Maurice Traymer smiled suavely as he witnessed the outburst. It was characteristic of the man whom he was visiting. “Beef” Norbin — the fat-faced ruffian disliked the nickname — was a gang leader of the most vicious type. What he lacked in cleverness, he possessed in determination. He ruled mobsters with an iron hand, and his methods were marked with gross brutality.
Beef Norbin was one of several gang leaders who made their headquarters in this decadent hotel. They were wolves of the underworld, who had their own particular purposes, and who never interfered with each other. Allied with big shots, they waited until called upon to act.
Maurice Traymer thought of the lobby through which he had come. Those loungers were mobsters — and woe betide any one who might try to enter without the permission of the clerk. The guardians of the lobby worked in a common cause. Different gang leaders contributed to their maintenance.
TRAYMER’S picturing of the vigilant watchers was curiously incorrect at that precise moment. Down in the lobby, the impossible was happening. Some one was entering the place unobserved!
One could not have said that a man had walked by the scattered watchers; for the unseen visitor was virtually invisible. The only sign of his presence was a shadowy blotch that moved across the tiled floor. The person, himself, did not come in view. His tall figure blended perfectly with the dim, unlighted wall away from the center of the lobby.
The Shadow had entered the old hotel. He had passed a handful of mobsters, unseen, unheard, and almost unnoticed. Only one man had an inkling of his presence. The clerk, glancing toward the bottom of the stairway, caught a fleeting glimpse of a shadowy silhouette moving upward on the bottom steps.
The clerk blinked; then shrugged his shoulders. He fancied that his imagination had been at work. Caution, however, predominated. He beckoned to one of the lounging mobsters, and pointed toward the stairway.
“Better make the rounds, Doc,” he said. “Thought I saw a guy going upstairs.”
“You’re goofy,” grumbled “Doc.”
Nevertheless, the summoned gangster headed upward. He reached the top of the stairway, and peered toward Beef Norbin’s door. He turned, suddenly, fancying, like the clerk below, that he had seen a fleeting shadow on the floor.
Drawing a revolver from his pocket, Doc went along the corridor and stopped as he neared the half-opened door of a hall closet.
If a man had been in the corridor, this would be his logical hiding place. Doc, the gangster, had a way of dealing with hiding places. He placed one hand upon the knob of the door, gave a quick yank, and at the same time set his finger against the trigger of the gun. Shots meant nothing in this hotel — and a quick one was the easiest way to deal with any skulker.
The shot was never fired. A black-gloved hand acted with greater speed than did Doc’s trigger finger. A swift fist shot from the darkness of the closet and cracked the gangster’s chin with the force of a trip hammer. Doc crumpled.
A black-cloaked figure came from the closet. A minute later, the gangster lay bound and gagged, stowed away in the closet. The Shadow picked up the gleaming revolver and gave a whispered laugh as he slipped the weapon beneath the folds of his cloak.
The Shadow moved along the corridor and paused at the door nearest to the entrance of the room where Norbin and Traymer were in conference. A black-gloved hand applied a tiny keylike instrument to the lock.
An almost inaudible click followed. The door opened, and The Shadow stepped into a darkened room, where only a thin shaft of light showed from a partly opened door at the end of the wall.
Gliding silently through the darkness, the black-cloaked figure reached the lighted spot, and became invisible against the wall of the room. This was another room of Beef Norbin’s suite. Through the half-opened door, The Shadow could hear what went on in the next room.
THERE, Beef Norbin and Maurice Traymer were commencing a low-voiced conference. The fat-faced gang leader was chewing on the end of a cigar, and mouthing his comments with an angry snarl.
“I’m telling you, Traymer,” he said, “there’s going to be trouble if we run into another mess like last night. I’m going through with my bargain — but I’m thinking of all concerned.”
“I quite agree with you,” responded Traymer suavely. “There is certain to be a change in plans, because of what has occurred. It was very unfortunate that you encountered trouble. The newspapers are filled with the account of the kidnaping. Fortunately, only dead servants and gunmen were found. This is the first case in which we have encountered notoriety. However, Norbin, I feel that you were much to blame.”
“Yeah?” questioned Norbin. “Why!”
“Because when you encountered resistance,” declared Traymer, “you should have been more efficient in dealing with it. Why did you abandon the stolen car upon the dock?”
“You ask me that?” growled Norbin. “Listen, Traymer. I’ll tell you why. You don’t know what happened out there. Do you know who it was that started that gang fight?”
“Who?” quizzed Traymer.
“The Shadow!” asserted Beef. “The Shadow! That’s who!”
“The Shadow!”
Traymer’s echo came in a tone of amazed understanding. This was his first direct contact with the man who had been in charge of operations at the Cathcart estate.
“That makes it different, eh?” Beef Norbin could see the effect of his statement upon Traymer. “You don’t need to answer that one. You know it makes it different. You want to hear the whole story?”
Traymer nodded.
“First of all,” said Norbin, “it was lucky that you knew I was out in Jamaica with the mob. That made us close to the place where we were going. I figured that getting there ahead of the girls was better than waiting until after they got home. So we slid in and bumped off the two servants for a starter.”
“Was it necessary to kill them?” questioned Traymer.
“Why not?” retorted Beef. “They can’t squawk now. You know how his nibs thinks about it. There were plenty of knock-offs aboard the Patagonia, weren’t there?”
“Go on with the story,” suggested Traymer, in a noncommittal tone.
“We were waiting for the car with the girls,” resumed Norbin. “All of a sudden, shooting starts in the house. I didn’t know what it was about, and I didn’t have time to find out. The car with the two girls was coming up the drive.
“So I made for the car with some of my men, figuring the rest could take care of whatever happened in the house. The chauffeur would have got away, if he hadn’t been yellow. I bumped him off, and we began to climb aboard.
“But the trouble in the house was The Shadow! How he got there, I can’t tell you. Anyway, he knocked off the mob like they were clay pigeons. Not only that — he got loose and began firing at us. I saw my men dropping off the running boards. He’d have got me in another minute. I shot away with the car.”
“Didn’t The Shadow fire after you?” questioned Traymer, in a surprised tone.
“No,” rejoined Beef, with a pleased grin. “That’s where I guessed it right. I took a chance that he’d be thinking of the girls, and I let that old bus ride. If he’d plugged me, we’d all have been killed. So The Shadow let me get away — and two of my gorillas with me. But I knew that wasn’t the end of it. He’d be coming after me.”
“So that’s why you left the car on the dock!”
“Sure thing. I had a head start, and the boys back at the house made enough trouble to slow up The Shadow, even though he got them instead of them getting him.