Lingo

CHAPTER XVI. AN AGENT BLUNDERS

“UXTRY! Uxtry! Big gambler gets the bump!”

Clyde Burke paused to buy an evening newspaper. He had heard much the same words on another occasion, not many days ago. The reporter wanted to learn new details concerning a battle that had taken place last night, at midnight.

Louie Caparani’s photo graced the front page. He was the big gambler about whom the newsboy had been shouting. For Louie had gone too far in his checkered career. From gambler he had become racketeer; last night he had become mobleader.

Louie’s attack on the fashionable Cue Club had been his first and last endeavor in his new role. Barging into the pleasure palace of the high society, Louie and his picked gorillas had encumbered no less than fifty plain-clothes men.

Joe Cardona had received a tip-off. He had fixed matters at the Cue Club. His own officers were the habitues of the Cue Club last night. Passing as players trying their luck, they had awaited Louie’s surge.

Shock troops of mobland had been slain, wounded and captured. Among the dead was Louie Caparani.

Holding back, Louie had caved in at the sound of the unexpected fray. He had stopped three police bullets.

Clyde Burke had not gone to see Joe Cardona this morning. Clyde was on vacation; another Classic reporter was handling his usual assignments. Clyde was sure however, that Joe had received a tip-off; he was also positive that the ace detective would not reveal its source.

For Clyde knew the game that The Shadow was playing. The law was having its innings against crime while the cloaked avenger sought to uncover the lair of a big shot more dangerous than Lingo Queed appeared to be.

To Clyde, the hunt for Rook Hollister had been worrisome. The reporter had done his utmost to get some line on the departed head of the underworld. The Shadow was sure that Rook still lived. Yet Clyde had found nothing to prove that fact.

In his campaign, The Shadow had acquainted his agents with definite facts. Like the others, Clyde knew that someone had died in Rook’s place. Of all the agents, Clyde was best equipped to learn the identity of the man who had taken the bump for the big shot.

At the newspaper morgue, Clyde had gone through files of photographs to which he had access in his capacity of reporter; he had not discovered a single face that looked like Rook Hollister’s.

This form of investigation, coupled with his regular routine of visiting places frequented by mobsters, had convinced Clyde that the task was almost insurmountable. Rook Hollister must have had a double; but who was the man? Rook was still alive; but where was he?

What chafed Clyde most was the fact that his vacation had expired today.

The Classic had ordered him to take a steamship to Havana and the boat sailed tonight.

Ordinarily, Clyde would have relished the trip to the Cuban capital. Revolution was brewing there and Clyde had been picked as a good correspondent to report developments.

But Clyde still wanted to keep on searching for Rook. He had hoped that The Shadow would allow him to chuck his job with the Classic; but The Shadow had ruled otherwise. Clyde’s newspaper connection was too valuable a contact to be dropped.

THIS morning, Clyde had visited the office of the investment broker named Rutledge Mann. There he had received a coded message from The Shadow which had ordered him to comply with the wishes of the Classic. Clyde had told Mann that his boat sailed tonight. Neither Mann nor Burbank would expect any further reports from Clyde Burke.

So far as the Classic was concerned Clyde was merely to inform the office by cable when he reached Havana. So, for the present, the reporter was actually on double vacation that would continue until his sea voyage was ended.

Being a constant worker, Clyde felt hopelessly lost in present circumstances. As he strolled up Broadway, he tossed the newspaper into a rubbish receiver and looked about him glumly. Throngs of meaningless people — lights that showed dully against the brilliance of day — teaming, useless traffic. Such were Clyde’s impressions as he viewed the heart of the metropolis.

Strolling idly, Clyde chanced to reach the front of a theater. A placard announced that all seats were priced at twenty-five cents. This was not a first-run house; but the feature that it was playing was a picture that Clyde had not seen. Having nothing better to do, the reporter planked his money on the counter of the ticket window. Receiving a coupon, he entered the theater.

A newsreel was coming to its blatant finish as Clyde took his seat. The next item was a comedy. The cast of characters was flashed upon the screen. Clyde Burke, accustomed to remember names whenever he read them, digested those of the five players in the short picture. The two-reeler began.

It was obviously an old picture. Clyde classed it as a second-rate comedy that the management had thrown in at little cost to fill out a bargain bill. Two or three of the cast were comedy stars whom Clyde recognized. As other faces came into the picture, the reporter coupled them automatically with the names that he had read at the beginning.

An automobile appeared in one scene. The chauffeur alighted with his face turned away. Remembering the fifth name in the cast of characters, Clyde Burke knew that the chauffeur must be a movie actor named Donald Manthell. Probably some extra, thought Clyde, who had thought himself big-time because his name had actually been listed in a comedy cast.

As the screen chauffeur turned about, Clyde sat bolt upright in his seat. There upon the screen was a man who looked like Rook Hollister’s twin. Clyde had seen many photos of the big shot; he had been looking everywhere for Rook. Here before him was the film portrayal of the very features that he had so ardently sought to view.

The chauffeur bobbed out of the picture. Clyde kept watching for his return, forgetting all other details of the film. The chauffeur reappeared; again Clyde was astounded by his resemblance to Rook Hollister.

Shortly afterward the comedy ended. The cast of characters flashed into view as a finale. Once more Clyde saw the name of Donald Manthell.

MECHANICALLY, The Shadow’s agent arose and walked from the theater. Clyde was pondering over the strange circumstance that he had viewed. He felt an uncanny conviction that he had observed the picture of the man who had died in place of Rook Hollister. He was trying to conjecture how Donald Manthell had come to New York.

