The Chinese Disks

CHAPTER VII. FARROW REPORTS

WEEKS had passed since Slade Farrow’s self-gained incarceration. During that period, crime had lulled in Manhattan. Not one new clue had been gained since the episode of the Chinese disks. Duff Corley’s death had ended the trail.

Joe Cardona had delivered new reports to Commissioner Barth. These involved investigations held in Chinatown; questionings of suspects brought to headquarters; statements gained from stool pigeons of all types. The total result was nil.

All this made Barth feel triumphant. The commissioner felt that crime had been dealt a heavy blow when Spider Mertz and his mobsters had been slain. But Joe Cardona knew that crime had gained a triumph.

The murder of Duff Corley had been the accomplishment of what crooks sought.

The Shadow, meanwhile, was waiting. He had chosen the course that he had intended to follow. The clank of prison portals to announce Slade Farrow’s entrance was a master stroke that The Shadow did not intend to spoil.

Facts had told The Shadow that a hidden organization existed. Duff Corley had been one of the final recruits. Perhaps others had been gained since; but to seek any carriers of the Chinese disks might mean the obstruction of Slade Farrow’s work.

The Shadow knew that he could rely upon the fake prisoner. He also knew that skulking crooks — members of the hidden band — would stay away from crime until the big shot gave the word. The big shot, to The Shadow’s knowledge, was Diamond Bert.

The Shadow had definite proof to back this belief. Not one word had come from Slade Farrow. That meant results were under way. Farrow was not the man to follow a blind trail. Had he learned nothing concerning Diamond Bert, Farrow would have terminated his stay at the big house. As it was, the sociologist seemed quite content to remain there.

Day after day; still no word from Farrow. Then, on a morning just three weeks after the sociologist had made his trip up the river, the change arrived. It came when Farrow, himself, entered an office high up in the Badger Building, near Times Square.

The door of the office bore a simple inscription upon its glass panel. The wording said:

Inside, Farrow found himself in the outer room of a small suite. He saw a stenographer seated at a desk.

He tendered his card and asked for an interview with Mr. Mann. The stenographer went into the inner office.

WHEN she returned, she left the door open and nodded to Farrow. The sociologist entered; the girl closed the door as she went back to the outer office. Farrow paused in mild surprise as he saw a placid, chubby-faced man seated at a desk near the window.

“You are Rutledge Mann?” inquired the sociologist, as he sat down. “I thought—”

“I understand,” interposed Mann, with a smile. “You had expected to find some one else here. A person whom we both know by reputation.”

Farrow nodded. He knew that Mann meant The Shadow.

“That person,” resumed Mann, “is awaiting word from you. I, like yourself, am simply his agent. You received a letter some weeks ago, requesting you to perform a specialized service. The letter also stated that you should report to me when your mission was accomplished. Am I correct?”

Again, Farrow nodded.

“I presume,” said Mann, “that you have a report of your findings. You may give me that report, either verbally or in writing. I assure you that it will reach the person for whom it is intended.”

“Here it is,” responded Farrow, drawing some folded sheets from his pocket. “I prepared a written statement while coming down to New York by train. But I would like also to give you a brief outline of my experiences. Merely to check on the details.”

“Very well.”

Farrow edged closer to the desk. This office offered excellent seclusion. From the window, the sociologist could see the sky line of Manhattan, a strange contrast to the towered monotone of the walls that had enclosed him during the past three weeks.

“Diamond Bert is the big shot,” asserted Farrow, in a confidential tone. “I gained evidence of that two days after I entered the pen. His work-bench was next to mine. I spotted him writing secret messages.

“What he did with them was a mystery at first. Finally, I gained the solution. Large boxes came into that shop. They were filled with raw goods; and they passed inspection when the materials were taken out. One day, however, I noted Diamond Bert lingering in the shop.

“Watching from a corner, I saw him reach into one of the boxes. He must have found a secret hiding place. A compartment cut in the lower frame of the heavy box. He fumbled there for several minutes. Then he brought out a bird.”

