The Cobra

CHAPTER II THE NEW AVENGER

“WE’RE pulling the job tomorrow night.” Deek Hundell’s growl had an emphasis that held his henchmen. “Out on the Boston Post Road is a swell place where there’ll be lots of palookas with dough. I’ve picked the spot — I’ll lead you to it when we go.”

“OK, Deek,” came a response from one mobster. The others joined with nods.

“Maybe,” resumed Deek, leering, “some of you guys are wondering why I’m taking places outside of the city. I’ll tell you why. It’s because these spots are outside. Don’t get the idea that these New York bulls have me worried.”

Laughs from the mobsters indicated that they, as well as Deek, were contemptuous of the Manhattan police.

“I’ve been living here in New York,” continued Deek, “in an uptown hotel and there ain’t a bull that’s had an eye on me. Wanted for murder — that’s rich — and that dumb dick, Joe Cardona, thinks he’s going to grab me.

“Him? For two bits, I’d poke a gat in Cardona’s ribs and take his badge from him. That’s what I think of Joe Cardona!

“Why are they hollering about me? Because I bumped off a flatfoot two weeks ago. That’s not the only bird I’ve plugged, but they’re hollering because a dumb cop got his. Let ‘em holler! When I feel like it, I’ll go downtown shooting for the whole force!”

A pause. Gloating smiles showed that Deek’s confidence was impressing his followers. The very fact that Deek was here in the badlands showed his disregard for the police who sought his trail.

Eying his companions in crime, the gang leader saw that he had gained his point. It was now possible for him to proceed with cautious remarks without damaging the authority that he held over his band.

“The trouble here in New York,” declared Deek, “is too many cops. They pile up on you before the job is pulled. They’ll never get me — but I’m thinking about you guys.

“That ain’t all. There’s too many stools here in town. They know me — and they can spot this scratch I’ve got on my jaw. It’s O.K. for you fellows to lay around here until I want you — but it’s best for me to be out of the district.”

Nods. One of the mobsters tapped the table with his knuckles; then ventured a chance remark.

“You got the right idea, Deek,” he declared. “Between the cops and the stools, a guy’s got to keep his mug shut. Then there’s The Shadow—”

“The Shadow!” Deek snarled the name with contempt. “Listen to that, you fellows! Bulker, here, is talking about The Shadow! Say — we ain’t had no trouble with The Shadow, have we?”

HEADS shook as Deek looked about the circle. The gang leader grunted new contempt. Before he could make another statement, there was a rap at the door. A new mobster entered as Deek growled.

“Hello, Gringo,” greeted Deek. “Sit down here — and listen to the pipe that Bulker just made. He’s talking about The Shadow!

“Say — who is The Shadow? I’ll tell you — a guy that goes around in a black shirt and mooches in on jobs. He ain’t never given us no trouble and he never will. Say — have any of you bimbos ever seen The Shadow?”

“The guys that have seen him,” protested “Bulker” weakly, “ain’t around to tell it.”

“Yeah?” Deek laughed, “Well, if The Shadow ever tries to cross me, he’ll get his! What say, Gringo?”

The newcomer raised his hands for silence. There was something in his manner that betokened tenseness.

All sat silently — Deek included — as “Gringo” approached the table and leaned forward. A hard-faced rowdy, the toughest of Deek’s henchmen, Gringo’s manner of unfeigned alarm commanded interest.

“Listen, Deek.” Gringo was serious. “You’ve been out of sight for a while. You don’t know what’s been going on — and neither does the rest of the mob — because they ain’t in the know. What I’m going to give you now is something to think about.”

“Are you figuring that The Shadow is in it?”

Gringo shook his head emphatically. “The Shadow is out — he’s a has-been compared to the guy that’s in the picture now. Say — you know how The Shadow works. Lays back and watches — then hits some big shot or cleans up his mob.

“The Shadow’s tough all right, but while he’s on one trail, the others are running wild. That’s because The Shadow waits until he’s got a fellow with the goods. Savvy?”

“I know that,” growled Deek. “He’ll never get me—”

“I’m not talking about The Shadow,” interrupted Gringo. “Listen, Deek — what would you say to a guy that began knocking off big birds while they were laying quiet? Picking them before they had a chance to move?”

