Crime Circus

CHAPTER VIII AT THE HOTEL

A TOWN clock was chiming midnight when The Shadow’s coupe rolled to a stop on a side street in the town of Burnsville. Few people were abroad. All the night owls of this nine-o’clock town had gone to the circus and had returned directly to their homes following the closing of the midway.

The only buildings that still showed lights were a small lunch room and a decrepit hotel which bore a battered sign proclaiming it as the “Depot House.” Railroad tracks, half a block away, showed the reason for the hotel’s name.

Shrouded in the darkness of a side street, The Shadow moved alongside the old hotel Looking upward, he spied a pair of lighted windows on the third floor. A long arm swished upward and caught the swinging bottom of a fire escape. The Shadow began a silent ascent.

Reaching the third floor, the invisible prowler entered by a fire exit and moved softly along a dim corridor. He passed two doors; then stopped at a third. Cautiously, he applied a keylike instrument to the lock. The door opened with a slight click.

A tiny flashlight beamed. It showed that the room was empty. The Shadow edged toward a door in the corner. Again, his key did its work. The door opened by inches. The Shadow spied the blocking back of a huge wardrobe that was set caticornered in a lighted room.

People were talking as The Shadow slipped into the hiding place that so neatly suited his convenience. He closed the door under cover of the wardrobe. He moved to the edge of the big object and found a wide space between the wardrobe and the wall. From this vantage point, he commanded a good view of the room.

There were four occupants. Two were Dunham and Slade, the secret-service operatives. The others were The Solvas. The mind readers were sitting sullenly in chairs while they faced their inquisitors. Slade was growling.

“So that’s all you’ve got to say, eh?” he demanded. “Well — we’ll see. You’ll have a chance to tell your story again. We’ve got a friend coming. He’d like to hear it, too.”

Brief minutes passed. Then came a cautious knock at the door. Dunham opened it to admit a stocky, heavy-set visitor. This was the man whom the operatives had expected. His stern features; his square jaw and cold, steely eyes marked him as a personage of keenness and ability.

THE SHADOW knew the identity of the arrival. This man was Vic Marquette, one of the most capable operatives in the secret service. His path had crossed The Shadow’s in the past. The Shadow had expected Vic to appear tonight. He knew that operatives such as Dunham and Slade would be waiting for a chief.

“Hello, Vic,” greeted Slade. “Here’s a pair we pinched up at the circus. Grabbed them in a tent, along with a drawerful of queer. Want to hear their story?”

“Yes,” responded Vic, in a steady tone. “Let’s have it.”

He eyed The Solvas as they spoke. The woman began to squawk a denial. Her husband growled for her to be silent. He faced Marquette and spoke in a sullen tone.

“You got us with the goods, all right,” admitted the man who styled himself Professor Solva. “But we don’t know where the stuff come from. We got horsed into the racket, that’s all. It came out of a clear sky and it looked too soft to pass up.”

“Go ahead.”

“We was working in the Ten-in-One show. Had a platform there, along with a box-load of books. The Madame, here, went to get some books one night and found a note, along with a one-dollar bill. She showed me the note and the one spot. I tore up the note.”

“What did it say?”

“It told me the dollar bill was phony. It said that for every ten bucks of real mazuma I could get fifty of the queer. Told me to put the good money in the book box and leave it there after the show. Said that I’d find the other stuff in its place.”

“So you tried it, eh?”

“Sure. We loaded up with the counterfeit stuff. Took the phony ones and kept them in our tent. Every night, my wife would go around the grounds and hand out one-spots for bigger bills. We was building up big when these guys grabbed us.”

“What’s your name?”

“Harry Gruck. I call myself Professor Solva. This is my wife, Mamie. She’s Madame Solva.”

“Listen to me, Solva. I want to know who gave you the queer money. It will be easier for you if you tell me the whole story.”

“Wisht I could.” Solva spoke in earnest. “I ain’t got no love for the guy that horsed me into this mess. But I don’t know who he is. Honest, I don’t. We fell for the gag — my wife and I — but we played it straight because it looked good.”

“All right.” Vic Marquette was standing with hands in pockets. “Take them away, Slade. I want to talk with you and Dunham.”

Handcuffs clicked as the lesser operatives applied them to the wrists of the prisoners. Vic Marquette alone remained in The Shadow’s view as Slade and Dunham led The Solvas into an adjoining room. Then came the thud of a closing door. Slade and Dunham returned.

“A FINE pair, you two,” spoke Vic Marquette to the other operatives. “One more big mistake to your credit. I thought I told you to lay off making a grab until you heard from me.”

“What could we do, Vic?” protested Slade. “You didn’t show up here last night like we expected. We went out to the lot just to look around. We happened to see the dame shoving the queer and—”

“So you grabbed her and the man,” interposed Vic. “Why didn’t you leave them alone? They would have kept until tomorrow. Listen, boys. The first pinch was all right. You took in a concessionaire four weeks ago. You had the goods on him. He told a story that sounded on the level.”

