The Black Falcon

CHAPTER IX FROM THE UNDERWORLD

SEVEN days had passed since the episode at the home of Elias Carthers. During that week, the name of The Black Falcon had swept the headlines. All New York, from the highest social circles to the scum of the bad lands, talked of the nefarious abductor who had dared the police to trail him.

The Black Falcon had eluded the surrounding cordon that the police had summoned to Long Island. An abandoned automobile — a stolen sedan — had been found eight miles from the Carthers mansion. It was believed to be the car in which the marauders had escaped.

Theories galore circled about the escapade of The Black Falcon. One rumor claimed that he had changed to another car and had slipped through the police cordon. Another theory attributed his elusiveness to a hideout on Long Island. A third idea involved a swift speed boat, fleeing across the Sound. A fourth claim persisted that he had taken to the air by means of a plane quartered in a vacant field.

The Black Falcon! The name, itself, suggested a master criminal descending from the blackness of the sky to snatch up an unsuspecting victim. Commissioner Weston had released the news of The Black Falcon’s letter. This, in itself, made every one understand the menace of this man who dealt in crime.

From highest to lowest — all talked of The Black Falcon. Logically enough, the circles in which he was most discussed were those that represented the extremes of society. The upper crust talked of The Black Falcon because they feared him. The vilest of evildoers talked of him because they envied his ability.

No word of either Hubert Apprison or Elias Carthers! This fact marked The Black Falcon as a crafty fiend. Unlike the usual kidnapper, he was in no hurry to demand ransom money. His silence did not take him from the headlines. Instead it kept the newspapers throbbing with every vague report, making copy out of trivial news; giving space to crank theories and wide guesses that bore no semblance of truth.

The dragnet was at work. Detectives were scouring the underworld. Every suspicious character was quizzed. This made gangdom seethe; and it also produced the very result that Commissioner Weston had anticipated. Velvet Laffrey, although his name was mentioned, was not heralded in gang land as The Black Falcon. Rumors of the underworld named various identities as possible claimants to the title.

On this evening, exactly seven days after the abduction of Elias Carthers, a stoop-shouldered, rat-faced little fellow was slouching along an alleyway on the East Side. Satisfied that he was not being followed, he ducked into a passage between two dilapidated houses and scurried down a flight of cellar stairs. In the darkness of what appeared to be an empty basement, he rapped twice upon a closed door; then repeated with two slower knocks.

A MINUTE passed. The door opened. The little man edged into the space. A low voice challenged amid the dark:

“Who is it?”

“Cull,” replied the little man. “That you, Terry?”

“Yeah.”

The door closed. A light clicked on. The pasty-faced rat eyed a husky, fierce-visaged rowdy who motioned him to enter another door on the left. The two reached a crumply, stone-walled room. The big man pointed to a broken chair. The little fellow sat down.

The big mobster was Terry Rukes, a tough gang leader who had been missing from the bad lands. The little man was “Cull” Buzbee, one of the minor characters in the underworld. So insignificant was Cull that even the police had passed him up. They had rejected him as a stool pigeon.

“Well?” questioned Terry, as he studied the little man. “Wotcha got to tell me?”

“Nothin’, Terry,” returned Cull, “Nothin’ new. I got took in by the dragnet onct again. That didn’t mean nothin’. They let me go.”

“Got a paper?”

Cull pulled a crumpled journal from a pocket of his grimy jacket. Terry Rukes studied the sheet by the single light that hung from the ceiling of the room.

“Still after The Black Falcon,” growled the gang leader. “Well — they’ll never get the guy. Any new ideas on who he is?”

“No,” responded Cull. “I been listenin’ to find out if they thought he was Velvet Laffrey. They ain’t been much talk about Velvet, no more, but they’s still some guys that figure Velvet is The Falcon.”

The little man looked at Terry Rukes with beady eyes. The gang leader saw his quizzical expression and delivered a grunt.

“Don’t look at me,” he snorted. “I ain’t sayin’ that The Black Falcon is Velvet Laffrey—”

“Velvet knowed Rowdy Kirshing was—”

“Sure he did. An’ there was lots of other guys knew Rowdy, too. I got my instructions from Rowdy — an’ my dough, too. But Rowdy never told me who was handin’ him the gravy.”