“A bird?” inquired Mann, in mild surprise.

“Yes,” replied Farrow, “a carrier pigeon. There was a barred window just above the box. The opening was large enough for Farwell to thrust the bird through and send it on its way. Thus I learned how Diamond Bert was communicating with his agents.”

“Did the same scene occur again?” questioned Mann.

“Yes,” answered Farrow. “I shall come to that. I said nothing to Farwell. I did not want him to know what I had observed. I wanted to learn how the members of his band communicated with him. I did not think that they would commit the folly of sending messages with the carriers.”

“Why not?”

“Because the pigeons might have been sent to any one. Messages would have caused trouble had guards found the birds. I watched Diamond Bert. Like the rest of us, he was allowed a certain reading time. New York newspapers were supplied. Some times crime news had been clipped from them.

“Diamond Bert liked to read the want ads. He made a joke of it, saying that he would soon be looking for another job. But I saw a different reason. I decided that questions concerning members of Farwell’s outfit could be passed on to him through the ads.”

Mann looked perplexed.

“Simple enough,” explained Farrow. “Suppose an ad appeared under ‘occupations wanted.’ Code words could tell that some agent had performed a certain task. They could indicate that new members were needed for the band. More than that, they could be answers to questions put by Diamond Bert when he sent messages out by carriers.

“He could give orders. With them, he could state what forms of ads would tell him if his instructions had been accomplished. I decided quickly enough that Diamond Bert was managing everything on a plan that limited many of the answers to ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

“I see it now,” nodded Mann.

“Time grew short,” went on Farrow. “So I resolved upon a bold course. I was friendly with Diamond Bert. I told him I was doing time for having handled fake promotion schemes. I knew that I had impressed him as being the type of man he might use.

“So I openly informed him that I had seen him taking carrier pigeons from certain boxes. I wanted to know the lay. I said that I was due to get out of stir before him. I suggested that we team up.”

“What was his response?”

“This.” Farrow reached in his pocket and produced a coinlike object that he dropped upon the table.

IT was another of the Chinese disks. “Diamond Bert must have some of these hidden in his cell. He told me that by taking it, I became a member of his crew. It would be a token of identity by which I could reach him when he left the big house.”

“He told you where you would be able to find him?”

“No. He simply said that when he left the pen, he would call an old friend named Yates Yocum, who runs a secondhand trunk shop down on The Bowery. Yocum, apparently, is not in the know. Merely a man whom Diamond Bert helped out in a business deal.

“I am to call Yocum. Giving no name — merely to ask if he has heard from Bert. Yocum — after he hears from Farwell — will name the place where I am to go.”

Farrow paused and indicated the folded papers, to signify that all these details were present in the written report. Then, with an emphatic gesture, he leaned close to the desk.

“I know this,” declared the sociologist. “Though Diamond Bert was cagy; though he postponed further talk until after our appointed meeting, he is planning crime on a heavy scale. His schemes are formulated. His workers will move when he gives the word.”

“After he is out?”

“Yes. He is risking nothing until then. That brings me to the most important part of my story. The exact time when Diamond Bert will be discharged from prison—”

“When will that be?”

“To-day, at three o’clock in the afternoon.”

Mann opened his eyes. Momentarily nervous, he glanced at his watch. He saw that it was only ten o’clock. That allowed five hours. Mann settled back with a smile.

“I sent a note to the warden yesterday,” said Farrow. “I was released at six o’clock in the afternoon. Since I could not see you until this morning, I went to a hotel in Poughkeepsie. I left by an early morning train.

“Knowing how slippery Diamond Bert might prove to be, I called Dave Garvell, who had charge of my apartment. I gave him certain orders. I told him to send a man up to watch the prison; to be ready to trail Diamond Bert when he left.”

“Who was the man you sent?”

