The Road Of Crime

CHAPTER II THE BIG SHOT

THE door at the opposite side of the room opened. A stout, dark-haired man stepped into view. Graham Wellerton arose from his chair and smiled in greeting. The other man grinned broadly and gave acknowledgment with a slight wave of his hand. Graham sat down and the stout man took a chair opposite him.

Graham Wellerton, gentleman of crime, was face to face with King Furzman, racketeer and big shot, whose word was law to skulking hordes of evil mobsters.

King Furzman, like his visitor, was attired in Tuxedo. But where Graham’s clothes were smoothly fitting, Furzman’s, despite the efforts of the big shot’s tailors, were rumpled and misshapen. Furzman’s stiff shirt was bulging and his fat bull neck stuck turtlelike from his upright collar.

The difference in the faces of the two men was apparent. Graham Wellerton did not have the expression of a crook. King Furzman, though he sought to maintain a frank and friendly expression, could not hide the brutal, selfish characteristics that were a latent part of his physiognomy.

This meeting was one, however, that could have but a single outcome — an expression of approval on the part of King Furzman. Confident in that knowledge, Graham Wellerton adopted an attitude of easy indifference and waited for the big shot to begin the conversation.

“Good work, Wellerton,” began Furzman. “You pulled a clean job today. The best part of it was the way you slipped the swag to Gouger, where he was waiting for you. He could have walked here with it.”

“Certainly,” agreed Graham. “We made a perfect getaway. I could have come here with the dough myself — but you wanted me to pass it to Gouger instead, so, I did.”

“Well, it’s tucked away here,” returned Furzman, “and you’ll get your cut of the dough any time you’re ready for it.”

“Better hold it for me,” said Graham nonchalantly. “I’m not broke — and I can collect later on.”

“You’ve got me beat, Wellerton,” admitted the big shot. “Wolf Daggert always hollered for his split right after the job was done. You don’t seem to worry about it.”

“Why should I?” questioned Graham. “I’ve got good enough security.”

“How?”

“The cash that’s coming in the next job,” replied Graham suavely. “It will be bigger than this one.”

“Say” — Furzman’s growl voiced his approval — “that’s the way to talk. I like to hear it because I know you mean it. Wolf never talks that way; howls for his split — that’s all he does.”

“But he won’t howl tonight,” asserted Graham.

KING FURZMAN scowled as he heard the words. His face showed disapproval of Graham Wellerton’s comment. After a moment of consideration, the big shot voiced his thoughts.

“What’s the idea of that crack, Wellerton?” he questioned. “The way you spoke, it sounded as though you’re glad Wolf Daggert flopped on the job today. Have I got you right?”

“You have,” retorted Graham, in a direct tone. “The sooner you find out that Wolf Daggert is a has-been, the better it will be for you — and therefore for me. Figure it out for yourself, King. I pulled a sweet job today — Wolf Daggert made a total failure.”

“All right. What about it?”

“Wolf has his gang. I have mine. Both outfits are yours. Therefore, there is a connection. Some of my crowd may know the fellows who were killed down at the Parkerside Trust. Is that going to improve my chances of future success?”

“No,” admitted King Furzman.

“You’re right it’s not!” declared Graham. “What’s more, it’s put a crimp in the whole works. Bank tellers — watchmen — cops — they’ll all be chesty now. They’ll talk about the way the mob was stopped at the Parkerside Trust.”

King Furzman began to nod. Graham Wellerton had gained his point. Yet the big shot was not entirely satisfied.

“Wolf Daggert is an old hand,” he remarked. “He pulled some good jobs on his own — and he started out well when he began to work for me. I don’t like to give him the gate, just because of this flop.”

“Wolf is inefficient,” asserted Graham, rising to his feet. “I knew it when I worked with him. He was lucky to get by as long as he did. He counted on me to help him, but never gave me the credit that was coming to me. You found out where I stood. You gave me my own mob. You’ve seen what I can do.

“Listen, King. When a crowd goes in to stick up a bank, everything depends on teamwork. It’s a matter of seconds. You get the jump on the people there or they get the jump on you.

