“B,” he said in response.
“Report,” came the word.
Clyde’s lips were to the mouthpiece of the phone. There was no opportunity for artfully worded phrases.
His grogginess was coming on again in this stuffy booth.
“Bodine,” he said in a low voice. “Not at Goliath. At Maurice Apartments. Phony name — Andrew Davis. On their way to get him. Hurry.”
A word of understanding came over the wire. Clyde hung up the phone and sat with his head in his hands. There was a rapping on the door of the booth. Some one else wanted to make a call.
Clyde came out, made his way to the street, and leaned against a wall while the fresh air began to revive his sickened senses. It must have been fully twenty minutes after the men left the Club DeLuxe before he sent his message through. But now all was well.
He had reported to Burbank, The Shadow’s confidential aid. The message in turn would be relayed to The Shadow. Before Arnold Bodine’s enemies had arrived, The Shadow would be there — unless Clyde’s call had been too late!
CHAPTER XII. THE HIDEOUT
WHEN Clipper Tobin and Cliff Marsland left the Club DeLuxe, the toughened gangster who headed the two-man expedition led his companion to a taxi. They rode rapidly down the avenue and alighted at the corner of a side street. Here Clipper conducted Cliff along the street, away from the brilliant lights.
Hardly had they moved into obscurity before another man followed the same path. He stepped from a doorway near the corner and moved swiftly in pursuit. Only for a brief moment did his face show beneath a corner light. It was Sneaks Rubin, secret director of the crime that was about to transpire.
Neither Clipper nor Cliff knew any thing of his presence. Clipper was simply following a carefully laid-out plan, in which the time element had been taken into account. Cliff, in turn, was following Clipper’s instructions.
As a precaution, Cliff, always wary, glanced behind him as he moved along. Clipper did not consider the action strange. It was to be expected. But Cliff saw nothing, for Sneaks Rubin knew where the other men were going, and kept well out of sight.
“We’re goin’ to cut in the back way,” said Clipper in a low voice. “There’s a fire tower that’s easy to get into. Nobody sees us comin’— nobody sees us leavin’. This will be a soft get-away.”
The course taken by Clipper led across another avenue; then through an alley in back of a garage.
Clipper had discharged the cab sufficiently far from the apartment house where Arnold Bodine lived to ward off possible suspicion of the driver.
Now, ahead of the two men, showed the lighted windows of the building for which they were bound.
“You can’t see Bodine’s apartment from here,” whispered Clipper in the darkness. “The garage runs right up against the apartment house. Bodine’s apartment is one story above the top of the garage — on the fourth floor.”
Cliff understood this as they turned a corner of the alley. The old garage building fronted on the next avenue. So did the apartment house. The garage had an L-shaped front, the projection being an extension which abutted against the lower stories of the apartment building.
The alley ran down to this, ending in a cul-de-sac. Clipper stopped at the beginning of the short blind alley. They had reached the entrance to the fire tower.
Clipper pointed almost straight upward, toward the front of the apartment. He designated lighted windows on the fourth floor.
“See?” came his whisper. “That’s the place. Take it easy until we get into the fire tower. There ain’t nobody around here, but we gotta play it safe. This is our way out — don’t forget that!”
Cliff gazed into the black space that ended with the garage wall and realized that there could be no escape by that direction. The path which they had followed was their one means of leaving. He smiled grimly to himself. Clipper Tobin expected an easy escape. He did not know what he was about to encounter.
For Cliff was positive that by this time The Shadow had arrived. It was nearly twenty minutes since they had left the Club DeLuxe. Burke had received the all-important information. He had surely relayed it to The Shadow promptly. The Hotel Goliath was only eight blocks away. Perhaps The Shadow had entered the apartment house by this very method — the fire tower! Perhaps he had come by the front way! At any rate, Cliff was confident that the mysterious man in black would be on hand with one of his amazing surprises.
A few minutes’ stall would not hurt. Cliff nudged Clipper and whispered in his ear.
“Lay low a minute, Clipper,” was his warning. “Maybe somebody’s followed us.”
He knew that even if The Shadow were lurking in the darkness, vigilant observation would be of no avail.
The Shadow had a strange ability for remaining unseen, even when persons were looking at the very spot where he might chance to be.
Clipper Tobin heeded the warning. Crouched by the black side of the apartment house, he listened, while his shrewd eyes sought to pierce the shroud of night that hung throughout the narrow alley.
“Nobody around,” he whispered. “Come on!”
They moved cautiously to the fire tower. Up the steps they went, silently and slowly. They reached the fourth floor. Clipper opened a steel door gently and peered into a lighted corridor. He waved Cliff along.
The corridor turned; Clipper pointed along the branch that led to the front of the building.
There was only one door visible — at the end of the passage. Cliff knew that it must be Bodine’s apartment. The number was plain as they approached— 458.
A KEY appeared in Clipper’s hand. Cliff decided that it must have been provided by the informant who had discovered Bodine’s hideout— the traitor who had revealed the name under which the celebrated big shot lived in this abode.
With expert touch, Clipper inserted the key in the lock. He opened the door softly. The men stood in a little hallway, with a door on each side.
Clipper closed the door through which they had come. He hesitated a moment, undecided which door to open next. He shrugged his shoulders.
Evidently either one would do. Bodine could be in only one room. If they saw no one in the first, they could try the second.
“Ready,” whispered Clipper. “I’m goin’ in; you stick here to cover.”
It was quite dark in the little hallway, the only light coming from a transom that let dull rays flicker in from the corridor outside. Still, the light was sufficient to show the automatic which Clipper had unlimbered.
Cliff had his own pistol in his hand. His brain was working fast, but his nerves were steady.
Nevertheless, Cliff Marsland was tense as Clipper placed his left hand upon the knob of the door at the right. What would that opened door reveal?
Cliff knew that he was on the verge of an exciting adventure. Until now he felt that he was playing a passive part. But somehow he had a hunch that he now had work to do.
His instructions were based upon a very simple formula. Unknown to Clipper Tobin, Cliff was working with The Shadow. It was The Shadow’s purpose to frustrate the crime that brewed tonight — not because The Shadow had anything in common with Arnold Bodine, but because the killing foretold by Double Z must be frustrated.
Cliff was simply The Shadow’s informant. The course of events had decreed that he must accompany Clipper Tobin on this expedition, but with The Shadow now here, there was no need for Cliff to act.
Whatever The Shadow might do, Cliff’s status would remain the same. He, like Cliff, would appear as an intercepted killer.
Still, it was Cliff’s duty to aid The Shadow in any way within his power. He could do this if necessary, even though it might reveal his true capacity. One point pleased Cliff. His identity was unknown to any man except Clipper Tobin.