“You seen The Falcon—”

“Sure I seen him. Mostly in the dark an’ with blinkers over his eyes. I’ve heard him talk, too. Givin’ me orders over the telephone — I get ‘em right upstairs here in this empty joint. But that don’t mean that I know who he is.” Terry’s voice was cautious. “I ain’t sayin’ he’s Velvet. Don’t forget that, Cull.”

“You know me, Terry.”

“I know you all right. You can play dumb. That’s why I’m keepin’ you on the pay roll. But I ain’t seen nothin’ worth while, Cull. Up at Apprison’s I was there with the mob. The Black Falcon gives the whistle; out comes Apprison an’ we cart him away while The Black Falcon was shootin’ that guy Blossom.

“Same thing when we got this guy Carthers. The whistle; the old gent plops out the window. We drag him away. Then The Black Falcon bops off that mug Wistar.

“Both times we drive him away in a buggy that we’d copped. Tie up the guy he grabbed and let him out of the car when he tells us. Then we ditch the bus we swiped an’ slide back here. That’s all. That’s why we’re waitin’ — an’ it’s why I’m worried.”

Cull Buzbee nodded. He seemed to understand the cause of uncertainty which gripped Terry Rukes.

“THE BLACK FALCON is a sweet bimbo when it comes to a get-away,” resumed Terry. “But that ain’t helpin’ us. I’ve got four gorillas here with me an’ they’re as worried as I am. I had to tell ‘em that Rowdy Kirshing took the bump. That means no more dough unless we hear from The Black Falcon. An’ we know he ain’t callin’ until he needs us. But we’re stickin’, because it’s the game.

“Goofy Hornell was a sap out there when we grabbed Carthers. The Black Falcon ducked through the hedge an’ rode away with us. Goofy stuck around to do some shootin’ an’ he got his. Luck was with me there, though. Nobody knew that Goofy was workin’ for me. He was an odd gorilla that I tacked on. If it had been one of my regular gorillas, Joe Cardona might have got a line on who was workin’ with The Black Falcon.”

“Why’re you worryin’, then, Terry?”

“Why’m I worryin’?” Terry snorted. “On account of Rowdy Kirshing getting his. You know who got him—”

“I know who some guys say got him. But the guys that was over there on Tenth Avenue ain’t talkin’ about it. I ain’t heard direct from nobody that The Shadow handed the one-way ticket to Rowdy—”

“No, you ain’t heard ‘em say it,” broke in Terry, in a sardonic tone. “You don’t hear many people say The Shadow got a guy — not if they was anywhere near when it happened. Say, bozo, when they think The Shadow got anybody, you can bet it was The Shadow that got him.”

Cull had no reply to this sally. Terry Rukes stalked across the room and gave an impatient kick to a rickety chair. The gang leader, despite his fierce appearance, was plainly bundled with nerves.

“I’ll tell you what,” announced Terry suddenly. “I’m goin’ to talk turkey to The Black Falcon when he calls. I ain’t goin’ to be the fall guy. I ain’t no squealer, but it’s drivin’ me sappy here in this hideout. Maybe The Black Falcon thinks he can buck The Shadow, but—”

There was a rap on the door. Terry Rukes started nervously, then strode over and opened the barrier. One of his gorillas was standing there.

“Phone’s buzzin’ upstairs,” the man announced anxiously. “Figgered you’d want to answer it, Terry.”

“Sure thing. Scram, Cull. I ain’t needin’ you no more tonight. Come back tomorrow.”

HURRYING through a short corridor, Terry Rukes ascended a flight of rickety steps and came to a door. He opened it and turned on a light in a closed closet. A telephone showed on a shelf. A buzzer, formed from a discarded bell, was giving its insistent signal. Terry grabbed the instrument.

“Hello…” The gang leader’s gruff voice eased. “Yeah. Yeah…”

Gleaming, eager eyes. Terry Rukes knew the voice at the other end. The Black Falcon!

“Yeah… Yeah…” It came the gang leader’s turn to speak. “Sure, I knew that you’d count on me stayin’ here after Rowdy got the works. He musta been plugged just before the time we was startin’ out to get Carthers.

“What’s that?… Yeah… You figured out just what I been told. There was only one guy who could have got Rowdy Kirshing… Yeah, you guessed it… The Shadow.

