The Black Hush

CHAPTER XIX. GOLDY EMPLOYS STRATEGY

“CALL for you, Burke.”

Clyde Burke arose from his typewriter in the Classic office. At the telephone he recognized the steady voice of Detective Joe Cardona.

“Want a story Burke?”

“Sure thing, Joe.”

“Meet me at Goldy Tancred’s, in fifteen minutes.”

“Goldy Tancred’s! What’s up Joe?”

“You’ll find out when you get there. I’m giving you a break because I want to know more about what happened to you last night. Markham is coming.”

Leaving the Classic office, Burke stopped at a telephone booth on the ground floor. He called Burbank to inform him of this new development. He arranged to call again as soon as he had learned anything more.

In the lobby of the Marathon, Clyde found Cardona and Markham waiting for him. The trio took the elevator.

The three found Goldy Tancred, garbed in dressing gown, pacing the floor of his living room. Goldy was quizzical when he saw Clyde Burke.

“I want to talk to you, Cardona,” he began. “What I’ve got to say is private. I don’t want it to leak out too soon.”

“Burke’s all right,” growled the detective. “He’s not reporting tonight. There’s another reason for him being along.”

Goldy Tancred hesitated, then he shrugged his shoulders.

“Joe,” announced the big shot, “I’m worried. You’ve put me in a real mess. It’s up to you to give me a chance to get out of it.”

“How’s that?” questioned Cardona.

“Well,” said Goldy, “I know who was after me. I’ll be frank with you — I half suspected it all along; but I wasn’t sure. Now I know.”

“Spill it,” ordered the detective. “Who’s the guy?”

“Ping Slatterly,” declared Goldy.

Cardona was astounded for a moment; then he began to nod. Busy with details after last night’s episode, the ace detective had forgotten all about Goldy Tancred. Now he saw the obvious connection.

“I guess you’ve hit it, Goldy,” agreed the detective. “But I don’t see why you’re worried. Ping’s out of the way now—”

“Sure he is,” interposed Goldy. “But he’s got friends, hasn’t he? That’s why I wanted to talk with you. How did you get wise in time to spoil Ping’s game? Who gave you the tip-off?”

“That’s my business,” declared Cardona.

“That’s just it,” responded Goldy. “That’s just why there’s trouble for me. There’s plenty of tough bimboes wondering where that tip-off came from. There’s plenty who figure that Ping Slatterly was after me. Putting two and two together, they’ll think that I was the guy who told you to watch Ping Slatterly.”

Cardona was silent. He saw the logic of Goldy’s statement. If Ping Slatterly was not the only powerful gang leader concerned in the attack upon the New City Bank, his companions would certainly be out to avenge his death. Cardona began a new chain of conjecture.

“You’ve given me something to think about,” said the detective, after long consideration. “I’ll tell you why I brought Burke up here, Goldy. Last night, he ran into a couple of thugs who would have got him, if Markham hadn’t been there. Burke had been up to see you, hadn’t he?”

“Sure,” retorted Gold. “He was here twice.”

“Well,” resumed Cardona, “I didn’t like the looks of it. I brought him here, so we could hear what you have to say about it.”

“About him coming up to see me?”

“No. About this attempt to gang him.”

“You want to hear what I have to say?” cried Goldy. “I’ve said it already — if you could only see the facts like I see them.

“Look here, Cardona. Ping Slatterly was pulling a job last night. He didn’t want me to know about it. Chances are, he’s had guys watching this place like a hawk.

“Burke here” — Goldy pointed to the reporter — “came in to see me. Outside of Bowser Riggins, he’s the only visitor I’ve had. Can’t you see it now, Joe? Those bimboes ganged Burke because they thought he was working for me. They were some of Ping Slatterly’s mob. That’s easy to see.”

Cardona speculated. Once again, the detective found himself agreeing with Goldy Tancred’s statement.

He nodded automatically, and spoke a slow question.

“What do you want me to do about it, Goldy?” asked Cardona. “How can I help you out of the jam? Got any suggestions?”

Goldy’s fancy molars glimmered. The big shot studied the detective with an expression that was almost one of derision. Cardona wondered what the cause might be.

“You want to help me,” sneered Goldy. “Then why have you double-crossed me, Joe? Why did you plant a mike here in this room?”

“I planted nothing!” retorted Cardona hotly.

