The Chinese Disks

CHAPTER XIV. AIDS TO THE SHADOW

NOT long after The Shadow’s surprise visit to Slade Farrow, a young man entered the lobby of the Hotel Metrolite. The bell captain nodded as the arrival passed. So did the elevator operator, when the young man entered his car.

“Good morning, Mr. Vincent,” was the operator’s greeting.

Harry Vincent was a resident guest at the Metrolite. For several years, that hotel had been his New York headquarters. He frequently went away on business trips; but he always returned to the Metrolite.

At present, Harry was living in Suite 1010, which consisted of a small living room and bedroom. When he reached his suite, Harry sat down at a writing desk and drew an envelope from his pocket. It was a large envelope, quite bulky. In the upper left corner, it bore the return address:

Harry had received that envelope from the investment broker only a short while ago. He had gone to Mann’s office in response to a telephone call. Mann had given him the envelope with orders to return promptly to the Metrolite.

Harry opened the envelope. Inside, he found four smaller ones, each of a different color. Red, yellow, green and blue. To Harry, this meant a definite progression. The envelopes were to be opened in turn; the red one first.

From the red envelope, Harry produced a folded sheet of paper. It proved to be a note, inscribed in code words of bright bluish hue. Harry read the message with no effort. Immediately afterward the words began to fade. The paper became blank.

Harry Vincent was sober as he stared from the window. New York, in daytime, seemed a city of safety.

Yet Harry could sense insidious evil, hidden dangers that lurked in Manhattan. As an agent of The Shadow, Harry knew that his chief was waging a new campaign against crime; but until to-day, Harry had not learned the full details of the case.

DIAMOND BERT FARWELL! Harry remembered the crook. He had encountered Diamond Bert when the fellow was masquerading as Wang Foo. Harry had fallen into the hands of the pretended Chinaman. But for The Shadow’s timely aid, Harry would have suffered death within those toils.

Diamond Bert at large! Harry could appreciate the struggle that The Shadow faced. In that faded codeword note, Harry had learned brief details of The Shadow’s recent adventures. In taking the role of Tam Sook, Diamond Bert had acted true to form. His disappearance from the laundry of Loon Goy and Hoy Wen was but further proof of his slippery ability.

Harry tore up the empty red envelope. He placed the other three envelopes in his pocket. Leaving his suite, he descended to the street and headed for an East Side subway station. He rode to Fourteenth Street. There he hailed a cab and gave the driver a destination. Riding in the cab, Harry produced the yellow envelope and opened it.

A new note with coded instructions. Harry’s eyebrows lifted as he read the orders. Here was something new in Harry’s experience. Contact work which he had not previously performed for The Shadow. Harry was meditative when the note faded. Then, his lips set in a firm smile. He tore up the yellow envelope and the blank paper. He tossed the fragments from the window.

The cab stopped at its destination. Harry alighted, paid the driver, and looked about. He was on a narrow street lined by dilapidated tenements. To his right was another thoroughfare that was only a block in length.

There was no traffic on the short street. The block had been transformed into an open-air market. Wheel to wheel, projecting from the curbs, were pushcarts that displayed all types of merchandise.

A babbling tumult filled the air. A motley throng of purchasers filled street and sidewalks. Buyers were walking from wagon to wagon, haggling, bargaining with these outdoor merchants. Troublesome gamins were sidling about, waiting for opportunities to pilfer from the stands. But the curb merchants were wary.

No matter how eager they became to make a sale, they invariably kept a watchful eye on the juvenile pests.

Harry strolled along the street. He looked at the carts as he passed them. The block was like a bargain basement on wheels. But Harry had no eye for purchase. He was noting the license plates on the push wagons. He reached the end of the block before he found the one he wanted.

This wagon was a fruit stand. It was presided over by a keen-eyed Italian, whose chief duty was watching out for petty thieves. Fruit offered most inducement to the roving gamins. It was a commodity too frequent to attract many purchasers. Almost last in the line-up, the Italian was doing very little business; and his glumness showed it.

HARRY stepped up to the Italian. The fellow turned in his direction, eager to make a sale to this well-dressed customer. But Harry’s inquiry did not concern the wares that were heaped upon the stand.

