The Isle of Doubt

CHAPTER II. THE THIRD MAN

FIVE minutes past eleven. Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow, was seated in an easy-chair in his room at the Hotel Slater. He, like Burbank, was wearing ear phones, but the instruments on Vincent’s ears served a most unusual purpose.

They were connected to dictograph wire which came from a room across the hallway. Hidden from Harry’s view, but brought within his range of hearing, Possum Quill and Lefty Hotz were discussing their part in tonight’s crime, as they prepared to leave on their appointed mission.

Harry had learned all the important details. He was still listening in, hoping to glean a few new items of information. While he waited, The Shadow’s agent visualized the scene in the other room. He could picture Possum Quill, shrewd and cunning-faced, talking with Lefty Hotz, a hard-visaged gorilla.

Harry had seen both of the men upon whom he was spying. They, on the contrary, had never seen Harry Vincent.

Hence, Possum and Lefty, as they chatted in their room, had no idea that their conversation was being overheard by any one.

Possum Quill, sprawled in an easy-chair beside the window, was flicking cigarette ashes over the top of the radiator. Those ashes were trickling past the microphone which The Shadow, himself, had planted there during Possum’s absence.

Lefty Hotz, big and lumbering, was leaning against the doorway that led into a smaller room. He lacked Possum’s calmness. His attitude showed that he was nothing more than a henchman of the crook by the window.

“Gettin’ close to eleven thirty,” growled Lefty, in an impatient tone.

“Twenty minutes to wait,” retorted Possum, staring idly toward the city lights beyond the window. “Keep your shirt on, Lefty. We’re in no kind of hurry.”

“Yeah,” said the big gangster, “but we don’t want to take no chances on missin’ Punch Baxton when he gallops up with the swag.”

“I figured it all out, Lefty,” returned Possum, in a weary tone. “What do you want me to do — draw a diagram? We’ll be out of here by the time Punch is working on the job. We’ll get to the end of that alley before he shows up. There’s no use hanging around the place before we’re needed.”

“Punch is countin’ on you—”

“Don’t I know it? I’ll be there — and you with me. Say — you might think we were in on the dough, the way you’re talking.”

“Aren’t we in on it?”

“Sure!” Possum’s snort was contemptuous. “We’re in it for a lousy grand — while Punch is grabbing off the gravy.”

“It’s a soft way to pick up a grand, Possum — just by bein’ around so a guy like Punch can scram from one gas buggy to another through an alleyway.”

“Is that the way you figure it, Lefty? Well, let me give you a real idea of values. A thousand dollars is small change for the work we’re doing — and I’m a sucker to be bothering with it. Say — it’s a twenty-to-one shot that some one will spot that car of Punch Baxton’s after he makes the getaway. He’s got to transfer to be safe — and he needs a guy that knows how to drive. That’s me.”

“I guess you’re right, Possum—”

Lefty Hotz did not complete the sentence. Possum Quill, indifferent to his companion’s remarks, had picked up a tabloid newspaper, and was looking at the pictures on the front page.

Lefty grunted. Possum Quill was a cool one, sure enough. Tonight’s work did not perturb him in the least. Lefty knew what would follow. Possum would pay no attention to the passing of the minutes. He would leave it to Lefty — always anxious — to notify him when eleven thirty had arrived.

ORDINARILY, Possum would have read his newspaper in total obliviousness of Lefty’s presence. The shrewd-faced crook regarded his husky companion as a huge watchdog. It was Lefty’s business to obey Possum’s instructions, to battle for him when occasion demanded. As an underling, Lefty was formidable.

Tonight, however, Possum Quill spied a photograph that he considered to be within Lefty’s sphere of interest. He turned the green-sheeted newspaper toward the big gangster’s eyes, and pointed to a picture of a high-walled building.

“There’s where the boys made the jail break, Lefty,” informed Possum. “Neat job, eh? Getting over that wall was no cinch.”

“The big house out in the Middle West?” queried Lefty.

“That’s it,” said Possum.

“Say” — Lefty’s voice was reminiscent — “that old buddy of yours was in the crowd, wasn’t he? What was his name? You told me once—”

“Zach Telvin,” interposed Possum, again perusing the newspaper. “A slick worker, if ever there was one. Only don’t go spilling that, Lefty. I don’t want any smart dick tailing me on his account.”

