The Blue Sphinx

CHAPTER XI AT THE PHOENIX HOTEL

SHORTLY after murder had been enacted at the Latuna Museum, a stranger entered the lobby of the Wilkin Hotel, Latuna’s most pretentious hostelry. There was something about the arrival’s bearing that was oddly reminiscent of Lamont Cranston.

The stranger in Latuna was tall, like Cranston; his face was hawklike and immobile; yet his whole visage was squarer and heavier than that of the New York millionaire. Moreover, his complexion was darker than Cranston’s.

The new guest at the Wilkin registered under the name of Henry Arnaud; his address: Cleveland, Ohio. He was given a room on the sixth floor front. Arrived there, Arnaud seemed satisfied. He dismissed the bell hop with a tip.

Moving his heavy suitcases from the luggage rack by the window, Henry Arnaud gazed out toward the town’s main street. Half a block away was the Phoenix Hotel. Watching the front of that building, Arnaud spied two men entering the hotel. One was Bart Drury; the other Clyde Burke. Arnaud’s eyes gleamed as he recognized the latter.

A soft laugh came from immobile lips as the new guest withdrew from the window. As Henry Arnaud, The Shadow had come unannounced to Latuna. His first purpose had been to learn how Clyde Burke was faring. Already, The Shadow had spied his agent.

Leaving his room, The Shadow descended to the lobby of the Wilkin. In the methodical fashion of Henry Arnaud, he strolled out to the street. He crossed the main thoroughfare and entered the Phoenix Hotel.

The Shadow discovered a large, glittering lobby that was cluttered with various slot machines. These devices were of a non-gambling type and had evidently passed police inspection. For tonight, two khaki-clad policemen were on duty; and they seemed mildly interested in watching the players at the game boards.

Bart Drury was seated in a corner chair, smoking a fat cigar. He had a complete view of the lobby and the small taproom that adjoined it. Near Bart was Clyde Burke, also on the watch.

Both were so concerned, however, with their more distant watching that they failed to notice the stranger who took a chair just past a potted palm tree to Drury’s right. In fact, neither man saw the inconspicuous figure of Henry Arnaud.

Listening, The Shadow overheard the conversation between Drury and Burke.

“Grewling’s got two cops on the job tonight,” laughed Bart. “Guess the old man got results with that editorial.”

“Are any of the riffraff around?” questioned Clyde.

“Sure,” returned Bart. “There’s a couple by the cigar stand. The rest are in the taproom.”

“I don’t see any cops in there.”

“Two detectives.” Bart paused to puff at his cigar. “Look through there to the corner table. See that guy with the funny-looking face? He’s one of Grewling’s dicks. Mushmug, we call him.”

A pause. Bart’s stogy began to curl. He chucked it in an ash-stand. As he started to fumble in his pocket for a fresh cigar, Bart suddenly poked Clyde in the shoulder.

“Here comes the big shot,” he whispered. “Guy named Konk Zitz. See? From the taproom?”

CLYDE nodded as he saw a short, sallow-faced rogue come into the lobby. Konk Zitz was attired in tuxedo. He was chewing a cigar and looking about with beady, ratlike eyes. He spied Bart Drury, and a sour grin appeared upon his face.

“Hello, there!” greeted the newcomer, approaching the reporter. “Boy! What smoke! Did you chuck a pineapple in that ash-stand?”

“Just a cigar,” returned Drury.

“Who gave it to you?” chuckled Konk. “The police chief? Trying to gas you?”

“I bought it,” retorted Drury. “For a nickel.”

“Well, here’s a fifteen center,” offered Konk. “One for your pal, too.” He looked at Clyde and added a question. “New reporter on your paper?”

“Yes,” replied Drury. “Name’s Burke.”

Konk shook hands with Clyde. Then he took a chair near the two reporters and nudged his thumb toward the lobby.

“Looks like your boss woke Grewling up,” observed the crook leader. “Two flatfeet here in the lobby. Couple more out back. Couple of dicks in the taproom.”

“Watching your bunch?” quizzed Drury.

“Watching everybody,” corrected Konk. “I’ve got no outfit, Drury. Get that out of your noodle.”

