The Blue Sphinx

CHAPTER I HAWKEYE HEARS NEWS

“WHAT you doin’ in this doorway, fellow?”

The policeman growled the question as he stepped suddenly into the entryway of an old, dilapidated store. Flickering a flashlight, he studied a shrewd, pointed face that showed above the collar of a turtle-neck sweater.

“Just keepin’ out of the rain, officer.” The sweatered man grinned as he made reply. “Smokin’ a cig while I’m waitin’ for it to let up. Comin’ heavy, ain’t it?”

Short of stature, the sweatered man straightened his stooped shoulders as he spoke. He made two gestures. One, with his left hand, showed the lighted cigarette of which he had spoken. With his right hand, the little man indicated the steady downpour that was dripping about the structure of an elevated line.

A train came rumbling along before the cop had another chance to speak. The little man puffed nonchalantly at his cigarette while the bluecoat continued to scrutinize him with the flashlight. Then, as the clatter faded, the cop delivered another question.

“Keepin’ out of the wet, eh?” he challenged, “Lookin’ out for your health, I guess?”

“That’s it,” returned the little man, with another puff at the cigarette.

“Yeah?” growled the bluecoat. “Well, wise boy, I’m tellin’ you somethin’. You won’t find a doorway a healthy place on my beat.”

“This one’s not so bad, officer.”

“Yeah? Why not?”

“Because the store’s empty. Use that glim you’ve got an’ you’ll see. That’s why I picked this spot. Figured you might be comin’ along.”

The cop flashed his light on grimy, empty windows. He saw that the sweatered man’s statement was correct. This doorway offered no inducement for crime. Whatever the man’s purpose here, burglary could not be a motive.

“Lucky the dragnet’s not operatin’,” declared the cop, gruffly. “If it was, I’d run you in. Move along! If I catch you loiterin’ again, I’ll make the pinch!”

The sweatered man flicked his cigarette into the gutter. With a shrug of his shoulders, he slouched from the doorway and headed down the street.

The patrolman, using the doorway as his own temporary post, watched until he saw the fellow cross the next street. Swinging his club, he resumed his beat.

TWO minutes after the policeman had passed the corner, a hunched figure stepped from the shelter of an elevated post. A drizzle-dulled street lamp showed the same crafty face above the rolled neck of the sweater.

Moving swiftly, the little man returned to the doorway from which the officer had ejected him. Crouching in the darkness, he lighted a fresh cigarette. As he smoked, he kept the glow hidden by his hand.

This doorway occupant was well known to certain characters of Manhattan’s underworld. He was nicknamed “Hawkeye,” and the moniker was well chosen. For Hawkeye possessed an uncanny ability in keeping watch on the business of other people; and he was also famed for his skill in detecting the approach of any danger.

Hawkeye had slipped tonight. His muttering was testimony to that fact. It had been a long while since any flatfoot had uncovered Hawkeye nestled in a hiding place. Hawkeye knew the reason: the policeman had spotted the glow of the cigarette. That was why the crafty-faced fellow was keeping the new glow covered.

Hawkeye’s mutters ended in a chuckle. After all, he had talked the cop out of making a pinch. That showed foresight on Hawkeye’s part. He had chosen this lurking place because the patrolman was new on the beat. Others might have recognized Hawkeye; but this bluecoat had not.

There was another reason, also, why Hawkeye had picked this place to loiter. The borders of the underworld were cut by definite routes along which crooks traveled. This particular block and the one beyond it formed a highroad of the bad lands.

Passers had thinned while the patrolman was in sight. With the officers gone, new figures came in sight. A shambling hop-head; a cane-toting peddler; two hard-faced gorillas — these were men who went by while Hawkeye watched. From the darkness of the doorway, the wary-eyed observer continued his vigil.

Hawkeye was looking for old faces. Identified with crooks, he was constantly on the lookout for old pals who had long been missing. More figures passed. Hawkeye stamped out his consumed cigarette and cautiously lighted another. Then his low chuckle came again as he spied a man approaching on the other side of the street.

The newcomer’s face was not discernible at this distance. But his gait, half stroll, half slouch, seemed familiar to Hawkeye. The watcher waited until the man had passed; then, after a quick peer from the doorway, Hawkeye emerged and took up the trail.

Half a block ahead, the stroller turned into an alleyway. Hawkeye quickened his pace as he crossed beneath the elevated. When he reached the alley, he looked through to a lighted street at the other end. There was no sign of the stroller.

Hawkeye knew where he had gone. Halfway down the alley was the darkened entry of a dive that regulars called “Luke’s Joint.”

That, alone, could have been the stroller’s destination.

HAWKEYE had entrance to Luke’s Joint. He went along the alley, descended three steps and gave a short, quick rap. A door opened; a scarred face met Hawkeye’s. A nod and a growl; and the little fellow was admitted into a dimly lighted entry.

Continuing through, Hawkeye entered a fair-sized room where half a dozen rough-faced rowdies were seated at tables.

One man, seated in a far corner, was alone. He had apparently just entered, for Luke, the proprietor, was setting a bottle and glass on the table. Hawkeye caught a glimpse of the man’s face. Strolling over, he stepped up as Luke was turning and nudged the seated man on the shoulder.

The fellow wheeled. His square, pockmarked face showed a scowl as challenging epithets came to his bloated lips. Then the scowl changed to a leer. A big hand grabbed Hawkeye’s and dragged the little man to the table.

“How’re you, Tinker?” chuckled Hawkeye. “Thought it was you, the minute I lamped your mug. Say — you’re the last guy I thought I was goin’ to see when I come in here.”

“Yeah?” laughed “Tinker.” “Well, it’s the same here, Hawkeye. I ain’t knowed anything about you since we was up in the Big House together. Have a drink. Then tell me the news.”

