The Blue Sphinx

CHAPTER IV IN THE PAWNSHOP

AT eight o’clock that same evening, Hawkeye entered the obscure doorway of Luke’s Joint. Sidling through the room where thugs convened, he found another doorway and peered into a smaller room. He spied Tinker Furris seated at a table. Hawkeye entered.

“Hello, Hawkeye,” growled Tinker. “Say — I thought you was bringing Tapper. What’d you do? Tell him to meet you here.”

Hawkeye shook his head. He sat down at the table and spoke in a troubled tone.

“Tapper ain’t comin’,” he informed. “He can’t take no chances, Tinker. I don’t blame him.”

“Why not?”

“On account of The Shadow.”

“The Shadow!”

“Yeah. It looks like he’s watchin’ Tapper.”

A change came over Tinker’s pockmarked face. This mention of the underworld’s great foe was disconcerting. Tinker laughed; but the tone was not genuine.

“If The Shadow is trailin’ Tapper,” asserted Hawkeye, leaning across the table, “he may be trailin’ me next. It ain’t safe for neither of us to make a move. We got to look like we was turnin’ goody-goody. See?

“There ain’t nothin’ that The Shadow could pin on us; but if he’s watchin’, there’s no chance of pullin’ a dodge. I figure Tapper’s got the right idea. He says stick in New York. No scrammin’ for either of us—”

“Then the deal’s off?” broke in Tinker, savagely. “You mean I got to pass up this cinch job at the hock shop until I can dig up some guy that’s as good as Tapper?”

“I ain’t sayin’ that,” returned Hawkeye. “I’m tellin’ you first that Tapper wants to stay out of it an’ I’ve got to stick by Tapper. Now that that’s in your noodle, I’ll give you the rest. I got a guy that’ll work with you.”

“As good as Tapper?”

“Better than Tapper.”

Tinker looked incredulous. Hawkeye grinned; then threw a wary look toward the door. No one was in sight. Hawkeye spoke.

“DID you ever hear of a guy who was named Cliff Marsland?” he questioned. “Well” — Hawkeye grinned again as he saw Tinker nod — “I got hold of Cliff an’ he’s comin’ here to work with you tonight.”

Tinker was impressed. He had heard of Cliff’s reputation in the underworld. In the bad lands, Cliff was rated as one of the best lieutenants that any big shot could desire. He had a reputation as a killer. But there was one point that came as news to Tinker Furris.

“Cliff Marsland ain’t no safe-buster,” objected the pock-faced crook. “He’s a good guy. If he wants to head for Latuna with me, Konk Zitz can use him there. But this box up at Cobleton’s hock shop—”

“Listen, Tinker,” broke in Hawkeye. “I’m wisin’ you to somethin’ that only a couple of guys know. Cliff Marsland can knock off any tin box that you show him — an’ he don’t need no soup for the job, neither.

“That’s his real racket. That’s why he’s got the bulls goofy. He don’t have to trail around with a crew of gorillas all the time. When things get hot, he loafs. Looks like he’s takin’ a vacation, see? But he ain’t. He’s workin’ on his own, safe-crackin’—”

“He’s coming here tonight?” quizzed Tinker, convinced enough to interrupt.

“Sure!” nodded Hawkeye. “Maybe he’s outside now. I told him to wait there. Didn’t want to mention your name to him until I could find out if it was O.K.”

“It’s oke. Lamp those mugs in the outer room and see if he’s there.”

Hawkeye went to the door and peered craftily. His eyes lighted. He made a beckoning gesture. Backing into the room, Hawkeye made way for a stalwart, broad-shouldered chap. Tinker Furris caught sight of a firm, chiseled face. He recognized Cliff Marsland.

Introductions were brief. A few minutes later, Tinker and Cliff were engaged in a businesslike discussion as they considered the matter of Cobleton’s safe. Tinker made his terms.

“Hawkeye wants to be out of it,” he announced. “I was going to offer half the swag to him and Tapper. So I’ll make the same proposition to you, Cliff. Fifty-fifty. If Hawkeye thinks he ought to come in for a cut, he gets it from you.”

“Count me out,” insisted Hawkeye.

“All right,” resumed Tinker. “Well, Cliff, that means me and you. We take it on the lam for Latuna afterward. You’ll break in with Konk Zitz. You, instead of Tapper.”

Cliff nodded his agreement. Hawkeye, seeing that matters were settled, arose and made his exit in his usual wary fashion. Cliff and Tinker completed their plan of action. Then they left Luke’s Joint.

COBLETON’S pawnshop was an isolated building despite its East Side location. The low roof of a garage was on one side; a deserted house on the other, with a street of alley proportions running between the hock shop and the empty house.

The lower floor had barred windows; but the second story offered opportunity for attack. The best means of entrance lay at the back of the house, where a high fence was an attraction for second-story workers.

But while Cliff and Tinker were on their way to Cobleton’s, another visitor arrived there before them. Gliding past the front of the pawnshop, a phantom figure paused to study the building. Dim, almost invisible as it stood by a shrouding wall, this shape showed the outline of black-cloaked shoulders, with a slouch hat above.

The Shadow had arrived at Cobleton’s. He had instructed Cliff Marsland to contact with Hawkeye, through Slade Farrow. Cliff had done so; his introduction to Tinker Furris had been in pursuance of further instructions from The Shadow. With that settled, The Shadow was timing his own plans.

The far wall of the garage showed a blackened space that was to The Shadow’s liking. The tall figure glided across the street and merged with darkness. Then came soft, squidgy sounds. With the aid of rubber suction cups, The Shadow was scaling the wall of the garage. He reached the roof; then proceeded toward the pawnshop.

A side window opened toward the garage roof. It was locked; but The Shadow pried the catch by inserting a thin piece of steel between the portions of the sash. He raised the window and entered; then found a stairway that led below.

