The Crime Master

CHAPTER III TRIGGER TALKS

TRIGGER MADDOCK had reached his apartment. The place was a tawdry, two-room affair. Both rooms had windows on the side. It was the first room — the living room — that The Shadow had observed from below.

Trigger had closed the door behind him. Standing just inside the room, he was tearing open an envelope that he held in his hands. Trigger had lost no time. This was the object that he had received in the Pink Rat.

Paper crinkled as Trigger opened a note. He scanned the lines hastily. A match crackled. The flame caught the paper; Trigger tossed it, burning, into a wastebasket. Again reaching into the envelope, he brought out an inner envelope. Stepping to the inner door of his apartment, Trigger rapped. A muffled voice responded.

“Come on, Greasy.” Trigger spoke in a growl. “Hurry up. I’ve got a job for you.”

The door opened. A sleepy-looking mobster appeared. “Greasy” was the counterpart of the two mobsters whom Trigger had left back at the Pink Rat.

“Wotcha want, Trigger?”

“Take this envelope.” Trigger handed the man the inner packet. “You know what’s to be done. Slip it along. Like you’ve done before.”

Greasy nodded. He held the envelope between his big paws. It was a plain, white envelope; it crinkled as Greasy bent it.

“What’re you waiting for?” snapped Trigger. “Get a move on, Greasy. Hop to it.”

Trigger was scowling as he eyed his henchman. Greasy shrugged his shoulders and grinned.

“All right, Trigger,” he responded. “I didn’t know you was in a hurry. Leave it to me. I’ll pass it along in a hurry.”

Greasy was looking toward Trigger as he spoke. Hence neither man was gazing toward the window. Neither caught a glimpse of the burning eyes that had arrived above the sill.

The Shadow had reached the window. He had seen Trigger deliver the inner envelope to Greasy. More than that; he observed the outer wrapper which Trigger still held.

Trigger nudged his thumb toward the door. Greasy nodded. Shoving his packet in his pocket, the big-fisted gangster strode across the room, opened the door and made his departure.

IT was then that Trigger looked again toward the opened envelope which he held in his own hands. It bore his name upon the face; that was all. Trigger tore the envelope into four pieces. He went to the metal wastebasket. The flames had subsided. Trigger dropped the fragments of the envelope in with the ashes of the message that he had destroyed.

Bringing a cigarette from his pocket, Trigger lighted it. He blew out the flame of the match and tossed the burnt stick in the wastebasket. He laughed in growling fashion as he puffed the cigarette. He turned toward the window.

A sudden, blurted oath came from the gangster’s lips. His fingers dropped the lighted cigarette. His right hand shot toward his pocket; then stopped midway. Thinking better, Trigger let both hands come up toward his shoulders while a frozen scowl appeared upon his blunt-nosed face.

Trigger Maddock was staring squarely into the muzzle of an automatic. That was a factor in itself; but Trigger had faced too many guns in his time to quail at the sight of a new one. What brought Trigger to rigidity was the sight of the intruder who held the looming weapon.

The automatic was projecting from a black-gloved fist. Above the gun, peering from between the upturned collar of a cloak and the brim of a slouch hat were a pair of fierce, relentless eyes.

“The Shadow!”

Trigger’s voice was an awed gasp. The whispered laugh that came in return was proof of the arrival’s identity.

“What — what do you want?” Trigger’s stammer was an attempted growl.

“The message.” The Shadow’s tone was a hiss. “Give me the information you received at the Pink Rat.”

Trigger hesitated. The Shadow’s gaze meant business. Trigger knew his eyes could see the opened window — that The Shadow might have witnessed Greasy’s departure.

“There’s nothing here,” protested Trigger. “I got an envelope down at the Pink Rat. Yeah — I’ll admit that. But I gave what was in the envelope to Greasy—”

“I saw the inner packet.” The Shadow’s interruption was cold. “I saw you tear the outer envelope. I also saw the flames from the paper that you destroyed.”

Trigger had no answer. The wastebasket, in the center of the floor, gave its own mute testimony. The ashes showed along with the fragments of the envelope that Trigger had thrown there also.

“The message!” hissed The Shadow. “Speak!”

“It wasn’t much,” growled Trigger, finding his voice at last. “It just told me to have a few guys ready — that’s all.”

“Proceed,” came The Shadow’s orders.

Trigger knew that he could not stall. He shifted as his eyes met The Shadow’s gaze. His lips were dry as he licked them nervously.

“It’s some kind of a job,” admitted Trigger. “A big shot wanted me and my crew. Say — suppose I tell you all I know. What do I get out of it?”

THE SHADOW’S laugh came in a whispered taunt. The shuddered mirth seemed to fill the room. It reverberated from the walls with sinister echoes that made Trigger shake.

