POSSUM QUILL, seated in a chair, was nodding thoughtfully. His attitude was friendly, but there was something in his manner that denoted a lack of complete reliance in Zach Telvin’s tale.
Possum Quill was crafty. By avoiding a display of eagerness, he aroused Zach Telvin to a state of anxiety.
“Don’t you believe me, Possum?” quizzed the convict. “Listen, pal, I’ve been riding freights to get here. Look at these clothes — I busted into a tailor shop, and got the first outfit that came near fitting me. I had to get to you, Possum — you’re the only guy I could count on. You believe me, don’t you?”
“Sure I believe you,” nodded Possum. “I’m ready to help you out, Zach. The only trouble is, it sounds so soft that I’m looking for the catch.”
“It’s not soft,” returned Zach. “That is, it may be soft — and maybe it won’t be. If you’ll listen to me, Possum—”
There was a rap at the door. Zach Telvin leaped to his feet. Possum Quill waved him down.
“It’s only Lefty,” laughed Possum. “He’s telling me that it’s time to be starting. This is funny, Zach. Here you’re talking about half a million — maybe more — and I’m going out on a job that only means one grand.
“I’m taking chances, too. If Punch Baxton is in a jam when he reaches the place I’m waiting, it may be tough for me. Well — so long, Zach. You stick here. If I’m not back inside a couple of hours, you’d better scram, because the bulls will have me. If they do — well, they may be coming down this way to check up.”
Zach Telvin leaped wildly forward. He gripped Possum Quill by the arm. There was anxiety in his voice as he pleaded with his old companion.
“It’s in the bag, Possum!” exclaimed Zach. “Honest — I’m telling you straight. I’m counting on you. Lay off that job tonight. Don’t chance it; Come along with me—”
Another rap interrupted from the door. Possum growled through to Lefty, telling him to wait a minute.
The shrewd crook turned to Zach Telvin.
“You say there’s plenty in it,” remarked Possum. “You don’t say how or where. You want me to pass up the grand that I’m grabbing tonight. Minutes count with me right now, Zach. Spill what you’ve got in a hurry, and I’ll listen—”
“I’ll give you the lay, Possum,” gasped Zach, no longer reluctant. “There’s plenty in it — for you — for me — for this guy that’s with you, if he’s O.K.”
“Lefty sticks with me.”
“All right. Bring him along. The swag is on an island — hidden somewhere. We can find it—”
“Somewhere on an island,” grunted Possum. “I knew there was a catch to it. What is the place — a summer resort?”
“It’s an island in the Mississippi,” explained Zach. “There’s an old house on it — plenty of trees — nobody ever goes there—”
“The Mississippi is a mighty long river,” remarked Possum.
“I know the spot,” asserted Zach. “Birch took me there, the day after we cracked a crib in St. Louis. Look, Possum — I’ll show you I know the place.”
ZACH grabbed a paper and pencil that were lying on a table. He drew two curving, shaky lines to indicate the river.
Near one side of the stream he made a long oval; to the left, some short, scratchy lines; among these, a heavy, elongated dot.
“There’s the island,” he declared. “Over to the left here is a swamp — that’s how I can tell the place—”
“An island with a swamp,” remarked Possum. “Maybe there’s a lot of them like it—”
“Not with this!” returned Zach triumphantly, as he drew a heavy oval around the dot. “I’ll tell you what this is — an old steamboat that went aground years ago. It’s all swampy around the boat, now.”
“Where’s St. Louis?” questioned Possum.
“Here,” returned Zach, making a small circle, and adding the letters S.L. “It’s about — wait a minute—” He paused to jot down a few figures, then changed his calculation. Finally, he made a square on the left bank of the river, above the island.
“I can’t tell you within ten miles of the distance,” said Zach, “but it’s about fifty miles from St. Louis. This square, though, is a landing about two miles above the island. I know the place, Possum — I know it right enough—”
“And you’re sure the swag is there?”
“Only Birch knew the place, and if any others in the gang had an idea about it, it don’t matter. They either took the bump, or went to the coop.”
Lefty was rapping heavily at the door. Zach Telvin was urging in his glance as he sought to convince Possum Quill of his reliability.
“Coming, Lefty,” growled Possum.
The crook took the paper from Zach’s hands. He tore it into tiny fragments and dropped the pieces into the wastebasket.
A look of bitter disappointment showed on Zach’s face; it changed as he caught a knowing nod from Possum.
The crook opened the door and motioned to the convict to follow him. A glance at the clock showed Possum that it was only a few minutes after half past eleven. Lefty — as Possum had figured — had given his first rap before the appointed time.
“Let’s go, Lefty,” ordered Possum quietly. “This fellow is coming along with us.” There was a small bag in a corner of the room. Without further words, Possum tossed a few articles into it, including the clock. Nothing else of value remained. The crook pointed to the bag. Lefty, wondering, picked it up.
“We’ll check out,” remarked Possum. “No use in hanging around this joint after tonight. Come along. We’ll get started in the car.”
“Punch Baxton ain’t figurin’ on three of us,” began Lefty.
Possum cut the big gangster short.
“The three of us are going,” he said. “Get that, Lefty! Three of us!” With a slight grin, Possum picked up the green-tinted newspaper and started to tear out a part of it. He turned the sheet toward Zach Telvin, and let the convict see that he was tearing out the picture of the penitentiary.
“Want this?” questioned Possum, with a laugh. “Sort of a thing you might like to remember—” Zach grinned sourly as he pushed the newspaper aside. Possum crunched the tabloid and threw it into the corner of the room.
“Come on!” he commanded, in a final tone.
The three men stalked from the room. They turned along the corridor. They disappeared from view, Lefty, the last, carrying the bag.
WITH ear phones still attached to his head, Harry Vincent was standing on a chair, peering through the transom. He had caught the final words that had been said. Possum Quill had given Lefty Hotz no other indication than that they would keep the rendezvous with Punch Baxton.
Three men instead of two; that was what Harry Vincent had observed. The young man’s mind retained the details of the last sounds that had taken place in the room across the hall, even to the crinkling noise of crumpled newspaper which had been audible through the sensitive mechanism of the dictograph.
Regaining the floor of the room, Harry removed his ear phones and seated himself at the telephone table.
With his pencil busily recording the last details to which he had listened in, Harry raised the receiver of the telephone, and gave Burbank’s number.
He was sending word of Possum Quill’s departure. After that would come the details of preparing a complete report for The Shadow.
Harry Vincent foresaw the doom of crime tonight. Soon, he thought, Possum Quill, Lefty Hotz, and their unknown companion, would meet with trouble of The Shadow’s making. They, like other crooks, were slated to pay the penalty for crime.
Little did Harry Vincent realize that he was on the verge of new adventure; that before that trio could be brought to task, he would be forced to travel far in the service of The Shadow!