The Five Chameleons

Chapter III — Ferret Talks Business

Beneath the light of a street lamp, Ferret stopped and reached into his inside pocket. He drew forth a crumpled envelope. From this he extracted a much-creased letter.

The note, as Ferret opened it, revealed a crude scrawl, with a roughly traced diagram in the center of the page. Ferret's avid eyes swept through the writing as though they were merely refreshing themselves with knowledge that was already deeply embedded in the man's memory.

The letter was the work of a man who could spell but crudely. Ferret, a quick, keen reader, touched important statements with his finger tip, and smiled cruelly as he read them.

The final word formed the signature. Ferret digested every statement in the letter. He paid particular attention to the diagram, which bore such marks as "big room," "back door," "raddiater," and "desk." Then Ferret tore the letter into tiny fragments. He strolled on through the dark, and tossed the pieces to the breeze. They fluttered away in all directions.

Sneaking craftily, Ferret reached the front door of an old apartment building. The inner lobby was dimly lighted. He entered and turned toward a flight of stairs at the left, ascending to the third floor. At the end of the hall were two doors — one at the corner on the left; the other on the right, but a dozen feet from the corner.

There was a light beaming through the glass transom of the doorway on the left. Ferret grinned. He stared suspiciously at the door on the right. The transom above it was black. That was sufficient. Ferret looked back along the gloomy hall. Seeing no one, he advanced to a radiator at the extreme end of the hall. He stooped and fished beneath the radiator. A key glimmered in his hand. Ferret was looking intently at the key. He did not observe the white face pressed against the transom at the right. Someone was watching him, but Ferret did not know it.

Silently, the stoop-shouldered man unlocked the door at the left and entered.

He was very cautious now — more stealthy than he had been in the hall, where his footfalls left a slight sound. He was peering into a lighted room, from a small entry. In the far corner he observed a stout, bald-headed man seated at a desk.

Ferret's lips curled in hatred as he noiselessly closed the door behind him. From his hip pocket he drew a short, stub-nosed revolver.

He crept forward like a preying cat until he was no more than six feet away from the bald-headed man. Then a sneering chuckle came from Ferret.

The stout man whirled quickly in his swivel chair. His red, bloated face became a livid purple. His body trembled. His bulging, startled eyes caught the upward nudge of Ferret's revolver. Instinctively, he raised his arms.

Ferret, cold-eyed, harsh-faced, and unmasked, stared directly at his quarry. The venomous hate in his eyes did not seem to impress Daniel Antrim.

The lawyer stared back at Ferret, wonderingly. Evidently he did not recognize the man who was threatening him.

"What do you want?" he demanded suddenly.

"I want to talk to you," growled Ferret, with a leer.

"Who are you?" questioned Antrim.

The reply was an outburst of cackling laughter.

"Who am I?" quizzed Ferret. "Did you ever hear of a man named Joel Hawkins?" Antrim shook his head slowly.

"Well, that's who I am. Joel Hawkins!" Ferret's laugh was frigid. "And you're Dan Antrim, the lawyer. The double-crosser!"

A startled look came over Antrim. For a moment he trembled. Then he became steadier, and assumed the air of a man who is ready to play out a desperate bluff.

"You're wrong," he said, "all wrong. You're mixed up. Let's take this easy now. Put down that gun—"

"And let you pull another double cross? Nix!"

"I never double-crossed anybody in—"

"You never did different!" growled Ferret.

He gave a forward thrust with his arm, and shoved the gun almost against Antrim's ribs.

"Slide back that chair!" Ferret ordered. "I'll show you the goods. That's what I'll do!"

Covering Antrim, who was pushing himself away from the desk with his feet, Ferret yanked at the bottom drawer of the desk. It jerked open, and Ferret pulled out a stack of papers. He did this mechanically, watching Antrim as he worked.

With quick, short glances toward the contents of the drawer, Ferret found the envelope he sought. It was marked with the name of Bricker.

With one dexterous hand, Ferret shook some folded papers from the envelope. He gave a swift look at them; then gazed suddenly at Daniel Antrim.

The expression on the lawyer's face told everything. Ferret had not had time to notice what was on the papers; but Antrim's unrestrained fear showed that he knew his bluff had failed.

Ferret chuckled.

"I don't have to look any more," he declared. "I know you're a double-crosser. You've pulled it on a lot of people. There's one thing I'm not going to tell you just yet — that is, how I found out. Wait until you hear."

His voice trailed into another laugh. He lifted the receiver from the hook of the telephone on the desk. With his gun elbow on the top of the mouthpiece, Ferret dialed a number with his left hand. Antrim, wild-eyed, was watching, trying to learn the number that Ferret was calling.

"Who— who—" he began, in a stutter.

"I'm calling a fellow who has a lot to learn," declared Ferret. "He'll find it out — now!" His eyes were gleaming with a menace that made Antrim remain unprotesting. A query came over the wire. Ferret spoke.