“Who’s doing that?”

“A fellow that calls himself The Cobra.” Gringo’s tone was an awed whisper. “He spots his man when the guy has a crowd about him. He walks in and bags the guy he wants. You know what happened to Hunky Fitzler, don’t you!”

“The guy with the apartment-house racket? Sure — somebody gave him the works up in that swell joint of his—”

“That’s right. And I’ll tell you who put Hunky on the spot. It was The Cobra. What’s more, he bumped Cass Rogan, the guy that had the gambling racket sewed up. There were fellows that saw him do it!”

“They ain’t shouting about it.”

“You’re right they ain’t! I’ll tell you why. When you see a big shot get his — and know that that guy who did it could have plugged you just as easy, you’re going to keep mum, ain’t you?”

Deek considered. At last he nodded; his face was sober. Gringo added a pointed remark.

“I’m telling you this, Deek,” he warned, “because you’re big enough to have The Cobra on your trail. I’m telling you — The Cobra is lopping them off. They say The Shadow listens in — well, The Cobra walks in—

DEEK HUNDELL thumped his powerful fist on the table. His snarling growl broke off Gringo’s discourse. The wide flame of the gas jet wavered beside the door. Deek’s sullen face gleamed viciously in the light.

“Forget this hokum!” he rasped. “We ain’t got time for pipe dreams. The Shadow ain’t never tackled this mob of mine. The Cobra ain’t going to take a chance on me alone.

“I’m going to give you fellows the dope on tomorrow night. I’m only waiting for Corky Gurk to show up, so he’ll be in on it, Then I’m sliding out that hall to the street — and you birds can ease into the joint down in the cellar. One-by-one — get me? There’s nobody ever wised up this meeting place yet — and there ain’t nobody going to—”

Deek stopped as a rap sounded at the door. Mobsters started. Deek laughed; then scowled as he saw them shift uneasily.

“That’s Corky,” he scoffed. “Time he was here. Who did you think it was? The Cobra?”

The mobsters joined in the laugh as Deek, half rising from his chair had his hands upon the edge of the table as he rasped the order:

“Come in Corky.”

The door opened. It seemed to swing inward of its own accord. Each mobster, showing indifference, was glancing toward the barrier.

Suddenly wild gasps came from bloated lips. Deek Hundell alone gave no outcry. His scarred face was frozen.

IN the doorway was a grotesque figure that looked like nothing human, although it had the stature of a man. Clad from head to foot in a close-fitting, dark brown jersey, this individual was entirely masked.

The single garment formed thick wrinkles on the limbs and body. About the narrow jersey, it terminated in a broad hood, which was topped by a small, tapering knob.

There was something snakelike in the costume; but the feature that gave it weird realism was the hood which hid the entrant’s face.

It was the hood of a cobra!

Two white spots appeared like eyes, about them, broad white circles that terminated in downward pointing lines. The effect was that of a terrifying face which seemed to survey the startled mob with expressionless gaze.

There was no mummery about The Cobra’s painted visage. The gangsters who saw it cringed as though it had been a living countenance. It was a sign; an identity that brought instant recognition. Men of crime were face-to-face with the new avenger!

To each gazer, the eyes of The Cobra’s hood seemed fixed in his direction. Then came The Cobra’s warning — a hiss that sizzled from lips beneath the hood — the perfect mimicry of a snake about to strike!

Like a flash, a hand swung from the central fold of the pleated brown jersey. A revolver glistened beneath the gaslight. Deek Hundell, an answering snarl coming from his own lips, yanked a gun from a pocket to meet The Cobra’s aim.

The new avenger had hissed his warning. His swift revolver was the coming stroke. Deek Hundell, murderous gang leader, was forced to a fight for life!

Gangster eyes were bulging. Hands were trembling. The witnesses of the duel were powerless. Beyond the door to the front room, other eyes were on the scene. Another hand was acting. The Shadow, sensing grim events, was drawing an automatic from beneath the cloak.

Stern avenger who roamed the underworld, The Shadow had become the witness to the power of a new figure of mystery who was there to deal death to a startled murderer!