The Crime Clinic

CHAPTER VII THE JACKDAW’S MINIONS

EARLY the next evening, a young man sauntered forth from one of New York’s uptown hotels. He hailed a taxicab and entered it. As the vehicle pulled away, a tall figure suddenly emerged from the darkened front of the building. A mysterious passenger stepped into another cab that was parked close by.

“Follow instructions,” came a quiet voice from the rear seat.

The taximan looked about in amazement. He had not heard anyone entering his cab. For a moment, he hesitated; then he spied a pair of burning eyes peering at him from the darkness of the vehicle. A ten-dollar bill fluttered into the driver’s hand. The argument was clinched.

The driver started his cab, and nodded as he took quiet instructions for every turn. He received no definite information that he was following the cab ahead; the weird passengers merely required that he should obey.

Twenty minutes later, the lead cab pulled up in a decrepit district of the East Side. The passenger in the rear cab gave a signal to stop. The driver obeyed. He waited, expecting further word. It did not come.

When the driver, gaining nerve, peered into the back of the cab, he found it empty. The burning eyes were gone. The unknown passenger had made a silent departure.

The young man who had come from the hotel was walking rather rapidly along a side street not far from the spot where he had left his cab. His eyes were straight ahead; but had he glanced to the rear, he would not have seen the flitting form that followed him. A streak of blackness, changing shape as it glided along the sidewalk, was the only token of an unseen presence.

The young man reached an alleyway, and stopped beneath a street lamp. His features came in view.

This visitor to a questionable neighborhood was none other than Bart Melken. The young man who had appeared as a fashion plate at Rutherford Casslin’s home had chosen a much less desirable district for tonight’s journey.

Melken entered the alley. Hardly had he disappeared before a blackened streak appeared beneath the glow that permeated the sidewalk. That patch of darkness was the visible sign of an invisible being. The Shadow was on Bart Melken’s trail.

BART MELKEN had been crossed from Joe Cardona’s list. The ace detective had not held a single guest for complicity in Rutherford Casslin’s murder.

But The Shadow had seen Bart Melken’s actions when the young man had urged Yvonne Lydell not to say too much. Only Doctor Lysander Dubrong had also witnessed Melken’s signal.

Until now, The Shadow had let Joe Cardona lead the way. That period was ended. The Shadow was working on his own. He was trusting in no subordinate tonight. He knew the worriment that was festering within Bart Melken’s mind. Since last night, he had been waiting some step on the young man’s part.

In the alleyway, Melken paused before an obscure door. It was the side entrance to what had once been an old hotel, but which was now an apartment building, of a sort. Bart Melken pressed an obscure bell. The door clicked. The young man entered.

The Shadow did not follow. From the other side of the alleyway, he had spotted lights on the third floor. At the rear of the dilapidated building was an old-fashioned fire escape with hanging ladder that was up. A long stick could have reached that pivoted ladder. The Shadow, however, did not resort to so simple a measure.

Pressed against the surface of the wall, he moved his long, supple body upward. The suction cups were not needed for this climb; The Shadow made the ascent by digging into the cracked spaces between the crumpling bricks. His gloved hands gained the fire escape.

The first manifestation of The Shadow as an actual form occurred when his tall figure appeared in the dim light of a third-floor hall. A closing door betokened the fact that Bart Melken had entered an apartment. The Shadow moved silently toward that door.

After a moment’s pause, The Shadow moved to the next door. This place had obviously been a hotel once; changed to an apartment, each room of the suite had its own opening on the hallway. A blackened instrument of steel appeared in The Shadow’s gloved hand. Keen eyes directed the probing tool. The door unlocked with a muffled click. The Shadow stepped into a dark room.

The adjoining door was open. The sound of voices came from that direction. The Shadow glided to the spot; ensconced in darkness, he could see, as well as hear, what happened in the other room.

BART MELKEN was sitting in an easy-chair. Opposite him was another man. Their faces formed a contrast. Bart Melken, handsome of physiognomy, but worried in expression, formed an antithesis of the man before him. The other was a tough-faced, sullen fellow, whose ugly countenance registered nothing but self-confidence.

The sitting room which the two occupied was luxuriously furnished; an odd arrangement in this neighborhood where poverty seemed rampant. The man with the ugly face was one whose identity was well known in the underworld. He was “Bing” Claver, a gang gorilla who had gone into retirement.

Unwanted by the police, unconnected with any racket, Bing Claver, well supplied with cash that he had saved, was the last man whom anyone would regard as a present menace to the law.

Such a character might well have been pleased to receive a visitor of Bart Melken’s appearance. This was not the case, however. Bing Claver’s growls showed that the hard-boiled gorilla was quite annoyed because Bart Melken had come to his apartment. Bing was expressing himself in this fashion.

“What’s the idea?” he was questioning. “There’s no use in you coming down here, Melken. You didn’t get no orders to show up, did you?”

