Lingo

CHAPTER XVII. THE SECOND VICTIM

OVER at the Hotel Framton, Harry Vincent was pacing about his room. Like Clyde Burke, this agent was annoyed by his inability to get results. Long periods of listening at the dictograph had brought nothing. At present, Buzz Dongarth was not in his room; and since it was after six o’clock, Harry decided to take time out for dinner.

As he stepped into the corridor, Harry heard the distant whine of a vacuum cleaner around the corner; at the same moment he chanced to glance in the direction of Buzz Dongarth’s door. He saw that the barrier was ajar.

Some servant had started to clean the room; then had gone somewhere else. Harry saw a brief opportunity. He had wondered if Buzz had made any new arrangements in the room since that first time Harry had entered to install the dictograph.

Pushing open the door, Harry entered. The room looked just the same. Through the window on the north side, Harry caught an intermittent glow. It was the light of the sign in front of the Hotel Moselle, blinking through the dusk.

Harry went to the window. He saw more lights. The open space above the Roof Cafe was agleam with strings of electrically illuminated Chinese lanterns. Harry paused to study the colorful scene.

He noted only a few persons on the roof; and he was about to turn away when he observed a tall man in evening clothes walking toward a table by the nearer parapet. This was Prexy Storlick; Bart Koplin had delegated the proprietor to invite Clyde Burke up to the penthouse.

By this plan Bart could lurk behind and come up afterward, giving Clyde no chance to retreat. It was a clever scheme that the private dick had thought out while on his way down from Rook Hollister’s hideout.

Harry Vincent, looking from Buzz Dongarth’s window, viewed the parapet of the Roof Cafe at close range. It was only twenty feet below, and scarcely more distant than the width of the narrow cross street.

Looking curiously at Prexy, Harry saw the man at the table which the proprietor was approaching.

By the light of the lanterns Harry recognized Clyde. The two agents had frequently worked together.

Harry knew that Clyde was going off duty today. He wondered what the reporter was doing at the Hotel Moselle.

As Clyde arose and walked away with Prexy, Harry turned quickly and moved from Buzz Dongarth’s room. He was just in time, for the servant was turning the corner of the corridor, bringing the vacuum cleaner. Harry fumbled at the knob of his own door; the cleaning man came up and asked a question:

“Going out, sir?”

Harry nodded.

“I’ll clean your room, then,” said the man, producing a key.

HARRY walked toward the elevators. He had intended to go back in his room and make a call to Burbank but the arrival of the cleaning man had prevented it. Harry was not anxious to make a call from the lobby, for the telephone booths were poorly situated and thin-walled.

He decided, when he reached the lobby, to go over to the Hotel Moselle. When he reached the lobby of the adjoining hostelry he found only four booths, all of which were occupied. It was that fact that made Harry decide to go up to the Root Cafe. He saw a chance of meeting Clyde Burke there.

All the while, Harry suspected nothing. It was not until he had reached the Roof Cafe that a sudden thought struck him. As he seated himself at a table near the one that Clyde had occupied, Harry glanced toward the bulky wall of the Hotel Framton. Trying to locate the exact position of Buzz Dongarth’s room, he realized more than before the closeness of the two hotels.

Ideas were dawning upon Harry Vincent. The Shadow’s agent was beginning to piece facts that had never occurred to him before; so deeply was Harry engrossed that he did not realize that eyes were watching him.

Prexy had played his part. Returning to the Roof Cafe, the wise proprietor had taken a look about the open garden. He had spotted Harry instantly — a stranger who was taking more than passing notice of the high-storied Hotel Framton.

Prexy waited, cautious as a cat spying an unsuspecting prey. He saw Harry turn about and glance around the roof. Harry was looking for Clyde. His action gave Prexy an opportunity. The cafe proprietor sauntered forward to Harry’s table.

“Good evening, sir,” remarked Prexy, in a tone of friendly greeting. “Are you expecting someone?”

“I thought a friend of mine might be up here.” Harry spoke casually, not knowing that Prexy had observed his previous action. “A friend who comes here occasionally. But I don’t see him around.”

