Murder Trail

CHAPTER VIII IN THE UNDERWORLD

IN Hartford, crime had struck. In New York, crime was brewing. Twenty-four hours after the bold murders had occurred in the capital of Connecticut, Cliff Marsland could scent the impending signs of contemplated crime within the confines of Manhattan.

Cliff Marsland held an enviable reputation in the underworld of New York. He had done time in the big house, otherwise known as Sing Sing. Since his discharge from prison, he had been prosperous, without molestation by the police. That classed him as an ace in the bad lands. Whenever Cliff Marsland appeared in the underworld, he carried a bank roll that would choke a giraffe.

With no gang affiliations, Cliff rated as a free lance among gunmen, and never suffered observation from the authorities. He was in a class by himself. His reliability was an axiom; but his activities were unknown.

Men of the underworld did not realize that Cliff Marsland had gone to prison for a crime that he did not commit; that he had taken the rap to keep stigma from the brother of the girl whom he loved.

Only The Shadow knew that fact; because of it, The Shadow had enlisted Marsland in his service. Cliff was a trump card in The Shadow’s hand. The Shadow was using him now.

When Cliff returned to the realm of the underworld, after a period of absence, he immediately frequented the places where gangsters of consequence could be found.

They welcomed him and talked with him. His poker face encouraged information. Cliff Marsland could learn plenty on short notice. He was doing so at present.

CLIFF was at the Palace Havana, a night club where flashy mobsmen appeared with their molls. He was working under orders from The Shadow, looking for contacts that would bring him in touch with secret crime of great proportions.

One by one, Cliff had chatted with old acquaintances. Here, in a secluded corner, away from the crowded dance floor, he was hearing news from a shrewd-faced gunman known as “Skeeter” Wolfe.

“Sittin’ pretty, eh, Cliff?” Skeeter was saying. “Well, things ain’t so bad with me, boy. Not so bad!”

“You know me, Skeeter,” responded Cliff. “I’m always in on the mazuma; but I never pass up a good lay. I take the gravy while it’s hot — and I keep it.”

“Big stuff, Cliff?”

Cliff Marsland shrugged his powerful shoulders. A slight smile appeared upon his firm, straight lips.

“It’s the way I handle things, Skeeter,” he said sagely. “I figure that if a big shot wants four men to do a job, he’ll listen to reason when he finds one who will do the work of four.

“It’s better for him; it’s more dough for the fellow that does the heavy work. That’s how I make out. One keeps mum where four don’t. Get me?”

“I keep mum, Cliff.”

“Sure you do, Skeeter. You’re working on something now. Keep it to yourself. You’re getting paid for it.”

“How do you know?” queried Skeeter, in astonishment.

“Skeeter,” laughed Cliff, “if the guy you’re working for wants another rod on his pay roll, tell him to see me. Tell him I not only keep mum; but I don’t give a tip-off.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t show that I’m sitting pretty. You wouldn’t know it if you saw me when I was pulling something big. But I can tell by looking at you that you’re on a lay.”

“You’ve doped it right, Cliff.”

There was admiration in Skeeter’s tone. The gangster seemed to be asking for advice; and Cliff furnished it.

“You come here when you’re flush, don’t you?” quizzed Cliff. “You stay away when things are going slow? Am I right? Well, that’s a give-away. I’m the opposite. When I’m sitting pretty, I lay low. When things aren’t so good, I blossom out.”

“Say, Cliff, that’s a good racket. Ain’t things so hot with you right now?”

“I’ve got jack,” responded Cliff, in a noncommittal tone. “But I wouldn’t mind digging up some more. I’m ripe for it right now. That’s why I said to tell your boss that he can get me if he needs me.”

“I’m tellin’ him, Cliff, tonight. You’re a great guy. So is the bird I’m workin’ for. I don’t mind lettin’ you know who he is. Bumps Jaffrey.”

Cliff nodded as though the matter did not interest him. Skeeter Wolfe accepted this as cause for further palaver. Comment on Cliff’s part might have stopped Skeeter’s flow of guarded information; but since Cliff did not appear particularly impressed, Skeeter was anxious to cut a figure.

“It ain’t no ordinary job,” he said. “It’s somethin’ big, Cliff. Bart Shallock is in on it. He’s a slick guy. I don’t even know what it’s all about, but when Bart Shallock hooks up with Bumps Jaffrey, it means somethin’ is doin’.”

Cliff Marsland repressed a smile. He was learning what he wanted to know.

“BUMPS” JAFFREY was a gang leader of repute — one who assembled capable gorillas, and threw them into mercenary service for big shots who required aid. Bart Shallock was a smooth confidence man who consorted with jewel smugglers, blackmailers, and workers of international caliber.

For two nights, Cliff had been thinking about Bart Shallock, along with others. This information was of the type he wanted to gain.

When Bart Shallock required the services of a gang leader, it meant that big matters were at stake. It indicated strong-arm tactics and probable murder as a necessary requisite to a smooth and crafty plan. Here was the very lead that Cliff needed, and he wanted to know no more from Skeeter Wolfe.

“Keep mum, Skeeter,” warned Cliff. “Don’t bother to speak to Bumps Jaffrey. I know him. I’ll run into him, and let him know I’m looking for a hook-up. What you know means something while you know it. Don’t let other people in on it.”

“Sure thing, Cliff,” agreed Skeeter. “You’re right. Don’t think I’d spill the chatter to everybody, though. You’re about the only guy I’d talk to.”

Uppermost in Cliff’s mind was the desire to encounter Bumps Jaffrey; but he gave Skeeter no inkling that the matter was of great importance. Instead, Cliff feigned indifference, and made no effort to break away from Skeeter’s company.

