The Eyes of the Shadow

CHAPTER XXII. A SCHEME FOR VENGEANCE

Isaac Coffran sat in his upstairs room and tapped methodically on the arm of his chair. Before him stood Pedro. The big Mexican wore a bandage on his head.

"Pedro," said the old man in a sharp voice, "I am thinking of something that will please you."

The Mexican did not reply. Isaac Coffran continued as though he had not expected a response.

"I like to talk to you, Pedro. You seldom say anything in return. That is because you do not think for yourself. You do just what you are told to do. You are the type of man that is useful."

The Mexican grinned.

"That's better," said the old man. "You are becoming interested. A few nights ago, Pedro, you made a great mistake. You left a window loose in the cellar. I do not like you to make mistakes. You have suffered for it. That is why you are wearing the bandage on your head. I am going to give you a chance to make amends for your mistake."

The grin on the Mexican's face broadened until it became an ugly leer.

"This house has been watched," resumed Isaac Coffran. "When young Duncan came in he was seen. He was rescued. He was the only man who has ever escaped me. He will be caught later. But it is more important that we capture the man who caused the trouble. Do you agree with me, Pedro?"

The big Mexican nodded.

"The man we want is called The Shadow," said Isaac Coffran. "He is clever. Like all clever men, he is not always wise. By watching this house he has learned nothing of my plans. For he is still watching."

The old man went to the window and raised a tiny section of the iron shutter. Through it he peered into the street below.

"I cannot see him, Pedro," he said, "yet I know that he is watching. There are shadows in the street, and among them is The Shadow. Let him watch. He will not enter again. We have gone over every place carefully. While he is here watching, he cannot be elsewhere. That is to my advantage. He will learn nothing here. I am content while he stays.

"But he may go away. Perhaps he will not come here to-morrow night. That would be unfortunate, Pedro. For while he is outside, across the street, we can control him. We can trap him. You would like that, wouldn't you, Pedro?"

"I would like it," said the Mexican. "I would like it — very much."

"I thought so," said Isaac Coffran with a cunning smile. "So I am going to trap him, Pedro, and you are to help me."

The Mexican's smile disappeared. His face became malicious. He drew the large machete from his belt.

The fingers of his other hand twitched as though eager for vengeance.

"Not that way, Pedro," said the old man. "I said that you do not think, and I speak the truth. The Shadow is too wise to enter here without a reason. You would have me leave the front door open, I suppose, thinking that he would enter. That action, Pedro, would make him stay away.

"Why is he waiting and watching? Not because he expects some one to arrive, but because he hopes some one will leave. He knows who is in the house. He knows that I am here. He knows that you are here. If we leave, we will be followed. So you will leave Pedro. You will go out hurriedly, but you will make no sign to indicate that you know some one is there — across the street. Do you understand?"

"Si, senor," replied the Mexican. "I understand. What do you wish that I should do?"

"Three years ago, Pedro," said Isaac Coffran reflectively, "we disposed of a troublesome person. He was annoying — like this Shadow. He had cause to follow you. So I let him follow you. You went to a little store a few streets away. You remember the place. From there you went to a place called the Black Ship — downstairs — underground — where men drink."

"I remember," replied the Mexican. His evil grin reappeared. "I remember what happened there. I went through the big room—"

"That is enough," interrupted Isaac Coffran. "Pedro, you know well that I have many ways and many plans which I use to remove those persons who are troublesome. I seldom use the same method often.

That is why my methods are sure. Three years ago! That was the only time I worked the plan that I intend to use to-night. It is arranged by a man whom I can trust, because he is paid in advance and does not know who I am!

"He is always ready, waiting, on a Monday night. I have paid him regularly for three years, because I knew that some day I would need him. To-night he will earn his pay.

"The Shadow!" The old man chuckled in derision. "The Shadow! A man who is clever. He proved that the other night. He has studied me, Pedro. He knows that I plot to bring people here. How he has found it out is a mystery, for no one else has ever suspected it. But there is one thing The Shadow does not know; I am sure of that. He does not know that I can lure clever persons away from my house and trap them somewhere else! Very well. He will learn that to-night."

The old man looked at the clock upon the wall.

"Five minutes after eleven," he said. "It is time for you to start. I can depend upon you, Pedro. When you have done something once, you can always do it well the second time. Go. Remain there. Remember what you see. Tell me all. You will have the pleasure to-night, when you see The Shadow die!"

The gleam upon Pedro's dark face revealed his eagerness. The big Mexican's eyes were widening. His breath hissed as he sucked through his teeth. He thrust the machete beneath his coat. He opened and closed his huge fists. He laughed silently. Then he became calm.

"I thank you, senor," he said. "I thank you. I go. Now."

Isaac Coffran rubbed his hands together gleefully as he heard the Mexican's departing footsteps. He listened as the front door opened. He peered through the opening in the shutter. He saw Pedro walking along the street. He fancied that a shadow on the pavement was moving in pursuit.

Pedro was not thinking of the shadows that surrounded him. The big Mexican had no imagination. His mind dealt with tangible matters as he walked toward the corner.

He was recalling what had occurred a few nights before — how living hands had come through the cellar grating to subdue him as easily as if he had been a child. Pedro did not smile as he reached the corner, yet his teeth were gleaming in the brightness of the street lamp. His expression was one of expected vengeance.

