Lingo

CHAPTER VI. THE MISSED TRAIL

FERGUS WAYLOCK’S office was distant from the police commissioner’s headquarters. It was located on the second floor of a narrow dilapidated building that stood on a side street close to Broadway. The frosted-glass panel in the office door bore the legend:

The office beyond the door was plainly furnished. It contained a desk, a few chairs and a filing cabinet.

The floor was uncarpeted, and it was evident that the office served chiefly as a headquarters for a mail order enterprise.

At the very time when Joe Cardona and Clyde Burke were starting on their journey, two men were beginning a conference in Waylock’s office. One was Fergus Waylock himself, a wizened man of middle age whose face though crafty appeared troubled. The other occupant of the office was Bart Koplin the private dick.

“He hasn’t shown up yet, Bart,” Waylock was saying in a troubled tone. “There was a dozen of them came in yesterday and about eight more this morning; but Manthell wasn’t one of the bunch.”

“You say he’s coming in from Ohio?” queried Bart.

Waylock nodded.

“Then I’ll wait around a while,” decided Bart. “The sooner I see Manthell the better. I can slip him a good stall about representing Enterprise Exhibitors. I had a theft case that I handled for them recently and I know everybody over there.”

“I’ve got these fellows registering when they come in,” declared Waylock, “but I’ve been remembering what you told me about keeping Manthell’s name off the list. The whole thing has got me worried though, Bart.”

“Why should it?” queried the dick. “You’re to pick a winner for this contest aren’t you? That reminds me” — he reached into his pocket — “here’s the five grand that you’ve got to have. It’ll cover the money for the prizes and the transportation for the hicks when you ship them to Hollywood.”

“That don’t help me, Bart,” returned Waylock, as he took the cash. “It looks like I may be in for it, if some of these exhibitors go through with their threat. They don’t like this mail-order contest that I’ve been running. I’ve stalled off too long picking the male movie stars from those thousands of photographs that they sent in. The worst of it is that if the exhibitors get tough they can land me coming or going.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, I’ve promised prize money and railroad tickets to the winners. If I don’t pay it to them, I’ll be pinched for fraud. Of course, I’ve known that all along but I knew you’ll come through with the mazuma, so I thought I had the laugh on the exhibitors.

“But now I’ve heard that they’ve got another gag up their sleeve. If I do pay out the cash they can grab me for running a lottery. That’s why I’ve been steering these hick contestants out to hotels. I want to keep them waiting until I decide what to do.”

“The five grand is yours, Waylock,” assured Bart. “I don’t care what you do with it. If you want to take it on the lam that’s up to you. All I want is to get hold of this fellow Donald Manthell, once he lands in New York.”

“He’s on his way,” declared Waylock. “I sent him a telegram along with the rest. He ought to be here—”

The telephone bell began to ring. The phone itself was on the floor beside the desk. Waylock grabbed the instrument and placed the receiver to his ear. He held a short, hasty conversation. Finished, he stared at Bart Koplin.

“THAT’S the word I have been worrying about,” declared Waylock in a tense tone. “A pal of mine — fellow at an exhibitor’s office — was on the wire. He just wised me up! Some of the exhibitors have made a complaint to the police commissioner. He’s promised to give them prompt action. Maybe there’s a cop on his way up here now, Bart.”

Waylock rose, half trembling as he spoke. It was plain that the promoter was anxious to get out, now that he had received his money. Bart Koplin eyed him suspiciously. Waylock noted the private dick’s look and mouthed a protest.

“I’m not double-crossing you, Bart,” he assured. “Honest, I’m on the level! I ought to take it on the lam — if I don’t, it may queer the works for you. Suppose they pinched me before Manthell showed up. It would queer the works for you, Bart.”

“I guess you’re right,” admitted the dick. “Where’re Manthell’s photographs and the data on him?”

“In the filing cabinet.”

“Get it for me.”

Waylock went to the filing cabinet. He produced a large envelope and brought it to Bart. The detective began to examine the contents. With the contestant’s records were some theatrical photographs. Bart had seen them before but he examined them again. They were pictures of a man named Donald Manthell, but they could have passed as actual photographs of Rook Hollister.

The big shot and the movie contestant were doubles. By working with Fergus Waylock, Bart Koplin had, in the past few months, gained a chance to examine the photographs of several thousand men, all of whom thought themselves suitable candidates for parts in films.

Among these, Bart had found a half dozen who might have passed for Rook Hollister; but he had rejected all except the one who most closely resembled the big shot; namely, Donald Manthell. This man was to play an important part in Bart’s scheme.

“I’ll keep this junk, Waylock,” decided Bart. Rising, he thrust the envelope beneath his coat. “You’d better beat it. Leave the rest to me. I’ll take care of Manthell when he arrives.”

“That’s great, Bart!” ejaculated Waylock, warmly. He went to a small closet and produced his hat and coat. “Here’s the key to the office, if you want to stay here.”

“I’m coming downstairs with you,” informed Bart. “I’ll wait there after you’ve left.”

THE two men left the office and closed the door behind them. They went down a flight of stairs and reached the street. There, Waylock scurried away toward Broadway. Bart decided to remain at the entrance to the office building. He was not worried about contestants who might come up and find the office empty. Manthell alone was to be his quarry.

