Mardi Gras Mystery

CHAPTER XV. AFTER DUSK

IT was early the next evening. The Shadow, attired as Lamont Cranston, was seated by the window of his room at the Hotel Bontezan. He was studying a report from Harry Vincent; one that he had picked up at the other hotel.

The Shadow had been in this room most of the afternoon. He had heard conversations between Ring Stortzel and Banjo Lobot. They had been brief — concerning only bills that Ring had agreed to pay, and for which he had given Banjo money. Lookouts such as Pierre Trebelon, Dave Royan, and Swifty Bleek were expensive.

The Shadow had heard mention of others in the chain. He had made notes of names and locations. There were a full dozen of Ring’s henchmen stationed about New Orleans. None, however, had spotted any more of the bank notes for which they were watching. That was not surprising, since the money reposed upon The Shadow’s shelf.

Banjo had gone out again; and Ring had followed. Thus The Shadow had found his opportunity to go through Harry’s report. It contained some interesting data concerning Andrew Blouchet. That young man was worried. He and Harry were to spend the early evening in deep conference at the apartment.

Andrew’s worriment concerned Fanchon Callier. The girl had apparently disappeared. Neither she nor Jerry Bodwin had come back to the party last night. Andrew had called Jerry this morning, to learn that Fanchon had gone to visit her cousin. At five o’clock, Fanchon had not arrived for work. Andrew, calling the theater office, had learned that startling fact from Jerry.

Carl Randon had been in and out all day, wearing an oddly glum expression. He, too, had seemed interested in learning about Fanchon. When Andrew had told him that the girl had not arrived at the theater, Carl had gone out promptly. He had called up later, to ask how long Andrew and Harry would be at the apartment.

Andrew had told him that Harry was going out at eight; but that he would remain, in case Carl called again. For Andrew had a hunch that Carl was also looking for Fanchon. Carl had many friends in New Orleans. Some of them might know of Fanchon’s cousin. Andrew’s mention that Harry would be out at eight was because Harry had said that he intended to go uptown at that hour. That was when he expected to leave another report for The Shadow.

IT was already approaching eight o’clock. The Shadow, disposing of the report sheets, stopped short when he heard a peculiar scraping sound from the dictograph. The noise was faint, yet audible. Turning out the light, The Shadow stepped to the door and opened it. Peering down the corridor, he saw a man crouched by the door of 618. The fellow was trying keys in the lock.

At last, the intruder gained success. The Shadow saw him straighten and turn the knob of the door. The hall light gleamed upon shiny black hair. A grin showed upon a wise face as the man stepped into Ring Stortzel’s room.

The Shadow knew the identity of the visitor. The man who had picked the lock was Carl Randon.

Stepping back into his own room, The Shadow listened. He could hear sounds across the dictograph, odd noises picked up by the mike. Randon had turned on the light; he was opening closet doors, tugging at bureau drawers. Several minutes passed; then The Shadow heard a noise that indicated Carl’s departure.

Peering out into the corridor, he heard the click of the light switch. Then Carl appeared and locked the door behind him. He sneaked down the hall and took to the shelter of a fire exit. His move was none too soon.

Half a minute later, Ring Stortzel appeared from the side hall that led to the elevators. The Chicago big-shot entered his room.

Ring’s first action was to turn on the light. He had kept it on all afternoon, for the day had been usually gloomy. Thus The Shadow had listened in on Rings talks with Banjo. He would be able to hear any new discussion in Ring’s room, for the light was on again; and The Shadow could see that an interview was coming. For Carl Randon was stalking from his hiding place, boldly approaching Ring’s door.

The Shadow watched him knock at 618. Then The Shadow closed his own door, to listen over the dictograph.

A PROMPT answer came to Carl Randon’s deliberate knock. The door popped open. Ring Stortzel, in vest and shirtsleeves, eyed the visitor with a suspicious glower. Then, as Carl motioned into the room.

Ring decided to let him enter. The big-shot closed the door.

“Well?” he demanded. “Did you want to see me?”

“Yes,” replied Carl, suavely. “Your name is Ring Stortzel, isn’t it?” Ring made no reply. He was sizing up the intruder.

“Don’t worry about me,” assured Carl. “I’m no dick. What’s more, nobody has anything on Ring Stortzel.”

“What’s your name?” growled Ring. “When a guy wants monikers, I like him to spill his own.”