“Death.” The Shadow phrased the word weirdly. “Death — unless you speak.”

“But if I talk?”

“Speak — then you will learn.”

The terms were unconditional. Such was The Shadow’s way. Trigger blinked; then, in a voice that showed eagerness, the gangster made a plea.

“I’ll talk,” he said. “I’ll tell you what the lay is. But I’ll do more than that. I’ll tell you everything else I know. Maybe you’ll give me a break—”

“Speak.”

Trigger paused. His snakelike eyes continued their blinking. For a moment, they wavered as Trigger glanced about the room. Then, in a hopeless voice, the mobleader began to talk.

“It’s the Titan Trust Company,” he announced. “The big shot’s going to crack it tonight. Don’t ask me how — I don’t know. The orders I got were to be in the parking lot across from the door on the side street. He wants me to cover up with my crew. The bunch is coming out that way.

“I’m talking straight. It’s set for eleven thirty to the dot. That’s the time I’m to get there. That’s all I know about the job. But if you’ll listen” — Trigger paused earnestly — “I’ll give you an idea of what you’re up against. This guy is bigger than any big shot you ever heard of—”

“Speak.”

Again, Trigger shifted. He glanced about in half scared fashion. He seemed to fear consequences should he talk. Then came the dominating whisper of The Shadow. Trigger stalled no longer.

“I don’t know who the big shot is,” declared the trapped gangleader. “All I know is — he’s got everybody working for him. All except a couple of gangs — and if they don’t join up, it’ll be too bad for them.

“I had to get in the game. It would have been curtains if I hadn’t. He moves me around like he does the rest of them. Maybe you saw me get that note at the Pink Rat. That’s the way I get all my orders. Some guy comes up and slips them to me.

“What’s more, I pass them on the same way. You saw that envelope I gave to Greasy? Well, Greasy slips it to any mug he meets. The guy opens it — I figure he finds some dough inside it — and along with it an envelope addressed to some bird like myself. He delivers it — that’s all.

“You get it, don’t you? The mug that brought me my envelope don’t know where it came from. The guy that Greasy hands the envelope to don’t know that it came from me. That’s the way we’ve got to work.”

Trigger stopped. He had told all. He had mentioned The Crime Master. He had divulged the big shot’s system, so far as he knew it.

THE SHADOW saw the efficacy of the plan. Mobleaders like Trigger apparently formed an endless chain, with Greasy and small-fry denizens of the underworld serving as carriers. A single packet, thrust into a carrier’s hands, could go the rounds through these gangster workers!

The Shadow knew that Trigger had spoken the truth. Thus The Shadow had scored an important start against this supercrook called The Crime Master. The Shadow had let Greasy go. The Crime Master’s orders were still being passed along. The overlord of crime would not know that The Shadow had learned his plans for tonight.

Trigger began to speak again. His tone was pleading. Yet it carried a surety that it had not held before. The Shadow listened.

“I know you’re working to get The Crime Master,” declared Trigger. “Joe Cardona queered that raid on the armored car. They say Cardona found a message in some dead gorilla’s pocket.

“Gorillas don’t carry The Crime Master’s messages. Somebody wised up to that raid. Somebody planted that note on the dead gorilla. A wise guy told me he bet it was The Shadow. I know he was right.”

Trigger moistened his lips. He was staring toward a little clock that was ticking on a table in the corner of the room. He began to speak again, while The Shadow stood immobile.

“I guess you trailed me here,” declared Trigger. “I guess you saw me talking to Herb at the front door. Maybe you saw me wiggle my fingers-three times — making fifteen. Maybe you didn’t see me — it don’t make any difference.

“You know why?” Trigger’s voice became suddenly confident, also louder. “Because that meant fifteen minutes — and the time is up. That’s why I told you all I knew — because you’ll never have a chance to tell—”

Trigger had made three sidewise shifts. These nervous actions had taken him away from the direction of the door. Trigger’s blinking eyes had gained a glance toward the portal. Now, as he delivered the challenge, Trigger looked that way again.

“They’ve got you this time!” shouted Trigger. “They’ve got you!”

As he spoke, Trigger stared quickly toward the door; then, as The Shadow’s gaze shifted, the gangleader made a backward, sidewise leap toward the inner corner of the room, to avoid the line of The Shadow’s automatic.

Trigger’s cry had served as a signal. The door shot open as The Shadow swung. Herb and the gorillas from the Pink Rat sprang in view. Trigger Maddock had placed keen reliance on his henchmen.

In one brief moment, the tables had been turned. Trigger, wary for his own safety, had called The Shadow’s attention to the menace, that he might escape the first shot from the looming automatic.

In a twinkling, The Shadow, master of the situation, had been placed against unexpected odds. To use the knowledge that he had gained of coming crime, he must save himself from the danger which had so suddenly confronted him!