Doom On The Hill

CHAPTER XVI SPIKE MAKES PLANS

WHEN The Shadow had first viewed the shack near the railroad, it had been deserted. Later, The Shadow had observed Perry Nubin use the place for sleeping quarters. Tonight, when The Shadow arrived near the wooden building, he found it under guard.

Three men were stationed as pickets outside the shack. They had no lights; but they were covering the edges of the tiny clearing. Their circle of coverage was scarcely more than fifty feet in circumference.

There was a light inside the shack. Otherwise, all was darkness. This was to The Shadow’s liking. Noiselessly, the master sleuth picked a space between two pickets. Not one of the three guards knew that he had entered the circle.

The Shadow avoided the grimy windows through which the light trickled. Had he stopped by one of them, his form would have blotted out the light from within the shack. Instead of a window, The Shadow chose a corner where a loose board had been knocked out. There was an opening a foot in width, two feet above the floor. Crouching close to the ground, The Shadow peered within.

Mobsmen from Manhattan. The Shadow recognized their leader. Spike Balgo. The fellow was noted for his toughness. Spike, himself, was prying the top from the box that had come for Grantham Breck. Boards crackled as Spike manipulated a jimmy. The box came open.

Spike yanked away excelsior. Then came a triumphant growl. He reached into the box and produced a Luger pistol; then another. Out came more in quick succession. Spike opened small boxes, with drawerlike lids. He held up a cartridge, to display its shiny bullet.

“Say” — Spike’s dark, thick-featured face came into the light — “the big boy guessed it right. Lugers. Brought in for us. This means we can do plenty. There’s more rods than we need.”

Mobsmen were shuffling about. They seemed puzzled by Spike’s statement. The mobleader ordered them to stack the guns and ammunition in the corner. He tilted the big box on end. Grinning in the light of the kerosene lantern, he began to talk.

“Listen, mugs,” announced Spike. “I said I’d give you the lay when we got out here. Some of you was with me before; but even they don’t know what it’s all about. I don’t talk as a rule, see? But there’s times when I tell things.

“We’re after a load of real swag. The big boy — you don’t need to know who he is just yet — knew it was stowed somewhere around here. He thought he’d play a good bet. He knew a foxy lawyer old Grantham Breck — who was living in the house down at the bottom of the hill.

“He spilled the news to Breck. Big swag — stuff taken in and hid by the Dobbin gang, some years ago. He and Breck figured between them where the stuff would be. But there was a guy living near it — a bimbo named Ezekiel Twinton.”

Spike paused and looked about the group. The mobsters were intent. Most of them had heard of the Dobbin outfit. They saw a cut coming when the swag was gained.

“Breck plays fair at first. See?” Spike was resuming. “He works with the big boss. Tries to buy property from Twinton. Then he stalls. Tells the big boy to wait. The big shot wises that Breck’s trying to pull a fast one. Get the swag for himself. That’s when the big shot sends me the tip to be on the job.”

“De night you croaked old Breck,” put in a leering mobster. “Dat was when I was wid you, Spike—”

“Never mind who rubbed out old Breck,” interrupted Spike. “He got his, the way the big shot wanted it. That’s all you need to talk about, Dingbat.”

“A slug from de guy’s own rod,” chimed in the leering mobster, heedless of Spike’s admonition. “Say dat was smart—”

“Lay off!” barked Spike. “Dingbat” quieted. “I’m doing the talking. I’m coming to that part of it. Listen, mugs — I might as well tell all of you that I rubbed out old Breck. Took his gat and let him have it. Then I met the big shot and slipped him the hot rod.”

SURPRISED looks from the mobsmen. Spike grinned. He pointed to the Luger pistols that had been unloaded from the stolen box.

“See them gats?” quizzed Spike. “That was the kind I grabbed from Breck. A Luger. Sample he got in from Germany and always carried with him.”

“Wot was de idea?” asked Dingbat.

