Lingo

CHAPTER II. THE SECOND TRAIL

THERE were half a dozen men in the group which Hawkeye surveyed. Racketeers and mobleaders, The Shadow’s agent knew the identity of every man present. Certain ones, however, impressed Hawkeye as being more important; yet all represented discontented elements in Rook Hollister’s wavering underworld empire.

“Blitz” Schumbert was present. Staring through the slitted loopholes, Hawkeye viewed the rogue side-face and recognized Blitz’s pug-nosed, sharp-jawed profile. Hawkeye had expected to find Blitz at this meeting. Blitz’s budding laundry racket had been the latest to suffer by Rook Hollister’s inability to back it up.

Opposite Blitz was a chunky square-faced rowdy whose face was expressionless but whose eyes were shifting constantly. Hawkeye knew this fellow as a toughened mobleader who commanded a picked corps of gorillas. His name was “Ping” Gradley; he and his mob had long been recognized as strongarm workers for Rook Hollister.

Directly facing Hawkeye was Louie Caparani, a wise-faced, dark-complexioned individual who was reputed to be linked with big-time gamblers. The other three members of the group were crooks whom Hawkeye regarded as of lesser importance.

Evidently the group expected arrivals. No business was under discussion; the six were joking while they waited. This was pleasing to Hawkeye because of a very definite reason; one that had considerable bearing on his mission.

Hawkeye had been tipped to this meeting through a telephone call from Burbank, The Shadow’s contact agent, who forwarded all instructions to active workers. Briefly, Burbank had informed Hawkeye that The Shadow had learned of a rendezvous in the house of a Chinese named Koy Dow, which could be reached through the Chinese shop known as the “Silver Dragon.” The Shadow, acquainted with many of the secrets of the strange Chinese district, also knew that a secret passage existed in back of the meeting room. This was the route which Hawkeye had been instructed to follow; it was a varied course that had brought the little spotter to his present lookout.

Obviously, The Shadow had some business afoot that prevented him from taking this post which Hawkeye now occupied. The Shadow had delegated the duty to his agent, confident that the secret observation post would not be in use. It was Hawkeye’s job to watch what went on at the meeting, and the agent had also been delegated to a further task.

He was to keep a special eye upon a mobleader named “Trip” Burley, whom, Burbank had assured, would be at the meeting. Trip Burley was the only crook whom Burbank had named.

The contact man had instructed Hawkeye to be ready to sneak from his lookout post whenever Trip left the meeting room. It would then be Hawkeye’s job to pick up Trip’s trail when the mobleader appeared outside the entrance to the Silver Dragon.

Evidently Trip Burley was playing some double part; a fact which The Shadow must have suspected. For Trip Burley, as an underworld character, could not be regarded as either important or formidable.

The fact that Trip was not in the meeting room was simply proof to Hawkeye that others might be expected. Looking across the room, Hawkeye noted what appeared to be a doorway between two hanging banners. As he watched, Hawkeye saw a panel move up; the man who stepped into view was Trip Burley.

THERE was something about Trip Burley that made him look suspicious. As hard-faced as the others, he had an air of affability that seemed at variance with the toughness. Trip’s eyes were beady; his puffy lips carried a leering grin. The newcomer waved a greeting to the group about the table and seated himself upon a vacant taboret.

Hawkeye noticed that the paneled door remained up. Half a minute later, two more men entered. Both were attired in American clothes, but one was a Chinese. Hawkeye decided that the bland-faced Oriental must be Koy Dow.

The other was an individual whose presence puzzled Hawkeye; for although he was recognized in the underworld, he was not reputed to be a lieutenant of Rook Hollister’s. Koy Dow’s companion was named “Lingo” Queed. He was a tall, lanky fellow who walked in loose-limbed fashion.

Lingo Queed’s face was recognizable by two predominant features. One was a flattened nose that spread over the whole center of his physiognomy. Apparently it had always been overlarge; and its present appearance looked like the result of a powerful punch that Lingo had once failed to stop.

Lingo’s chin was his other characteristic. He carried it with an outward thrust that looked like an invitation for future battlers to use it for a target instead of his crippled nose.

Standing within the doorway, Lingo looked around the group as though inquiring if all were present. He received a nod from Blitz Schumbert. Turning, Lingo babbled words of Chinese to Koy Dow. The Celestial went out through the door and closed the panel behind him.

The incident explained the situation to Hawkeye. Lingo Queed’s nickname, like so many underworld monikers, was a deserved one. He was called “Lingo” because of his ability to handle various languages.

It was easy to see that Rook Hollister’s lieutenants had wanted complete secrecy in their meeting.

Chinatown had been a good bet. Lingo, familiar with the Chinese tongue, and therefore friendly with Celestials such as Koy Dow, had fixed the meeting place for them.

This had obviously worked excellently for The Shadow. He was as familiar with Chinatown as was Lingo Queed. Hawkeye figured that The Shadow must have learned of this meeting during one of his visits to Chinatown. That explained the tip that had come through Burbank.

