Murder Every Hour

CHAPTER XIV AGENTS SLIP

“PAGING Mr. Burke.”

The bell boy’s call sounded through the lobby of the Hotel Selwick. Clyde Burke arose from an armchair and acknowledged it.

“You’re wanted on the telephone, Mr. Burke,” informed the bell hop. “Booth 3, right past the desk.”

Clyde gave the boy a quarter and headed for the booth. He spoke into the telephone; Burbank’s voice responded. It was a repetition of The Shadow’s command:

“Ready.”

It was only four blocks from the Selwick to the Belgaria Apartments; but Clyde took a taxi for the jump. The machine was waiting outside the Hotel Selwick. It was Moe Shrevnitz’s cab.

Reaching the apartment house, Clyde strolled into the lobby. He was keyed up for the adventure that was to come, but he was anxious not to betray that fact. Entering the elevator, he spoke to Sycher:

“Eighth floor.”

The operator closed the door. The car went upward. Clyde watched the passing floors. As they reached the seventh, he thrust his right hand into his overcoat pocket. The car stopped.

Clyde whipped out his hand. A stub-nosed revolver glimmered; he planted the muzzle of the gun between Sycher’s shoulders.

“Open the doors,” ordered Clyde, tensely.

Sycher stood motionless. Eying a little mirror at his left, Clyde caught a view of the operator’s profile. Sycher’s face was showing paleness.

“Open the doors.”

Sycher reached out his right hand and pulled the lever. The doors slid open. The operator quailed back against the muzzle of Clyde’s gun. Standing in the hallway was another armed man: Cliff Marsland. This agent, too, had received a call from Burbank.

Al Sycher, discoverer of Howard Morath’s body, was trapped between The Shadow’s agents. Clyde Burke’s revolver muzzle in his back; Cliff Marsland’s automatic bulging before his eyes, the astonished man was in a predicament that seemed hopeless.

“Move out,” commanded Clyde.

Sycher started to obey. But at that instant, wild fear must have gripped him. The threatened elevator operator threw away all discretion. The desire for flight caught him in sudden panic. Twisting to the left, Sycher flung himself back into the elevator.

Clyde Burke blundered. Had he stepped aside, Cliff would have covered Sycher and made the man subside. But as Sycher slipped from the revolver muzzle, Clyde grunted angrily at his own unwariness and swung about to cover the man once more.

Sycher grabbed for Clyde’s gun hand and gripped it. The operator grappled fiercely, and Clyde struggled in return. They were locked together in the elevator, and Sycher, clever in his newfound advantage, was keeping to the rear of the car.

Cliff called to Clyde. He wanted the reporter to drop out; but Clyde could not get free of his opponent. Cliff bounded forward, hoping to plant his automatic in Sycher’s ribs. The operator caught a glimpse of Cliff’s advance. With sudden fury, he vaulted Clyde Burke forward through the elevator door.

Clyde was wiry, but light. Sycher’s fierce thrust sent the reporter spinning like a missile from a catapult. Hurtling headlong, Clyde smashed squarely into Cliff, who staggered backward.

Sycher lost no time in performing his next step. With a quick swing of his arm, the operator clanged the doors of the elevator.

“Downstairs!” barked Cliff, hoisting Clyde to his feet. The reporter still held his revolver. “Downstairs! We’ll get him when he runs from the lobby!”

“Moe’s out there!” returned Clyde, as they headed for the stairway. “Maybe he’ll pick him up in the cab. If he does, we’ll trail him all right.”

Speeding down the stairs, Cliff spoke quickly to Clyde as they neared the lobby.

“Stow that gun,” suggested Cliff. “Talk to the clerk while I head outside. Get out front later.”

CLYDE was the first to reach the lobby. He made straight for the desk, where Tukel was standing astounded by the clatter of footsteps.

Tukel recognized the new tenant of Apartment 8 A. He stared at Clyde while Cliff bolted through the lobby.

“Where’s that elevator operator?” demanded Clyde, “Did he run out to the street?”

“The operator?” echoed Tukel. “You mean Sycher? Why, I thought he had taken you upstairs, Mr. Burke. He hasn’t returned.”

Tukel looked blank as he pointed to the elevator entrance. Its doors were closed. There was no dial to indicate where the car might be.