“Not one of the newspaper men?”

Prexy’s question was artful. It gave Harry the impression that the Roof Cafe must be a rendezvous for journalists. An explanation of Clyde Burke’s recent presence. Harry fell for the bait.

“Yes,” he acknowledged, “this chap is with one of the newspapers. The Classic, I believe. His name is Burke.”

Prexy chuckled. He leaned close to the table.

“It’s just a private party,” he whispered. “Friends of mine, you know — newspaper men whom I invited to my own apartment. If you know Burke, it’s all right. You can come and join them.” The invitation was smoothly worded. Harry saw no reason to decline it. Prexy’s manner, his attitude, were indications that all was well. Harry gained the sudden impression that Clyde must have learned something from a fellow reporter.

That would explain why Clyde had come to the Hotel Moselle so shortly before sailing. To see someone, perhaps, who could give him a tip regarding Rook Hollister. Under the circumstances, Clyde might be anxious to pass the word along.

HARRY’S quick thoughts brought him to prompt acceptance of Prexy’s suggestion. Rising from his table, Harry accompanied the proprietor into the corridor. Prexy led the way into the little passage and unlocked the door at the side.

With a gesture, he invited Harry to ascend the stairs first. Still unsuspecting, Harry started up. He heard the door close; he looked back to see Prexy following.

“Two flights up,” stated Prexy, smoothly. “The party is in the penthouse. That is where my apartment is located.”

They passed the landing. As they neared the top floor, Harry caught the buzz of voices from beyond a door that stood a trifle ajar. For the first time, he gained suspicion. He stopped short; then experienced a jolt.

Prexy was closer behind than Harry had realized. As Harry paused on the threshold, the cafe proprietor snapped a hand from his pocket. With a low snarl, Prexy jabbed the muzzle of a small revolver squarely into the middle of Harry’s back.

“Keep moving!” growled Prexy.

Harry delivered a sharp grunt. He became rigid; then stepped forward in mechanical fashion. He was tightening for a sudden swing, ready to deliver a surprise attack that might catch his captor off guard.

Despite Prexy’s gun, Harry had a hunch that he could get out of the jam. He was ready to try it, with only Prexy to conquer. But Harry’s grunt had been beard beyond the door. Just as The Shadow’s agent galvanized for action, the door swung open.

Bart Koplin appeared, gun in hand. The private dick caught a word from Prexy. Harry subsided. He could not fight two men when both had weapons. He allowed himself to be shoved into the living room.

Straight in front of Harry was Clyde Burke, slumped in a chair, hands bound behind him. Facing Clyde was a man in a dressing gown, who swung about as Harry stared. A gasp of new recognition came from Harry’s lips as he realized that this was Rook Hollister, in the flesh.

“What’s up, Prexy?” snapped Rook. “Who’s this guy?”

“A pal of Burke’s,” informed the cafe proprietor. “I saw him rubbering down on the roof. Invited him up.”

“Shove him in that chair.”

Prexy forced Harry to the seat that Rook indicated. Bart produced a length of stout cord and jolted Harry forward while he bound the young man’s wrists. The private dick frisked Harry for a gun but found none. Stationed away from the danger zones, Harry had been carrying no weapon.

“A pal of yours, eh?” Harry heard Rook rasping at Clyde. “Well, it’s lucky we nabbed him. I was just beginning to fall for that stall of yours.

“Acted like you were surprised to see me, didn’t you, Burke? Like you never suspected that Manthell and I were doubles. Say — I was just beginning to believe that you weren’t anything more than a goofy reporter. But now I know different. Who is this guy we just nabbed?”

“Never saw him before,” returned Clyde, stolidly.

Rook turned to Prexy. The cafe proprietor delivered an evil leer.

“He was asking for Burke,” informed Prexy. “Mentioned him by name, Rook.”

“That so?” Rook glowered at Harry.

“Well, sap, if Burke won’t tell who you are, maybe you will. What’s your name, mug?”

“David Loman,” returned Harry. “David E. Loman. The E” — he smiled wanly — “is for Egbert. I’m a life insurance agent. That’s how I met Burke.”