A metal-sheathed door barred entrance to the front room of the pawnshop. The rays of a tiny flashlight showed other doors that led to storage rooms. The Shadow entered a storeroom where stacks of trunks and crates of theatrical equipment formed a medley that no burglar would attempt to remove.

Threading his way to a far corner, The Shadow discovered a locked door that apparently led to a storage closet. This was a spot that an ordinary prowler would have passed up; the very weakness of the door indicated nothing of consequence beyond.

With a skeleton key, The Shadow unlocked this door. His soft laugh told the wisdom of his move.

Beyond the opened door, the flashlight showed a tiny office. In a corner past a small desk was the front of a heavy safe that took up nearly a quarter of the room space. It was a formidable strong-box, this safe that old Cobleton had installed in an obscure room.

The Shadow approached the safe. His left hand came into the range of his flashlight. A quick gesture, and a black glove slipped from agile fingers. While a resplendent gem — the Shadow’s girasol — was glimmering in changing hues, that deft left hand worked on the combination.

Minutes passed amid stillness. A click. The door of the safe swung open. Studying the interior, The Shadow noted a stack of jewel cases. He did not open them; instead, he closed the safe door.

The left hand took the flashlight. Leaning close to the safe, The Shadow produced a tiny magnifying glass and adjusted it to his right eye. Then he produced an engraving tool. His steady fingers made minute markings upon the combination knob. These gave the semblance of a slight scratch, quite similar to others that were already on the metal knob.

A soft laugh as the light went out. Then a slight swish. After that came silence. The Shadow was lingering in the darkness of the little office. Another step had been completed in the game.

OUTSIDE the building that housed the pawnshop, Cliff Marsland and Tinker Furris were crouching by the rear fence. A patrolman had just passed. They were ready to proceed. Tinker gave a whispered growl.

“That flatfoot’s out of the picture,” he informed. “Boost me up this fence. It ain’t going to take long for me to jimmy a window.”

Cliff complied. Atop the fence, Tinker set to work. Muffled sounds finally ended. Leaning down, Tinker aided Cliff in an upward scramble. They crawled through the window that Tinker had jimmied.

Using a flashlight with caution, Tinker led the way downstairs. He pointed out the storeroom with the trunks.

“It’s through here,” he growled. “That’s what the ham told me when he described the joint. Said there was a door that led into an inside room. Look — there it is—”

Tinker broke off as he reached the door. He saw that the lock was simple. Producing a ring of skeleton keys, he found one that did the trick. He and Cliff entered the office. Tinker flashed his torch on the door of the safe.

“Can you crack it, Marsland?” he questioned, anxiously. “It looks like a tough baby.”

“Leave it to me,” returned Cliff.

Moving into the range of light, Cliff leaned in front of the safe. He drew a microscope from his pocket and held it in front of the knob while he motioned Tinker to come closer with the light.

“Say,” whispered Tinker, “that’s a new wrinkle! What’s the idea of the glass, Cliff? It ain’t going to give no tip on the combo—”

“I’m looking for finger prints,” interposed Cliff, quietly. “A gag of my own, Tinker.”

“Finger prints? What for?”

“So I can leave them if they’re there. The cops will look for them, won’t they? All right — let them find them. All they’ll have will be old Cobleton’s.”

“That’s neat, Cliff! Most guys would polish up after finishing. You don’t, eh?”

“Not by a long shot. Yeah, there’s prints here, all right, just on the edge of the center. Cobleton must have smudged it when he closed the safe. All right, I’ll leave that for the bulls.”

While he was speaking, Cliff was keenly noting the scratch near the center of the knob. Highly magnified, it showed a series of numbers that were barely discernible. Cliff put away his lens. He began to turn the knob.

Faking the job for Tinker’s benefit, Cliff took a full five minutes before he utilized the combination that he had learned from The Shadow’s markings. At last came the click that Tinker had desired. The door swung open. The flashlight showed the stack of jewel boxes.

“Hold it, Tinker,” whispered Cliff. “I’m going back in the storeroom. To pick up one of those suitcases. We can load the swag in it.”

“Oke,” agreed Tinker. “I’ll open up them boxes. Boy — they look like they ought to show some sparklers!”

CLIFF moved away while Tinker was speaking. Eagerly, Tinker drew boxes from the safe. He opened the top one and chuckled as he saw the glitter of a turquoise necklace, with diamonds set at intervals.

Holding the flashlight with his left hand, Tinker raised the necklace with his right and let the gems sparkle before his eyes.

Fancying that Cliff had returned, Tinker spoke as he noted a slight sound behind him. He raised the dangling necklace that his companion might see it.

“Look at it, Cliff,” he whispered. “How’s that for a first grab?”

There was no response. Tinker’s forehead furrowed. Puzzled by the lack of a reply, the crook wheeled and turned his flashlight upon the spot where he thought Cliff was standing. It was then that a hoarse gasp came from Tinker’s bloated lips.

Cliff Marsland had not returned. Another, however, had entered. The necklace dropped from Tinker’s numbed fingers. The flashlight wavered in his trembling hand as its glare revealed the form that Tinker had encountered.

Looming squarely before Tinker Furris was a figure cloaked in black. Burning eyes focused their fierce gaze upon the quivering crook. Just below those blazing optics, Tinker saw the huge-mouthed muzzle of a .45 automatic.

No gasp came from Tinker’s frozen lips. But the pitiful blink of the crook’s eyelids told that he had recognized the intruder who had trapped him. A laugh, barely audible, came from hidden lips. Tinker quailed as he heard that sinister taunt.

For Tinker saw death looming with that gun muzzle. A man of crime, caught in the act, he was faced by the archenemy of evil. Tinker Furris was trapped by The Shadow!