“A former crook called Hawkeye. The cleverest trailer in the business. He is stopping near the prison and will keep in communication with Dave. If Hawkeye is needed, he is ready to trail Diamond Bert. If he is not needed, we can call him off.”

Mann picked up the written report. He stared from the window; then turned directly to Farrow.

“Suppose you go to your apartment,” suggested Mann. “By the time you reach there, I shall have the answer. Your report will have reached the proper hands. There is plenty of time between now and three o’clock.

“It was understood that you would arrive here before the time of Diamond Bert’s release. You have done so. Five hours will prove sufficient. But I feel sure” — a smile flickered on Mann’s lips — “that plans have been made to keep tabs on Diamond Bert.”

Farrow understood. The Shadow himself intended to take up the crook’s trail. Hawkeye would not be needed. At the same time, Farrow knew that Mann — even if cognizant of The Shadow’s intention — could make no further statement.

“Very well,” decided Farrow. “I shall follow your instructions, Mr. Mann. But before I leave, suppose I call Dave. He hasn’t heard from me since last night.”

“Quite all right,” responded Mann. “Use the telephone, right there beside you.”

FARROW called the number of his apartment. He gained a response. He listened while Dave’s voice clicked over the wire. Mann, watching, saw Farrow start. Hoarsely, the sociologist ended his conversation; then dropped the receiver on the hook.

“What has happened?” inquired Mann, quickly.

“Diamond Bert!” exclaimed Farrow. “He’s out!”

“Escaped?”

“No. The warden had to go to Albany. So he made an unexpected change in his established routine. He released Diamond Bert and some other prisoners at nine o’clock this morning!”

“How did Dave learn that?”

“From Hawkeye. He must have heard that it was going to happen. He called Dave at half past eight. Then he started out to pick up Diamond Bert’s trail.”

Mann was making notes on a sheet of paper. Farrow was nervous as he watched him. To the sociologist, this was a catastrophe. It marked failure to the finish of his efforts. Fumbling, Farrow picked up the Chinese disk that he had laid on Mann’s desk.

“Hawkeye may trail Diamond Bert,” he declared, with an attempt at hopefulness. “If he fails, there’s still this disk. It will give me a chance to meet with Diamond Bert. After he reaches New York.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Mann, completing his notations. “Go back to your apartment. Call me here or at my home, the moment that you hear from Hawkeye. Do nothing else until you receive instructions.”

Farrow nodded. He arose and left the office. Rutledge Mann picked up the telephone and made a call.

Burbank responded. Tersely, Mann stated that he was forwarding the report; then added the news concerning Diamond Bert’s unexpected release.

That done, Mann rewrote his notations, using bright blue ink. He folded the paper along with Farrow’s report and thrust all into a large envelope. He arose and went out of the office.

Mann was leaving for Twenty-third Street. There he would thrust his packet through the letter slit of a closed office in an old, dilapidated building. The Shadow, informed by Burbank, would collect the envelope himself.

From now on, decision rested with The Shadow. He had planned well; Slade Farrow had accomplished definite results. Yet chance had played an evil hand. With Farrow’s information gained, The Shadow could have moved to block Diamond Bert from the time the crook came out of stir.

The Shadow had the goods. By meeting Diamond Bert face to face, he could stop the big shot without allowing time for a crooked move. Or, by staying close to the released convict, he could listen in on Diamond Bert’s plans; to learn the crook’s associates; to find out Farwell’s schemes before delivering a thrust.

Ill luck had ended that opportunity. Diamond Bert was free. His organization was ready. Carriers of the Chinese disks were ready to aid in schemes of crime. Upon Hawkeye’s ability as a trailer; upon Farrow’s indefinite appointment rested the only chances that remained.

If those failed, Diamond Bert would be in the clear, ready to weave his new spell of insidious crime. A supercrook, head of a secret ring, Diamond Bert Farwell had left the toils of the law, prepared to deliver evil that would outmatch his crimes of the past.