“I remember this fellow,” put in Clyde, catching the cue. “I’d forgotten you, Loman. You were the chap who sold a policy to the managing editor down at the Classic. He introduced you to me.”

“That’s right,” acknowledged Harry. “I saw you coming in this hotel, Burke. Thought maybe you’d be on the roof; and I came up to look for you. Wanted to sell you that policy we were talking about.”

“See what he’s got on him,” growled Rook.

BART searched Harry. He dug an assortment of articles from the young man’s pocket. Cigarettes, a lighter that failed to work when Bart snapped it; money in a wallet, a watch, but no papers of identification.

Harry was wise enough not to carry cards with him. He had a great variety of them back in his room at the Framton. Cards with different names; for often, in The Shadow’s service, Harry was called upon to assume a fake identity.

At present, Harry was not even provided with his automobile licenses. He was not using his car in New York; he had put away his regular wallet, with its proper assortment of identifying cards. A good precaution, that was serving him well in this crisis.

The only object of consequence that Bart discovered was a small, leather-covered insurance manual issued by a mid-western company. Tucked in it were folded applications for life insurance. Harry frequently carried this as a subterfuge. It gave him an excuse for introducing himself in various places.

Harry had come only partly prepared for emergency. Had he known he was taking a risky step, he would have brought faked identifications. As it was, he had made the best of a bad start. He had chosen the name Loman at random. But his mention of insurance had been based on the manual in his pocket.

“Looks like a phony to me, Rook,” snorted Bart.

“It is a phony,” interjected Prexy. “I haven’t told you the whole works yet. Do you know how I spotted this bird? I’ll tell you — he was looking over at the Hotel Framton, like he was trying to pick out Buzz Dongarth’s room.”

“He was, eh?” snarled Rook. “Well, that fixes him! We’ve got you labeled, Loman. And you, too, Burke. You’re coming clean, both of you. What do you know about The Shadow?”

Harry shot a worried look at Clyde.

They were both in a pinch; silence would only drive them deeper. Harry had something to cover; namely, his actual identity, for he was registered under his right name at the Hotel Framton. The best out was to talk, especially while he and Clyde were together. Then they could make their individual stories correspond if quizzed separately, later.

“This mess is my fault,” asserted Harry, in a sober tone, looking squarely at Rook. “I was a fool to get into it; and I did worse to drag Burke along.”

“So you’re admitting it, eh?” chuckled Bart.

“Hold it, Bart,” snapped Rook. “Let the gink talk. We’ll hear him out.”

“If you’ll only let us out of this,” pleaded Harry, “I’m willing to tell you all about it. Everything that happened to me—”

“Spill something,” interrupted Rook. “Maybe you’ll get a break if you quit stalling.”

“ALL right,” agreed Harry, “here’s how it happened. I was broke. Trying to sell life insurance but the company wouldn’t even give me a license or a drawing account until I’d brought in some prospects.

“I was cold canvassing. So I met a lot of people I didn’t know. A couple of weeks ago, I received a mysterious telephone call at the insurance office. Some speaker with a very odd voice, a whisper, offered me money if I would aid in a search for a man who was supposedly dead.”

“For me?” quizzed Rook.

“For Rook Hollister,” acknowledged Harry. “And you answer his description.”

“Go on,” chuckled Rook.

“The money came in a letter,” resumed Harry. “After I had accepted the proposition, I wanted to make good. Whenever the calls came in again, I was promised a thousand dollars if I located you, Hollister.

“But I doubted my own ability. I knew Burke here; he was on a vacation. So I offered to split with him if he helped out. We were working together. Burke called me a while ago and told me he had a hot lead — that he’d be over here at the Roof Cafe. So I came over.”

“Is that right, Burke?” snapped Rook, turning suddenly toward the reporter.

Clyde nodded. His gesture showed dejection.

“Where’d you get this lead of yours?” demanded Rook. “The one you called Loman about? This business about Donald Manthell?”