“I’m getting to it,” snarled Spike. “Keep your trap shut. I know what you mugs are wondering about. You want to know what the big shot did with that hot rod. Well, I’ll tell you. He sneaked it back into the room where old Breck kept it. When they found the gat, it was sitting right where it belonged.”

Chuckles from the gang indicated admiration of the big shot’s cleverness. Spike waved for silence. He had not yet finished.

“The rube sheriff found the Luger,” he explained. “Kept it in his office, down in the town. Well, the big shot was sitting pretty — so was I for that matter — because they didn’t know what to do next. I’d scrammed, along with Dingbat and a couple of you fellows who were with me. The hick sheriff didn’t have nothing he could pin on the big shot.

“Then the big shot wises that things still ain’t so good. He don’t like the looks of it up on the hill. I’m gone — he figures he’ll have to make a trip up there himself. So he does. And before he goes, he slides into the sheriff’s office and picks up old Breck’s rod.”

Spike paused to look from face to face. The mobsmen were tense. Their forte was gang war; craft and strategy were new to them. Admiration showed upon evil faces.

“Then the big shot” — Spike paused — “well, never mind mentioning him. I’ll just tell you this. There was trouble up on the hill and the guy that lived there — Twinton — got his, like Breck. It was just one of them things that happened — that’s all. But it didn’t make no trouble for the big shot.

“Why? Because when they dug the slug out of Twinton, they found it came from that same Luger. Where was the hot rod? Back in the sheriff’s office, where it belonged. Say — I’ll bet that yap was ready to pinch himself, when he found he had the gun that dropped Twinton.”

“Boy!” put in Dingbat. “Dat was de cat’s. You’re tellin’ us somethin’, Spike—”

“I’m telling you more,” growled the gangleader. “The reason the big shot yanked that Luger pistol into these jobs was because old Breck had shown him the gun. The big shot knew where Breck kept it hid. When Breck was on the level, he gave the big shot a real idea.

“They was both figuring on some fireworks if they had to send us guys up on the hill while Twinton was still living there. Twinton wouldn’t sell the property to Breck. That was the catch. See? Well, when Breck shows the Luger to the big shot, he says it would be a hot idea to bring in a load of them guns so we could carry them. Then if we had to do any bumping, the bullets wouldn’t mean nothing.

“When Breck pulls the double-cross, the big shot twists the Luger stunt on him. That mixes things up. All the time, the big shot is thinking, though, that maybe Breck might have sent for them guns. Things were fixed so they’d come to him; the only trouble was maybe somebody might get a chance to look into the box first. That wouldn’t make no trouble for the big shot; but it would queer things for us.

“Well, Twinton’s dead. So the big shot sent for us. The house is closed; the job ought to be easy. Looked like the Lugers would be out of the picture; but just the same, the big shot had me posted to take a squint into that baggage room just in case something might have come in for old Grantham Breck. There was a chance that the box might be laying there and it was.”

“Plenty of slugs for dem rods, too,” put in Dingbat.

“Yeah,” agreed Spike. “So we’re going to use them. Load them up and use them instead of our regular gats. We got to lay low tonight. Tomorrow night we go after the swag. There’s no telling just who we’re going to run into.

“If we rub out any wise birds, the sheriff’s going to find Deutsch slugs in them. If he ever manages to figure out where the bullets came from, he’ll be worse off than before. A bunch of rods shipped to Grantham Breck” — Spike chuckled — “say, that’s going to be great.”

MOBSTERS mumbled in agreement. Spike strolled over to the corner. He began to load a Luger while his crew gathered around to watch him handle the gun. Nods showed that the gorillas were familiarizing themselves with the German pistols.

“Take this rod,” ordered Spike, handing the first Luger to Dingbat. “Toss out your old one. Come on — all of you — load up and get rid of your old gats. Some of them smoke-wagons you’re lugging would show up worse than fingerprints. Say — the big shot is going to feel great when I tell him about this grab.”

