The Black Hush

CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW SPEAKS

“HELLO, Burke,” greeted Goldy Tancred, when the reporter appeared. “Why the visit? Anything new?”

“Nothing new,” returned the reporter. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Yeah?” laughed Goldy. “Well, you’ve came to the wrong place. I told you all I knew the other night.”

“Listen, Goldy” — Clyde spoke in a confidential tone as he drew up a chair — “I’ve been talking to Cardona — sounding him out a bit — on the subject of that list you said he had.”

“That’s a hot idea, Burke,” remarked Goldy. “Cardona won’t tell you what he thinks, so you come around to me. You’re working in circles. Trying to pump me all over again, trying to make a lot of trouble.”

“Not at all,” returned the reporter who served as The Shadow’s agent. “Figure it this way, Goldy. I get around places; and I hear a lot of things that Cardona doesn’t. All right. If somebody is trying to put you on the spot, it won’t hurt for me to find it out, will it?”

“I get the idea,” said Goldy, as his smile became unpleasant. “You want me to take you on as a stool pigeon. Is that it? Fine work for a newspaper reporter!”

“Put it that way if you want,” returned Burke. “Just the same, it’s only part of my job. Look here, Goldy; if I can spot the fellow who killed Reardon and Furness, it will be a scoop for the Classic. It won’t do you any harm; maybe it will do you some good.”

“Nothing doing,” growled Goldy. “I’m out of it — see? That’s all I’ve got to say.”

The finality of the big shot’s tone indicated that the interview was ended. Clyde Burke smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He arose and turned toward the door.

“So long,” said Goldy, resuming his affable tone. “That means you, too, Bowser. Scram. I’ve seen enough of you tonight.”

The bodyguard joined Clyde Burke, but as he strolled to the door, Bowser caught a glimpse of Goldy Tancred’s right hand. The big shot holding his first two fingers crossed.

Bowser knew the meaning of the signal. He was to repeat it at the door of the hotel lobby. Seen by a lurker across the street, it was a sign that Burke should be followed until further orders.

Something in the reporter’s manner had excited Goldy’s suspicion. Perhaps it was the fact that Burke, while conversing, had stared directly across the room toward the bookcase. At any rate, Goldy was inclined to consider Burke as a menace. The big shot picked up a telephone, called a number, and conducted a short conversation with a party at the other end.

THERE was reason for the big shot’s suspicion. Clyde Burke had overplayed his part tonight. He had come here with a purpose other than his interview. As an agent of The Shadow, he had been sent to study Goldy Tancred’s living room.

It was Clyde Burke who had informed The Shadow of the convenient bookcase by the window wall.

The Shadow, in turn, had installed the dictograph. Burbank, however, had reported poor results.

The hidden listener had noted interruptions in various conversations. This had been due to Goldy’s system of capping the microphone and uncovering it at intervals. Even tonight, Bowser Riggins had not covered the mechanism until after Clyde Burke had arrived. Therefore the voice of the reporter had not passed over the wire despite the fact that he had been definitely admitted to Goldy’s living room.

Such incidents during the past days had led Burbank to believe that the apparatus had been discovered.

The hidden contact man had forwarded that information to The Shadow; in return, he had been instructed to send Burke to investigate.

Had Goldy Tancred known that Clyde Burke was an agent of The Shadow, he would have taken prompt action to eliminate the inquisitive reporter.

The big shot, however, had taken a different avenue of thought. Burke’s mention of Cardona had led Goldy to believe that the reporter might be working with the star detective. Cardona, wise and taciturn, was the type of sleuth who would employ a dictograph in his detecting work.

The telephone bell rang after Burke’s departure. Goldy Tancred picked up the receiver and heard the voice of Hector Fawcett. With the dictograph covered, Goldy was free to speak, but he was sparing and cautious in his remarks. He passed off last night’s failure, as he stressed the importance of tomorrow’s action.

“Hobbs is ready. He will be here.”

IT was not long before a creeping splotch of blackness appeared upon the floor beside the window.

Once again The Shadow was paying a secret visit to Goldy Tancred’s abode. The blackness stretched and wavered; above it, materializing beside the curtain, appeared the tall, phantom form in black.

Silently, The Shadow moved toward the wall beside the bookcase. His sharp eyes spied the improvised rubber cap. His hidden lips emitted a sibilant, whispered laugh.

Turning, The Shadow noted a radiator on the opposite side of the window ledge. Going to the spot, The Shadow stooped and attached another microphone. He ran a thin, invisible wire along the base of the wall, then up behind the draped curtain near the bookcase.

Wedging the original wire into a crack beside the window ledge. The Shadow connected the new one, guiding his operation by occasional flashes of his tiny light. When he had finished, he stepped back toward the radiator and spoke in a low, hushed voice.

“Connection completed,” announced The Shadow’s monotone. “Burke off duty until recalled.”

Those words went to Burbank. They were followed by The Shadow’s laugh.

The Shadow had come here a second time to cunningly counteract Goldy Tancred’s accidental discovery of the original microphone. The first connection was ended. Goldy, fully confident of his capping device, would never suspect the new installation.

But The Shadow, by a simple rearrangement of the circuit, had planted a new listening apparatus. Goldy, when he talked, would be heard. Even if the big shot again went over the line, clear to the apartment below, he would not discover that neat connecting wire that came in at the crack beside the window ledge.

Nevertheless, desired contact had been lost temporarily. What had happened during the interim? Did any evidence exist that would aid The Shadow in his quest?

The tall figure glided across the room. Searching eyes missed no spot that might furnish a clue. The Shadow’s gaze rested upon the wastebasket. The charred remainders of Goldy Tancred’s written instructions showed within the metal container.

A black-gloved hand dipped into the wastebasket. It brought out a tiny fragment of scorched paper. The eyes spotted a portion of a written word. The same hand carefully gathered ashes, while the other hand produced a sheet of paper.

Working upon a convenient table, The Shadow laid out these remainders of Goldy Tancred’s message.

The ashes rested upon The Shadow’s sheet. The tiny flashlight clicked. A spotted glare showed traces of writing in the ashes.

The inspection went on amid complete silence. At last the hand of The Shadow raised the sheet of paper, and let the fragments of Goldy’s instructions drift back into the wastebasket. The tall figure swung toward the window. The blank paper that had served as a background slipped out of sight beneath the cloak.

A sibilant, whispered laugh — scarcely audible; yet it brought eerie echoes. That was the token of The Shadow’s departure. The phantom shape merged with the darkness of the window.

Several minutes afterward, Curry entered the room. The servant noted the wastebasket and took it out for emptying.

Little did Curry suppose that a silent visitor had been in the room tonight. The servant did not realize that his delayed action of a simple duty — the emptying of the wastebasket — had enabled a powerful foe of crime to gain an inkling of Goldy Tancred’s scheme.

For among the ashes in the wastebasket, The Shadow had learned broken facts concerning the next crime on the schedule. There he had read the words “New City” — the name of the bank which Ping Slatterly was to attack when the black hush fell again.

Amid the next pall of blanketing darkness, the hand of The Shadow would be present. How did the master intend to meet the sinister menace?

Only The Shadow knew!