A few minutes passed. Chancing suddenly to look down the street, Bart saw an approaching man whom he recognized. This was Joe Cardona, accompanied by Clyde Burke. Bart did not know the reporter.

The private dick shifted back into the doorway of the little office building; then he realized that Cardona was coming to the same spot.

Bart acted promptly. He turned about and hurried up the stairs before Cardona arrived. Stopping at the top, he could hear Cardona entering below. Bart moved along to the door of Waylock’s office. He began to hammer against the barrier.

Footsteps in the hallway. Bart turned about. Cardona and Burke had arrived. Bart pretended surprise as he noted the headquarters detective. Then he delivered a gruff laugh.

“Guess you’re on the same job I am, Joe,” volunteered Bart. “Coming to look up this faker Waylock, aren’t you?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” returned Cardona briskly. “The police commissioner sent me up here. What brought you in on the case?”

“I’ve been working for Enterprise Exhibitors” — Bart, thinking quickly, bluffed with the name of the concern that he had aided in a different matter — “and they asked me to get a slant on Waylock. They said they thought some of the other exhibitors were making a complaint to the police; but they wanted a checkup of their own.”

“How long have you been here?” questioned Cardona.

“Just arrived,” replied Bart. “Looks like the place is locked.”

Cardona tried the knob. He found the door locked. He turned to Koplin and said: “I’m going in. Want to take a look around?”

“I don’t want to butt in on your job, Joe,” declared Bart. “Enterprise told me not to bother if the law was actually on the case. If they want any further information I’ll drop down to see you at headquarters.” With that statement, Bart turned and walked along the corridor, leaving Cardona with the task of entering the closed office. Clyde Burke remained with Joe.

Bart Koplin’s bluff had worked. Nevertheless, the private dick was none too serene as he descended the stairway to the street. Bart was glad that Cardona had decided to break into the closed office; but he could only hope that Joe would take a long time looking through Waylock’s files.

For Bart, when he reached the street, took up the post that he had deserted at the time of Joe’s arrival.

He wanted to intercept Manthell when the out-of-towner arrived; but he knew that he would have to be ready to duck if Cardona came downstairs again.

Bart Koplin showed his nervousness as he waited. Chewing at the end of a fat cigar, the heavy-jowled man kept glancing toward Broadway, his impatience increasing. Then came the break he wanted.

Stepping from a cluster of passers-by was a young man whose face brought a chuckle of satisfaction to liar’s lips.

THE arrival resembled Rook Hollister so closely that Bart, had he not known him to be Donald Manthell, would have sworn that the fellow actually was Rook.

As Manthell reached the doorway, Bart came into action. Stepping forward, he blocked Manthell’s path.

“Where are you going, young fellow?” quizzed Bart. “Up to the Hollywood System office?”

Manthell nodded, puzzled.

“I thought so,” chuckled Bart. “You look like the chap whose picture I got.” He drew the envelope from beneath his coat; then reached into a pocket and produced an engraved card which he handled to Manthell. “I’ve been waiting here to see you. This movie contest business is a phony. I’m investigating it.”

“You’re — you’re a private detective?” stammered Manthell, looking at the card. “You — you mean that I’ve come all the way to New York just to find out that I’ve been duped?”

“That’s about it,” replied Bart, “but you’re not out of luck just yet. Maybe you’re in for some good fortune. Come along with me while we talk things over. I think I can fix it for you to make a nice piece of change.”

“How?” queried Manthell, as they walked from the doorway.

“I am representing Enterprise Exhibitors,” explained Bart, “and we’ll need witnesses in this case. We’ve got to have evidence to show that Waylock actually swindled his customers. You’ll make enough for a trip home, and maybe something besides. I’ll promise you that, young fellow.” Bart was increasing the pace. Manthell, reassured by the private dick’s talk, was highly anxious to accompany him. They reached the edge of the Broadway crowd. As they began to turn the corner, Bart shot a quick glance backward. He saw that luck was with him again.

Joe Cardona and Clyde Burke had just come out of the office building. Cardona had evidently decided there was no use in staying longer at Waylock’s office. But he and Clyde Burke had arrived just too late to spot Bart and Manthell turning into the crowd at the corner.

In fact, Joe Cardona was grumbling at the moment when Bart caught that last glimpse of him. Speaking to Clyde Burke, the ace sleuth was breaking into new criticism of Acting Commissioner Wainwright Barth.

“What did I get by going up there?” Joe was demanding. “Nothing but an empty office. Waylock has cleared out. If Barth had shoved somebody else up there in a hurry without waiting until he saw me, he might have gotten somewhere.”

“It might make a good story, though,” mused Clyde. “According to those papers you found there, some of the suckers have already come in. Maybe there’ll be more. Aren’t you going to look into it, Joe?”

“Sure,” growled Cardona. “I’ll put a couple of men on detail. One to stay up there at the office; the other to check up on the rubes who have already come to town. I’ll attend to that after I get back to headquarters. Barth will get the report he wants, and if you think you can make a story about Waylock, I’ll have the dope for you tonight.”

Cardona and Clyde parted company.

Both Joe and Clyde had missed the trail. They had found and lost a clue that could have proved of vast importance both to the law and to The Shadow. By their laxity, they had left open a path that was destined to bring murder, followed by new and insidious crimes — crimes that would bring The Shadow back into action.