“I saw a two-reel movie this afternoon,” admitted Clyde. “A short entitled ‘Papa Pays.’ It’s running over at the Calabria Theater. There was a fellow in the reel that looked like you, Hollister.

“I’d run into Koplin when I was reporting a fake contest handled by a promoter named Waylock. I knew Koplin worked for Enterprise Exhibitors. So I went up there and found out how to reach Koplin. Then I called Loman” — Clyde nodded his head toward Harry — “and told him to meet me on the roof.”

“What else?” demanded Rook.

“Nothing,” replied Clyde wearily.

“And you?” Rook swung and snapped the question at Harry.

“I’ve told all I know,” returned Harry. “If I could give any more details, I would.” Rook eyed Harry steadily. After a brief inspection of the agent’s face, the big shot turned to Bart and nudged his thumb toward the door of an inner room.

“Shove them in there,” he ordered. “Tie them up right. We’re holding them.” Bart complied. He marched the captives into the other room. He called back for rope; Rook told him he had enough already; that he could take belts from the prisoners and bind their feet with them.

WHILE Bart was engaged in this work, Rook strode over and closed the door to the inner room. He came back to talk to Prexy.

“What about this fellow Loman?” asked the big shot. “You say he was looking over at the hotel next door?”

Prexy nodded.

“Picking out Buzz Dongarth’s room?”

Prexy rubbed his chin.

“I wouldn’t say yes,” he declared, “and I wouldn’t say no. There’s a lot of customers who look over that direction. I wouldn’t have been suspicious of this guy except that he began to look around afterward. Then I took a Brodie on him knowing Burke.”

“Hm-m-m. That makes it different. This guy’s admitted he’s working for The Shadow.” Rook began to pace. “But the question is, how deep he’s in. The Shadow is smart. He’s not going to tell any of his stooges too much about himself.”

Rook paced in silence while Prexy watched him. The door of the inner room opened and Bart emerged.

The private dick closed the door behind him.

“Look here, Bart,” stated Rook. “I want you to hop over to the Calabria and see if that two-reeler is running there, with Manthell in it. You told me Manthell had worked in shorts some time ago.”

“He told me that himself,” acknowledged Bart. “Sure, Rook, I’ll go over and find out. And tomorrow I can go to the insurance office where this Loman guy claims to work.”

“Yeah?” Rook’s question was scoffing. “That’s just what you won’t do. That would be handing The Shadow a lead — making an inquiry for Loman. Here’s the way it stands. Loman has told us enough; and Burke has chimed in with it. We can believe them, if we find out that two-reeler is showing at the Calabria.

“If the picture is there, he knows that we’ve heard the straight goods. If it isn’t, then’s the time to put the heat on these mugs. But I’ll bet you’ll see the short at that theater.

“I’ll tell you why. If either Loman or Burke knew a lot about The Shadow, they’d have said nothing. It’s because they don’t know a lot about him that they talked at all.” Rook paused. Bart grunted.

“They know more than they’ve said,” decided the private dick. “I saw Burke with Cardona one day; saw him again down at headquarters. He’s just the sort of bird that would be working for The Shadow direct. Getting tipoffs, passing them to Cardona.”

“Right enough,” admitted Rook, with a surly laugh. “A newshawk on The Shadow’s pay roll. That would account for a lot. Burke was mum for a starter; it was this other sap who turned yellow and squawked.

“It’s likely Burke brought up Loman instead of Loman bringing in Burke. So much the better — if that short picture is at the Calabria. If the picture is on the screen, we know how both Burke and Loman got here. We don’t care how much else they know.

“Because The Shadow is too foxy to have these dumb-bells fixed with a lead directly back to him. We’ll keep them guessing and we’ll keep The Shadow guessing. Let him try to get them by looking for them.” With this conclusion, Rook waved both Bart and Prexy to the outer door. They departed, the private dick starting for the theater, the proprietor returning to the roof.

Prisoners in the little room, Harry and Clyde heard the muffled closing of the outer door. Grimly, the trussed agents were whispering future plans. In undertoned agreement, they decided between them they could cover vital facts concerning The Shadow, no matter how heated Rook Hollister’s next quiz might prove.