“Is your name Pietro?” inquired Harry.

The Italian stared suspiciously; then nodded.

“I want to talk to you,” stated Harry.

Again a suspicious stare. Then Pietro was reassured. Harry’s appearance passed his inspection. The Italian knew that this questioner was neither gangster nor detective. Those were the only two types of interrogators whom Pietro was anxious to avoid.

“I poosh da cart around da corner,” suggested the Italian. “Disa place, too many da keeds. All time dey grabba da banan. One time dey grabba three beeg bunch. What you wanta say?”

The question came as Pietro, wheeling the cart, reached a spot beyond the corner. Harry was following.

He looked about; seeing that no one was close, he spoke in a confidential tone.

“Remember a fellow named Tony Cumo?” questioned Harry.

“Tony Cumo?” returned Pietro. “Sure — Tony, he’s dead. What you wanta know about Tony?”

“He was a counterfeiter.”

“Sure. I know. He giva me da bad nickel. I getta myself in wrong. I tella da cops all about.”

“And after that?”

Pietro hesitated. He eyed Harry with new suspicion. He saw friendliness in Harry’s gaze. Pietro spoke:

“Tony, he have the friends. One friend, he aska me why I tella da cop. I say da cop aska me. Quattro uomini — four men — dey grabba me. Wanta keel me, Pietro. Dat’s all.”

“Who stopped them?”

Pietro shrugged his shoulders. Apparently, he did not care to answer the question. He shot a glance at Harry; then prepared to push his cart along the street. Harry spoke in a low tone, close to Pietro’s ear.

“The Shadow stopped them.”

Pietro paused. He darted a swift sidelong look; then listened as Harry spoke three short words in Italian.

These were words that had appeared in The Shadow’s message. Pietro understood.

“He tella me some time he needa me, maybe,” declared the Italian, in a low tone. “You come from heem. You know what he spoka to me. Da Shadow. When he helpa me from da friends of Tony.

“You tella me what Da Shadow want. I do whatta you say. You giva me da right word. I worka da way you want—”

Harry broke in. Quietly, he gave Pietro definite instructions. The Italian nodded his understanding. He repeated Harry’s name when the agent stated it; also the telephone number that Harry added. The pushcart was in motion. Pietro shoved it along the street while Harry walked upon the curb. Then, as they neared a corner, their paths separated.

Harry boarded an elevated train. He chose one of the central, facing seats in the almost deserted car.

Unobserved by any one, he opened the green envelope and read its message. Paper went blank. Harry tore it with the envelope. When he alighted from the train, he let the pieces of paper flutter from the platform.

Glancing at his watch, Harry hastened down the steps. He hailed a taxi and rode westward. Leaving the cab, he strolled along Ninth Avenue until he reached a little restaurant. A cab was parked by the curb.

Harry smiled as he noted its license number. He entered the cab.

IMMEDIATELY, a hunch-shouldered taximan came from the restaurant. He delivered a friendly grin as he sprang to the wheel.

“Where to, boss?” he questioned.

Harry gave a destination. The driver nodded. Looking downward, Harry spied the driver’s card that showed through a celluloid pocket just in back of the front seat. It displayed a picture of the taximan; and gave his name: Moe Shrevnitz. Harry leaned to the front.

“I just had time to catch you, Moe,” observed Harry. “You usually leave that restaurant at twelve thirty, don’t you.”

“Yeah,” returned the driver, in surprise. “I was just finishin’ a cup of Mocha when you hopped aboard. But say — how’d you know I ate there?”

“Turn over to Seventh Avenue,” responded Harry, ignoring Moe’s question. “Go up past Brindle’s restaurant. I want to take a look at the place.”

Moe’s hands shook. He nearly lost the wheel as he turned to deliver a troubled glance.

“Remember the night those gorillas stopped you in front of Brindle’s?” questioned Harry. “Made you drive them up into the Bronx? Going to rub you out and take your cab?”

“Say” — Moe’s teeth chattered — “what are you? A dick? Or a newshawk?”