“I’m worried, Claver,” protested the young man, in a troubled tone. “I–I’ve got to get out of it. That’s all. I’m telling you that I’ve got to quit.”

“Telling me?” Bing Claver snorted. “Tell The Jackdaw. That’s who you’d better tell.”

“I’d tell him,” returned Melken nervously, “if I could find him. I’ve got to see The Jackdaw. That’s why I’ve come to you. I want to know who he is.”

“The Jackdaw?” Bing Claver was scoffing. “Say — do you think I know who he is? Find The Jackdaw! Say — you’ll be asking me to find The Shadow next!”

“I’m losing my nerve, Bing.”

“Pipe down! Guys that go yellow get lead poisoning. I’m one of the guys that doses out the lead pills, too.”

“But I can’t go any further—”

“Easy!” Bing Claver’s growl was steady. “The bulls ain’t after you, Melken. What’ve you got to worry about?”

Bart Melken was a picture of dejection. He licked his lips and stared pleadingly at his ugly tormentor. At last he seemed to gain control of his emotions.

“Here’s the trouble, Bing,” he stated. “I had to work for The Jackdaw. I was hard up after the gambling houses swindled me. I stole some bonds; how The Jackdaw learned it is more than I know. You were the man who got hold of me, and told me that I would have to work for The Jackdaw, or be exposed.

“I thought I could go through with it. All I had to do was play a minor part; work on the inside at the homes of wealthy friends. There were times in between when I thought those jobs had ended. But always there were new instructions from The Jackdaw; more jobs to do. I stood it until last night.

“I didn’t care if Rutherford Casslin lost his diamond. He could afford it. But when murder crept in, I lost my nerve. I didn’t think, when I gave those signals with my cigarette lighter, that The Jackdaw intended to kill Casslin.”

“Yeah?” There was no sympathy in Bing’s growl. “Well, you might have expected some guy would get the bump sooner or later. You’ve got to stick with The Jackdaw now.”

“Who is The Jackdaw?” demanded Melken.

“I told you I don’t know,” retorted Bing. “I get word from him like you do — over the telephone. He needs me once in a while, too. I’m telling you, Melken, if you go yellow, you’ll get yours. If you expect to marry that ritzy jane you’re engaged to, you’d better stick with The Jackdaw’s racket.”

The reference to Yvonne Lydell brought a troubled look to Bart Melken’s face. The young society man knew that Bing Claver had made a definite threat.

“I’ll — I’ll try to go through with it,” stammered Melken. “But I’m telling you, Bing — if you have a chance to tell it to The Jackdaw — that I’m likely to lose my nerve on the next job. This Casslin affair was something for which I didn’t bargain.”

Bing Claver snorted contemptuously. He looked at Bart Melken to make sure that the young man had meant what he said. Bing saw that Bart had spoken the truth.

“All right,” growled the gang leader. “I’ll put The Jackdaw wise when I hear from him. It won’t be so hot for you, though, if you try to slide out of your job. I guess you’re getting worried on account of the girl.”

“I am,” admitted Melken. “She may have suspected something — last night she—”

“What if she did? Who’ll she tell?”

“I don’t think she will say anything. Her father — Garforth Lydell — is in Florida at present. He is the only one in whom she would confide.”

“Don’t worry, then.”

Bart Melken bobbed in startled fashion as he heard a bell ring. Bing Claver laughed at this sign of nerves. He arose and pressed a button alongside the wall.

“Who is it?” queried Melken anxiously.

“Just Limps Silvey,” answered Bing. Claver. “He’s harmless. A guy that’s been hanging around here. Tells me a little about what’s going on outside. I don’t go out except when I have to.”

BING opened the door to the hall. A few moments later, dragging footsteps were heard. A pitiful figure appeared at the door of the room.

A man with a twisted form, frail of build, and faltering of step, hobbled into the room with the aid of a cane. He turned a brownish, leering face toward Bing Claver; then looked with sharp eyes at Bart Melken.

“Just a friend of mine,” explained Bing. “That’s all, Limps. A guy I’ve known for a while. Sit down.”

“Limps” dropped into a chair.

“Anything new?” growled Bing.

“Nah,” rejoined the cripple. “Tings are quiet out on de street, Bing. Some of de guys are talkin’ about dat diamond dat a smart bird stole.”

“Yeah? Who do they think did it?”

“Dey don’t have no idea. But I got one, Bing.”

“Who?”

“I’ll put you wise later.”

“Don’t mind this guy,” returned Bing, with a nudge toward Bart Melken. “Tell me — what do you know about that job at Casslin’s?”

“It ain’t nothin’ that I know, Bing. It’s what I’ve figured. Dere’s only one guy smart enough to get away wid somethin’ like dat. De guy I’m thinkin’ of is De Jackdaw.”

A smart grin spread over Limps Silvey’s dirty face. Bing Claver smiled slightly.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Nothin’, Bing,” responded Limps.

