The Chinese Disks

CHAPTER XVI. CRIME’S TRAIL

HAWKEYE was not at the restaurant window when Monte Agland reached the street. From his vantage point, the little watcher had spied Ruke Perrin when the racketeer had entered. Despite Ruke’s muffled garb, Hawkeye had recognized his features beneath the light of the marquee that fronted the Castellan Apartments.

Hawkeye had put in another telephone call. He had received orders to trail Ruke Perrin. When the confident racketeer had reappeared upon the street, Hawkeye had followed him. Hence this crafty trailer was not available when Monte appeared.

But there was another of The Shadow’s new aids on duty. A cab swung across the street, cut in front of a second taxi and was the first to reach the curb when the doorman gave a signal. Monte Agland stepped into the cab and named his destination as an uptown night club.

Monte did not see the face of the muffled driver. Hence for the second time, he failed to spy the features of Moe Shrevnitz. Monte had no idea that he was riding in the same cab that had brought him from Norse’s. The card in back of the front seat did not enlighten him. Moe had changed the card again.

This time the license showed a long, dark face. The name printed on the card was Pedro Aldaban.

Monte noted the name; then forgot it. He settled back in the seat and lighted a cigarette.

BACK at the Castellan, a new arrival was entering the lobby. It was the same personage whom Slade Farrow had met a few days before. The unknown stranger with the immobile visage, whose discourse had marked him as The Shadow. Clad in light overcoat and wearing a soft gray hat, this arrival passed as a visitor who might be calling upon any of the many dwellers in the Castellan.

The Shadow stepped from the elevator when he reached the fourteenth floor. Moving into a gloomy end of the hallway, he underwent a strange transformation. His light overcoat dropped away, to reveal a Tuxedo-clad figure. The gray hat rolled into a compact bundle; then deft hands twisted the overcoat about it.

From beneath The Shadow’s coat had appeared a flexible bag, shaped like a briefcase. Its snap came open. Cloak and hat appeared. Stooping, The Shadow swept these garments to his shoulders and head.

He dropped his light overcoat and briefcase into a space behind the hallway radiator.

As he donned black gloves, The Shadow moved toward a corridor. A creature of invisibility, he arrived at the door of 1420. Here, he produced a blackened pick and probed the lock. He opened the door and stepped into a little anteroom.

The Shadow knew that Monte Agland had left. He had seen Moe Shrevnitz pick up a passenger who answered Monte’s description. Until another report came from Moe, The Shadow could best use his time investigating this apartment.

Keen eyes saw Hubert walking across the living room. The servant was carrying out the contents of the laundry package. He did not return to the living room. The Shadow entered. He examined the wrapper that had contained the laundry. It passed his inspection.

Keen eyes glanced toward the wastebasket. There The Shadow saw the crumpled paper. He produced the Chinese laundry ticket and smoothed it out upon the desk. The Shadow’s eyes gleamed as they studied the characters. These were not genuine Chinese, though the ordinary observer might have taken them as such.

Promptly, The Shadow duplicated Monte Agland’s action with the blotters. He obscured portions of the fake Chinese characters. Those that remained spelled an English word from top to bottom. The oddly inscribed letters stated: “To-night.”[3]

With a gloved hand, The Shadow crumpled the paper. He wheeled away and with a sweeping gesture sent the wadded paper toward the wastebasket. It was still in air when Hubert entered. The servant failed to see the wad as it dropped lightly into the basket, tossed from a distance of eight feet.

Nor did Hubert see The Shadow. With his whirl, the intruder had reached a gloomy corner of the room.

He became completely motionless, a strange, blackened shape that the valet failed to observe. Hubert picked up the ash stand and carried it into the kitchenette, intending to empty it. The Shadow glided across the living room.

Knowing that Hubert might return, The Shadow saw no time for further search. Moreover, he had learned the most important news that he could have gained. The Shadow knew that “To-night” meant coming crime. He had learned of Ruke Perrin’s arrival at the Castellan. He knew that Ruke was gone, even though he had not yet received Hawkeye’s next report.

For The Shadow had divined that Ruke’s business here was with Monte Agland. Both were agents of Diamond Bert. Both had been trailed and must be watched. That work could belong to The Shadow’s aids. To-night, crime was due; and at the first inkling of its location, The Shadow must head for the spot.