“What has happened?” questioned Tukel. “Have you a complaint, Mr. Burke?”

“I nearly had a fight with the fellow,” replied Clyde. “He pitched me off the elevator and slammed the doors. I’m sure he started down. I expected to find him here.”

“He must have avoided the lobby,” asserted Tukel, becoming indignant. “There’s only one other way he could have gone out, Mr. Burke. Through the basement. Wait until I summon the janitor. We’ll go down there and see. The janitor has the key; he is eating in a lunch room down the street.”

Tukel plugged in the switchboard. Clyde went out to the sidewalk. He found Cliff waiting; there was no sign of Moe’s cab. Cliff explained.

“Moe didn’t see Sycher,” said Cliff. “The fellow didn’t come out this way. Moe’s cruising, looking for him. I’m going around to the next street.”

“I’ll meet you there,” decided Clyde. “Block the exit from the back building. The basement goes clear through. I’m going in that direction.”

CLIFF started off. Clyde looked about and saw the janitor emerging from the lunch room down the street. He walked back into the lobby and was there when the janitor arrived.

Tukel told what had happened. Apparently the clerk had not realized that another man had dashed downstairs with Clyde. He simply wanted to follow up this tenant’s complaint.

The janitor unlocked the door to the basement. The three men descended. Beneath the lobby, they found the basement doors of the elevator shaft opened. The car was lighted and empty. Sycher had fled through the basement.

Tukel decided at once that the operator must have been at fault. He ordered the janitor to take them through to the next street. Turning on lights, looking for hiding spots, the janitor led the way. They found no trace of Sycher.

A connecting door opened to the basement of the next building. The two apartment houses were under the same management. The door was open; the janitor led the way through and they came out by an obscure side entrance near the rear street.

“You can get in and out of this basement,” explained the janitor. “‘Tain’t like the one under the Belgaria. This door should have been locked, though. Guess Sycher must have had a key for it.”

“How would he have obtained that?” demanded Tukel.

“Might have seen my keys lying around,” replied the janitor. “Or he might have rigged up a key for this side door. ‘Tain’t much of a lock on it. I always said it ought to have been replaced.

“I’m sort of responsible for this here building, too, when the other janitor ain’t around. Well, Mr. Tukel, I guess Sycher’s turned out to be a bad egg. Legging it this way don’t look good.”

They were on the rear street. Clyde saw Cliff standing close to a doorway opposite. There was no sign of Moe’s cab.

Tukel suggested they go back and search the basement of the Belgaria. He also advised going up through the lobby, out through the front and back into the passage that led to the Belgaria’s fire tower.

“The murderer of Mr. Morath fled by the fire tower,” asserted Tukel, in a half-scared tone. “Perhaps Sycher did the same.”

“He couldn’t have,” declared Clyde. “He left the elevator in the basement. It would be a good idea to look around down there.”

Tukel and the janitor started back. Clyde lingered while Cliff sneaked over from the other side of the street.

“I sent Moe back to the front of the Belgaria,” explained Cliff. “I’ll keep between here and there while you’re searching the basement.”

“Moe saw no one?” queried Clyde.

“Drew a blank,” replied Cliff. “But that doesn’t prove that Sycher is still in the building. He had time to make a get-away before Moe got around here.”

Clyde heard Tukel calling. He hurried along to join the clerk and the janitor. Cliff started around the block to make new contact with Moe.

Agents of The Shadow had slipped. Their bird had flown them; they were working on the slim hope that Al Sycher had not had time to flee far. Within the next fifteen minutes, they would learn positively whether or not Sycher was actually gone.

Their job, tonight, had been to trap Sycher and bring him to The Shadow. With the operator captured, Cliff would have run the car down to the basement while Clyde went out front to get Moe and come around to the rear street.

That plan had failed. The agents had not seized the man whom The Shadow wanted. Somehow, The Shadow had divined that the elevator operator had played a part in the chain of crime. He had wanted to hear Sycher talk, under proper auspices.

The Shadow was at Philo Dreblin’s. There he would be waiting for Clyde and Cliff to appear with their prisoner. Chances were that the agents would not be able to fulfill their duty.

How would The Shadow manage in the face of this failure? That was a question which The Shadow alone would be able to answer when he received the unwelcome news.