“Scram, then,” ordered Bing.

The cripple arose from his chair and shuffled from the room. Bing Claver looked at Bart Melken.

“This guy Limps don’t know much,” he said in an undertone. “Sometimes I think, though, that he figures I work for The Jackdaw. It don’t hurt if he does. He keeps mum.”

The gang leader paused to make a new study of Bart Melken’s anxious face. Then, in a gruff manner, he arose and snarled as he made a final statement.

“Keep away from here after this,” he ordered. “You got your job; I got mine. See? Just because I hooked you up with The Jackdaw don’t mean nothing. I don’t know who the guy is. He pays me for what I do — like he paid you. But I’ll tell you this” — Bing’s voice was harsh — “and you can take it or leave it. Any guy that crosses The Jackdaw don’t live long. When you think about this Casslin bird, think about yourself. Maybe The Jackdaw will give you what he gave Casslin. He can do it.”

Bart Melken nodded. He recognized the wisdom of the gang leader’s words. He detested this ex-gorilla; he had come here only in hope of reaching the unknown master whom both he and Bing Claver served. Realizing, now, that he could learn nothing from the other minion, Bart Melken arose and walked from the room.

AS soon as his visitor was gone, Bing Claver strode back across the well-furnished room to the door beyond which The Shadow had been standing. He was too late, however, to spy that sinister figure which had hovered in the next room.

As though foreseeing Bing Claver’s move, The Shadow had chosen a new and quick method of departure. His fingers had raised the half opened sash of the window; his figure had swung clear of the sill. Silently, The Shadow was lowering his tall, lithe form into the blackness of the alleyway.

He was not departing directly downward; instead, he had shifted to the side. Hence Bing Claver, peering into darkness, did not see his mysteriously descending form. Bing was watching for a sign of Bart Melken. It came. A slight flicker of light denoted the opening and the closing of the door below. Bing could hear Melken’s footsteps clicking on the stone paving of the alley below.

Bart Melken, however, was not alone as he strode from that darkened area. Behind him, unseen in the gloom, stalked the figure of The Shadow. As Bart reached the entrance of the alleyway, the tall figure lingered. Keen eyes peered through darkness, as though watching for the appearance of another person.

A full minute elapsed. Melken had turned the nearest corner. Then, from the darkness across the street, came a slinking human form. Soft feet took up a shuffling gait. Limps Silvey had been waiting to make sure that Bart Melken had left Bing Claver’s.

The Shadow followed. The shuffler was moving at a rapid pace. Evidently he had capped his cane with a rubber tip, for it made no sound as he tapped it against the sidewalk. Limps was not on Melken’s trail; he had remained only to assure himself of the young man’s departure from the neighborhood.

Indeed, Limps moved so swiftly that his shifty form seemed to elude detection. The Shadow’s trailing was a marvelous achievement. Through streets and alleys, he kept on the track of Limps Silvey, until the course ended abruptly in a cul-de-sac where walls were on three sides. There were doorways here; none showed a trace of Limps Silvey’s entrance. The frail hobbler had made a rapid dive into some hideout.

The Shadow glided from the darkened blind alley. His laugh whispered softly as he reached the street. He had, at least, learned the exact neighborhood where Limps belonged, and the sights that he marked along the street outside the blind alley seemed to give The Shadow an inkling of the shuffler’s whereabouts.

WHEN The Shadow again appeared, he was back at the improvised apartment house where Bing Claver lived. This time he made his progress upward from the darkness of the alley; the rubber cups squdged as his climbing form neared the opened window of the apartment.

There was a light in the room where The Shadow had been before. A telephone bell was ringing. The Shadow could hear Bing Claver’s low growl. Peering from beyond the window, the master investigator saw the gang leader at the telephone.

“Yeah…” Bing’s voice was emphatic. “He came here… Like I thought he would… Sure, he’s yellow… You’re going to use him just the same?… I get you… All right… I’ll be ready for the job when you want me…”

The receiver clicked Bing turned away from the telephone. He did not see the eyes of The Shadow. Those burning optics had disappeared. Once more, the mysterious phantom of darkness was descending into the darkness of the night.

Later, a shuddering burst of chilling laughter occurred in the darkness of a deserted street. It died as quickly as it had come, but its eerie echoes seemed to cling to darkened walls. A policeman on the street stopped short as he caught the reverberation. He turned and stared to seek the author of the uncanny mockery. He saw no one.

That was the laugh of The Shadow. Departing from his mission to the bad lands, it was the weird investigator’s challenge to the hordes of evil. Tonight, The Shadow had scored a point in the battle which he now was warring.

He had seen the minions of The Jackdaw. Through them, The Shadow would gain the clew to the murderer himself. He had heard Bing Claver receiving instructions from the chief; had heard the gang leader report the yellowness of Bart Melken.

More crime was in the wind. When it arrived, The Shadow would have his say.