They were talking of affairs in gangland; their chatter, however, was of little consequence until two new arrivals appeared within the doorway of the hangout.
Cliff Marsland, like the other patrons, eyed the newcomers. One was a pasty-faced, shrewd-eyed little fellow whose body carried a peculiar hunch. Cliff knew him as “Birdy” Zelker, an intermediary between gangsters.
The other, a brawny, flat-faced ruffian was one whom Cliff did not recall. He noticed the broadness of this gangster’s nose; the puffed cauliflower ear which the fellow wore.
Birdy Zelker and his unknown companion spoke to Red Mike. The proprietor of the hangout nodded and motioned toward a doorway at the side of the stone-walled room. The two went through the opening. As soon as they had departed, Cliff caught the buzz of the mobsters seated closest to him.
“You know who that guy was, don’t you?” quizzed one.
“Sure,” came the reply. “Birdy Zelker. He’s O.K.”
“No. I don’t mean Birdy. I mean the mush-faced guy with him.”
“Who was he?”
“Pug Hoffler.”
“Pug Hoffler!” The second mobster uttered the name in a surprised whisper. “Say — I thought he was in stir!”
“He was,” declared the first gangster. “He done his stretch up in the big house. He’s back now — an’ you can count on it he’s got somethin’ up his sleeve.”
“Yeah? What’s his racket?”
“He ain’t got none. But he knows his onions. He used to work for Tex Lowner and Rabbit Gorton.”
“All at once?”
“Have you gone goofy?” The informant’s voice was contemptuous as he surveyed his pal. “Say — did you ever hear of any gorilla workin’ for Tex an’ Rabbit at the same time? Those bimboes are cutthroats.”
“I know that. But you said—”
“I said that Pug Hoffler worked for Tex an’ Rabbit. He worked for Tex one time; after that he stuck along with Rabbit. Then the bulls got him. Some say Tex fixed it because Pug had jumped to Rabbit’s outfit. Others say Rabbit was afraid that Pug was spyin’ for Tex an’ that Rabbit saw Pug got his. Anyway, Pug Hoffler took his trip up the river.”
“Is he in Dutch with Tex an’ Rabbit both?”
“Maybe.” The responding gangster snorted. “Anyway, neither of them guys is popular with Pug Hoffler. You can bet he’s workin’ on his own from now on.”
“Yeah.” The second mobster nodded wisely. “If he’s usin’ Birdy Zelker, it’s sure enough that he’s figurin’ on buildin’ a crew of his own.”
The discussion changed.
Cliff Marsland had heard every word. To him, the conversation was illuminating. Cliff knew both “Tex” Lowner and “Rabbit” Gorton by repute. They were hard-fisted gang leaders who were sworn enemies to each other. Both were close-mouthed and kept their affairs to themselves.
“Pug” Hoffler was a newcomer in the field, now that he had returned from Sing Sing. Cliff knew that the talking gangsters must have hit upon the truth; that this ex-convict was planning mob activity of his own.
Was Pug planning to play a game of crime that would rival the closely guarded methods of Tex Lowner and Rabbit Gorton? Would a third enmity begin before Pug Hoffler had completed his schemes of action?
THESE were possibilities that concerned Cliff Marsland deeply, although he betrayed no interest in the subject. This conference between Pug Hoffler and Birdy Zelker — for Cliff was sure that such a talk was taking place in a side room — might mean much in the coming activities that were brewed in the confines of the underworld.
Cliff Marsland shoved his bottle and glass aside. He arose from the table and slouched toward the door.
He paused to light a cigarette. As he did so, he cast his eye along the room.
Mobsters, concerned in their own affairs, were paying no attention to Cliff’s departure. Red Mike, his back toward the counter, was arranging bottles of bootleg booze upon a shelf.
As he flicked his match across the floor, Cliff Marsland was standing beside the doorway through which Pug Hoffler and Birdy Zelker had gone. With a side step, he moved in that direction. Unnoticed by others in the room, Cliff slipped from sight.
Had any observed him, they would have decided only that Cliff Marsland had business with Pug Hoffler and Birdy Zelker. That would have excited no suspicion. If Pug Hoffler were contemplating crime, he would make an excellent first step by enlisting the services of so redoubtable a gun carrier as Cliff Marsland.
The firm smile on Cliff Marsland’s face showed that this possibility had been well considered. It also indicated, however, that Cliff Marsland had a purpose all his own when he had moved upon the trail of Pug Hoffler and Birdy Zelker.
Had that purpose been known to the gangsters in Red Mike’s, Cliff Marsland’s life would not have been worth a counterfeit nickel. Cliff had not stepped in this direction to join the conference between Pug and Birdy. Cliff had come to spy upon the pair.
For Cliff Marsland, the man whom gangland accepted as one above suspicion was a person whom hosts of mobsters had been seeking. He was the trusted subordinate of the being whom all mobdom feared.
Cliff Marsland was The Shadow’s agent in the underworld!
CHAPTER II. PLANS OF CRIME
PUG HOFFLER and Birdy Zelker were in conference. Seated in a small, dilapidated room off a stone-walled corridor of Red Mike’s dive, these men of crime were discussing the very subjects which Cliff Marsland had heard two gangsters mention.
Pug, an ugly smile upon his battered features, was resting back in a creaky chair at one side of a broken table. Birdy, his ratlike eyes aglow, was leaning forward with his elbows on the table, eagerly awaiting the words which Pug might have to offer.
“I’m counting on you, Birdy.” Pug’s voice, though lacking the slurred jargon of the underworld, was harsh.
“I’ve got the boys I need for the first job. After that, it will be your job to line up a big crew.”
“O.K., Pug,” returned Birdy, with a peculiar whine. “They’s only one thing dat gives me de jitters about dis racket of—”
“Yeah?” interrupted Pug sourly. “What’s that?”
“De way you stand in wrong wid Tex Lowner an’ Rabbit Gorton,” confessed Birdy. “Say — if dose guys have it in for you, Pug, it ain’t goin’ to be healthy to be workin’ wid, you—”
“Scared, eh?”
“Not me, Pug.” Birdy’s tone was hasty. “I’m only t’inkin’ about de guys I’m goin’ to see.”
“Tell them they’ll be safe,” snorted Pug. “When I’m ready for them, I’ll be set. Listen, Birdy. Tex and Rabbit are out so far as I’m concerned. Out— you understand? And they’ll stay out. I’m working on my own — and I’m going after a job that nobody else is figuring on doing.”
“When I get de mob?”
“No. Before that. With the crew I have already. I don’t need a big mob for this pick-up. Listen, Birdy; when you have the crew ready, I’ll pay them in advance. Pay them plenty, if they’ll stick with me.”
“You’ve got de dough?”
“I’ll have it.” Pug eyed Birdy’s beady eyes; then, with a laugh, he pulled a crumpled newspaper from his pocket and smacked it on the table. “Look at that, Birdy.”
The hunched-up mobster obeyed. Pug Hoffler watched him. Both were concerned with the matter before them. Neither saw the face that was staring from the creaky, partly opened door.
They did not know that Cliff Marsland had been listening and now was watching.
BIRDY’S lips were moving as the gangster laboriously read the paragraph in the newspaper. When Birdy spoke aloud, his voice indicated that he did not grasp what Pug Hoffler had in mind.