“You think he’ll look you up?”

“Maybe. We were real pals, Zach and I.”

Silent minutes passed. A small clock on the bureau denoted the quarter hour. The telephone bell began to ring. Lefty clenched his fists, and stared anxiously at Possum.

“Answer it,” ordered the man by the window. “Don’t stand there like a dummy, Lefty.”

“Who do you think it is?”

“Punch Baxton, maybe. Find out.”

Lefty picked up the telephone and spoke into the receiver. He covered the mouthpiece, and looked toward Possum.

“It ain’t Punch,” said Lefty. “Some guy wants to talk to you.” Possum tossed the newspaper aside. He took the telephone and delivered a leisurely remark.

“This is Mr. Quill,” he said. “Who is calling?”

Lefty Hotz could hear the click of the receiver. He saw a flicker of surprise upon Possum Quill’s shrewd visage.

“Come up,” ordered Possum. “I’ll be waiting for you. Make it speedy.” Hanging up the receiver, Possum walked to the door and opened the portal so that the light of the room showed out into the corridor. He stood there with an expectant gaze.

Two minutes passed — the form of a tall, stoop-shouldered man appeared at the end of the hall. Spying Possum waiting, the visitor hastened forward. Without a word, he received Possum’s handclasp. He looked suspiciously toward Lefty, who was standing close behind Possum.

“Come in,” said Possum quietly. “This fellow” — he indicated Lefty — “works for me. Glad you showed up. I’m going out soon.”

THE stranger was dressed in a suit which was new, but ill-fitting. His topcoat, too, had the same appearance. There was a suspicious challenge in his eyes. Lefty noted it; so did Possum.

That fact explained Possum Quill’s next action. The crook invariably discussed all of his affairs in the presence of Lefty Hotz. This time, however, he departed from his usual rule. He glanced at the clock, noted that it was barely past the quarter-hour, then nudged his visitor toward the small adjoining room.

“Let’s go in there and talk,” suggested Possum. “You wait out here, Lefty. Knock on the door when the clock hits half past. Not before — understand?”

Lefty nodded. He watched Possum and the visitor go into the inner room. He saw the door close.

He shrugged his shoulders. Possum was boss so far as Lefty was concerned. Never before had Possum taken a stranger aside for a discussion which Lefty was not to hear, but the gangster accepted the visitor’s wary look as sufficient reason for the unexpected procedure.

There was curiosity, however, in Lefty’s demeanor. The big gangster shared that feeling with another man whom circumstances had also cut off from Possum Quill’s conference. Harry Vincent, across the hall, had heard the words that had followed the ring of the telephone. Peering through the transom, after extinguishing the lights in his own room, Harry had glimpsed the visitor who had come up from the lobby.

There was no dictograph connection to the inner room, hence Harry, like Lefty, was waiting for some later word that might explain the purpose of this unexpected visit. Possum Quill had been wiser than he knew when he had taken the stranger away in order to speak with him.

Within the confines of the little room, Possum was cannily surveying his visitor. He saw a man whose face he knew, yet whose countenance wore a visible pallor, and whose eyes were furtive and worried. The stranger, on the contrary, saw Possum’s shrewd visage exactly as he had expected to view it.

He sat down on the bed with a sigh of relief. He reached out wearily as Possum extended him a pack of cigarettes. After one match failed, the man obtained his light and took two reassuring puffs.

“Good to see you, Possum,” said the stranger. “Good to see you, pal.” Possum Quill smiled.

“Say” — his tone was an easy laugh — “you’ve got nothing on me. I didn’t expect to see you for ten years.” The visitor’s face twitched as it formed a wan smile. A short laugh escaped the man’s lips.

The words that Possum Quill had uttered were highly significant. Until a few days ago, there had been sufficient reason for Possum to believe that he would not have seen this old acquaintance until after a full decade had passed.

The pale-faced man upon the bed was the very one whose actions had been discussed by Possum Quill and Lefty Hotz only a few minutes before the visitor’s entry.

Possum Quill and Lefty Hotz had made a pair of knaves. There was a third rogue in their company, now — Zach Telvin, the jail breaker from the Middle West.

A hunted man, an escaped convict, who had just begun a ten-year term, Zach Telvin had come to New York to find his old pal, Possum Quill.