“And fifty-fifty means—”
“That whatever you get out of working with The Condor, you slip me half. It’s going to be big dough, Cliff. Steady dough and you’ll be in on it.”
Cliff considered. Luff grinned in pleased fashion. He did not know the thoughts that were rushing through Cliff’s brain. The Shadow’s agent was balancing future possibilities. He could see that Luff plotted immediate crime; ordinarily, that should be prevented. But if one crime, allowed to pass, should uncover many, the game would be greater.
“I’m spilling you the straight dope, Cliff,” assured Luff, misunderstanding Cliff’s deliberation. “Listen — I’ll give you a tip. You won’t have no trouble getting in with The Condor, after I pass you the swag.”
“Why not?” inquired Cliff, mechanically.
“Because,” whispered Luff eagerly, “there’s something in the swag that will let The Condor know you’re ready to work with him. Something that you’ll keep out, to show at the right time. But I ain’t telling you more” — Luff shifted warily — “not until I’ve pulled the job. Savvy?”
Cliff nodded. He wanted to hear further details; but he knew it would be unwise to press the pasty-faced crook. He had gained an inkling; it would be enough for tonight. The proposition now was to keep Luff waiting until The Shadow could be informed.
“Are you in, Cliff?”
Cliff was still nodding as he heard Luff’s question. He was trying to think of the best stall that would hold Luff here in the hideout until later.
“The job’s going to be a cinch for me, Cliff,” Luff assured. “I can spring it tonight and pass the swag to you in a hurry. It’s down my alley, Cliff, this job.”
Still nodding, Cliff understood. Luff’s chief ability was safecracking; but only on a limited scale. He was contemplating a one-man job. That meant the swag could not be heavy. These would be details for The Shadow.
A MOTION from Luff ended Cliff’s hazy speculation. The pasty-faced man had shifted. He was staring at a window, noting a slight motion of a blind. Cliff saw him fidget, reaching for his revolver.
“The windows are open, aren’t they, Luff?” inquired Cliff calmly, as he gripped the crook’s arm.
“Yeah,” whispered Luff, tensely. “Open, so I can hear anything outside.”
“Then it’s just a breeze,” assured Cliff. “Both of the shades are moving. Don’t get jittery, Luff.”
The crook grinned weakly. He turned to Cliff and nodded sheepishly. His expression showed that Cliff’s presence gave him courage. But as Cliff watched the man’s face, he saw a new flicker come over it. Luff was trembling, his eyes staring toward the door.
At the same instant, Cliff heard a sound behind him. He wheeled, to stare with Luff. While Luff was shaking, backing away, Cliff became rigid. While Luff was worrying about the windows, someone had opened the door. Upon the threshold stood a big-jawed man whose dark face wore a malicious scowl.
A grimy fist was displaying a leveled .38; behind the ugly-faced intruder were two backers, each with a ready gun. Cliff needed no introduction to these ruffians. The big-jawed man was Murk Feeny; the others his henchmen.
A killer who held a grudge against Luff Cadley, Murk was here for murder. His leering face showed evil triumph. His glowering eyes indicated his one purpose. Luff Cadley was slated for the spot.
The ex-convict knew it, as he whined from the wall. A few years in the penitentiary had sapped Luff’s courage. Pitiful in expression, Luff was showing his fear of death.
It was not so with Cliff Marsland. Stolidly, The Shadow’s agent met Murk’s gloating gaze. His lips were set, despite the tone of a sneer that Cliff heard from Murk. Cliff knew what was passing in the murderer’s mind; he had encountered others of Murk’s ilk in the past.
Murk Feeny had come here to rub out Luff Cadley. Such a job, to Murk, included all who might be present with a would-be victim. Cliff Marsland knew that his own plight was desperate. He, like Luff, was due to die.
Yet Cliff was steady, despite the threat of looming guns. He waited stolidly, in hope that some break might come. He was ready to go down fighting when Murk Feeny gave the signal for slaughter.
CHAPTER III. GASPED WORDS
“Two of you,” sneered Murk Feeny, eyeing the contrasted faces before him. “Well, we didn’t figure on you, Marsland, but we ain’t kicking because you’re here. We knowed you was a pal of Luff’s.”
Murk beckoned with his gun. He edged into the room, to back Cliff and Luff against the wall. Murk’s henchmen followed. A trio in the center of white-plastered walls, they covered their victims from close range.
“We’ve been looking over some hideouts,” snarled Murk, shifting his gaze from Cliff to Luff. “Places you might have picked but didn’t. So we took a Brodie and came here. Kind of a dumb cluck, ain’t you, Luff?
“If you’d used your noodle, you’d have fixed that crack under the door. But you didn’t and we wised after we sneaked in here. And we didn’t take no chances after we spotted that light.
“These bozos ain’t the only torpedoes with me. There’s two more guys in the hall, and a couple that I just chased around back. Just so’s to cover the fire escape, in case you tried to scram.”
“Honest, Murk,” whined Luff, “I ain’t done nothing to have you gunning for me. I’ve been in stir. Up there in the Big House there ain’t been no chance for me to queer any racket you’ve been—”
“Cut it!” snarled Murk. “You know why you’re going on the spot. You went away for safecracking, didn’t you?”
Luff nodded weakly.
“Yeah,” affirmed Murk, “and there was one box that you busted that the bulls never knew about. The one at Tim Rooney’s gambling joint, where you snatched the IOU that Flash Lodo wanted.
“You got two grand for the job; and it was worth it to Flash. He was in for thirty on that IOU; and I was Tim Rooney’s partner. Both of us took it on the chin for fifteen grand.
“Well, Flash Lodo got his. I gave it to him. And you’d have got yours if you hadn’t gone to the Big House right after that. You were sitting pretty when you were up the river, even if you didn’t think so.”
Murk shifted his gaze to Cliff. His murderous scowl increased.
“So you’re Luff’s pal, eh?” snorted Murk. “Only one he’s got; and I don’t know of any mugs that pal around with you. That fixes you, Marsland, along with Luff.”
Stepping back, Murk nodded to his henchmen. Their revolvers came up as Murk’s lowered. Cliff and Luff were each covered by a .38; the two torpedoes looked toward their chief.
“Give it,” rasped Murk.
CLIFF’S body had become rigid. The others had not noticed his instinctive preparation for this moment.
Before either henchmen could obey Murk’s command, Cliff hurtled forward, diving for their leader.
Murk swung back to ward off the attack. Twisting free, he sent Cliff half sprawling to the floor. His revolver bounded from his hand. Murk sprang to regain it; as he did so, his two henchmen swung to cover Cliff.
At that instant, a ripping sound came from one window. The patched shade was whipped aside. In from darkness bounded a blackened figure. A flash of crimson came from the lining of a sable-hued cloak.
Brilliant eyes flashed from beneath the brim of a slouch hat.
Hidden lips uttered a fierce laugh that stopped assassins short. Wheeling toward the window, Murk’s henchmen faced the enemy who had made such startling entry. From Murk, who was stooping with hand on gun, came the gasped recognition:
“The Shadow!”