The Embassy Murders

CHAPTER XVII THE SHADOW WITHDRAWS

IT was nearly eleven o’clock. Clyde Burke was at the Club Rivoli. He had come here at The Shadow’s bidding — in response to one of those mysterious communications that came at unexpected intervals.

Clyde’s task tonight was a simple one. He had merely to keep an eye on events in the roulette room. Two men mentioned by The Shadow were under his observation. They were the secret-service operatives whom Fulton Fourrier had placed at the gay night club.

Clyde had also looked for gangsters in the booths close by the side entrance from the roulette room. Those booths were empty. Clyde had decided why. Whistler Ingliss unquestionably knew that secret-service men were on the job. He was not chancing gunmen in the place.

Whistler, himself, was free from surveillance. The secret-service men had evidently passed him. Clyde Burke, however, had not. On two or three occasions, he had seen Whistler saunter through the opening toward his office. Clyde was suspicious of those trips.

The Shadow’s agent had a hunch. Beyond the doorway at the side were cardrooms. What if Whistler had a new crew of mobsters stationed in one of those rooms! Out of sight of the secret-service operatives, the thugs would still be at Whistler’s beck!

That was why, as eleven neared, Clyde Burke decided to end his passive observations. Although The Shadow had ordered him to remain in the roulette room, Clyde felt the urge to extend the field of his inspection.

Whistler Ingliss had gone to his office. Clyde Burke decided to follow. The roulette room was well thronged. Clatter of chips and cries of croupiers caused considerable din, broken by the exasperated exclamations of losers at the tables.

Clyde made an easy circuit of the room, reached the doorway at the side and stepped into the passage. He had hopes that he would gain some valuable information to give The Shadow, should communication with his mysterious chief be established at eleven.

Clyde descended the steps. He went by a side passage that led off to the side exit from the Club Rivoli. He noted a door that was ajar; light issued from within. Clyde peered inside.

IT was Whistler’s office. The gambler was seated at his desk, telephoning.

“Fee.” The words that Whistler uttered were in Agro. “Kye kye kode. Sake alta joda. Seek boda joda… Kye kye deek ake bole… Fee… Kye kye reef co kye kye…”

Clyde did not understand the strange jargon. Whistler Ingliss was reporting to Darvin Rochelle. The gambler was telling his chief that they — the mobsmen — had gone; that they had left at twenty minutes after ten; that they would come to Rochelle and would bring along the men whom they had been sent to get.

This meant that Bugs Ritler and his new squad of mobsters were probably at Athena Court, picking up Harry Vincent and Vic Marquette, the prisoners who had been trapped through the cunning of Alvarez Menzone.

Whistler Ingliss hung up the receiver. The gambler opened a desk drawer and removed a revolver which he pocketed. He was preparing to leave the Club Rivoli. He had not mentioned the hour of midnight over the telephone; but he had an appointment at that time. With the others of Darvin Rochelle’s evil horde, he was due for the important conference.

Whistler was trilling a soft tune. Never perturbed, the gambler was as methodical and unconcerned as he would have been if starting to an ordinary social affair. A proof, however, of Whistler’s keenness was already on the way. The soft lilt that he was trilling was but a covering for a suspicion which he had gained.

Dropping hands into pocket, Whistler stood in meditative fashion. Suddenly he wheeled. In quick fashion, he bounded to the door of his office; at the same time, he whisked his gun from his pocket. A second later, he had yanked the door inward and was standing with revolver pressed against Clyde Burke’s ribs.

Clyde’s hands went up. Gripping Clyde’s shoulder, Whistler yanked The Shadow’s agent into the room and closed the door. He forced Clyde to the opposite side of the desk.

“So you’re a wise guy, eh?” demanded Whistler. “Snooping into my business. What’s the idea?”

Clyde was at loss for a reply.

“I know your game,” rasped Whistler. “You’re no government dick, but you’ve been around this place too often to be on the level. I figured that the Feds weren’t the only blokes on the job. Speak up. What do you know?”