"That you, Solly?… Good… Listen, I'm giving you a straight lay… Dan Antrim is double-crossing you… Yes, the lawyer. You thought he was O K.? Well, he isn't…

"All right. You know where he lives? Come up, then… Walk right in. The door will be open for you… Yes, you'll find him here, and the dope you want will be lying on his desk…

You'll be just in time to see him get what's due him. I'm going to plug him, but he won't be dead.

I'll leave the second shot for you. Don't forget to grab the stuff you find…"

Ferret was listening shrewdly. He heard an excited oath across the wire. He hung up the telephone.

"Solly is convinced," he said to Antrim, with a grin. "He's coming here. When he gets here it's curtains for you, Dan Antrim."

"I'll make it worthwhile!" gasped the lawyer. "Lay off this! Let me go. I'll pay you—"

"Pay me?"

Ferret's cold tone was intense with hate. He shoved his body close to the lawyer's form and snarled a terse message into Daniel Antrim's ear. A look of complete stupefaction spread over the lawyer's face. Ferret stepped back, leering.

"You get it now?"

"You— you—" gasped Antrim.

"Yes," grinned Ferret. "You didn't figure I would be around, did you? Well, you'll never know how I got here!"

He stepped across the room and waited, covering Antrim from the farther door.

"All I'm going to do is plug you once," he said, still grinning. "Then I'll leave you for Solly. You and the papers on the desk."

"That back door of yours is going to make a nice way out for me, Antrim. I unlatched the front when I came in. Solly won't have any trouble. None at all. None at all!" The two men were motionless now. Antrim, slumped, was breathing heavily. Ferret, leering, wore a fixed expression on his crafty face. It was a strange scene — especially when viewed from the transom of the apartment door.

For there a man was peering, with one foot poised on the radiator, his opposite hand clinging to the side of the doorway. This man, looking from the hallway, had silently witnessed each move in Ferret's trapping of Daniel Antrim.

The peering man, serious-faced and broad-shouldered, dropped from his perch with the lightness of a cat, and stood an instant in the hallway. He turned and crossed to the half-opened door on the other side. He hastened into a dark apartment, and closed the door. A few moments later he was at a telephone. A quiet voice answered him. It spoke only a single word. That word was a name:

"Burbank."

"Vincent calling," declared the man at the telephone in a low, tense tone. "Man in Antrim's apartment. Covering him with gun. Has telephoned. Evidently expecting someone else."

"Stand by. Call in three minutes."

Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow, stood by in the darkness. He had been stationed here to watch developments at Daniel Antrim's. The man to whom he had just spoken was Burbank. Harry knew, while he waited, that Burbank was communicating his message to The Shadow. He called the number again. Once more came the quiet voice of Burbank. This time, it carried an order.

"Prevent action by Antrim's enemy. Hold him there."

That was all. Quickly, Harry hung up the telephone and slipped from his darkened apartment. He approached Antrim's door, and carefully turned the knob. The door yielded. Harry had not waited to take another look through the transom. He held an automatic firmly in his right hand, pointing it through the narrow opening of the door. He saw the positions of the two men virtually unchanged.

Ferret, gloating, had his eyes on Antrim. The lawyer was staring at the man who covered him. It was a tense moment for Harry Vincent; but he had experienced more difficult ones in the service of The Shadow. His course was plain, and he followed it.

Stepping into the entryway, he let the door swing easily behind him. It stopped before it was fully closed. Without waiting for the noise to be noticed, Harry spoke in a brusque, determined tone:

"Drop that gun!" he ordered. "One move and you're dead!"

Ferret knew the words were meant for him. He knew too much to let them pass unheeded. His hand did not move as his eyes turned to note the automatic in Harry Vincent's hand. Ferret's fingers unclosed mechanically. His own revolver clattered on the floor.

"Turn this way!" commanded Harry. "Hands up! Back against the wall!" Ferret's gloating turned to a hunted, furtive glance. Sullenly, he did as he was told. He stared straight into the barrel of Harry's automatic.

Daniel Antrim, recovering his wits, arose slowly and approached his desk. Harry did not stop him. Antrim, fumbling in a drawer, was hunting for his gun.

Harry's firm, unyielding method did not allow Ferret a single inch of leeway. But as Harry watched, he noticed something that suddenly brought uncertainty. Ferret's furtive eyes were changing. The lids half closed, and the pupils gleamed through the narrowed slits.

It was startling that this should happen when Harry held him helpless, and Antrim was also rising as an enemy. It came as an instant warning to the man at the door.

In a twinkling, Harry saw that Antrim was producing a revolver. Ferret could be his quarry, now. Harry knew that danger had arrived.

He swung instantly toward the door behind him. As he did, a huge hand caught his wrist and wrenched it downward. An arm, already swinging, brought the barrel of a revolver flashing toward his head. Harry's instinctive dodge diverted the terrific blow. Its intent was to crack his skull. Instead, it clipped the side of his neck.

That was sufficient. Harry's automatic fell from his nerveless fingers. He slumped, unconscious, to the floor of the entry.

Solly Bricker had arrived.