“That’s why I’m leery… No — I ain’t told the mob… Sure, they’d turn yellow if they knew The Shadow might be in it… Say — this hideout may be a good one, but I’m tellin’ you that when we move out of it, we’re takin’ chances…”

A harsh look appeared upon Terry’s roughened face. For a moment, the gang leader appeared enraged as he heard the smooth voices over the wire. Then he laughed sheepishly.

“You guessed it. That’s why I’ve been layin’ low here. On account of The Shadow… I’m tellin’ you, I’m ready to give the gang the word to bust up… No, it ain’t the dough…”

A sudden gleam appeared upon Terry’s features. Eagerness again dominated the gang leader.

“You mean tonight?” he ejaculated. “An’ after that we can scram? Two grand apiece to the gorillas an’ five grand to me?… I getcha! Sure… I knowed Rowdy musta been gettin’ the real gravy. Nobody gets a cut this trip an’ we’re through… Sure thing… Say — will we risk it? Give me the lay…

“Yeah… Yeah… O.K. The fire-tower… I got that… No move, just lay easy, until we get the whistle… Say — this’ll be the berries. O.K., boss.”

Terry Rukes hung up the receiver. He opened the door and went down the stairs. In the dim light of the passage below — illumination that came from the room opposite the one where Terry Rukes had conferred with Cull Buzbee — four hard-fisted men were waiting. The gorillas had sensed that Terry had been talking with The Black Falcon. They wanted the news.

“Wot’s de woid, Terry?” came a question.

“It’s all set, boys,” returned the mob leader. “Listen — one more job for The Black Falcon an’ we quit. I’ll tell you what you’re gettin’ — two grand each from The Black Falcon himself. Then we scram.”

“Yeah, bo!” came from one of the gorillas. “When we startin’, Terry?”

“Right away. An’ it’s goin’ to be a snap. A swell apartment way uptown — the Garman Apartments — only two apartments on a floor. We hit the fourth floor, to grab another silk hat bimbo named Rowland Ransdale.”

“The Falcon?”

“He’ll be there — an’ he’s goin’ to give us the same signal. This bloke Ransdale will he easy. He’s got a valet workin’ for him — the other apartment on the floor is empty. Down the fire tower—”

“An’ the dough?”

“In the car. We’ll pick up a buggy on the way.”

Murmurs of approval. Terry Rukes ordered lights out.

WITH his mob at his heels, The Black Falcon’s aide opened the door toward the alley. Cull Buzbee had gone before. That was why Terry was venturing forth so promptly.

For the gang leader had used the insignificant creature of mobland with definite design. Cull Buzbee kept out of crime himself, but he was an observant individual. Coming and going, he watched the approaches of this hideout.

Had Cull suspected any watchers lurking in the night, he would have returned. Terry Rukes grinned at the thought. Cull was scary; that was why he would have returned. A bolder rat might flee; Cull would pile back for safety.

The mob moved along the alleyway. Terry Rukes paused to listen. He thought that he had detected a sound; but he heard it no longer. He did not know that eyes were watching vainly in the dark; that ears could hear the footsteps of himself and his tribe.

Slouched, bound and gagged in the pit that led to a cellar window of a house across the street was Cull Buzbee. Swift action had swept over the little rat the moment that he had left Terry’s hideout. Phantom hands from the dark had plucked him from the very doorway. Whirled into dizzy senselessness, Cull had regained his wits to find himself helpless.

Terry Rukes and his gorillas sneaked on toward the alleyway, totally unaware of Cull’s vain efforts to notify them of danger. Emerging from darkness, Terry looked about; then gave the word to start. The gang leader grinned as he glanced back from the end of the alleyway and convinced himself that all was clear.

Terry Rukes was thinking of The Shadow. But his thoughts were not of shadows. He saw nothing suspicious in the long black streaks of darkness that shrouded the sides of the dim alleyway.

Not until after the mobsters had moved further on their way did one long mass of blackness detach itself from the wall of a decadent building and transform itself into the shape of a tall and spectral being. The laugh that came from the phantom form was no more than a sinister whisper.

The Shadow, supersleuth, had spent this week within the underworld. He had traced Cull Buzbee to the hideout of Terry Rukes. Unseen, he was trailing the gang leader who served The Black Falcon!

Gasped words from Rowdy Kirshing; long search throughout the underworld for some insignificant character who might be connected with Terry Rukes, whom Rowdy had mentioned — thus had The Shadow gained the trail.

Through tracing The Black Falcon’s henchmen, The Shadow was taking a course to thwart the supercrook!