The Crime Master

CHAPTER IX THE ULTIMATUM

SITUATED on a secluded uptown street, an edifice of ornate structure rose, like a looming sentinel, amid an array of lower, unsightly buildings. This was the Mid Gotham Hotel; it specialized in suites and apartments. Among its residents was the notorious Eagle Tabrick.

Surrounded by garages, antiquated theaters and abandoned warehouses, the Mid Gotham had been erected as a pioneer in this locality. Other building operations had been delayed; hence the ornate hotel with its fancy facades and grilled balconies appeared incongruous in its ugly setting.

After a brief period of failing business, the hotel apartment had gone into receivership. It was at present but half filled with guests; the elite who had been expected to patronize it were missing.

The Mid Gotham’s loss had been Eagle Tabrick’s gain. Tabooed from entry into other pretentious hotels, the notorious racketeer had found a welcome at the Mid Gotham. Here, in a sumptuous apartment on the sixth floor front, the big shot dwelt like a king.

Clyde Burke had been right in his report that Eagle was at home. At the very minute when The Shadow was departing from his sanctum, Eagle was pacing back and forth across his luxurious living room.

Tall, ferocious of countenance, Eagle Tabrick was well-nicknamed. His eyes were sharp; his parted, downward curving lips gave him an insidious expression. His nose was a veritable beak.

Eagle was worried. He paused at times to stare between the side curtains of a wide, opened window. The railed top of a decadent warehouse showed white from across the street. The rumbles of the thoroughfare were audible as the big shot listened.

After each prolonged pause, Eagle would turn and pace impatiently across the purplish, tufted carpeting. Closed doors showed at two sides of the room; the third wall was marked by a curtained opening — beyond it, blackness.

Every action showed that Eagle was expecting some one. His paces toward the window were most indicative of that fact. The big shot, though he favored the seclusion of the apartment, seemed anxious to know what might be passing in the street below.

THERE was a small restaurant caticornered to the Mid-Gotham Hotel. There, seated in plain view at a table just within the plate glass window, was a young man who seemed in no hurry to finish the meal that lay before him. He was reading a newspaper as he ate; but all the while, his eyes were keeping intermittent watch upon the entrance of the Mid Gotham Hotel.

This was Clyde Burke, reporter of the New York Classic, secretly an agent of The Shadow. The table at which Clyde was seated had three chairs; its fourth side was drawn up against a ledge within the window. Clyde was in the central chair.

A thick-set man stopped at the entrance of the Mid Gotham. His face, though dark and thick of features, showed shrewdness, even at this distance. Clyde could not identify the fellow; yet he felt sure that the man was of the gangster type. He watched the thick-set arrival glance about; then he saw the man walk through the entrance of the hotel.

Clyde Burke reached beneath his chair. Methodically, he produced his felt hat and laid it on the table at his right. He reverted to the reading of his newspaper, still making short, brief glances through the window.

The reporter had set a signal. This center chair in which he sat was indication that Eagle Tabrick had not come out. Had the big shot appeared, Clyde would have moved to another chair.

The hat, placed upon the table, meant that a suspected visitor had entered to call on Eagle Tabrick. The signal was plainly in view to passers. In fact, a few minutes after Clyde had set the hat in place, it was observed by eyes that peered from across the street.

The Shadow had arrived. Secluded in the darkness in front of the Mid Gotham Hotel, the black-garbed visitant caught the word he wanted. There was a delivery passage at the side hotel. It was through this that a black form glided.

Not long afterward, a phantom shape appeared within the hallway on the fifth floor of the hotel. A spectral form approached the door of the front apartment. A gloved hand thrust a thin, blackened tool of metal into the lock. Slight clicks sounded; the door yielded.

THE SHADOW had arrived in an empty apartment. Swishing through the darkness, he reached the front window. He raised the sash and stepped out to the balcony. Projecting, ornamental stones showed against the darkened wall. Using them with marked agility, The Shadow ascended to the balcony outside of Eagle’s apartment.

Less than one minute later, his keen eyes were peering through the darkness from the side of the opened window.

The Shadow’s gloved hand had opened a space between curtain and window frame. Unseen, unheard, the mysterious sleuth was looking into the affairs of Eagle Tabrick.

Clyde Burke was again correct. Eagle Tabrick had a visitor. Like a fierce bird of prey, the big shot was glowering at the thick-set man whom Clyde had seen entering the hotel. Eagle was pacing back and forth; his visitor, calmly smoking, was seated in an easy chair. His thick-featured visage was toward the window. The Shadow recognized him immediately.

The man was “Talker” Grube. A slick worker of confidence games, Talker had frequently acted as advance man for notorious racketeers. His presence here would have indicated that he was planning to enter Eagle’s employ; but the big shot’s scowl belied that normal theory. It was plain that Eagle resented Talker’s presence.

“You’ve heard me, Eagle.” The words came in glib, purring tones, as Talker spoke emphatically. “This is your last chance. You’ve got to come in with your outfits — before ten o’clock tonight.”

“Yeah?” Eagle scowled. “So there’s no buts about it, eh? Well, Talker, you may be hot when you deal with a lot of half-scared laundry owners; but I’m telling you one thing straight. You — or nobody else — can pull any racket stuff over on me. I know the game.”

“That’s why you’ll listen,” challenged Talker. “I’m working for the biggest boy there is and he means business. You ought to know that, Eagle.”

“The Crime Master!” Eagle snarled derisively. “You’re his mouthpiece, eh? Well — who is he? Spill it — maybe I’ll listen when I know.”

“I can’t tell you, Eagle.” Talker spoke persuasively. “I don’t know who he is. Every now and then some hophead slides up and passes me an envelope. In it, I learn what I’m to do.”