“You’ve got a lot of friends.”

“Sure! Pals who have the same idea I have. We all think Latuna is a good spot for a vacation.”

“Two more blew in to-day, didn’t they?”

“Yeah. Couple of friends of mine. I mailed them a folder about Latuna. You know the one. Chamber of Commerce puts it out. Well, they fell for the idea this city was a beauty spot and they dropped off.”

“From a freight?”

“Came in by the Northeast Express,” replied Konk Zitz, ignoring Drury’s sarcasm. “Say — I don’t get this stuff of calling me and my friends undesirables. Latuna is a vacation city, ain’t it?”

“So they say.”

“Well, we spend U. S. dough, like anybody else. What’s more, we spend more of it than most people.”

“All right, Konk. I’m not arguing. It’s Knode’s idea to razz you fellows; not mine. Say — who came in to-day?”

“A fellow named Tinker Furris; and a pal of his, Cliff Marsland. Both have a clean bill of health.”

“Where are they?”

“In the taproom. You can’t see them from here; but Grewling’s gumshoes are watching them.”

THE SHADOW had heard every iota of this conversation. Yet not even Konk Zitz had noticed the placid stranger beyond the potted palm. Watching across the lobby, The Shadow spied an approaching bell boy. He observed that the attendant was coming to speak to Konk Zitz.

“Telephone, Mr. Zitz.”

Konk arose at the bell hop’s statement. The Shadow watched the sallow-faced cigar smoker go to a telephone booth, while Bart and Clyde resumed their conversation. Though Konk was turned so that The Shadow could not eye the motions of his lips, the keen-eyed watcher knew that this telephone call was an important one.

When Konk came out of the booth, he wore a poker-faced expression. He started toward the taproom; as an afterthought, he swung back and approached Clyde and Bart.

“Fine mess your boss made of things!” Konk told Drury. “With Grewling’s gumshoes on the job, none of us can go out of here tonight. I had to bust a date with a swell blonde who just called me up.”

“Too bad,” observed Drury.

“I’ll say it is!” growled Konk. “If I took her out in my coupe, I’d have a couple of these wise dicks traveling along in the rumble seat. When you see that boss of yours, Knode, tell him I don’t like him! Get that?”

Konk turned and went into the taproom. His bluff had been effective with the reporters.

Not so with The Shadow. The listener who wore the countenance of Henry Arnaud knew well that Konk Zitz had deliberately tried to cover up a business call.

“Let’s go up to the old man’s house,” suggested Bart. “Maybe he’s been up to the museum, to see Rubal. We’ll walk over to Knode’s. It’s only a couple of blocks.”

As the two sauntered from the lobby, The Shadow arose and strolled to the taproom. Just inside, he paused; as before, his guise of Arnaud was an inconspicuous one. The Shadow saw Konk Zitz with a group at a table. Cliff Marsland was there, seated beside Tinker Furris. The Shadow recognized the latter’s pockmarked face.

“All O.K.,” came Konk’s low growl. “Nobody needed tonight. Sit tight. It’s great, with these dicks watching us. We want them to know that none of us moved out of here after seven P.M.”

The Shadow strolled from the taproom. He knew the source of that information which Konk Zitz had passed to the band. It was an aftermath of the telephone call that Konk had received. As he left the Phoenix Hotel, The Shadow glanced at his watch. The time was five minutes before nine.

There was no need for The Shadow to remain here longer. Konk and his pals was staying in the Phoenix Hotel; Cliff Marsland, established with the outfit, would report any new developments.

The Shadow’s thoughts reverted to Clyde Burke and Bart Drury. His fixed lips formed the semblance of a smile as he entered the lobby of his own hotel and took the elevator to the sixth.

IN his room, The Shadow consulted a telephone book and learned Knode’s address. He extinguished the light in the room; then opened a suitcase. Black garments clicked. From that moment, Henry Arnaud was a name only; his personality had ended. The cloaked figure of The Shadow had replaced him.

Gliding phantomlike through the hallway, The Shadow arrived at a firetower exit and descended to a vacant lot beside the hotel. This was used as a parking space; The Shadow threaded his way among the standing cars.