“Nothing,” retorted Clyde.

“Nothing, eh?” questioned. Whistler. “We’ll find out about that.”

He glowered fiercely. Clyde Burke felt that his life was in the balance. Whistler seemed ready to loose the fire of his revolver. Yet the danger which Clyde sensed was purely imaginary.

The side door of the office had opened, silently, by inches. Peering into the room were a pair of blazing eyes; beneath them, the muzzle of a leveled automatic. Beyond that was blackness.

The Shadow had arrived. A hidden witness of this scene, he was covering Whistler Ingliss. Had the gambler sought to press finger to trigger, doom would have been his lot. The Shadow’s automatic was ready to bark before Whistler could fire.

THE gambler’s glare faded. Whistler laughed. He sat down at the desk. He lifted the telephone receiver. He put in a call. He heard Darvin Rochelle on the wire. In Agro, Whistler explained that he had taken a prisoner.

Rochelle’s instructions were the response. Whistler checked them in brief phrases:

“Fee… Alk reef kay reen alk dake… Alk alk teeba kay reen kay beeta… Alk dake golo…”

Freely translated, Rochelle had declared:

“Yes. I shall bring him when I come. We shall hear him, when he will talk. I am coming now.”

Whistler Ingliss arose. He made a gesture to Clyde Burke. The words that he uttered in English were a partial explanation of the instructions which he had corroborated in Agro.

“You’re going with me,” Whistler informed Clyde. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll sit tight. You’ll have a chance to do some talking where we’re going. And listen, bozo — I’m a guy that’s ready with the rod. See?”

Clyde saw. He knew that his only course was to do exactly as Whistler commanded. By such action, he would be safe — at least until he and Whistler had arrived at their destination.

Whistler approached Clyde and nudged him with the revolver. The Shadow’s agent willingly complied with Whistler’s order that they leave.

“We’re going out the side door,” stated Whistler. “No squawk out of you — see? Walk along like you were a friend of mine. Come on, now — this way—”

Whistler edged Clyde toward the door to the side passage. That door was closing. It locked. Whistler did not see the motion of the door nor did he hear the lock turn. The Shadow had withdrawn.

Producing a key, Whistler unlocked the little-used door with his left hand. With Clyde Burke at his side, the gambler pointed the way to the exit from the Club Rivoli.

He marched Clyde to a coupe. Taking the wheel, Whistler drove from the driveway, growling a warning threat that made Clyde rest motionless.

After the coupe had departed, a dim figure appeared in the glow that came from a side window of the Club Rivoli. A tall, spectral figure stood silent; then from hidden lips came a soft, weird laugh that was forbidding in tone.

The Shadow had seen all. Yet he had not moved to aid his captured agent! Instead, he had withdrawn from the scene! Clyde Burke had gone away a prisoner!

WHAT strange motive had withheld this king of action? The Shadow’s failure to aid Harry Vincent and Vic Marquette was explainable: they had been capable of caring for themselves. But Clyde Burke had been entirely helpless.

Some answer lay behind this riddle. Yet it was strange that The Shadow should remain passive at the moment when pursuit of Whistler Ingliss would have led him to the secret gathering of minions of crime.

The answer was The Shadow’s laugh. Eerie and unfathomable as it sounded in sibilant tones, that mockery carried an ominous portent.

The Shadow had withdrawn. His gliding steps were slow as they took him into darkness toward a parked cab near the front of the Club Rivoli. The whispered laugh had failed.

Darvin Rochelle — Alvarez Menzone — Whistler Ingliss — the lesser exponents of crime — all would be free to meet. The Shadow, in his dilatory appearance, could have gained but little inkling of what lay at stake.

Apparently, The Shadow had withdrawn. Why? Only The Shadow knew. The faint echoes of his laugh had been vague. Were they significant of hidden plans — or were they acceptance of defeat?

That question could be answered by The Shadow alone!