Gypsy Vengeance

CHAPTER V. THE GYPSY TRAIL

IT was early the next evening. Darkness had settled in the obscure side street along which The Shadow had trailed the gypsy. A young man, peering from the window of an empty house, was watching the old building across the street. Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow, was on duty.

There were lights in the opposite house. Dimly discernible, they indicated that inner hallways were illuminated, beyond the darkness of the front rooms.

A limousine, rolling eastward, came to a stop in front of the house. Harry observed two women, recognized by their white fur wraps, as they stepped from the car.

These visitors ascended the front steps of the house. The door opened to admit them; then closed. The limousine waited. Moving away from his observation post, Harry gained the rear door of the empty building where he was located. He was on his way to report to Burbank.

The Shadow’s agent had been vigilant. It was Harry’s duty to report concerning all who left or entered that house across the street. Hence, haste seemed necessary in putting through a call to Burbank. Harry wanted to get back to his deserted post.

Yet there was no need for Harry’s speed. His eyes were not the only ones that had observed the arrival of the limousine. Shrouded in darkness, close by Harry’s empty house, another watcher was keeping vigil.

The Shadow! Unknown to his agent, the master had come to make observations of his own. Last night, The Shadow had waged active battle against hordes of gangdom; tonight, he was playing a passive, waiting game.

Long minutes passed. The limousine remained. The Shadow, listening, heard a slight sound from the house which he had chosen as a shelter. He knew that Harry Vincent had returned.

MORE minutes. A slouching figure suddenly appeared from the side of the dimly lighted house. The Shadow saw the moving man as he followed a stealthy course along the sidewalk. Harry Vincent observed him also; and noted the direction that the man was taking. The chauffeur in the limousine did not see the prowler who had made his exit from the house.

Peering from his window, Harry watched the sneaking fellow increase his pace toward the corner. But Harry, watching the opposite side of the street, saw nothing of The Shadow.

Keeping pace with the man who had come from the house, the black-garbed watcher had taken up a stealthy trail. He knew the pace of the man whom he was following. It was the gypsy. Twenty-four hours before, The Shadow had followed him here from the morgue. Harry Vincent had been on watch since then. This was the first time that the gypsy had come forth.

The lighted avenue was gained. The brilliance of the thoroughfare revealed the gypsy’s face. The man was heading toward the subway. No longer did a phantom shape continue on his trail. Instead, a tall, well-dressed man suddenly appeared upon the avenue. Carrying a briefcase, he, too, was making for the subway.

This stranger entered the same car as the gypsy. Seated quietly in a corner, he observed the dark-skinned face. Tonight, the gypsy was attired in better fitting clothes. His ear-rings had been discarded. He might have passed as a member of some Southern race.

Though he glanced about him, the gypsy did not see the hawklike eyes that centered upon him. The Shadow, guised as a quiet-faced New Yorker, was both keen and careful in his observations. When the local stopped in a transfer station, The Shadow, like the gypsy, stepped out upon the platform to wait for an express. When the swifter train rolled into the station, The Shadow took the car behind the one which his quarry entered.

The express reached a downtown station. The gypsy, alighting, glanced about him. He noted the form of the tall man with the briefcase. While he bought a newspaper, the gypsy watched to see if this man — like the other passengers — was leaving the station. The tall form went through a turnstile. The gypsy, folding the newspaper under his arm, followed.

He was the last to reach the street. Peering from the kiosk, the gypsy looked carefully to see if the tall man — or any other passenger — might be lingering. Suspicion ended, the gypsy came forth and walked along the dim cross street. He glanced back occasionally; he saw no one on his trail. The gypsy’s teeth showed in a gleaming smile.

The tall man was no longer in view. Evidently, he had taken the avenue.

So the gypsy thought; but he was wrong. Following, close by the fronts of darkened buildings, the phantom shape of The Shadow was again upon his trail. The black cloak and slouch hat had been resumed now that the subway trip was ended.

Walking westward, the gypsy reached Hudson Street. He paused while trucks lumbered past. He heard the bass-throated blast of a steamship whistle. He strode rapidly across the wide street as soon as traffic had broken. There, he gained the entrance to a pier.

A South American steamship had docked. A small vessel, chiefly used for freight, its arrival had caused but little commotion at the pier. The gypsy, lingering near the exit, stood unnoticed by the handful of passengers who were coming from the boat.

But there was one who watched the unsuspecting gypsy. The blazing eyes of The Shadow were peering from a darkened spot not more than a dozen feet away. By the dull light of the pier, The Shadow could detect the eager gleam upon the gypsy’s face.

Baggage trucks had lumbered from the pier, after the passengers had gone. Still, the gypsy waited. A belated passenger appeared. A tall man, well-dressed, his face was well-formed. Crafty eyes — a pointed mustache above oddly smiling lips — these were the features that The Shadow glimpsed.