His course became swift and undiscernible as he moved along silent, dimly lighted streets. The Shadow’s speed showed that he had familiarized himself with a street map of Latuna. He knew the shortcuts; his pace was rapid. It brought him to the front of a small, old-fashioned house that stood on a secluded street.

The Shadow passed through a little gate; then merged with the blackness at the side of a porch as he heard footsteps coming from the corner.

Clyde Burke and Bart Drury entered the gate. This house was Harrison Knode’s. The Shadow’s swift course had beaten their strolling pace and roundabout choice of route. The Shadow watched from darkness as Drury rang the doorbell. An elderly housekeeper answered.

“Hello, Bridget!” greeted Bart. “Where’s Mr. Knode?”

“He went out, Mr. Drury,” replied the woman.

“When did he say he’d be back?” inquired the reporter.

“He didn’t tell me that,” answered Bridget. “He just told me he was going out before eight o’clock. That was right after dinner—”

“Who says I went out?” The irritable voice was Harrison Knode’s. The editor was coming from a stairway. “I haven’t been out at all!”

The Shadow saw Knode’s figure at the doorway. The man was in shirt sleeves. His necktie was missing. He acted in a half-sleepy manner.

“I told you to call me, Bridget,” snapped Knode, “so I could go out at eight! I went upstairs to take a nap. I overslept.”

“I was sure, sir,” protested the woman, “that you had gone out. When I saw you just now, I thought you’d come in by the back door.”

“Enough, Bridget! You may go!” Knode shooed the housekeeper with an angry wave of his hands. Then to Clyde and Bart. “Come in, you fellows. We’ll have a smoke.”

The door closed after Clyde and Bart entered.

The Shadow lingered; then edged forward from the darkness beside the porch. He reached the door and found it unlatched. Softly, he entered to a hallway.

Beyond curtains, The Shadow saw lights that indicated Knode’s parlor. He peered into an old-fashioned room. He saw the editor offering cigars to the reporters.

“IT’S too late to go to the museum,” stated Knode, as he lighted his cigar. “Rubal will be gone. Well, I’ll see him tomorrow. If he’s got anything worth while to say, I’ll hear it in time for the edition.”

He paused; then inquired sharply. “Where’ve you fellows been this evening?”

“Down at the Phoenix Hotel,” replied Drury. “Talking with Konk Zitz. Couple of new pals blew in to join him.

“Was Grewling there?”

“No. Some of his men were, though.”

“Humph! I wonder why Grewling wasn’t there. I thought he’d be keeping tabs himself, tonight. Well, I guess he’ll be there later.”

Knode walked restlessly across the room; then sat down in a chair.

“It irks me,” he asserted, “this fact that I overslept. I should have seen Rubal tonight. Instead, I didn’t get a chance to leave the house. I was caught napping, literally.”

With that statement, Harrison Knode dropped the subject and settled down to a casual chat with his reporters. But Clyde Burke could not dispel a lurking suspicion that Bridget had been correct when she had stated that Knode had gone out at eight o’clock.

Whether or not Knode had told the truth was a matter that continued to perplex Clyde. It was something that he intended to put in his report to The Shadow. Clyde wondered what his chief’s finding would be. The Shadow had a way of divining the false from the true; even when he worked on information from others.

Clyde Burke would have been amazed had he known that The Shadow had already studied the merits of Knode’s statements. Listening from the hall, that cloaked watcher had heard all that the editor had said. Moreover, he had noted Knode’s expression when the man had talked.

The Shadow had dropped Konk Zitz, knowing that Cliff Marsland could watch that fellow. Right now, he was dropping Harrison Knode, leaving further observation of the editor to Clyde Burke. A new, uncovered lead was the one that The Shadow intended to follow.

Knode’s front door closed softly as The Shadow stole out into darkness. Swiftly, stealthily, the cloaked phantom headed townward.

A soft whisper drifted through the darkness. The Shadow had yet to learn of murder at the museum. Yet he had already gained important impressions concerning two persons in Latuna namely, Konk Zitz and Harrison Knode.