A thought struck Clyde. His last experience with anything that pertained to motion pictures had been that trip to Waylock’s office with Joe Cardona. Clyde remembered that there had been hundreds of photographs in Waylock’s files.

It was possible that the attraction of a movie contest could have appealed to an extra like Donald Manthell, particularly if the fellow had had poor luck with his comedy career in Hollywood. His chain of thought continuing, Clyde recollected the name of Enterprise Exhibitors.

That office, as Clyde recalled it, had hired a private investigator to look into Waylock’s flim-flam.

Enterprise might have the information that Clyde wanted. The exchange was a well-known one, located in a Broadway office building only half a square from where Clyde stood.

A big advertising clock was chiming six; yet there was a possibility that there might be someone in the office. Clyde went to the building and found the Enterprise suite on the sixth floor. An office boy was there and Clyde told him he was from the Classic. The boy admitted him to the office of an assistant manager.

Clyde stated his business laconically. The Classic, he said, was interested in the names of those who had been duped by Waylock’s fake contest. Clyde wanted a list; the assistant manager had none.

“What about that investigator you had on the job?” queried Clyde. “Fellow I saw down at detective headquarters. I thought he was getting all those files for you.”

“You mean Bart Koplin?”

“Yes, that sounds like his name.”

“He didn’t do much on that case. We had him as a private detective on some other work, and, as I recall it the boss had Koplin busy on the Waylock business, too, but not very long. Maybe Koplin’s got those files, though.”

“Where can I get in touch with him?”

As a reply to Clyde’s question, the movie man consulted an address hook. He picked up the telephone and dialed a number. Clyde heard his end of the conversation.

“Hello…” The assistant manager seemed annoyed by a bad connection. “Yes, I’m calling the Hotel Moselle. I want Room 810… Hello, hello… That you, Mr. Koplin?… This is Enterprise… No, we haven’t got another job for you; I want to ask you about an old one. That Waylock business.

“About the files, names of the contestants… Got them have you?… Some of them? Good! There’s a reporter here from the Classic who wants to look at them… All right. I’ll ask him…” The speaker turned to Clyde and said:

“Koplin only has a few names that were in the list. He wants to know if you’re looking for anybody special. He has the complete data on some of the cases.”

“Ask him about a man named Donald Manthell,” suggested Clyde.

The Enterprise man put the query over the telephone. He received a reply from the other end, then delivered a few affirmative grunts and hung up.

“Koplin says that it you get over there right away you can see him,” informed the assistant manager. “He says he remembers a name something like Manthell; but he hasn’t time to look it up right now. He’s busy with a client. He’ll meet you on the Roof Cafe in twenty minutes. Said to ask for Prexy Storlick, the manager there.”

UNDER ordinary circumstances Clyde, after departing from Enterprise Exhibitors, would have called Burbank.

This afternoon there were definite reasons why he did not do so. Clyde was off duty; he had no suspicion of Bart Koplin; twenty minutes was scarcely ample to reach the Hotel Moselle; and finally, Clyde was due aboard his ship at eight o’clock, so be had no time to waste. He decided that he would do best by getting all the information possible before making his report.

When he reached the Roof Cafe of the Hotel Moselle, Clyde asked for Prexy Storlick. He stated that he had business with Bart Koplin. Prexy ushered him to the table beside the potted cedar. A few minutes later Bart Koplin arrived. The private dick looked surprised when he recognized Clyde. The reporter grinned as he shook hands.

Clyde Burke came directly to his point. He stated that the Classic wanted a special story on the adventures of Hollywood movie actors; that statistics showed that many of them were dupes for schemes that they thought would gain them stardom.

Specifically, Clyde added, he had heard of a former movie actor, named Donald Manthell, who had entered Fergus Waylock’s contest. With this name as a starter, Clyde wanted to check up on any others.

Bart Koplin nodded wisely. He questioned Clyde regarding the proposed story and the reporter mentioned casually that he was doing it as a free-lance job of his own in hopes that the Classic would accept it.

Bart seemed anxious to help him. The private dick told Clyde to wait until he came back.

Leaving the table, Bart went inside and picked the little corridor that had the doorway to the staircase.

Hastening to Rook Hollister’s hideout, Bart found the big shot and told him about Clyde. Rook became instantly alert.

“You say this mug’s with the Classic?” questioned the big shot. “Say — that sheet goes in for red-hot stuff! Not a reporter on it that wouldn’t know my phiz if he ramped it. And this guy wants to know about Donald Manthell. All right, we’ll let him find out. Bring him up here.”

“Right away?” demanded Bart.

“Sure thing,” ordered Rook. “Hand him any stall to get him up here.”

“That’ll be easy,” assured Bart, as he turned to leave.

DOWN in the Roof Cafe, Clyde Burke was lighting a cigarette while he impatiently awaited the return of Bart Koplin. Seated at the table where the private dick had left him, Clyde was hoping that he would gain a follow-up to his clue on Donald Manthell.

Clyde was destined to attain more than that. He was already at the end of a quest. Within the next five minutes he was due to meet the man whom he had been seeking for The Shadow.

But the circumstances under which Clyde Burke would meet Rook Hollister could well bring disaster to The Shadow’s plans. For Rook Hollister, in turn, had been seeking agents of The Shadow; and one of them had blundered into the big shot’s toils.

And The Shadow was elsewhere, seeking his own crime clues.