“My name is Carl Randon. Here is my card. Suppose we talk business, Mr. Stortzel.”

“Business about what?”

“Stortzel, I know a lot that would be worth money to you. You are after a certain man in New Orleans. A fellow who has cash that your watchers spotted. I know who he is. I’m willing to prove it, for a price.”

“Yeah? Suppose I already know?”

“You don’t. Maybe you think you know; but the girl has given you a bum steer.”

“What girl?”

“Fanchon Callier.”

“Never heard of her.”

Ring’s statement was abrupt, almost savage. Carl laughed smoothly.

“Why keep up pretense?” he questioned. “I am telling you that the girl is unreliable. She can prove nothing that she may have told you. I know all about her — except where she is at present. That is a question that you can answer; but I am not asking you to do so.”

Ring paced across the room and stood by the window. He wheeled suddenly and eyed Carl with a narrowed gaze.

“Suppose I’ve got the moll,” he demanded. “Suppose she has talked. How do I know that she hasn’t told me the straight goods? How can you prove she hasn’t?”

“By telling you facts that she did not learn,” responded Carl. “Even at that, she may have guessed right; but I doubt it. If she has actually told you the truth, though, you wouldn’t believe it. Which makes my information vital.”

Ring growled; but his words were incoherent. Carl put a prompt statement.

“Look here, Stortzel,” he declared. “I’ve been closer to this than you think. Purely by accident, you understand, but I’ve filled in facts. I heard of you; I guessed your game. I’ll work with you for fifty grand — and the dough will come out of the guy you’re after. That’s all I want — a cut from the take.”

Carl Randon’s tone had become harsh. He was talking the language that Ring Stortzel understood. The big-shot, however, had a question.

“If you know so much,” he sneered, “why don’t you grab the swag for yourself?”

“Why not?” Carl laughed roughly. “Because I’d put myself in wrong both ways. With him and with you. Even, if I croaked him, I’d be up against it. You’d think I was just another menace to your safety.

“What’s more, rub-outs aren’t my specialty. I’ve wanted to fix this guy, but I’d have to take it on the lam afterward. I’ve got dough of my own — a good reputation — everything I need. I want to keep it. But I’d be better off if this guy was finished; and with fifty grand more for my bank account, I’d be sitting pretty.”

Ring grunted; then made his decision.

“It’s a deal!” rasped the big-shot. “Spill the dope.”

“ONE condition,” remarked Carl. “I expect you to pull this job according to my plan. You won’t need an outfit, Stortzel. That would queer it. Leave those lookouts of yours where they belong.”

“Say” — Ring’s challenge was gruff — “what do you know about any lookouts? Who’s been talking to you?”

“Nobody,” laughed Carl. “I just figured it. Then I wondered why a Frenchman named Pierre Trebelon had left Gallion’s restaurant. I located him at a place on Exchange Street — Redley’s — and I happened to see a wise-looking guy come in there. A fellow with a long jaw.”

“Banjo,” muttered Ring. “Gave himself away, huh?”

“He did,” responded Carl, briskly. “I followed him here, a while ago. He made a call up to this room. No answer. He went out. I waited a while and saw you come in and ask for the key. I came up.”

“So that’s it.” Ring seemed impressed by Carl’s smartness. “All right. Forget Banjo and the rest of them. I’ll work it the way you say. Spill the dope. Who’s the guy we want to get?”

“Andrew Blouchet.”

Carl made his statement with emphasis. Ring responded with an oath; then a tirade of angry words.

“What’s the idea, mug? Trying to make a monkey out of me? Blouchet! Can the stall! If there’s one guy we know we don’t want, it’s Blouchet!”

“Did the girl name Blouchet?” queried Carl.

“The girl hasn’t talked to me,” snorted Ring. “That’s all you need to know, wise guy!”

“Then she didn’t name Blouchet.” Carl paused to chuckle. “No wonder. Fanchon has fallen hard for Andy. She wouldn’t want to put him in a jam. But there’s another reason, besides, why she would not name him. She would expect what I expected — that you would not believe the statement.”

There was a confidence in Randon’s tone that impressed Ring Stortzel. The big-shot’s growl showed that he was somewhat at a loss. Carl was prompt to follow up his statement.

“Here’s something I doped out,” he told Ring. “Did it ever hit you that Blouchet had guessed what was coming? That he had ditched the swag, while he got ready for you?”

