He knew that Clipper worked for some other man, but Clipper had agreed to deal with Cliff alone, and to keep his name a secret. When Clipper agreed on something, he kept his word. That was why he had so long remained a free agent in gangdom, unmolested by warring gunmen.
Cliff ceased all contemplation suddenly as the door which Clipper controlled began to open inward under the gangster’s pressure. Light entered the little hallway. Cliff’s body moved forward his gun hand raised.
The gangster stepped swiftly into the room, and Cliff slid to his place at the open door. The entire scene was revealed to Cliff.
A man was sitting in a chair at the far corner of the room. Cliff recognized him as Arnold Bodine, although his appearance was a trifle different from the usual pictures of the big shot.
Bodine’s hands were sprawled upon the chair arms. A startled, hunted expression was upon his face. He was staring at the muzzle of Clipper’s automatic. The gangster was threatening him from the center of the room. Cliff, from an angle, saw Clipper’s ugly, menacing profile.
Peering quickly around the edge of the door, Cliff was surprised to note that the room was otherwise empty. Where was The Shadow? Could it be possible that he had not arrived?
For an instant Cliff thought that Bodine might be The Shadow in disguise; but one more view of the startled man in the corner altered that opinion. Bodine, answering a grunted command from Clipper, was elevating his hands above his head. The man was helpless.
“Big Shot Bodine,” sneered Clipper sarcastically. “All ready to be bumped off! Don’t like it, neither, eh?”
The threatened man licked his lips painfully. He made a reply in a forced voice a feeble effort to mislead his enemy.
“My name is Davis,” he said slowly. “Andrew Davis. I can’t understand why you have come here.”
“‘Andrew Davis,’ eh?” came Clipper’s contemptuous retort. “You’ve got Bodine’s mug. That’s enough to spell curtains for you, wise guy.”
Bodine quivered, and his eyes rolled from side to side, like some hunted beast at bay. He saw Cliff’s dim form in the doorway, but knew that he was viewing another enemy. His expression became more fearful.
Funny, thought Cliff, how the biggest men among gangsters hated to die. Those who ordered death for scores of enemies, underworld czars like Bodine, were the ones who loved life the most!
The helpless man stared at Clipper Tobin and sought to parley as a last resort.
“How much dough do you want?” he questioned hoarsely. “Name it. I’ve got it!”
“You have?” ridiculed Clipper. “Well, you can keep it — but it won’t be yours long. Lay offa that money squawk. I’ve heard it before, and it don’t go. I’ve got my dough for this job, and I go through with it. Savvy?”
BODINE did not reply. Cliff could see the satisfied look upon Clipper’s face. The killer instinct was coming to the fore. Clipper had deliberately waited in order to taunt his helpless victim; now, his gloating finished, he was ready to fire the fatal bullets.
“Ready, Cliff,” came his voice. “Get set for the get-away. I’m goin’ to plug him.”
“Wait!” came Cliff’s quiet response. “Don’t shoot yet! It won’t be good for you, Clipper.”
The gunman did not turn. His finger was still on the trigger, but he noted something in Cliff’s tone that made him hold back. Still facing Bodine, he listened for Cliff’s next words.
They were not long delayed. Cliff Marsland had seen that action was imperative. Something had delayed The Shadow. Perhaps he had never received the message!
The duty that was now Cliff’s stood obvious. The Shadow had planned to prevent this killing. It was Cliff’s job to do that work in the absence of The Shadow.
“I’ve got you covered, Clipper,” said Cliff in the same steady voice. “One move — and out you go!”
Clipper did not move.
“Put up your gat!”
Clipper obeyed sullenly.
“You, Bodine,” added Cliff, speaking to the man in the corner, “keep away from any foolishness. I’ve got a bead on you, too!”
Encouraged by this remark, Clipper Tobin swung in the direction of his former pal. He stepped back as he saw the leveled automatic.
“Up with the mitts,” ordered Cliff.
Clipper obeyed. Cliff was master of the situation. Hunter and hunted, both were now at his mercy. The scowling face of Clipper Tobin was equaled in expression by the puzzled countenance of Arnold Bodine.
“What’re you tryin’ to do?” demanded Clipper sullenly. “Sell out to this guy?”
“That’s none of your business,” responded Cliff. “I’ve got my own game.”
He was in a quandary. This was not an enviable spot. Cliff had saved Bodine, but neither did he desire to kill Clipper Tobin. Yet now that he had betrayed his hand, there would be certain danger if Clipper remained alive.
It was impractical to await the coming of The Shadow. This tableau of two men with hands poised in front of a revolver might lead to unexpected consequences. Cliff decided upon immediate action.
Even though he was now an enemy of Clipper’s, he could keep the gangster from discovering his true associations. Clipper’s last remark gave him a cue.
“I’ve got my own game,” declared Cliff. “Bodine’s not going to be bumped off by you. I’m going to let you slide out. That’s more than you deserve.”
“Double-crossin’ me, eh?” derided Clipper, defiant even in the face of death. “I get you now! Bodine fixed it with you before this. You tipped him off. He wanted to see the guy that was out to get him. You’re both yellow — you’ve got me here, but you’re scared to bump me!”
“Let him have it, Bud,” interposed Bodine, seeking to work with his rescuer. “I’ll slip you five grand for the job. He won’t squawk when he’s dead — and you won’t run any chances. They’ll think I got him.”
“That’s not in my game,” returned Cliff. “I don’t want your money, Bodine.”
“Baloney!” sneered the defiant Clipper.
“You’re leaving here, Clipper,” said Cliff. “Leaving without your rod. Come over here, and don’t lower your hands.”
Clipper obeyed. Cliff stopped him before he was too close. With a quick, decisive action, he caught the butt of Clipper’s revolver and dropped the weapon on the floor. He stepped back and waved the man toward the center of the room.
Clipper retired sullenly. Bodine had made no motion. It was easy to see that Cliff’s businesslike methods had impressed him.
CLIFF made no motion to pick up the revolver that lay on the floor. That could come later. Instead, he motioned to Bodine, and pointed toward the telephone with his left hand.
“You’re going to call your mob, Bodine,” he said. “Tell them to hop over from the Goliath Hotel. As soon as I know they’re on the way, you’re going to travel, Clipper — and I’ll follow. So keep going, plenty fast!”
Bodine, seeing salvation, kept his hands well away from his body as he reached for the telephone. He gave a number, and when the hotel responded, asked for his suite on the eighteenth floor. Without stopping to inquire who was at the other end, he gave his hasty information.
“I’m over at my hideout,” he said. “Suite 458, the Maurice Apartments. There’s a guy here who’s trying to croak me. Get some gorillas over here quick!”
There was a response; then Bodine asked quickly:
“Who’s this — Gus?”
Another reply came over the wire. Bodine dropped the receiver on the hook. His expression changed.
Cliff detected it. Bodine observed his quizzing look. He hastened to explain.
“It wasn’t Gus,” he said. “It was Joe Cardona, from headquarters!”
This was unexpected news to Cliff Marsland. He was on the point of commanding Clipper to flee. Now his idea changed. Clipper, in the hands of the police, would be no menace! Should he leave him here for Cardona?