A gangster went to the door and called in the guards. They, too, were supplied with Lugers. The entire mob — more than a dozen men — was equipped with the new type of small-arms. An assortment of glimmering revolvers lay in a pile upon the floor. These were the guns that the gorillas had brought with them.

“No target practice,” warned Spike. “Them Deutsch rods will do their stuff when you have to use them. Better than these hunks of old iron.” He laughed as he indicated the discarded revolvers. “Pack up that junk, Dingbat. Put the old rods in one of them bags we brought with us. We’ll take them along when we go up to the station.”

“The station?”

“Sure. If it’s clear there, we’re going to stick this box back where it belongs.”

“Empty?”

“No. We’ll fill it with cans out of one of them crates in the baggage room. Bring the rest of the crate along with us. Say — if the yap sheriff gets a peek into this box before it’s delivered, he’s going to do some more head scratching.”

“What about the old rods?”

“You and I are going further along, Dingbat. The mob can come back here. We’ll head for the trestle a couple of miles down the line. Then we’ll heave those old gats out into the creek. It’s plenty deep, with lots of mud on the bottom. Nobody’s going to dig them out of there.”

Spike turned warningly to his crew. His eyes were glaring as he put a final warning.

“No holding out on any rods,” he asserted. “The old ones, I mean. We ain’t carrying anything that would go as evidence. Get me?”

The mobsters nodded. Assured that he had collected all the guns that might prove incriminating, Spike beckoned to Dingbat, who had finished loading the bag. The leering gorilla put a question just as the group prepared to move.

“Say,” he asked. “What about the big shot? Ain’t you goin’ to slip him one of these new gats?”

“The big shot’s taking care of himself,” returned Spike. “He ain’t going up on the hill. We’ll meet him later. What’s more, he’s not going to get himself in no trouble until we’re with him.

“Maybe he’ll stick here after we make our get-away. He’s smart enough to stay on the ground if he wants to. Maybe he’ll scram along with us. That’s up to him. If he sticks, you mugs won’t even know who he is. If he takes it on the lam, you’ll find out who he is.

“The big shot’s our ace in the hole. Get that? He’s the cover-up man in this outfit. I know what he wants done; I got the final orders before we came here. He knows we’re here. I’ve been moving around while you mugs were in this shack. Whether I’ve talked with the big shot or whether I’m going to talk with him — well, that’s my business and his.”

With this final statement, Spike Balgo motioned his crew along. Dingbat followed with the bag full of old revolvers. Other mobsters carried the empty box. Three members of the crew remained in charge of the shack.

AFTER the last of the departers had scrambled up the embankment, a huge blot detached itself from the side of the shack. An unseen form glided off into the darkness. It did not follow Spike Balgo and his mob; instead, the shrouded shape moved away from the railroad.

Several minutes later, a whispered laugh sounded near a clump of trees. That soft yet sinister sound marked the passage of The Shadow. Later, a blackened figure loomed through the window of Harry Vincent’s room. A tiny light flickered. The Shadow was preparing a message for his agent.

The task was completed when The Shadow left an envelope upon the table near the window. The blackened form moved outward. The next token of The Shadow came from the clearing where the autogiro was located. The Shadow’s voice sounded as a sinister whisper as the master of darkness formed radio contact with Burbank, in New York.

After this communication was ended, The Shadow laughed again. There was foreboding in that hollow tone that died amid the clearing. The mockery carried a note of coming triumph. The Shadow had anticipated events; he had also deducted past occurrences. Spike Balgo’s conversation with his mob had merely proven the soundness of The Shadow’s analysis of the past and the future.

Silence. The Shadow was resting for the morrow. When Spike Balgo and his crew fared forth to the hills, they would be scheduled to find a hidden foe of whose presence they had not dreamed. Men of evil were slated to meet The Shadow.