Hawkeye shrugged his shoulders. That indicated that he had nothing to talk about. His eyes, however, were shrewdly questioning.

Tinker caught their meaning. He laughed; then spoke low.

“Figuring something, ain’t you?” he asked. “Figuring that the big town ain’t no spot for Tinker Furris.”

“That’s it,” nodded Hawkeye.

“I ain’t staying here long,” declared Tinker. “Moving out day after tomorrow.”

“Where to?”

“A town called Latuna. Ever hear of it?”

“A long way from here, ain’t it?”

“Yeah.” Tinker nodded. Then, carefully, he added. “What else have you heard about that town?”

“Nothin’ much,” replied Hawkeye, in an indifferent tone. “Only enough to make me figure it ain’t healthy. Cuckoo Mohart was down in Latuna once. Took it on the lam with some other gorillas when the town had a clean-up. Told me it was too hot.”

“It was,” decided Tinker. “But it ain’t now. Konk Zitz is sitting pretty in Latuna.”

“Yeah? What’s his racket?”

“He don’t seem to have none yet. But he wants me down there with him. What’s more, he can use any guy that’s a pal of mine. More than one, for that matter.”

“Meanin’ me, for instance?”

“Yeah.”

TINKER’S proposition was a prompt one; but it brought a shake of the head from Hawkeye. Tinker eyed his former prison mate. Apparently, Hawkeye preferred to remain in New York. Tinker made a statement instead of putting a query.

“Might use you on a job here,” he suggested. “Tomorrow night. That’s why I’m in town.”

“A job for Konk Zitz?” inquired Hawkeye.

“No,” replied Tinker. “A lay that I wised up to on my own. I can let you in on it, Hawkeye, if you can get me the guy I want.”

“Who’s that?”

“A bird you used to travel around with. Fellow named Tapper. Pretty good safe-cracker, ain’t he?”

“Not many better.”

“Can you get him?”

“Maybe.” Hawkeye was cagey for a moment; then, looking around warily, he turned to Tinker and spoke in a whisper. “Tapper’s like me. We’re both dodgin’ the bulls. Ain’t no use takin’ too many chances.”

“This one’s a set-up — for a guy like Tapper.”

“Yeah. I’ve heard of set-ups before. So has Tapper. It was a set-up put him in the Big House. We’re keepin’ out of stir, Tapper an’ me—”

“Listen,” interrupted Tinker, with a low growl. “You know where old Cobleton’s hock shop is, don’t you?”

“Sure!” responded Hawkeye. “Next block to where Bingo’s old speak used to be.”

“Well, Cobleton’s would be a cinch, wouldn’t it?”

“Sure — for a guy that’d want to drag away a lot of theatrical trunks an’ old stage stuff. Every busted vaudeville troupe unloads its junk on that guy.”

“That’s what people think. But I know different. Heard it from an actor that had some jewelry along with his old curtains. He hocked a back drop with Cobleton, then asked him about getting cash for the rocks. This ham saw some of the sparklers that old Cobleton had in his safe.”

Hawkeye looked up and blinked. Tinker Furris laughed. He saw awakened interest.

“Cobleton thinks that junk is a good blind,” whispered Tinker. “But it ain’t no longer, now that I’m wise. He leaves the hock shop at night. It’ll be a cinch — with Tapper for the job. Well — are you getting him?”

“Sure!” responded Hawkeye. “I’ll talk to him.”

“All right.” Tinker pushed the bottle toward the little man. “Have another drink. Then slide out. Meet me here tomorrow night, with Tapper. In the back room. And listen. This means taking it on the lam, see? Latuna for us, as soon as the job’s over. Before the bulls get on our trail. We’ll be all set when we get with Konk Zitz.”

Hawkeye nodded slowly. He finished his drink, growled a good-by and slouched from Luke’s joint. Reaching the alley, he turned away from the direction of the street where he had spied Tinker Furris.

A SHREWD smile showed on Hawkeye’s lips as the sweatered spotter neared a lighted area. Hawkeye was heading from the borders of the underworld. His mission for tonight was accomplished. Out of many passers he had spied one who looked like quarry. From that one he had learned the details of a contemplated plan.

There had been method in Hawkeye’s reluctance to join forces with Tinker Furris. For Hawkeye had long since left the paths of crime. Accepted as a crook by the underworld, this crafty worker was doing his part to offset men of evil.

Hawkeye had gone straight since his discharge from Sing Sing. That, however, had been but his first step in a new career. After abandoning crime as a profession, Hawkeye had done his part to beat the workers of the underworld. He had become an agent of The Shadow.

Through his connections in the bad lands, Hawkeye had become a useful aid to the hidden master who battled men of crime. Whatever Hawkeye learned went to that superfighter whose very name had become terror to all crookdom.

Tinker Furris had come to New York to complete a deed of crime. That finished, he intended to leave for the town of Latuna, to serve as underling for “Konk” Zitz, a powerful crook leader whose whereabouts had long been undiscovered.

Two clues from Hawkeye to The Shadow: Known crime to be thwarted; unknown evil to be forestalled. Such would be Hawkeye’s contribution to the chief whom he now served. Yet the double information offered a dilemma to Hawkeye, despite the enthusiasm that the crafty spotter felt.

To prevent Tinker Furris from completing crime; yet to leave Tinker free to join Konk Zitz in Latuna — such would be The Shadow’s problem. How The Shadow would accomplish both was a puzzle to Hawkeye.

Yet the crafty smile did not fade from Hawkeye’s lips. His part was done. The action lay with The Shadow. And Hawkeye, acquainted with the prowess of his hidden chief, could feel no doubt. Somehow, Hawkeye knew, The Shadow would solve the problem.