“Neither,” replied Harry. “Neither detective nor reporter. Just a friend of yours, Moe. A friend who wants to know how you stepped out of that mess in the Bronx.”

“The gorillas got scared,” bluffed Moe. “They was yellow. That’s all.”

“Scared of what?”

“Nothing that I know of.”

“Then who clipped them?”

“The bulls, I guess.”

“Not The Shadow?”

The question startled Shrevnitz. He yanked the cab over to the curb. His face showed pale as he turned to stare squarely through the window. He eyed Harry’s countenance.

“You ain’t no pal of them gorillas,” decided Moe. “I can tell a gunman when I see one. You’re a guy that’s workin for — for—”

Harry nodded. Moe knew that he meant The Shadow.

“Say,” acknowledged Moe. “That guy gave me the creeps. But he’s an ace. If he wasn’t, Moe Shrevnitz wouldn’t be drivin’ no cab to-day. Tell me what he wants. I’m game for it.”

Briefly, Harry spoke. Leaning from the wheel of his parked cab, Moe Shrevnitz nodded his understanding. When Harry was through, Moe shifted squarely behind the wheel. He was ready to start.

Harry withheld him.

While the driver waited, staring straight ahead, Harry opened the blue envelope. He read the instructions that he found within.

“Take me over to the Broadway subway,” ordered Harry, through the front window. “Then follow the instructions that I gave you. Remember: call the number I mentioned at two o’clock.”

Shrevnitz nodded. The cab rolled from the curb. Pieces of paper, blue mingled with white, drifted from the side window as Harry tossed the fragments to the street.

FORTY minutes later, Harry Vincent was in Harlem. He entered a small, but well-kept office building and walked up to the second floor. He stopped before a door that bore the statement:

The door clinked a bell as Harry opened the barrier. Inside was a little waiting room with a rail. Beyond it, the door of a small inside office. That door opened; then the entire portal was blocked by the figure of a huge African.

“Jericho Druke?” questioned Harry.

“Yes, sah,” smiled the African. “At your service. What kind of help do you need, sah?”

“You used to be doorman at the Club Galaxy, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sah.”

“Remember the time you stopped those two killers who had rubbed out Heinie Walbo? While they were trying to make their getaway?”

Jericho’s face became solemn. The African nodded.

“It was a good job, Jericho,” observed Harry. “Then that third yegg bounced in and cracked you with a blackjack—”

Instinctively, Jericho thrust his hand to the back of his head. Then realizing that the gesture was a giveaway, he dropped his massive paw and stared while Harry continued.

“It knocked you cold for half a minute,” added Harry, “and the stage was set for you to go the voyage like Heinie Walbo. But when you came to your senses, you heard shots. You saw—”

Jericho was shaking his head in denial. Harry smiled; then continued:

“You saw The Shadow.”

Jericho stared. He made no comment. Then, in a whisper, he repeated a brief sentence which made Jericho’s eyes open.

“He sent you here?” questioned the African, in an awed tone. “The Shadow?”

Harry nodded.

“This office is hereby closed,” pronounced Jericho, with a sweep of his big arm. “Whatever you say goes, sah. Ah’s the man for any job you want. Ah’s never forgotten that night, sah.”

Briefly, Harry repeated new instructions. They brought a series of nods from Jericho. Then Harry made his departure. Ten minutes afterward, Jericho left his office, carrying a huge suitcase. The African locked the door and pasted a note upon it, announcing that the employment bureau was temporarily closed.

Through Slade Farrow, The Shadow had gained the services of Tapper and Hawkeye. With Harry as his representative, The Shadow had added Pietro, Shrevnitz and Jericho. Five new aids had entered The Shadow’s service.

Harry Vincent considered those facts as he rode southward on his way to report to Rutledge Mann.

Harry knew that The Shadow was facing tremendous odds. Diamond Bert, with an unknown number of hidden minions, was the center of a secret organization that furnished him with almost unlimited power.

Strategic points must be watched. The Shadow needed aids who could remain unsuspected. Workers upon whom he could depend; men who could outmatch the underlings of Diamond Bert. The Shadow had gained those aids. It would be war to the finish against Diamond Bert Farwell and those who carried the Chinese disks.