Lingo Queed, as fixer, rated with Rook’s lieutenants. He sat down with the others. It was Blitz Schumbert who started the proceedings. His opening comments came in a snarling basso that Hawkeye heard clearly.

“You birds know why we’re here,” commenced Blitz. “We’ve all been working straight with Rook Hollister. But we’ve been waiting for him to deliver, and he hasn’t. My racket is queered because he muffed the deal. That hits the rest of you, because we’re all supposed to be working together.” Blitz paused, his statement almost unfinished, in order that he might see the effect of his opening remarks.

He was waiting for comments, and one came. From Louie Caparani.

“The way I look at it, Blitz,” purred Louie. “You’ve got a good reason to want the skids greased for Rook—”

“I’m not saying that,” interrupted Blitz quickly. “I’m not the guy to beef just because one bet goes sour. But I’m tellin’ you this: Rook muffed a couple of good bets before this one; and he told me that when the racket was ripe he’d guarantee the pineapple mob would do their stuff. Well, they didn’t, and my racket is shot. I’m just tellin’ what happened, that’s all.”

“I know all that, Blitz” — Louie Caparani’s purr was even more convincing than before — “and I’m sticking to what I just said. You’ve got a good reason to want the skids greased; and since you’ve got it, we’ve got it too.”

“Then you’re for greasing them?”

“More than that, Blitz.”

“A rubout, Louie?”

“You’ve guessed it.”

TENSE silence followed. This meeting had come to its point more quickly than even Blitz Schumbert, its instigator, had expected. Blitz himself was staring steadily at the group. Louie Caparani was extracting a cigarette from his pocket, a half smile on his thin dark lips.

Hawkeye studied the others. Ping Gradley’s eyes were no longer on the move. They were fixed toward Louie. Lingo Queed appeared almost disinterested, as though the matter did not concern him.

Trip Burley, however, had shown a marked change of expression. His smirking grin was gone. His beady eyes were blinking as he leaned forward, fists half clenched upon the table. There was something in his attitude that renewed Hawkeye’s suspicion that Trip was here with a conniving purpose.

“All right, Louie,” affirmed Blitz suddenly, “you’ve put the proposition. Looks like we’re all with you. We’ll listen some more. The finger’s on Rook. How soon will we press it?”

“In a little while,” returned Louie. “After the next time we come here. We’ll have a chance to talk it over then.”

“What’s the good of stalling,” queried Queed, in a harsh growl. “We’ve put the finger on Rook. The job is to rub him out.”

“Unless we lift the finger,” remarked Louie, still holding his half smile. “We might want to do that, Blitz.”

“On account of what?”

“On account of my racket, Blitz. It’s ripe. Rook Hollister is getting his chance to help it along tonight. If I let it ride until after we put Rook on the spot, I may lose out on a good bet.”

“I get you, Louie. You’re for giving Rook another break?”

“Yes; but get me straight. It’s not on Rook’s account. It’s on my own. Listen, Blitz” — Louie leaned forward upon the table and wagged a wise finger — “I’ve got the night club bimbos sewed up the way I want them. Ready for a swell payoff—”

“You mean, if Rook comes through and makes them know you mean business?”

“That’s right. Wait a minute, Blitz.” Louie held up a hand as Blitz started to speak. “I know what you’re going to say. Rook didn’t swing it for you. But that’s no reason he isn’t going to swing it for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know the guy he’s sending out on tonight’s job!”

“Yeah? Who?”

Louie made a nudge with his thumb. Blitz’s eyes followed the direction. Louie was indicating Ping Gradley, whose eyes were still steady. Blitz met Ping’s gaze; Ping nodded.

“Louie’s right, Blitz,” assured Ping. “I’m working for Rook tonight. And it’s no hooey this time. Rook’s picked the spot that counts. You know Karl Durmsted? Fellow that runs the Casino Rouge?” Blitz nodded.

“Well, I’m slated to talk business with Durmsted tonight.” Ping laughed roughly. “And if Durmsted don’t listen to me, he won’t be listening to nobody about nothing else!”

“Rook’s told you to bump him?”

“You bet he has! What’s more, he’s picked the best way to do it. No fireworks around the night club. Durmsted goes out by his own private exit, with nobody knowing he’s left. After that, he takes a ride.”

“And listen to this, Blitz,” added Louie Caparani. “I’m telling you that if Durmsted gets his one-way trip, I’ll have every other night club owner begging for the proposition that I’ve offered them. We’ll mop up the softest big dough that we’ve counted on yet!”

Grunts of agreement came from listeners. This crowd knew something about Caparani’s racket. The man’s persuasive argument had done the rest. Cold-bloodedly, Louie had first recommended death for Rook Hollister. Still as cold as before, he was advocating a respite. His whole attitude was one of business.

“Sounds good, Louie,” decided Blitz. Eyes were fixed on him as he spoke. “I’m for holding off, the way you’ve put it. We’ve got to have a guy at the head of the works. Rook’s as good as anybody. I’ve got nothing against him, so long as he delivers.

