“Looks like there’ll be nothin’ doin’ tonight—”
“How do you know? Remember that night we stuck around until two o’clock?”
“Wait’ll Burnetti blows in. Maybe he’ll have somethin’ to tell us—”
These were the words that Cliff Marsland caught. The Shadow’s agent knew their meaning. These mobsters were working with a roving gang leader named Burnetti, whose allegiance belonged to big shots who were willing to pay for his services.
Burnetti had been conspicuously absent from the Black Ship of late. Cliff sensed that his appearance here would mean the assembling of his crew for murderous work. Tonight, perhaps might be a blank. That would mean a new vigil for tomorrow night, provided this same trio of thugs should be at the Black Ship.
While Cliff was musing thus, the street door opened and a squatty, evil-faced ruffian slouched into the Black Ship. Cliff’s momentary gaze was keen. The newcomer was Burnetti. Cliff noticed a tenseness among the trio of gorillas.
Lugger Gates was talking. His bleary eyes were looking toward Cliff. The Shadow’s agent grinned and nodded in reply to the dock-walloper’s incoherent statements. All the while, Cliff watched Burnetti as the newcomer strolled among the tables, grunting greetings to friends.
As if by chance, Burnetti arrived at the spot where his three gorillas were parked. He dropped into a vacant chair, signaled to a waiter for a bottle, and poured himself a drink. His voice came in a cautious growl.
“Forty-sixth… Opposite the Majestic… You’ll see the cab pull up… Watch for Dirk… Two cars… Yeah… He’ll be gettin’ out…”
An utterance from Lugger drowned further words. The dock walloper was gripping Cliff’s arm. Cliff nodded as he centered upon Lugger. He had heard enough; the game now was to avoid suspicion.
Burnetti had finished a second drink. He had strolled over to another table. The three gorillas were rising. Cliff saw them slouch from the Black Ship. He caught a glimpse of Burnetti, finishing another drink and rising to follow, alone.
“Where are you going, Lugger?” questioned Cliff.
“Dunno,” gulped the dock walloper. “Uptown, maybe. Got a car outside. Wanna come along?”
“Sure thing.”
CLIFF arose. Lugger tried to follow suit. He staggered. Cliff caught him. Bracing the dock walloper’s shoulders, he piloted the big fellow toward the street door while watching mobsters grinned.
Lugger Gates was on another bender and Cliff Marsland was giving him a lift. That was all.
Lugger staggered sidewise as they reached the street. Cliff guided him toward an alley which the dock walloper indicated. A coupe was parked beside the curb. Cliff yanked open the door on the driver’s side and shoved Lugger in beside the wheel. Lugger’s big paw went to his forehead.
“Wait a while, Cliff,” suggested Lugger. “I ain’t drivin’ yet. Shay — that booze was lousy—”
“Take it easy, Lugger.” Cliff shoved the dock walloper sidewise across the seat. “Take it easy. We’re in no hurry.”
“Uh-huh.”
Lugger closed his eyes. He sprawled comfortably across the seat. Cliff watched for a moment, then closed the door quietly and strolled away. Reaching the corner, The Shadows agent quickened his pace. He reached a small cigar store. He entered and found an obscure telephone. He dialed a number.
“Burbank speaking.”
Cliff responded as he heard the quiet tones across the wire. Burbank was The Shadow’s contact man. He relayed messages to the hidden chief.
“Burnetti and a mob”, informed Cliff. “Two cars by the Majestic Theater, on Forty-sixth Street. Watching for Dirk Halgan to bring a victim into a taxicab. On their way now.”
“Report received,” returned Burbank. “Await instructions.”
Cliff hung up. Minutes ticked by while The Shadow’s agent strolled over and purchased some cigarettes from a mild, wizened old storekeeper. As Cliff was lighting a cigarette, the telephone rang. Cliff stepped over to answer it, apparently assuming that the call was for him.
“Corner west of the Majestic,” came Burbank’s statement. “Join Vincent in his coupe. Follow the two cars.”
“Instructions received.”
Cliff Marsland sauntered from the store. He walked along a side street, quickened his pace as he passed beneath an elevated structure and reached an avenue that fringed the badlands. He hailed a passing cab and ordered the driver to take him to an address on Forty-sixth Street.
Cliff Marsland was on his way. With Harry Vincent, another agent of The Shadow, Cliff was to follow the gorillas who plotted crime tonight. Two men set to counter crime. The task would have seemed formidable to any but Cliff Marsland.
There was something, however, in Burbank’s order that gave Cliff Marsland confidence. He knew that he and Harry Vincent would not be alone tonight. They would serve as aids, not as principals, in the counterstroke.
Cliff knew that The Shadow, himself, would be on hand. Using the information which he had gained through his agent, the master fighter would bear his share in the work that lay ahead. Cliff Marsland congratulated himself upon the completeness of the data that he had obtained for The Shadow.
There was one point, however, that had escaped Cliff Marsland. It was a fact that Burnetti had not mentioned to his gorillas — the reason why the Majestic Theater had been chosen as the place where men of crime should watch. The old theater, a darkened spot on the uptown side street, was directly opposite the apartment house where Mallet Haverly and Speedy Tyron were still engaged with Luskin!
CHAPTER III
LUSKIN SPEAKS
“HELLO.”
Mallet Haverly’s thick lips were expressionless as the racketeer growled in response to a telephone ring. A few short words followed. Mallet hung up.
“Your man’s downstairs,” Mallet informed Luskin. “Waiting outside the apartment house.”
“With the money?” questioned Luskin, eagerly.
Mallet’s lips formed a grin.
“Of course not,” stated the racketeer. “Do you think I’d have him bring it around here? He’ll meet you outside the door. Go with him. He’ll give you the cash in a suitcase.”
“And after that?” Luskin’s tone was nervous.
“You’ll have a chance to count the dough,” explained Mallet. “My man will take you wherever you want to go — and you can check up on the cash while you’re in the cab with him.”
Luskin gulped his agreement, he walked to the door with Mallet beside him.
“You’ll know the fellow right away,” added Mallet. “He always wears a big stick-pin in his necktie — with a sparkler in it — a diamond.”
Luskin nodded as he left. Mallet thrust out his hand and the dupe shook it in parting.
As Mallet Haverly turned back after closing the door, his pudgy lips framed an evil smile. Speedy Tyron indulged in a similar expression.
“Come along,” ordered Mallet. “My bags are packed. We’re hopping out of town — to stay out.”
“Leaving the job to Dirk Halgan and Burnetti,” added Speedy. “Two guys who know their stuff.”
“And the last job they’ll be doing for me,” declared Mallet. “If this job pans out, we’re through with New York.”
DOWN on the street, Luskin was looking about nervously. He spied a man standing near the curb; as the fellow turned, Luskin spied the glimmer of a diamond stick-pin. He approached the man.
“Hello,” greeted the stranger. “Are you from Haverly?”
Luskin nodded.
“O.K.” The man — “Dirk” Halgan — turned briskly and waved to a cab that was standing across the street. The vehicle approached. Dirk motioned to Luskin to enter. Dirk followed.
Luskin showed no signs of trepidation. His nervousness was allayed as soon as he had entered the cab. Dirk — Luskin did not know the fellow’s name — appeared to be the very type of henchman that Mallet Haverly would assign to the duty of delivering funds. Dirk had spoken cautiously; he gave a direction to the cab driver in a low tone that Luskin did not overhear.