Cyro

CHAPTER IX IN THE OFFICE

WHILE The Shadow was amazing Luke Gaudrin with the fine points of roulette play, Joe Cardona was lounging in a little anteroom where Rafferty had left him. Minutes dragged by; then an inner door opened and a big fellow in tuxedo motioned the detective to enter.

When Joe had passed the portal, the bouncer went out. Cardona stood facing a desk behind which sat a man of unusual bearing. This was Royal Medbrook, proprietor of the Club Caprice. Quiet of expression, his face held a sharpness that marked him as a man capable of action.

A poker face. With eyes that were restless, yet always returning to their mark. To Cardona, Medbrook looked like a fellow who could beat the toughest third degree. He had met others of the gambler’s type; but never one who impressed him so effectively.

Royal Medbrook studied his swarthy-faced visitor. Then, without a word, he arose from his chair, stretched across the desk and shook hands. After that, he pulled a box of cigars from a drawer and motioned for Joe to take one.

The detective accepted. Medbrook lighted a cigar of his own.

Not a word had been spoken. Puffing at his cigar, Medbrook glanced about the room. Cardona found himself instinctively following the moves. He saw a door that formed a route into the nearest card room. It was heavily constructed and bore a formidable lock. Joe also observed an opening to an inner office — a door that stood ajar. Finally, he noticed a heavily curtained window at the side of the room.

“I’ve heard of you, Cardona.”

Medbrook broke the silence with this statement. He followed with a puff at his cigar. Then he added:

“That was before Rafferty told me you were coming here tonight.”

Cardona smiled.

“Friends in the profession?” he questioned.

“Yes,” acknowledged Medbrook. “Friends. Straight-shooters. You’d know them if I mentioned their names. They liked you.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Medbrook.”

“One of them took a rap through you. But he had no hard feelings about it. Your job was to pinch him, and you did. That was the way he looked at it.”

A pause. Then Medbrook resumed.

“Detectives don’t come in here often,” he remarked. “That’s not because I don’t like them. It’s because I don’t respect their intelligence. I am speaking chiefly of those from Northern cities. I can’t deal with them, as a rule.”

“Why not?”

“Because of their prejudices. They can’t get rid of the idea that the gambling business is a racket. They take the attitude that all proprietors like myself are out to trim the suckers. Which is true in the cities where those particular detectives come from.

“Illegal gambling is a high-priced proposition for those who run it. They’re always expecting a double cross from the politicians with whom they deal. It’s a racket, all right, but the racketeers are the politicians. You can’t blame the gamblers for grabbing all they can while the game is hot.”

“There’s a lot in what you say, Medbrook.”

“I know there is. But here, it’s different. I pay for my privileges; but I pay a set price and there’s no chiseling. They don’t put the heat on me; so I don’t take it out on my customers. Is that clear?”

Cardona nodded.

“ALL right.” Medbrook leaned across the desk and wagged his cigar. “I understand you’re looking for a bigshot swindler. There’s a chance that he’s been here at the Club Caprice. That tip comes from you. On that account, I owe you a vote of thanks. You would like to grab this fellow Cyro. So would I.

“To you it would mean a pinch. Big credit for you back in New York. To me, it might mean anywhere from fifty grand up. If a con man struts his stuff around this place and gets away with it, I not only lose the customer who was trimmed; I lose all his friends and all their friends. Do you get it?”

Another nod from Cardona.

“I thought you would,” resumed Medbrook. “I’ve been on this case ever since word came to me this afternoon. I have thirty men around this place, Cardona. Any one of them would be a credit to the best detective agency in the country. Here are their reports.”

He paused to pull a sheaf of papers from a desk drawer. He thumbed the pages one by one; then tossed the batch to Cardona.

“Read them for yourself,” declared Medbrook. “They cover the past week. They list every muscler that walked into this club. They have every man labeled. I’d be tickled pink if your man Cyro was among them. But he isn’t.”

Cardona studied the listings. He was astonished at their detail. They included aliases as well as bona fide names. They referred to crooked deals that the marked men had performed. But as Medbrook had said, every rogue was of a tawdry sort.