By the elevators, The Shadow reclaimed his coat, hat and briefcase. He completed another rapid change.

He was standing in wait for an elevator when other persons put in their appearance. Reaching the street in his guise of an ordinary person, The Shadow strolled a half block and entered Lamont Cranston’s limousine. Through the speaking tube, he ordered the waiting chauffeur to take him to another part of the city.

THE next manifestation of The Shadow’s presence came shortly afterward, in the sanctum. There, The Shadow received prompt reports from Burbank. Moe Shrevnitz had dropped Monte Agland at the Taussig Cafe, a small but prosperous night club on Seventh Avenue.

Hawkeye had trailed Ruke Perrin. The racketeer had made a telephone call from a cigar store pay-station. Hawkeye had caught a few words by listening in from the adjoining booth. He had heard Ruke tell some one to pick him up near Brindle’s Restaurant, in twenty minutes.

BURBANK had handled each of these matters in accordance with an emergency schedule which The Shadow had provided. The contact man had called Harry Vincent, dispatching him to the Taussig Cafe, there to observe Monte Agland, while Moe Shrevnitz remained parked outside.

Then Burbank had called Cliff Marsland, ordering him to drive his coupe to the vicinity of Brindle’s, whither Hawkeye had gone to keep on Ruke Perrin’s trail. Hardly had Burbank finished giving this information to The Shadow when he announced that a new report was coming over the wire. There was a pause. Then Burbank’s steady voice resumed; but its tempo had become swifter.

“Car has picked up Ruke,” announced the contact man. “Hawkeye, close by, heard instructions. Ruke told the driver to drive to the home of Nicholas Lewkesbury, on Long Island. Marsland has contacted with Hawkeye. Instructions awaited.”

“Report received,” whispered The Shadow, by the blue light of the sanctum. “Instructions: Marsland and Hawkeye to follow. Await further orders at Lewkesbury’s.”

“Instructions received,” came Burbank’s answer.

The blue light clicked out. The Shadow’s cloak swished in the darkness of the sanctum. Crime to-night!

Through Hawkeye’s craft, The Shadow had learned the location. He had dispatched Cliff and Hawkeye, knowing that they could reach the place before him. But The Shadow, too, was departing for the common goal.

SOME time after The Shadow’s departure, a speedy coupe was rolling along a boulevard on Long Island. Cliff Marsland was at the wheel of the car. Beside him was Hawkeye. The little trailer was chuckling.

“Say, Cliff,” he said. “I’ve knowed you off an’ on for a long while. But it never hit me that you was playin’ straight. I got a boss that’s a prince — fellow named Slade Farrow — an’ when he told me to be on the lookout for you, I thought he meant to look out for you.

“You could have blackjacked me with a toothpick when the boss says that I’m to work with you, that you’re in this game to nab Diamond Bert. Then after I call the boss up by Brindle’s, to tell him where Ruke Perrin is headin’, you pop up with this buggy an’ say to climb in.

“But listen, Cliff. There’s four gorillas in that bus with Ruke. An’ I figure that ain’t all. I’ll bet there’ll be another boat load of ‘em when we get to this place of Lewkesbury’s. We can’t crack an outfit like that — just you an’ I—”

“We’ll do our share,” interposed Cliff.

“Listen,” rejoined Hawkeye. “Don’t think I ain’t game. I can handle a rod when you’re ready. What I was thinkin’ is we ought to pile in on ‘em as soon as we get there, if we get a chance.”

“We’ll see,” said Cliff. “I know you can use your gat, Hawkeye. Leave it up to me.”

“O.K.”

Cliff made a turn. He came to the gates of a large estate. Nicholas Lewkesbury’s was one of the show places in this part of Long Island. Iron fences stretched from either side of the gate. Cliff picked a vacant space among some trees on the other side of the road. He drove the coupe in there and parked.

Hawkeye followed Cliff to the ground.

“Where d’you think them mugs went?” inquired Hawkeye, from the darkness. “Inside the gates?”

“I doubt that they went through the gates,” responded Cliff, in a whisper, “but it’s a safe bet that they’re on the other side of the picket fence. That’s where we’re going.”

They climbed the fence and made their way up through shrubbery along a slope. They approached the side of a lighted mansion. Though the night was cool, it was evidently warm inside the house, for windows were open and voices could be heard. Nicholas Lewkesbury was entertaining guests.