“He didn’t show it,” objected Ring. “He was lucky — that was all.”

“Lucky?” queried Carl. “Not a bit of it. There was a sharpshooter named Duvale who mixed into that mess. I don’t know who he was; but he sprang the surprise that finished the attack.”

“Not until after Needler had found the safe empty.”

“Which was the way Blouchet intended it. Stortzel, he has dough in that safe of his, right now! But it’s not the cash that you sent to him.”

“Yeah?” Ring’s tone was eager. “More than a hundred grand? Other dough?”

“Maybe it’s more than a hundred grand,” replied Carl, cagily, “Anyway, it’s not the same money. I don’t know everything; I only know enough to know that Blouchet is the right guy.”

“You’ve been working with him, huh?”

“No. But I learned a few facts. I saw the first money, the night he got it. He had to hand me a phony story. So I made out that I was leaving for New York. I didn’t go. I had a friend up there mail him a post card, one that I mailed North in an envelope. I’ve been right here in New Orleans, Stortzel, doing some digging. I saw the dough for myself. But not from Blouchet.”

“He don’t trust you?”

“He’d croak me if he knew that I had wised. He thinks I’m just a local sap. He has a lot of friends in town, to keep up a front. Half the time, he pretends that he’s broke—”

“I GET you.” Ring’s rasped interruption denoted that he was convinced. “I’ll take a Brodie. What’s your system for getting Blouchet?”

“It’s nearly eight o’clock,” remarked Randon. “A fellow named Vincent is down at Blouchet’s. Vincent will be leaving shortly.”

“Vincent, eh? The guy who was there that night. We’d better include him in the rub-out.”

“No. He might make trouble. We want Blouchet alone. Listen — Blouchet thinks I know nothing. I have a key to his place. We can walk in on him, together. Remember — there’s coppers still around there. A crew barging in would queer the proposition. What’s more, Blouchet thinks he’s safe.”

“I get it. You’ll walk in, with me right behind you. Is that the idea, Randon?”

“That’s it. But we’ll need gats. I don’t want to use a rod of my own. How many have you got?”

“Two.” Ring pulled a stub-nosed revolver from his hip pocket. Holding it, he tugged open a bureau drawer and brought out a larger weapon. “Which one do you want?”

“Both loaded?” queried Carl.

“Sure,” grunted Ring. “What do you think I’d want with an empty one?”

“Give me the short one,” suggested Carl. “I can pack it more easily. Does it have a safety catch?”

“Naw! Say, what do you think I keep rods for? To use at shooting galleries? Here — shove this rod in your pocket. I carry it because it don’t show. You won’t have any trouble. I’ll pack the smoke-wagon, all right.”

Ring was holding both revolvers when he shoved the little one to Carl. The sleek man pocketed it and stepped toward the door. He added a final statement.

“I’ll be a block this side of Blouchet’s. When I make a wigwag, come up to me. If a copper sees me, it won’t matter. They know me, the police do. The way will be clear when I signal. We’ll blow in together.”

A grunt of approval from Ring Stortzel. The Shadow heard the closing of the door that announced Carl Randon’s departure. Slight sounds were coming through the dictograph, as Ring Stortzel prepared for his departure.

The Shadow paid no attention. He had other work to do. He went to the telephone.

WHILE The Shadow was making a brief call, the sounds from the dictograph ended. The door of Ring Stortzel’s room furnished the final thud that announced the big-shot’s departure. Only a few minutes had elapsed since Carl had left. Ring Stortzel was following the man who had presented the proposition.

A complication had developed. Carl Randon’s lucky discovery of Ring Stortzel had produced a new and unexpected situation. It was one that offered uncertainty; for while The Shadow had considered its possibility, he had not deemed it likely.

Moreover, that plot in which Ring and Carl figured was one which would certainly change The Shadow’s plans. Either his preparations would be delayed, or else they would be altered. That was according to what might occur at Andrew Blouchet’s. At this moment, one certainty alone existed: that was a new menace which must be cleared at once. The Shadow had a way for such accomplishment; he was taking the urgent step.

Innocent persons; guilty ones; double-crossers as well as crooks who fought with steel, not strategy — all these were on The Shadow’s board. Some could be left alone; others must be moved with speed. The Shadow was taking the one step that could bring an immediate result.