The Condor

CHAPTER II. CRIME TO COME

“FIFTY-FIFTY, Cliff,” spoke Luff Cadley, in a wary tone. “Fifty-fifty on a job that’s going to be a cinch. Are you in?”

“I’m listening, Luff.” Cliff had taken a seat on a battered couch and was eyeing Luff, who sat forward on an upturned soap box. “I’m listening. Spill it.”

“I can’t take no chances, Cliff” — Luff’s tone was almost pleading — “and that’s why I’m offering to divvy. If you’re in, all right; but if—”

“What do you mean by ‘no chances’?” Cliff was noncommittal in his interruption. “What’s the catch?”

“There ain’t none, Cliff. Not if you come in. It’s the way I stand, that’s all.”

Cliff watched Luff steadily. Without making a single promise, The Shadow’s agent was cagily leading the ex-convict into further discussion. Luff was anxious to talk; Cliff knew that an indifferent attitude would accomplish more than any other.

“There’s Murk Feeny and his crew,” explained Luff. “They’re gunning for me, Cliff. While I was in stir, Murk said he’d rub me out if I ever showed up in New York. The tip was passed to me.”

“And yet, you’re here.”

“Yeah. It means I’m taken chances with the bulls, too. I wasn’t no goody-goody in the Big House. They’ve got me listed. You know that, Cliff.”

Cliff nodded; the gesture encouraged Luff.

“And then, besides that, there’s” — Luff hesitated; then leaned forward — “there’s The Condor. He won’t take me, Cliff, on account of how I stand.”

“The Condor?”

Luff nodded. He arose and crept forward, his eyes shining beads that glistened from his pale, hollow features.

“There was a mug in the Big House,” stated Luff, “who they called Cuckoo Gruzen. Remember him, Cliff? Kind of a daffy guy? But sort of wise-looking, too?”

“I remember him. Doing a stretch for bumping some guy in a brawl.”

“Yeah. Most everybody thought he was bugs. But he wasn’t. I found that out when he talked to me. Cuckoo Gruzen was all set for a sure thing when he got mixed in that fight and wound up in stir. He had a rod on him when he was pinched.”

“I remember. What happened to Cuckoo?”

“He croaked. Sickly guy; you remember what he looked like. Couldn’t stand the gaff in the Big House. But he knew he was going to kick off. He got a chance to spill me the lay. About The Condor.”

Luff paused to lick his pasty lips. Cliff looked unimpressed. His very attitude encouraged Luff to further statements.

“THIS ain’t no pipe dream, Cliff,” assured Luff. “The Condor is a big-shot; there ain’t nobody can match him. Six years ago he started working. He passed the word to smart guys what they were to do.”

“Jobs for all of them?”

“Yeah. And most of them have probably cleaned up already. But that ain’t all there is to it. That’s just the beginning. Figure it like this, Cliff.

“A bunch of smart workers, each starting out. Plenty of time ahead — six years it was, when The Condor passed the tips along. Each guy to bring in his load of swag, making sure, though, that nobody was wise.”

“And Cuckoo Gruzen was one of them?”

“Right. But knowing he was croaking, he passed his lay along to me. All I got to do is make the haul and breeze in with the stuff. Providing it’s before the thirteenth.”

“Of this month?”

“Yeah. That’s when the six years is up. That’s when The Condor quits waiting. Him and the guys that have pulled their jobs move out. After then, there’s no stopping them.”

“Who is The Condor?”

“Don’t ask me. All I know is how to reach him. Cuckoo spilled the dope. And it don’t matter who shows up with the swag. Even Cuckoo had never seen The Condor.”

Cliff’s lips soured. His expression indicated that he doubted the fanciful tale. Again, Cliff had used the best way to lead Luff along. Spying doubt on his visitor’s countenance, Luff became more anxious to convince his listener.

“Don’t you get the gag, Cliff?” quizzed Luff. “The Condor wants smooth workers. He don’t care who they are. He set the jobs. It don’t matter who pulls them. As long as a guy shows up with the swag, The Condor will know he’s good.”

“I begin to see it,” nodded Cliff. “That jam Cuckoo got into put him out of the running. So he passed the tip to you.”

“That’s the idea, Cliff. But he only wised me to one job, because that’s all Cuckoo knew about.”

“And what’s the lay?”

FOR the first time, Cliff had made a mistake. His direct question put Luff on guard. Mistrustful even of a man whom he considered a pal, Luff shied away. He backed to the soap box, sat there and eyed Cliff warily.