There was no sign of Ruke Perrin and his mob. Cliff and Hawkeye crept forward toward the lighted windows, which were at the front of the house. As they approached, laughter ceased beyond the opened windows. Cliff caught the sound of suppressed cries. Then came silence that was broken only by a muffled, incoherent growl.

Before Cliff could stop Hawkeye, the little man had scrambled forward. He had gained the edge of the porch and was up it like a monkey. Cliff could see him peering through a window; then Hawkeye dropped and came scudding back.

“Ruke an’ the outfit,” whispered Hawkeye. “Eight of ‘em, I counted. They must have come in from the front. They got about twenty people covered, includin’ the servants. All in one great big room.”

“Any action?”

“No. Just holdin’ the crowd there. I don’t ‘get it, Cliff. Say — if we came up on that porch, we could bust in on Ruke an’ his mob. Give it to ‘em good an’ hard—”

“Two against eight?”

“We could smear ‘em.” Hawkeye flashed a revolver in the gloom close by the house. “You an’ me, Cliff—”

“But what about the people in the house?” interposed Cliff. “Some of them might get bumped.”

“That’s right,” admitted Hawkeye. “Say—”

He paused and gripped Cliff’s arm. Off by the rear of the house, Hawkeye had caught the sound of an opening door. Other intruders were on these grounds. A minute passed. Suddenly, Hawkeye detected a glimmer from above. He pointed upward.

“Look, Cliff!” he whispered. “Right over us. Light comin’ through barred windows. You know what that means? I’ll tell you. It’s a strongroom!

“I know who just sneaked in from the back. Diamond Bert, an’ maybe somebody with him. They’re after swag, workin’ on their own, while Ruke an’ his outfit is keepin’ the folks in order. That’s the lay, Cliff — sure enough—”

Hawkeye rose to his feet. He was starting toward the rear of the house, expecting Cliff to follow.

Suddenly, Hawkeye realized he was alone. Stopping, he fancied that he heard a sinister hiss from the spot where he had left Cliff. Hawkeye paused longer. Some one was speaking to Cliff Marsland; some one whose shape Hawkeye could not see.

The Shadow!

SEIZED by a weird spell, Hawkeye crouched. From close beside him came a faint swish, as of a moving cloak. Hawkeye, who had once boasted that he could spot The Shadow, was numbed by the sense of a mysterious presence. Something was passing him in the dark — something that he could not discern; that he could no longer hear.

Hawkeye realized suddenly that The Shadow had taken up the task of trapping Diamond Bert. The Shadow had made for that door just past the edge of the house. Lingering, Hawkeye could hear Cliff’s whisper from the side of the porch. Hawkeye crept in that direction.

“We’re going up on the porch,” Cliff told him, in an undertone. “New orders. We’re to hold back; to see that nobody gets hurt in there.”

“I get you,” muttered Hawkeye. “Somebody else is gettin’ Diamond Bert.”

“Right,” responded Cliff.

He was climbing the porch. Hawkeye followed. They reached a pair of double doors that were ajar.

Crouched, with guns in readiness, they could see the entire situation.

From the front end of the room, Ruke Perrin and his mobsters were covering Nicholas Lewkesbury and the guests. Ruke and his crew were masked; but Cliff and Hawkeye knew the leader by the Tuxedo he was wearing. The guests, huddled in the rear end of the room, were standing fearful. Men in evening clothes were pale, clenching their upraised fists. Gowned women were trembling at the sight of mobster guns.

“I’d like to plug that egg,” mumbled Hawkeye. “It’s Ruke Perrin, the dirty louse—”

“Easy,” whispered Cliff. “You’ll get your chance, maybe.”

The words were prophetic. At that instant, one of the covered men looked upward. A portly, baldheaded fellow, he had heard sounds from the floor above. Closest to a side door of the room, the portly man moved in that direction.

“Hold it, there,” ordered Ruke, in a growl. “If you move, Lewkesbury, we’ll fire. At the whole bunch—”

The warning went unheeded. Almost at the door, Lewkesbury made a lunge. Ruke Perrin barked an order and loosed a shot at the millionaire. The bullet sizzled wide. Yet that one shot had touched off a miniature arsenal.

With Ruke’s order; with the burst of his gun, venomous mobsters directed their weapons at the helpless crowd before them, ready to pour a leaden hail into a score of unprotected victims!