cliff to tell which was the case? That was the hopeless question that perplexed him as he waited, momentarily expecting to hear the roar of muffled guns from the third-floor room which The Shadow himself was watching.
CHAPTER XI. CROOK MEETS CROOK
CLIFF MARSLAND, because he had known of The Shadow’s presence, had noticed the momentary motion at the corner of Tex Lowner’s window. He had attributed it to The Shadow; and he had been correct.
Yet even Cliff could not have realized the quick ease of the result which The Shadow had accomplished in so short an action. Tex’s window had been closed. With prying, noiseless hands, The Shadow had raised the sash three inches. With a continuation of the same motion, he had lifted the shade within.
Motionless again, The Shadow was peering through the narrow crevice which he had formed. The rubber suction cups were gone from his gloved hands. Long fingers of black were gripping the edges of the window sill.
Within the room of the Hotel Spartan, The Shadow observed a man whom he knew to be Tex Lowner.
The big gang leader, who had returned to New York, was standing in front of a mirror, adjusting a necktie. It appeared that Tex was going out for the evening.
From the gang leader’s hip pocket projected the handle of a large revolver. Tex Lowner was known as a quick man with the gat. He always had his pet smoke wagon in readiness.
A coarse grin showed on the face of the shirt-sleeved mob leader. Tex Lowner’s visage, reflected in the mirror, was seen plainly by The Shadow. Tex, however, did not catch a glimpse of the burning eyes that peered from outer darkness.
While The Shadow watched, a soft tap came from the door of the room. Tex turned away from the mirror. His hand sought the handle of his revolver as he strode to the door. Seizing the knob with his left hand, Tex pulled the door inward. He stepped back as he sighted the man who entered.
The Shadow recognized Rabbit Gorton. The scrawny, pale-faced mob leader closed the door behind him. The Shadow’s own hand was drawing an automatic from the folds of the black cloak; for The Shadow knew the enmity which existed between these two. Then The Shadow’s grip relaxed as Rabbit Gorton spoke.
“Hello, Tex,” growled the scrawny gang leader. “Sorry I was late.”
“Don’t worry about that, Rabbit,” returned Lowner, turning back toward the mirror. “Park yourself. Let’s hear what’s doing.”
HAD Cliff Marsland viewed this scene, he would have blinked in wonderment. Not so The Shadow. The scourge of the underworld had observed too many odd situations to be amazed at anything which might occur in gangdom.
Yet the keen stare of The Shadow’s eyes showed that he had found intense interest in this unexpected meeting between Tex Lowner and Rabbit Gorton.
The two gang leaders whom all crooks had accepted as participants in a bitter personal feud, were actually friends! Their supposed enmity was a pretense! Rabbit Gorton had not come here to confront Tex Lowner and seek vengeance for some wrong. Instead, he had arrived to confer with the man whom he was supposed to hate!
“Been waiting for you, Tex,” observed Rabbit, as he seated himself on the other side of the room. “Been holding back until you showed up.”
“You’ll have to wait a while longer,” rejoined Tex. “It’s going to take me a couple of days to scare up the crew.”
“I figured that, Tex. You won’t need the mob. Leave that part of it to my outfit. You take care of things with Harlow. Tell him you’ve got to get the dough.”
“O.K., Rabbit. I get you. When he gets out to Satruff’s place, you’ll be on deck there.”
“Right.”
“Say” — Tex swung suddenly as he spoke — “what about Pug Hoffler? If I’d known that bimbo was going to take a crack at Satruff’s vault, I’d have been in town to flag him when he came out of the big house.
Why didn’t you nab him, Rabbit?”
“Pug knew too much, Tex. He knew more than I thought he did. More than you thought, too.”
An angry glare faded from Tex Lowner’s eyes. The big gang leader laughed gruffly as he went to a chair and picked up his coat and vest.
“Guess you’re right, Rabbit,” he remarked. “I was kind of buffaloed when I read about Pug Hoffler getting shot at Satruff’s. Do you think he knew Satruff was Dorand?”
“Of course he did,” snorted Rabbit. “Why else do you think he’d have been out there?”
“Guess you’re right,” repeated Tex. “If Pug had gone to Long Island just for fresh air, he’d have picked the beaches, not the Sound.”
RABBIT GORTON leaned forward in his chair. His tone was lowered. His words were confidential.
Yet they did not escape the listening ears of The Shadow.
“You get the lay, don’t you?” quizzed Rabbit. “You know I hadn’t figured on busting in to Dorand’s strong-room just yet. I was holding that — and we were both figurin’—”