It was not long before Skeeter tired of the atmosphere at the Palace Havana, and grunted a good night as he left the place. Cliff waited.

Unless Bumps Jaffrey were coming here, the logical place to find him would be at Brindle’s restaurant on Broadway. Cliff left the night club, and started for the eating house. He reached his destination, and entered the popular restaurant.

BRINDLE’S was a paradoxical place. It attracted persons of many classes: theatrical stars, hotel dwellers, chance passers, and gunmen. The place was completely devoid of gawking sightseers.

Radio celebrities passed unnoticed; well-known politicians were unrecognized. So it was with gangsters. Few, except their companions, knew their identity.

Cliff Marsland, when he entered, might well have been a football coach from some mid-Western college. His athletic build gave him that appearance, and his chance arrival marked him as one who had stopped in Brindle’s for the first time.

But Cliff was alert as he made his way to the rear of the cafe. There were open tables in the center, but on either side were boxlike booths that regular customers preferred.

From the corner of his eye, Cliff spotted two men in a booth talking over their coffee and sandwiches. One of these was Bump Jaffrey. Cliff did not recognize the other.

Raising his eyebrows as a sign of recognition, Cliff stopped by the booth, and nodded to Bumps. The gang leader motioned to him to sit down. He introduced Cliff to his companion, who proved to be an acquaintance not concerned with the underworld. Cliff gave an order, and was still eating when the others finished. The odd man left, and Cliff was alone with Bumps.

“How’re things going?” questioned Bumps.

“So-so,” responded Cliff, indifferently. “Just came back to the big burg. Glad to be here again.”

“What’re you doing now?”

“Nothing. I don’t fool with small stuff, Bumps.”

“I know that, Cliff. Maybe you try to hit too big, though.”

“Not me, Bumps. I like jobs that are different. Anybody can hire dumb gorillas. I take work that needs brains. I want my share, but I’m not exorbitant.”

The final word pleased Bumps Jaffrey. Cliff Marsland had the appearance and manner of a gentleman; but his strong face and powerful physique fitted in with the required standards that the gang leader desired.

“I may need you later on, Cliff,” suggested Bumps, in a casual tone. “Where will you be keeping yourself?”

Cliff shrugged his shoulders; then, in a noncommittal tone, he responded that he was frequently at the Palace Havana, and also at Brindle’s.

“I’ll see you later, Cliff,” nodded Bumps, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got a few gats working for me right now. I may need a real good one soon. Remember, I’m keeping you in mind.”

Cliff saw what Bumps was trying to conceal. It was a sure bet that Bumps already had some work under way — a substantiation of what Skeeter had said tonight.

The fact, as Cliff sized it, was probably that Bumps had too many gangsters rather than too few. It would be good policy to meet Bumps right along. Gang depletions were by no means uncommon in New York. Cliff figured himself next in line when a vacancy might come.

That, however, did not solve tonight’s problem. Bumps Jaffrey was going somewhere. Despite his feigned manner of leisurely departure, it was probable that he had an important appointment.

Could it be with Bart Shallock? Cliff decided that it might be.

THERE were two reasons why Cliff now faced an emergency. His forte was strong-arm work, not ability in following a trail. Furthermore, he could not afford to run the risk of incurring suspicion if he intended to deal with Bumps Jaffrey later on. Nevertheless, Cliff was determined to follow the gang leader.

When Bumps Jaffrey had sauntered from Brindle’s, Cliff restrained himself for a few minutes; then took up the trail in hope that he might have luck. Fortune smiled. On Broadway, Cliff saw Bumps hailing a taxicab at the corner below. Hurriedly, Cliff entered another cab, and ordered the driver to follow the one ahead. The taximan obeyed.

Bumps was headed for a location on the East Side. Cliff, cautioning his own driver with a low growl, kept well in the rear. When he saw the front cab pull up at the curb, he ordered his own man to stop.

On the sidewalk, Cliff saw Bumps enter an alleyway.

Walking past the entrance to the alley, Cliff saw that it formed a street with no outlet. He kept on and reached a corner cigar store. There, he went into a telephone booth, and called a number. A quiet voice responded:

“Burbank speaking.”

The tones of that voice eased Cliff’s anxious mind. Burbank was a man whom he had never seen. An invisible agent of The Shadow, this quiet-voiced individual was constantly on duty as contact man between The Shadow and his active agents.

Cliff Marsland, like Harry Vincent, made emergency reports through Burbank. Each agent knew the particular phone number where Burbank was located. Calls always brought an immediate response. Messages were promptly relayed to The Shadow.

Tonight, as Cliff tensely explained the situation, he received word from Burbank to put in another call within fifteen minutes.

Cliff gave the location of the alley where he had last seen Bumps Jaffrey. After he hung up the receiver, he loitered about the store until the allotted time had ended.

His second call to Burbank brought another prompt response. This time Cliff Marsland received instructions.

“Off duty,” were Burbank’s words. “Report to-morrow morning to our man.”

“Our man” meant R. Mann — Rutledge Mann, whose investment office was a place where The Shadow’s agents went to gain instructions, and to deliver their reports.

Cliff Marsland smiled to himself as he rode northward in a taxicab, bound for the Palace Havana. A few more hours at the night club might be useful; but in the back of his head, Cliff felt an assurance that he had accomplished his real work tonight.

Crime was brewing in the underworld. Bumps Jaffrey had assembled a mob. Tonight, Bumps Jaffrey was conferring with some one. What might be happening at the conference was something that Cliff Marsland could not conjecture. But he felt confident that it would not remain a secret.

For Cliff had tipped off The Shadow. Even now, the mysterious personage of darkness might well be on his way to look in upon the affairs of Bumps Jaffrey!