“The same one as these people,” growled Slade.

“Yes,” responded Vic. “So you went back two weeks later and picked a fellow out of the cook tent. He gave you the same line, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that was when I told you your mistake had been proven. But you were still itching to make another grab. You’ve done it. This time you’ve landed two more small fry.”

“They were shoving the queer, Vic.”

“Of course they were, you simpleton. But they aren’t in the know. They’re like the others that you grabbed — nothing but blinds. All the while I’m trying to spot the real people in the game you’re making it harder for me.”

Vic paused to pace back and forth across the room. He waved his fellow agents to the chairs that The Solvas had vacated. Then, in a cold, steady tone, he began to lay down his orders.

“There’s a ring behind it, men,” voiced Vic. “They are operating with the Larch Circus. They have flooded every town with plenty of the queer. It goes out through ticket windows. It shows up in salaries. It passes over concession counters. It filters in through purchases of supplies.

“There are dozens in the racket and they know we’re after them. So to cover up, they pick dupes. Like the concessionaire you grabbed. Like the fellow at the cook tent. Like these people — The Solvas.

“The crooks figure out just what operatives like you would do. They knew that you would come to the circus lot and look for somebody who was passing the queer. You did; you grabbed the ignorant dupes.

“Suppose you had pinched fellows at the ticket windows? Suppose you had questioned others like the concessionaires? They would all have given you the same story. They would have said that people like The Solvas had come to them to give change for large bills.

“Don’t you see the game? Take that fellow at the ticket window tonight. You saw him get the queer from The Solvas. You figured that he was all right. Maybe he is. On the contrary, maybe he belongs to the organization.

“If he does, he’s getting plenty of the queer and passing it out from his booth. But if you grabbed him — right or wrong — he’d give you the one story. He would protest his innocence and back up his statement by pointing out that you saw The Solvas work their game on him.”

Silence followed Vic’s denunciation. Slade shifted uneasily and grumbled. Dunham echoed his companion’s utterance. It was Slade who spoke.

“I KNOW you’re right, Vic,” he admitted. “Come to think about it, there’s so much queer around these towns we’ve been to that we can’t lay it all on the suckers that we grabbed. But what are we going to do? Pull in the whole circus?”

“No!” Vic was emphatic. “We’re going to the heart of the thing. Let me tell you something. This gang is organized. It’s loaded with thugs. They’re ready for business. It’s like a mob, with a leader passing word around the crew.

“But in back of it” — Vic paused to wag a knowing forefinger — “is a hidden big shot. He sees that the queer starts its rounds. He collects the real cash that the mob turns in. It’s all done between the mobleader, who is one of the circle, and the big shot, who keeps aloof.”

“I get you, Vic,” acknowledged Slade. “Who do you think is the big shot?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Marquette. “What I’m trying to find is the mobleader. It’s like an endless chain, that ring of crooks. If I can really spot the one man who sends orders around the circle, I can concentrate on him. By watching the mobleader alone, I’ll find the big shot when the two make contact.”

“Great stuff, Vic.”

“It was great, Slade, before you two fellows made this bull tonight. I don’t know what will happen now.”

“Why not? The game will go on, won’t it? It kept on after we grabbed the first fellow — and the second—”

“I’m afraid this grab is one too many. The ring quit shoving the queer after you took in the fellow from the cook tent. That is, they quit for a few days. I think they’ll quit again this trip. If they do, I’ll have to wait a while.”

“What’ll we do, then?”

“Sit tight. Follow the show wherever it travels. Don’t make a move until you hear from me. If the ring keeps on working, I’ll know it before you do.”

The other operatives nodded sheepishly from their chairs. Vic Marquette paced toward the door and stood with his hand on the knob.

“Hold The Solvas,” he ordered. “Make them write a letter to Captain Guffy, who runs the sideshow. See that the letter is posted from New York.

“Have The Solvas tell Guffy that they jumped because they had a better offer. Tell them to send money along so that their luggage can be shipped to New York. Use an address where Guffy can send the baggage checks. General delivery in some small town between here and New York would be the best bet.”

“All right, Vic,” responded Slade. “We’ll do it right. Nobody on the circus lot will know that The Solvas were grabbed.”

“They may not know it,” retorted Vic, “but they will suspect it. Just the same, it’s the best that we can do to make up for your mistake. Remember: sit tight until you hear from me.”

With that, Vic Marquette opened the door and stalked from the room. The closing barrier was the final mark of his departure.

But Vic was not the only one who chose a convenient portal through which to leave the room where Slade and Dunham remained.

Silently, The Shadow had opened the door behind him. Like a gliding specter, he passed through the unoccupied room and made his way to the fire escape. He descended by the fire tower and formed a blackened shape beside the parked coupe.

A laugh came from that same car as The Shadow rode in the direction of the circus grounds. The master sleuth was returning to resume his role of Zoda, the new mind reader. Like Vic Marquette, The Shadow was planning to uncover the big shot behind the game of crime.