“What’s more, we can count on Ping here.” Blitz turned to Gradley. “If things gum up tonight, Ping, we won’t be blaming you. We’ll take it out on Rook. All right, that’s settled.” Blitz arose. The others followed suit. The meeting had ended in short order. The plotters had completed their plans. Hawkeye saw Lingo stroll over and tap at the paneled door. A signal to bring Koy Dow.

While the group was waiting, Blitz beckoned to Lingo.

“I’ll tip you off, Lingo,” informed Blitz, “when we’re ready to pull in here again. Then you can come down and fix it with the chink. This is a swell spot. We’ll keep it.” Lingo nodded.

Louie Caparani entered the conversation. Hawkeye heard him speak to Lingo. Louie wanted to know if Lingo spoke Greek, adding that he thought certain restaurant proprietors would listen to offers of “protection,” if persuaded in their native tongue.

Lingo nodded again; this time a broad grin appeared between his flattened nose and his projecting chin.

Lingo could talk Greek; he could speak Italian also, as he proceeded to demonstrate, by using that language in a voluble reply to Louie.

But Hawkeye had no desire to linger, listening to a new conversation in a language that he did not understand. The panel had risen; Koy Dow was standing beyond it, beckoning to the exit. Only Blitz, Louie and Lingo were remaining. The others were on their way out; with them was Trip Burley.

HAWKEYE had not forgotten his second mission. Quickly, The Shadow’s agent slid back from his lookout post. He moved down the spiral stairway, used the passage to the next building and reached the door at the head of the stairs. It opened at his touch; the tricky knob was not latched on the inside.

Hawkeye gained the street. Huddled in the shelter of his doorway, he watched figures coming from the Silver Dragon. He recognized Ping Gradley leaving the shop. The mobleader was heading forth to prepare for tonight’s job at the Casino Rouge.

Then came two others; following them was Trip Burley. They separated as soon as they reached the street. As luck had it, Trip took a course that led him into the darkened area in front of Hawkeye’s doorway.

Hawkeye gave Trip a thirty-yard start. Then the little trailer ventured forth. With sharp eyes peering through the drizzle, Hawkeye took up the trail. Five minutes later, he was following Trip up the steps of an elevated station.

He saw Trip leave the train at Forty-second Street. Hawkeye stepped off and resumed his trail. Trip was continuing afoot, threading his way through West Side streets and avenues, on a course that would have baffled an ordinary trailer.

At times, the drizzle hampered Hawkeye; again, it aided him when he used its blurred covering to close in and check up on his quarry. In fact, it was that very process that helped Hawkeye at the final point of the trail.

Hawkeye was close to Trip when they reached an isolated street. Closing in, Hawkeye saw a fringe of lamplight. He stopped short, watching. He saw Trip shift his pace to the right. Then the man was gone.

Hurrying up, Hawkeye found himself by a doorway that led into a garage. He entered, knowing that Trip must have taken that direction.

Along in back of a row of stored cars, Hawkeye spied Trip turning into an inner doorway. Moving up, Hawkeye expected to find a stairway. Instead, he stepped into a dimly lighted space that looked like nothing more than an airshaft.

Listening, Hawkeye caught a slight sound from the wall ahead. Advancing toward the sound, he stopped at a tin-sheathed barrier that looked like a fireproof lining of the compartment. But Hawkeye knew the cause of the sound that he could barely hear.

That rough wall was actually the doorway to a small elevator shaft. Trip had entered the elevator and was ascending to some destination above.

The slight rumble ceased. Hawkeye knew that it would be dangerous to follow further. He had at least learned the vicinity of Trip’s goal.

SNEAKING from the compartment, Hawkeye noticed a closer exit at the rear of the garage. He went through it and came into an alleyway that led him into the next street.

This was a quiet, secluded thoroughfare; but among older buildings were some modern ones. The nearest was an apartment house. Upon the drizzle-soaked awning that served as a marquee, Hawkeye read the name:

The Hotel Thurmont backed against the old garage in which Hawkeye had last seen Trip Burley. It was quite possible that the elevator which Trip had taken could have carried him to some spot in that hotel.

Furthermore, there was every reason to suppose that such was actually the case. For Hawkeye — like many others concerned in underworld affairs — knew that the Hotel Thurmont was the apartment house where Rook Hollister lived.

Hawkeye’s second trail had told him why The Shadow had wanted him to follow Trip Burley. Of those lieutenants who had met in Chinatown tonight, one had been a traitor to the plotters themselves. That one was Trip Burley.

Hawkeye was positive that Trip had gone back to Rook; that already the tool was telling the big shot that his lieutenants had slated him for death. Hawkeye had learned more than facts concerning coming crime.

He had gained the proof that confirmed The Shadow’s suspicions of an understanding between Trip Burley and Rook Hollister.

And while Hawkeye was checking, The Shadow would be looking for more higher types of evidence.