“Wait a moment,” suggested the big shot. “Bowser will ride down with you, Burke. He’s going out.”
The bodyguard joined the reporter. They descended to the hotel lobby, and left by the same door.
There, their paths separated.
Ordinarily, Clyde Burke would have gone directly to a telephone to communicate with Burbank. The proximity of Bowser Riggins restrained him on this occasion.
Clyde covered several blocks before he dropped into a drugstore and entered a phone booth. He obtained his number quickly, and talked with Burbank. In short, low sentences, Clyde stated that Goldy Tancred had received a suspicious call, which involved the name of Hobbs. He added the fact that he had noted concerning the proximity of a bookcase to a balconied window.
When Clyde Burke left the store, he called a taxi and directed the driver to take him to the Classic office.
The reporter’s only regret was that he had lost fifteen minutes between the time of his departure from Goldy’s apartment, and his arrival at the telephone booth. On the contrary, he felt sure that he had escaped all observation.
In that thought, the reporter was wrong. From the time that he had left the Hotel Marathon, a skulking figure had followed him along the opposite side of the street. That same follower had waited outside the drugstore, and had heard Clyde order the taxi man to take him to the Classic.
Now, a fox-faced, dark-sweatered gangster came into view, and scurried away along a side street. The appearance of Bowser Riggins with Clyde Burke at the door of the hotel had been this skulker’s tip to take up the trail.
Such was Goldy Tancred’s game. Secretly, the overlord of racketeers was in league with forces of the underworld. He had forces at his disposal, but he kept them hidden.
A big shot deluxe, Goldy Tancred, like Hector Fawcett, was a power in the menace that was now impending. The black hush that had preceded murder at the Olympia Hotel had been no mystery to Goldy Tancred!
Clyde Burke, agent of The Shadow, had gained a partial inkling of that fact. Soon The Shadow, himself, would visit the abode of Goldy Tancred!
CHAPTER VI. IN GOLDY’S APARTMENT
HARDLY had Clyde Burke left Goldy Tancred’s apartment before Curry entered to speak to his master.
The servant’s expression was quiet. His tone was confidential. He was announcing another visitor.
“Ping Slatterly,” he informed.
“Bring him in,” ordered Goldy.
A short, squat, hard-faced man was ushered into the room. With the frame of an orangutan, a visage like a chunk of hewn rock, and hands that looked like mallets, Ping Slatterly looked like what he was — the toughest gang leader in the underworld.
“Hello, Ping,” greeted Goldy.
“How’re ya?” returned the gang leader. “Say — I’ve been stickin’ around on the floor below, waitin’ to hear from you. Well — what’s the news?”
“All set.”
“Yeah? Well, leave the rest to me. I’ll pull this one like I did that job at the Olympia.”
“You’re laying low?”
“Say — I’m like a dead log, Goldy. There ain’t nothin’ creepin’ out, neither. There ain’t nobody knows what’s comin’ — even the mob I’ve got. They’re waitin’ for the word; an’ they’re keepin’ mum while they wait.
“I’m just nobody — see? They think I’m through — all tough looks an’ no punch. That’s the way they’re goin’ to stay. I mean the guys that ain’t in the know. I’ve got my mob trained all right.”
“Stay away from here,” warned Goldy, “until I send for you. That won’t be until after we pull the job. You’re sure that it’s all set?”
“Just the way we want it, Goldy. Douse the glims, an’ I don’t care if there’s a hundred bulls in the place. How about the bump-off at the Olympia? Good, eh?”
“Perfect,” admitted Goldy.
Ping Slatterly’s huge chest swelled. The evil-faced gang leader leered. He sauntered toward the door, with Goldy Tancred following, and turned to deliver his parting expression of assurance.
“They’ll all be close to me, see?” he concluded. “When I shoot on the bull’s-eye, the rest is easy. Each guy has his place. Teamwork. Fast pick-up and a quick getaway. You’ve got it set for fifteen minutes, huh?”
“That’s the time”
“Soft. Nothin’ to it. Wait and see.”
Curry appeared at Goldy Tancred’s call. The servant went with Ping Slatterly down a flight of stairs. He was taking the gang leader to a service elevator on a lower floor. A dumb operator, an exit at the rear of the hotel — that was the course which Ping Slatterly took when he visited the big shot.
BACK in his living room, Goldy Tancred strolled about, smoking a cigarette. His teeth gleamed in occasional smiles. At last, with a bored expression, the big shot sauntered from the room.
Minutes drifted by. Not a sound came to this apartment high above the street. Then, so slowly that its motion was almost unnoticeable, a window sash began to rise. Through the opening came a long, black silhouette that projected itself across the floor.
Something blotted out the reflecting surface of the raised window pane. The sash moved downward. The silhouette advanced across the floor. Seemingly from outer darkness, a tall figure materialized. It developed into the shape of a being clad entirely in black.
With cape reaching from his shoulders, with hands encased in thin black gloves, his features obscured by the turned-down brim of a slouch hat, The Shadow stood within the confines of Goldy Tancred’s living room!
A soft, whispered laugh came from invisible lips. The black-hatted head tilted upward. A pair of burning eyes studied the scene. Those glowing optics turned in the direction of the bookcase, close beside the window.
The position of the heavy articles of furniture answered Clyde Burke’s description to Burbank. The Shadow stooped, a small object showed in his hands.
With calm precision, the strange visitant moved the bookcase slightly away from the wall and attached a small instrument. The bookcase moved back. The Shadow’s hands urged a thin wire behind the curtain.
Then continued to draw the connection toward the window.
Suddenly, the worker stopped. Stepping half behind the curtain, he became entirely motionless. Not even the slightest rustling of the hanging betrayed his presence. The long silhouette still stretched its black shape across the floor, but it did not waver.
Curry had entered the room. The servant was closing the place for the night. He walked directly to the window, passed within inches of The Shadow’s hidden form, and tried the sash to find it locked.
Wheeling, Curry went back toward the outer door and extinguished the light.
Departing footsteps faded through the hallway beyond the room. The Shadow’s laugh came in a sinister whisper. By absolute stillness, this weird investigator had completely avoided discovery. That was The Shadow’s purpose on this night.
The window sash moved upward. The Shadow reached the balcony. Invisible, he lowered the sash so subtly that it seemed to creep downward of its own accord, inch by inch. A steel instrument entered between the sections of the sash. An unseen hand relocked the window from the outside, so perfectly that no trace of the deed remained.
The free end of the wire dropped from the balcony and hung down the darkened wall of the hotel. The Shadow’s phantom figure moved to the end rail, then stretched itself upward and outward. Long, strong fingers caught the projecting cornice of a window above. Climbing like a human fly, The Shadow reached his goal and entered an apartment.
This place was occupied, but no one was awake. The Shadow’s cloak swished slightly as its wearer made his way to an outer door. Silence lingered after The Shadow had departed.