“You got one of those notes tonight, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s see it.”

“I destroyed it.”

“So that’s the stall, eh? This is the second time you’ve been here, Talker. How do I know you aren’t handing me a phony line?”

In response, Talker pulled a watch from his pocket. He tapped the dial significantly, as he looked toward Eagle.

“It’s getting close to ten,” announced the mouthpiece. “You haven’t long to make up your mind, Eagle. You can take my word for that.”

The big shot looked worried as he stared at Talker’s thick, steady face. Then, with a sour expression, Eagle spoke in a less challenging tone.

“If I knew you were on the level, Talker,” he said, “I’d chance it. You say The Crime Master wants me to bring in my crews. You say that if I don’t, he’ll wipe me out — and make the crews come in. That’s the kind of gab I don’t like.”

“I told you the other side,” reminded Talker. “If you do join up, you’ll get your fair return. I know that for a fact, Eagle.”

“So you’ve been telling me. But how?”

“You’ll find out — when you’re in.”

Eagle Tabrick pondered. He thrust his hands in his coat pocket. His eyes lighted as he looked toward Talker Grube.

“Count me in, Talker,” declared the big shot. “I’m with The Crime Master. That’s settled. What next?”

“I’ll make a phone call,” announced Talker. “Not to The Crime Master — just to some palooka who will pass the word along. That will put you in right.”

“And then?”

“I’ll spill some news that will make your eyes pop open. You’ll find out what you want to know. You’ll be in on the biggest job that’s ever been pulled!”

Talker was rising. He was reaching for the French telephone that lay on a table close beside him. Eagle moved forward. He laid his hand on Talker’s arm.

“Wait a bit.” Eagle’s tone was eager. “You’ve got until ten to make this call. I’ve told you I’m in. I’m with The Crime Master, just like you are.

“Maybe I may want to tell him something? When I work with anybody, I work all the way. See? Hold that call. Tell me what you’re supposed to give me now that I’m in. Then pass the word along.”

Talker deliberated. This, apparently, was a suggestion upon which he had no instructions.

IT was evident that his report was essential; inasmuch as it depended on Eagle’s verbal agreement — already given — there did not seem to be any objection to the big shot’s plan.

“All right.” Talker nodded as he settled back in his chair. “Here’s the lay. Did you ever hear of the Associated Importing Company?”

“In the Fergis Building? Sure. They handle jewel shipments — but they’ve got a strongroom like a fort; and you never can tell how much swag there is in their place.”

“Their strongroom is no tougher than the Titan Trust. What’s more, you’re wrong when you say we can’t tell what’s there. Right now, the Associated Importing Company is holding nearly half a million dollars’ worth of uncut diamonds.”

Eagle’s eyes opened. The big shot could see that Talker was stating facts. He listened while the mouthpiece resumed.

“Tuesday night,” resumed Talker, in a methodical tone, “The Crime Master is going to bust that place wide open. He wants some cover-up squads; and he’s got his eye on your mobleaders.

“There’s the story, Eagle. Take it from me — you’re getting a great break. All you’ve got to do is pass the word to Pigeon Melgin and the rest of your lieutenants. Tell them who’s their new boss. They’ll get orders from The Crime Master direct. You sit back and get your cut because you’ve joined up.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this in the first place?” questioned Eagle, in a mollified tone. “What was the idea of coming around here and telling me I’d have to come in with the racket?”

“Because that’s the way The Crime Master wanted it,” asserted Talker. “He doesn’t make terms with anybody. I gave you the time limit. You came through. That puts you on the safe side.”

Rising from his chair, Talker drew a packet from his inside pocket. He held the envelope in his left hand.

“Hold on to this,” he said. “It’s from The Crime Master. Don’t open it. I may have new instructions when I come again to-morrow night; if so, I’m to take this envelope back. Otherwise, you can open it.”

“Instructions for Tuesday?”

“I don’t know. I’m simply following orders.”

Talker drew his watch from his pocket. It showed seven minutes before ten. As Eagle drew closer, Talker made a gesture toward the telephone.

“I’ll have to rush that call!” he exclaimed. “The limit’s almost up—”

“Just a minute.” Eagle was suave as he rested his long hand on Talker’s bulky shoulder. “Wait’ll you hear what I want to tell you. I’m only taking a second.”

As he spoke, Eagle pressed the other man’s shoulder. Talker shifted slightly backward, toward the curtained archway behind him. Eagle stopped; a curious gleam appeared upon his face as he stepped away, like a photographer posing a subject.

Talker stared. He wondered what was coming. He had not long to wait. Eagle Tabrick raised his hand, with a sweeping signal. The response was a muffled burst from the curtain in back of Talker.

The shot was dulled. A revolver, handled from the folds of the curtain, revealed itself by the scorching tongue of flame. Talker Grube doubled backward, a sickly expression showed upon his face as a choke came from his throat.

Like a toppled dummy figure, The Crime Master’s mouthpiece crumpled to the floor. He rolled upon his back. His last gasp faded. Talker Grube was dead.

From the trembling curtain leered a rough face. A wiry man stepped into view, pocketing his smoking revolver. He, like Eagle Tabrick, was known to The Shadow. He was Pigeon Melgin, most notorious of Eagle’s six lieutenants.

Eagle Tabrick was holding the envelope in his left hand; with his right, he clapped Pigeon Melgin on the back. The big shot was commending his lieutenant’s skill.

Together, gloating, Eagle and Pigeon surveyed the corpse of Talker Grube, while The Shadow watched from the curtained window. The assassination of Talker Grube was Eagle Tabrick’s final answer to The Crime Master’s ultimatum!