IT was a quick get-away and Cliff followed it with a tortuous course that he knew would baffle any pursuers. He turned corners, doubled on his course and threaded a speedy way among the East Side streets that he knew so well.
At last he reached the quiet of an isolated street and brought the coupe to a stop. He nudged Beef Malligan.
“Who — who are you?” blurted the racketeer, rubbing his head.
“Never mind,” responded Cliff. “You’ll be safe if you come along.”
He shoved Beef from the coupe, grabbed the man before he fell and dragged him through a secluded stairway; then up a flight of stairs to a room on the second floor. This was Cliff’s lodging in the underworld.
Beef slumped in a chair as Cliff guided him to it, but when Cliff turned on the light, Beef seemed very much alive. He stared at the man who had brought him here. His eyes widened with recognition.
“Cliff Marsland!” he exclaimed.
“The same,” responded Cliff, calmly.
“Say” — a gleam showed on Beef’s face — “you’re the bird that plugged Dombo Carlin. Ain’t you?”
Cliff nodded. He was standing by the door. Beyond Beef, who was facing the door, was a window that led to a low roof above a rear porch.
“He was goin’ to croak me, Dombo was,” announced Beef. “Only you come in an’ handed him curtains. Him an’ his mob. Say, Cliff — you’re a regular.”
“Never mind the thanks, Beef. I had it in for that false alarm. I wasn’t going to see him hand you a final ticket. Getting Dombo wasn’t the tough part, though. I had more trouble pulling you out before the bulls arrived.”
“Say” — Beef’s expression showed alarm — “do you think they trailed us?”
“Not much chance. But Joe Cardona was with them. I heard his voice. He’ll be looking for me.”
“Why for you?”
“Because I came through the front.” Cliff made this statement so emphatic that Beef nodded in belief. “Clipper saw me. That was while Dombo and his gang were coming through the back.”
“That don’t matter, Cliff. We can use this joint as a hideout, can’t we?”
“You can, Beef. You were hiding out at the Santiago anyway, weren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, keep this place then. You’ll be safe here. But two of us — well, that would be taking too big a chance. I’d rather scram, Beef. New York’s getting too hot for me anyway.”
Beef rubbed his bruised head. He smiled. He preferred to hide out alone; the offer was to his liking. He saw a double advantage in acquiring this unexpected friend.
“Listen, Cliff” — Beef’s tone was inquiring — “where do you figure on heading?”
“No place in particular,” responded Cliff. “Just out of New York, that’s all.”
“Croaker Zinn knows you, don’t he?”
“He ought to. I saw him at a lot of places while you and he were working together.”
“That makes it jake. Have you got any dough, Cliff?”
“Enough to clear town.”
“Great. How would you like somethin’ soft at the end of your trip?”
“I wouldn’t mind it. What’s the lay?”
BEEF MALLIGAN motioned to a chair by the door. Cliff Marsland sat down to listen. Beef leaned forward and spoke in a confiding tone.
“I’m stickin’ here, Cliff,” he explained. “because I’m still workin’ with Croaker. He’s in on the best racket you ever heard of. I’ve been diggin’ up the old mob, one by one, an’ sending ‘em along to Croaker. He needs some good torpedoes, see?”
“I get you, Beef.”
“I was waitin’ for a guy to show up tonight. I won’t see him on account of what happened. So the job’s yours if you want it.”
Beef dug in his pocket and pulled out a small envelope. He handed it to Cliff, who opened it. Cliff stared as he pulled out slips of paper.
“What are these?” he questioned.
“Passes to a circus,” returned Beef with a grin. “That is, one of ‘em is a pass to the circus; the others will take you in to the other shows.”
“Larch Circus and Greater Shows,” read Cliff, as he looked at the slips of paper. “Pass one. This one is signed by Tex Larch — here’s one with the signature Captain Guffy—”
“The circus is playin’ at a town called Marlborough,” broke in Beef. “That’s where you go, Cliff.”
“And what do I do there?”
“Use those passes.”
“Is that all?”
“No. Somewhere along the line, you will hear somebody say the word ‘Ceylon’. That’s your tip-off. You ask that person: ‘Where is Ceylon?’ — an’ then you’ll get told what to do next.”
“Have you gone screwy, Beef? Let’s see where that gorilla slugged you.”
“Listen Cliff” — Beef’s tone was impatient — “this is on the level. Maybe it sounds screwy, but it ain’t. I’m lettin’ you in on a racket that’s got a load of gravy. I’ve sent plenty of the real guys along to get in on it. This is your chance. I ain’t forgettin’ that you took me off the spot tonight.”
Cliff Marsland stared toward his ugly-faced companion. But his gaze saw more than Beef’s thick-lipped countenance. Beyond the racketeer, framed in the opened window, was a shrouded figure of blackness. The Shadow had followed. The Shadow had heard.
A gloved hand projected into the room; instead of pointing, it moved up and down. The action symbolized a nod. Cliff Marsland rose to his feet and thrust the envelope into his pocket.
“All right, Beef,” he declared firmly. “You’re on. It sounds like a good lay — even though I don’t know the details. I’m taking it.”
“You’re wise, Cliff. I’m tellin’ you, it’s real.”
“Keep this hideout. I’m beating it. The sooner I get started, the better — before Joe Cardona gets on my trail.”
Cliff thrust out a hand. Beef shook it. The Shadow’s agent turned and opened the door. He closed the barrier behind him and descended to the street.
CLIFF was wearing a smile as he reached the coupe. He had no fear of Detective Joe Cardona. His pretence had been for the purpose of gaining the very result that he had attained.
Following The Shadow’s lead, Cliff Marsland had learned facts that he had previously known only as rumors; namely, that Beef Malligan was shipping gunmen on to Croaker Zinn.
More than that, Cliff had carved his way into the select outfit. He had taken credit for The Shadow’s work. He had passed himself as Beef Malligan’s rescuer. He had received his reward.
A secret agent of The Shadow, Cliff Marsland was on his way to learn the inside working of hidden crime. As The Shadow’s emissary, Cliff would send back word of the game which concerned the notorious Croaker Zinn.
Cliff Marsland had received the order of The Shadow! While Beef Malligan remained secure in the hideout which Cliff had offered him, The Shadow’s agent would be at work uncovering crime instead of abetting it.
Such was the work of The Shadow’s agent. Behind it lay the strategy of The Shadow himself!
CHAPTER III
ON THE LOT
“THIS way to the big show! Buy your tickets to the big show! Only five minutes before the show starts!”
The barker’s cry rose strident above a medley of sounds. The mechanical music of a carousel; the puffing motor of the Ferris wheel; the wheezy tones of a calliope — all became a background to the call.
People were moving along the “midway” that formed an avenue to the big tent. The circus was the magnet that was drawing the crowd at present. The other shows, housed in smaller tents, were quiet while the barker sought to bring the throngs into the big top.