The arrival was talking to the baggage man. He stopped the little truck and looked about, as he placed a cork-tipped cigarette to his lips. He glimpsed the gypsy. His smile increased as he took the cigarette from his mouth.

“Ah! Here you are!” The passenger had a slightly English accent. “I am glad that you have not disappointed me, Valdo. Have you made arrangements for the luggage?”

“Yes, Mr. Casper,” returned the gypsy, with a bow. “I have rooms at the Hotel Gardley, on Twenty-third Street—”

“Express the trunks there,” ordered Casper, turning, to the baggage man. “They are labeled” — he paused to examine a tag — “yes, you have the name right. Rodney Casper.”

Turning toward the gypsy, Casper gave a new order in his haughty tone. He indicated two suitcases that were on the truck with the trunks.

“A taxicab, Valdo,” declared Casper. “Bring those grips with you.”

The gypsy obeyed in servile fashion. Three minutes later, he and Rodney Casper were aboard a taxi, driving to the Hotel Gardley.

All was darkness back upon the pier. The exit was closed. The baggage truck had moved along. The spot where The Shadow had been standing was vacant. Silently, the master of the night had made his own departure.

FIVE minutes after Rodney Casper had taken a taxi with the gypsy, Valdo, the clerk of the old Hotel Gardley answered the telephone.

“Mr. Casper?” he inquired. “No — he is not registered here… Rooms reserved for him… Oh, I see. You are the express man… He did not give you the numbers of his rooms… I see… I see… Yes, I can give you the numbers: Mr. Casper has reserved a corner suite. Rooms 642 and 644… No, that will not be necessary. Our porters will take the trunks up to the rooms…”

The clerk hung up. He shook his head wearily, as he spoke to the telephone operator.

“A dumb call,” he declared. “Luggage for a new guest — Rodney Casper. He told the baggage man to ship his trunks up here. Rodney Casper, Hotel Gardley — that’s sufficient, isn’t it?”

“It should be,” laughed the girl.

“But not for that dumb baggage man,” rejoined the clerk. “He wanted the room numbers, so I gave them to him. He’s satisfied — but when the trunks show up, we’ll take them to the rooms. Oh, well — guess some people are just too dumb.”

Fuming, the clerk turned around to sort mail into the pigeon holes behind the desk. The operator was busy at the switchboard. A lounging bell hop was dozing on a bench.

A tall man, carrying a briefcase, strolled into the lobby. Keen eyes noticed the three attendants. With stride that was soundless upon the frayed carpeting, this arrival crossed the lobby and took the little-used steps that were located past the desk.

Two minutes later, two other men arrived. They made more noise as they entered. The clerk turned around; he pressed a bell; the sleepy bell hop jumped to his feet and rushed forward to take the suitcases which Valdo was carrying for Rodney Casper.

The arrival registered himself and servant. The clerk handed the bell boy the keys to Rooms 642 and 644. The bell boy led Casper and Valdo toward the elevator.

MEANWHILE, the silent visitor who had preceded Casper was completing his ascent. His tall form stopped outside the door of Room 642. From the briefcase came folds of a blackened garment. A cloak slipped over the arrival’s head.

Again, The Shadow. It was he who had called, to learn the numbers of Casper’s rooms — a detail which the man from the boat had not given the baggage man at the dock. Even should the clerk mention the call to Casper, the latter would not suspect an interloper.

A blackened pick probed the lock of the door. The barrier opened. The Shadow entered a dark room.

The door closed; the lock clicked. Tiny rays of a flashlight showed Room 642 to be the living room of a small suite.

Curtained French windows lay beyond. The Shadow glided to them. His gloved fingers loosened a catch.

His hands opened the barriers. With a soft laugh, The Shadow stepped out upon a darkened balcony.

He closed the windows with a slight jar. The catch dropped back in place.

His pliable briefcase beneath his cloak, the door of the room locked; the catch closed on the French windows — not a sign remained of The Shadow’s strange entry and exit.

The Shadow had trailed the gypsy Valdo. Through him, he had uncovered Rodney Casper. Soon the pair would be within the living room. There, The Shadow would observe them.

Last night, The Shadow had dropped Valdo, in order to deal with Marty Lunk. Tonight, he had again picked up Valdo’s trail. Apparently, two cases had concerned The Shadow.

Yet two were one. Between Lunk and Valdo lay an important link, through which The Shadow had traced both gangleader and gypsy. Though Valdo was not a member of Marty’s mob, the dark-skinned man knew much about the defeated crook’s affairs.

Wisely, The Shadow divined that Valdo would talk to Rodney Casper. Marty Lunk would be discussed.

Before this evening ended, The Shadow would know new facts concerning crime.

The body at the morgue — the occupants of the house where Valdo lived — the mission of Rodney Casper in New York — these were important matters that The Shadow had come to learn!