The Mexican turned several corners, finally stopping on a side street before a cigar store. He entered the shop. He purchased two packs of cigarettes, each of a different brand.

He loitered about for several minutes, then, lighting a cigarette, he started for the door. There he hesitated a moment and felt carefully in his pocket as though to make sure that he had something about which he might be anxious. With a satisfied smile he stepped into the street and walked away.

While the big Mexican had been standing in the store, a man sitting in a chair at the rear had risen and entered a telephone booth. Shortly after Pedro's departure, this man, a stoop-shouldered, crafty-looking fellow, sidled from the door of the tobacco shop.

The man behind the counter saw him go, but did not regard the matter as significant. He knew the fellow as a customer who idled about the shop on various occasions. Had the storekeeper been conversant with the underworld, he would have recognized the man as "Spotter" — one of the strangest characters in the realm of gangland.

Spotter's claim to fame rested upon his ability to recognize faces and the ease with which he could trail any one whom he might follow. Immediately upon leaving the cigar store he became the least conspicuous person in the street.

He moved stealthily, going from one corner of a building to another, sliding behind lamp-posts, obscuring himself beside empty ash cans. People walked by him without detecting his presence.

Yet with it all, Spotter moved with amazing rapidity. Within a few minutes he was in sight of Pedro the Mexican, and his quick eyes were following the big man's course.

Yet it was not Pedro himself that Spotter seemed to be watching. His gaze was fixed some distance behind the Mexican, and as Spotter maintained a space of fifty yards between himself and the man ahead, a perplexed look appeared upon his face.

"This ain't right," whispered Spotter to himself. "Where's de guy I'm supposed to watch? Maybe he dropped out somewhere."

He crossed the street and quickened his pace until he was closer to Pedro. Then Spotter's body merged suddenly alongside a barrel that was on the sidewalk. He watched carefully as the Mexican passed beneath a bright light. He could see Pedro distinctly. He even noted the shadow of the huge man.

When Pedro had passed along, Spotter's eyes still remained upon that lighted area. No other man appeared there, but a long, thin shadow became visible on the sidewalk. It slid beneath the glare. It was blotted by the blackness beyond.

The barrel moved as Spotter trembled against it. The strange personage of the underworld did not move from his position. Instead he whispered to himself.

"It looks like — like — De Shadow!"

Regaining his nerve, Spotter slid along the sidewalk, slowly, now, as though he desired to have as much distance as possible between himself and Pedro.

"If it ain't De Shadow," he muttered, "I'm all right. If it is De Shadow — well, I got to do it. He ain't watchin' me, anyway. He's after dat big guy up ahead. He don't have to know I'm here — but he finds out anyt'ing! Everyt'ing!"

Spotter squatted close to a fire plug and thought for a moment. Then he laughed harshly.

"Well," he said softly, "it may be his funeral tonight. His funeral. So here goes. I don't owe De Shadow no good feelin's. I lost out t'rough him once. I ain't goin' to quit, now that I got started."

He moved more quickly, but with the greatest care. Even his footsteps were soundless. And as he followed, far behind Pedro, he became more bold. For Spotter was entering the heart of the underworld; he was among the haunts with which he was most familiar.

The Mexican turned down an alley. Spotter reached the corner very quickly. He saw Pedro stop before a door. He waited while the Mexican entered. A dim light revealed the scene, yet Spotter could see no one else — not even a conspicuous shadow.

Slowly, stealthily, he crept down the dim alley, virtually invisible in the darkness. He stopped suddenly, thirty feet before he reached the doorway. He saw it now, across the alley — a huge, black blot on the sidewalk — a blot that seemed to sway.

Spotter remained motionless. His eyes sought the wall above the strange quivering shadow. Everything was dark along the wall; he would have sworn that there was no one in that spot.

No one moved along the alley. The place seemed absolutely deserted. Spotter, crouched behind a pile of boxes, did not betray his presence. He waited expectantly, afraid to move despite the fact that his sharp eyes had seen nothing.

Suddenly a human form seemed to emerge from the dark wall. The appearance was instantaneous, as though a curtain had been swept aside to reveal a living being. A man walked openly beneath the light — a man attired in rough clothing, who appeared to be a typical denizen of the underworld.

Spotter could see the man's face; it was a sullen, grimy face. He knew every one in gangland; yet he could not identify this person. The man who had appeared with such amazing suddenness entered the doorway where the Mexican had gone.

Spotter waited, again undecided. Then he rose slowly, and stood still. For a moment he began to turn, as though to leave the alley. Then, with an effort, he approached the doorway. It was the entrance to the basement den known as the Black Ship — a place with which Spotter was quite familiar.

"De bunch will know me," mumbled Spotter as he hesitated before the door. "Dey will all know me. An' if dat's De Shadow — well, he will know me, too."

He thrust his hands in his pockets. Some coins jingled. They were the change left from money he had spent — money which had been paid him in advance for the work he was expected to do to-night.

"I tipped de bunch off already," observed Spotter, as though reasoning with himself. "If I don't show up, maybe dey'll blow de works demselves. I ain't got nothin' to do but go ahead wid it. It means more dough comin' to me if it works."

He shrugged his shoulders.

Then, defying his apprehensions, he drew his hands from his pockets, opened the door, and stepped into the Black Ship.