“No?” Goldy strode across the room as he spoke. He beckoned to the others as he thrust back the bookcase. “Look at this. Didn’t you put it here?”

Cardona viewed the microphone after Goldy removed the rubber cap. The detective shook his head.

“I don’t know a thing about it, Goldy,” he asserted, in a frank tone. “Positively, I don’t.”

THE big shot grunted. He yanked the microphone from the wall, and began to tear away the wire. It broke in his hand as he came to the spot where the slender line reached the window ledge. Reaching beyond the broken point, Goldy gave another yank.

It produced unexpected results. Out came the wiring from below the window ledge.

Pulling away in sudden consternation, Goldy followed the opposite direction, and the microphone behind the radiator snapped suddenly into view.

“Two of them!” exclaimed the big shot. “Say — what is this? Don’t you know anything about it, Joe?”

“Not a thing,” insisted Cardona. “Maybe when we trace the line—”

“Nothing doing,” interposed Goldy. “It runs to a telephone in an empty apartment below. No way of tracing it after that.”

In sudden rage, Goldy seized both microphones, and dashed the instruments against the wall. He began to tremble. His smile became a pitiful expression. Clasping his temples with his hands, Goldy Tancred stalked to his chair and slumped into the cushions.

Cardona had little sympathy for this high-stepping racketeer; at the same time, the detective saw Goldy Tancred as nothing more than a prospective victim of the underworld’s wrath. It was Cardona’s business to prevent murder. He could not ignore Goldy’s plea.

“You want police protection?” demanded the detective.

Goldy shook his bowed head.

“What then?” questioned Cardona.

“Let me get out of this,” requested Goldy. “Stick with me, Joe. I want a chance to scram. I can go where they won’t ever find me.”

JOE CARDONA pondered. He still felt that so far as crime was concerned, Ping Slatterly’s death marked the end of the recent series of outrages. Goldy Tancred was of no value as a witness.

There were good reasons, also, why Cardona would like to see Goldy Tancred out of New York. The man had unquestionably worked for political connections. He was a conniver who could cause great trouble in Manhattan.

“All right, Goldy,” mused Cardona, “I’ll let you beat it, if you’ll let me make sure you’ve gone—”

“Let you make sure!” exclaimed Goldy. “Say — Joe — I want you to cover me!”

“How?”

“I’ll duck out of here. Up to the Pennsylvania Station — tonight. Train for Florida. If I get on that without anybody knowing it, I’ll be safe. Send a man along — I’ll pay the round-trip expenses.

“But I want you to cover me from here to the station. Follow my cab. See me buy my ticket. Send me off. It’s all I ask, Joe. I’m licked. I want to get away.”

Cardona smiled disdainfully. The big shot was proving yellow. The myth that Goldy Tancred was a power, no longer existed. The bubble had burst.

“All right,” agreed the detective. “We’ll cover you. Markham and I will travel along behind you. Buy two tickets, and I’ll have a man waiting at the gate to join you.”

The detective turned and motioned to Markham and Burke. The three walked out of the living room, where Curry met them and showed them to the elevator.

The last glance that Clyde Burke had through the closing door was a picture of Goldy Tancred anxiously clasping his hands as he sat worried in his big chair. The reporter smiled as he heard Cardona laugh.

“A big yellow bum,” was the detective’s sarcastic comment. “Goldy Tancred — yellow as they make them!”

THE ace detective would have changed his opinion could he have seen through the closed door of the apartment. Back in his living room, Goldy Tancred was no longer a figure of dejection.

A cunning, flashy smile had replaced the pitiful expression on the big shot’s lips. Standing in the center of his living room, Goldy Tancred was enjoying a laugh of silent derision.

His servant entered. Goldy’s laugh changed to a low command, which brought a knowing smile from Curry.

“All right, Curry,” instructed Goldy. “Rig up that funny mug of yours. Slide into the outfit and be quick about it.”

Curry went to a table in the corner. He opened a drawer and brought out several tiny, glimmering objects. He slipped them into his mouth, adjusted them, and turned to smile at his chief.

His teeth capped with gold shells, Curry had gained a grin that was an exact replica of Tancred’s favorite expression. Even without makeup, the servant bore a startling resemblance to his master.

“That’s great!” Goldy Tancred nodded. “Keep going, Curry. Hope you enjoy the climate in Florida.”