“I’m grabbing the swag,” he volunteered. “That ain’t your job, Cliff.”

“Go to it,” responded Cliff, with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “Good luck to you, Luff.”

As he spoke, Cliff arose from the cot and strolled toward the door. His new display of indifference restored Luff’s confidence. The pasty-faced crook came to his feet and quickly blocked Cliff’s path.

“Don’t walk out,” he pleaded. “I gotta count on you, Cliff. Listen: I can’t go to The Condor after I make the haul. I gotta duck on account of Murk and the bulls. But I’m passing you the stuff, see? So you can join up with The Condor.”

“And fifty-fifty means—”

“That whatever you get out of working with The Condor, you slip me half. It’s going to be big dough, Cliff. Steady dough and you’ll be in on it.”

Cliff considered. Luff grinned in pleased fashion. He did not know the thoughts that were rushing through Cliff’s brain. The Shadow’s agent was balancing future possibilities. He could see that Luff plotted immediate crime; ordinarily, that should be prevented. But if one crime, allowed to pass, should uncover many, the game would be greater.

“I’m spilling you the straight dope, Cliff,” assured Luff, misunderstanding Cliff’s deliberation. “Listen — I’ll give you a tip. You won’t have no trouble getting in with The Condor, after I pass you the swag.”

“Why not?” inquired Cliff, mechanically.

“Because,” whispered Luff eagerly, “there’s something in the swag that will let The Condor know you’re ready to work with him. Something that you’ll keep out, to show at the right time. But I ain’t telling you more” — Luff shifted warily — “not until I’ve pulled the job. Savvy?”

Cliff nodded. He wanted to hear further details; but he knew it would be unwise to press the pasty-faced crook. He had gained an inkling; it would be enough for tonight. The proposition now was to keep Luff waiting until The Shadow could be informed.

“Are you in, Cliff?”

Cliff was still nodding as he heard Luff’s question. He was trying to think of the best stall that would hold Luff here in the hideout until later.

“The job’s going to be a cinch for me, Cliff,” Luff assured. “I can spring it tonight and pass the swag to you in a hurry. It’s down my alley, Cliff, this job.”

Still nodding, Cliff understood. Luff’s chief ability was safecracking; but only on a limited scale. He was contemplating a one-man job. That meant the swag could not be heavy. These would be details for The Shadow.

A MOTION from Luff ended Cliff’s hazy speculation. The pasty-faced man had shifted. He was staring at a window, noting a slight motion of a blind. Cliff saw him fidget, reaching for his revolver.

“The windows are open, aren’t they, Luff?” inquired Cliff calmly, as he gripped the crook’s arm.

“Yeah,” whispered Luff, tensely. “Open, so I can hear anything outside.”

“Then it’s just a breeze,” assured Cliff. “Both of the shades are moving. Don’t get jittery, Luff.”

The crook grinned weakly. He turned to Cliff and nodded sheepishly. His expression showed that Cliff’s presence gave him courage. But as Cliff watched the man’s face, he saw a new flicker come over it. Luff was trembling, his eyes staring toward the door.

At the same instant, Cliff heard a sound behind him. He wheeled, to stare with Luff. While Luff was shaking, backing away, Cliff became rigid. While Luff was worrying about the windows, someone had opened the door. Upon the threshold stood a big-jawed man whose dark face wore a malicious scowl.

A grimy fist was displaying a leveled .38; behind the ugly-faced intruder were two backers, each with a ready gun. Cliff needed no introduction to these ruffians. The big-jawed man was Murk Feeny; the others his henchmen.

A killer who held a grudge against Luff Cadley, Murk was here for murder. His leering face showed evil triumph. His glowering eyes indicated his one purpose. Luff Cadley was slated for the spot.

The ex-convict knew it, as he whined from the wall. A few years in the penitentiary had sapped Luff’s courage. Pitiful in expression, Luff was showing his fear of death.

It was not so with Cliff Marsland. Stolidly, The Shadow’s agent met Murk’s gloating gaze. His lips were set, despite the tone of a sneer that Cliff heard from Murk. Cliff knew what was passing in the murderer’s mind; he had encountered others of Murk’s ilk in the past.

Murk Feeny had come here to rub out Luff Cadley. Such a job, to Murk, included all who might be present with a would-be victim. Cliff Marsland knew that his own plight was desperate. He, like Luff, was due to die.

Yet Cliff was steady, despite the threat of looming guns. He waited stolidly, in hope that some break might come. He was ready to go down fighting when Murk Feeny gave the signal for slaughter.