“Luskin,” said Mallet to Speedy. “I told them to send him up. Just sit still — and listen.”
A few minutes later, a knock sounded at the door. Mallet Haverly opened the barrier to admit a sly, furtive fellow, who glanced suspiciously about the garish room. The visitor stared steadily toward Speedy Tyron.
“Sit down, Luskin,” invited Mallet, in a smooth tone. “Help yourself to one of those cigars. I want to talk to you — a proposition you’ll like.”
Luskin nodded as he took a chair. The man’s hand was nervous as it struck a match. Mallet approached and chuckled, as he clapped the former servant on the shoulder.
“You’ve got the jitters. Luskin,” said the racketeer. “I don’t blame you. This kind of stuff is new to you. That’s why I’ve been thinking things over.”
“You don’t mean,” queried Luskin anxiously. “that you’re going to let me down? I’ll tell you — it’s a sure thing if you’ll help. You ought to know I’m on the level, from all I told you a few days ago.”
“You’re a square shooter, Luskin,” purred Mallet. “That’s why I’m giving you a break. This has got to be a waiting game, played by a cagey crew. It wouldn’t be good policy, Luskin, for you to be seen around the town of Glenwood.”
LUSKIN’s fingers clawed at the arm chair. The man showed a furious anxiety. He moved his lips to begin a protest, when Mallet intervened.
“Don’t get me wrong,” smiled the racketeer. “You’ll be in on the money — in advance. Suppose, Luskin, that I offered you solid cash. Real dough — tonight — for the information that you’ve given me.
“That will let you keep away from Glenwood. You can beat it from New York. When the raid comes, nobody will know where you are—”
Mallet paused. Luskin’s eyes were gleaming. The traitor to his former master was drinking in the scheme with eagerness. Mallet waited for the reply. It came.
“How much?” questioned Luskin, hoarsely.
“Fifty thousand dollars,” replied Mallet, quietly.
Luskin sat back in his chair. His hands relaxed. His eyes half closed at this vision of wealth without crime. His head nodded as a smile showed upon his lips.
“A deal then,” agreed Mallet. “The cash is yours, Luskin. You’re getting plenty and I’m taking all the chances. You’ve told me everything you know?”
“Everything,” nodded Luskin, opening his eyes to stare squarely at the questioner. “Everything I know. All you’ll need to know. There’s a million — maybe more — and it’s worth what you’re paying. But you’re right about my being nervous. I want to get out of it. Give me the fifty thousand dollars—”
“Positively,” assured Mallet. He picked up the telephone and continued as he dialed a number. “I don’t keep big sums here in my apartment, Luskin. I’m calling up the man who has it—”
Mallet broke short as a voice came over the wire. Luskin and Speedy watched the racketeer as he spoke greetings to the man at the other end.
“Bring it,” ordered Mallet, tersely. “Half an hour.”
A smile flickered on Speedy Tyron’s lips as the lieutenant watched the steady face of Mallet Haverly. Luskin did not observe Speedy’s smile. Hence he gained no suspicion of what was in the lieutenant’s mind.
Speedy Tyron had heard Mallet Haverly make such calls in the past. He realized now that his chief had not gone loco. Speedy Tyron knew that Luskin would never see the money offered him as the price of treachery!
CHAPTER II
FROM THE UNDERWORLD
WHILE Mallet Haverly was making terms in his garish uptown apartment, lesser men of crime were holding confab in a less pretentious establishment. Gangsters of ill repute were gathered in an underworld dive known as the Black Ship.
This was a hangout for gorillas. Here one could find the toughest thugs in all Manhattan. Desperadoes who would kill for paltry prices convened at the Black Ship to while away the intervals between the murders which they perpetrated.
The Black Ship was a bad place for stool pigeons. Squealers who worked for the police avoided the dive. The regular customers were a keen lot, always on the lookout for spies of the law. Only mobsters of recognized repute were admitted to the place.
Moreover, those gangsters who were wanted by the law made it a practice to keep away from this hangout. The Black Ship was patronized only by those who enjoyed a clean bill of health.
Toughened gorillas wandered in and out of the dive. Apparently, the Black Ship was their resort. Yet often, those who strolled forth were bound on crime. Whispered orders from messengers sent here by gang leaders were frequently the cause for prompt departures.
Though the police suspected this condition, they were practically helpless. If detectives or stool pigeons loitered in the Black Ship or its vicinity, they would be promptly spotted. The tip would pass about. Gorillas would be wary. They would choose some other rendezvous.
Tonight, the Black Ship was buzzing with muffled conversation. Mobsters, gathered in small groups, were talking affairs among themselves. Sometimes raucous laughter broke the mumbles. All was well at the Black Ship.
AMONG the habitues of the dive was a firm-faced young man who sat at a table near one side of the room. He was talking with an unshaven individual who sat opposite. Both of these men were well-known at the Black Ship.
The one with the chiseled face was Cliff Marsland, recognized as a freelance mobster with an enviable reputation. The unshaven fellow was “Lugger” Gates, a dock-walloper who sometimes acted as recruiting agent when new gorillas were needed for the crew that he represented.
Of all the patrons of the Black Ship, this pair stood highest by reputation. No one would have suspected either one of being here under false colors.
So far as Lugger Gates was concerned, the man was exactly what he appeared to be — a dock-walloper. But Cliff Marshland was one who relied upon pretense.
Cliff had served time in Sing Sing. He had bargained with big shots; he had handled crews of gangsters. Yet he was not a man of crime. Actually, his reputation was the cover for his real activities.
Cliff Marsland was the underworld aid of The Shadow. Stationed in the badlands, welcomed in every dive, this firm-faced young man served the mysterious fighter whom all gangdom feared.
Time and again, Cliff Marsland had notified The Shadow of impending crime. Always, Cliff had managed to preserve his false reputation among crooks. The Shadow, when he matched his giant mind with schemers of the underworld, moved Cliff like a knight upon the squares of a chessboard.
Of late, The Shadow had been smashing the plans of crooks and racketeers. Mallet Haverly had admitted that fact to Speedy Tyron. Marauding bands, bound on errands of crime, had encountered The Shadow instead of the helpless quarry whom they sought. The underworld was throbbing with nervous awe.
The Shadow’s campaign had not ended. That was why Cliff Marshland was in the Black Ship tonight. Stationed in the heart of the enemy’s terrain, unsuspected by the craftiest of skulking crooks, Cliff was watching for new indications. He was picking potential foemen against whom The Shadow could pit his might.
CLIFF was using Lugger as a blind. While he chatted with the dock-walloper, The Shadow’s agent was keenly alert upon events about him. Lugger, imbibing freely from a bottle, was guffawing at his own uncouth jests. Cliff, taking advantage of his companion’s unobservance, kept tabs upon conversation that was going on close by.
A trio of mobsters was at the nearest table. These men were talking in low tones. Snatches of their statements were audible to Cliff. Gorillas who had served with different gangs, these were the type of mobsmen whom Cliff had been set to watch.