“You’ve seen my bouncers.” There was a tinge of pride in Medbrook’s tone. “They invited every one of these small-timers out of the place. If they had slugged the whole lot — hung a haymaker on every chin — there wouldn’t have been a come-back from a single one of the rats. But I don’t like skinned knuckles. They don’t go well with evening clothes. Those huskies of mine use politeness until it hurts. But it works.”

“It don’t look like I’m tracing Cyro,” remarked Cardona, passing the papers back to Medbrook. “But I’ve learned something tonight. If I had thirty men as good as yours, I could show some results that would knock the police commissioner off his pins.”

“They cost me three grand a week,” observed Medbrook. “More than that. Pay that price for a squad of detectives and you’ll make out as well as I do. All right, Cardona. There’s the story.”

“And it means no luck.”

“You’ve sized it. But there’s still a chance. Tonight isn’t over. The boys are tipped. Maybe they’ll pick up a lead. How long are you going to be in New Orleans?”

“A long while, I think.”

“That means more nights. Just like the roulette wheel. Always a chance for a big win. But you won’t gain anything by coming out here. Where are you stopping?”

“At the Montezuma.”

“A good spot. Well, if we spot your man, you’ll hear from Rafferty. And get this, Cardona: If we spot him, you’ll get him. He’ll be waiting for you when you call. Is that satisfactory?”

Cardona nodded. Medbrook arose and extended his hand. Cardona accepted it. Medbrook picked up the box of cigars; Joe helped himself to a batch of the expensive smokes.

“I said not to come here, Cardona,” reminded the gambler. “By that I mean don’t bother with the gambling room. We’re watching it. But as for the nightclub” — Medbrook smiled — “drop in there any time you want. Ask for Louie. Tell him who you are. Give Louie the check. He’ll take care of it.

“Bring your friends; and if you don’t have any, tell Louie. He’ll introduce you. But in the meantime, you’ve still got a big bet in the city. I’ll tell you why. Even in New Orleans, the police don’t know how well organized we are. But the con men do. They’ve passed the word along their grapevine.

“If this fellow Cyro is looking for something soft in New Orleans, he may be wise enough to know that the Club Caprice is a poor spot to start at. So take a look around town. They’ll arrange that for you at headquarters.”

Medbrook arose from his desk and strolled out into the room. Cardona followed. With one hand, the gambler opened the door; with the other, he clapped the detective warmly upon the back. He closed the door after Cardona had gone. He went back to his desk.

TEN minutes passed. A rap at the door. Medbrook called to come in. A bouncer entered.

“What is it, Tony?” questioned Medbrook.

“The dick’s gone,” stated the bouncer. Then, uneasily: “But so has another guy.”

“One you were spotting?”

“No. Not exactly. A fellow we had on the list of new customers. I’d have told you sooner, boss, but the dick was in here—”

“That’s all right, Tony. What was the man’s name?”

“Tracy Lence.”

“Where from?”

“New York, I heard him say.”

“Is he in the files?”

“No. He looks like a gent, too. But I was kind of leery after Manny told me that the guy went out just about the time the dick showed up.”

“Tracy Lence.” Medbrook pronounced the name slowly. “Did he look like he was playing for some sucker?”

“No,” admitted Tony, “he didn’t. That was just it, boss. He was picking the worst bet in the place.”

“Whom do you mean?”

“Luke Gaudrin. Anybody could tell that young Gaudrin is flat. Leastwise, this fellow Lence could have. This is the third night he’s been palling with Gaudrin.

“I wouldn’t have suspected nothing, boss, if Lence hadn’t ducked out. But it looked kind of funny, right on top of that New York dick coming in. Maybe I should have stopped Lence, or gone after him—”

“No Tony,” Medbrook shook his head slowly, “you did right. I’ll tell you what to do. Where is Luke Gaudrin right now?”

“Playing Dave’s wheel.”

“He still has chips?”

“Plenty. He’s following a guy that’s got a system.”

“They all have a system. But none of them last. Listen, Tony. Stop by and speak to Luke Gaudrin. Tell him I want to see him.”

“Maybe he won’t want to break away from the wheel—”

“Catch him at the right moment. Just when he’s made a win. Tip Dave to spin the wheel before he can make another play.”

“All right.”

Tony grinned and departed. Royal Medbrook extracted a fresh cigar from the box on the desk. Poker-faced, he sat staring toward the door, waiting for the arrival of Luke Gaudrin.