“The Parkerside Trust should have been a set-up today. The tough job was the Terminal National — I that’s why Wolf let me take it. The odds were with him — the odds were against me. I came through and Wolf didn’t.”

“The tear gas was a great stunt.”

“Certainly. Wolf could have used it on his job, but he didn’t show any brain work.”

“I can’t let Wolf out.”

“I’m not asking you to. But I’m telling you this, King: while Wolf is working in New York, I’m not!”

The big shot surveyed his lieutenant narrowly. His fat lips took on an ugly leer.

“You’re thinking of quitting, eh?” questioned Furzman. “Figuring maybe you’d better take it soft—”

“Forget that stuff,” interposed Graham. “I’m not through. I’m going somewhere else — that’s all. Some place where the pickings will be as soft as in New York — some place where Wolf Daggert can’t crimp my game.”

King Furzman drew a fat cigar from his pocket and bit off the end of the perfecto while he continued to stare at Graham Wellerton.

“All right,” growled the big shot. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow night,” said Graham. “I’ve got a couple of cities in mind — and I’ll decide after I’ve thought it over.”

“Yeah? How do I know you’ll be sticking with me?”

“Your men will be with me.”

“Well — that’s a point—”

“And you’ve tucked away your security. You owe me a split, don’t you? All right; I won’t ask for it until I come back with some more.”

King Furzman began to nod again. Graham Wellerton’s arguments had been effective. The young man watched the big shot and waited for the psychological moment to speak further. The time came.

“King,” said Wellerton quietly, “you’re cagy. You’ve got to be, in your game. You deal with an ordinary lot of crooks, like Wolf Daggert. But I’m different. I didn’t choose crime as a profession. It was thrust on me.

“I like to talk man to man. I know how you’re situated, even though you’ve never told me. You prefer rackets to crime — but the rackets were getting you in trouble. Not with the police, but with other racketeers. So you went in for crime.

“You’re backing a bunch of bank robbers. You took on Wolf Daggert. I came with him. You figured I could run a crowd of my own and double up on the gravy.

“You’re covering up very neatly. You don’t want to quit. I don’t blame you. You’ve treated me square enough — because it’s profitable. I’m sticking because I’m in the game of crime. I’m working for you — therefore I’m thinking of your interests.

“I want a free hand outside of New York. It will be better for you because I’m at a distance. It will be better for me because I’ll be clear of Wolf Daggert.”

HAD an ordinary henchman talked in this manner, King Furzman would have boiled over in rage. But he sensed from Graham Wellerton’s tone that the lieutenant was working for a sensible understanding.

The big shot’s scowl slowly disappeared; nevertheless, he made no statement of approval. Instead, he tried questions on another tack.

“You say you didn’t choose crime?” he asked. “How did you come to get into it, then?”

“I could make a long story out of that,” responded Graham, with a sour smile, “but I can give it to you briefly, just as well. My father had a lot of money. I landed in a jam. I had to raise dough to hush things up. I ran into Wolf Daggert, here in New York. He tipped me off to some ways to pick up cash.”

“Why didn’t Wolf try them for himself?”

“I’ll tell you why. He was too yellow to take on the jobs he gave me. He collected a percentage on my work. Then I left New York and went out on my own.”

“How long ago?”

“About three years.”

“You hit it good?”

“For a while — yes. Then I landed back in New York and needed more money. I heard what Wolf was doing and I worked for him again. I intended to blow later on; then you picked me to head my own mob. Here I am.”

King Furzman pondered. He could see that Graham Wellerton was one criminal in a thousand. He knew that his lieutenant had spoken frankly. This was the first outspoken conference that Furzman had ever held with Graham.

The big shot saw that Graham had been working for a break — for the time when success would enable him to give his straight opinion regarding Wolf Daggert. Graham had chosen the right time to assert himself. King Furzman, although he did not say so, regarded this smooth-working lieutenant as a henchman far superior to Wolf.

Furthermore, there was merit in Graham’s suggestions. The big shot, supposedly a racketeer who was coasting along on past profits, was anxious to avoid anything that would connect him with crime. Rivalry between two lieutenants was a bad feature.

“All right,” said Furzman suddenly. “Take your mob — work on your own — but let me know where you’re going. If Wolf flops again, he’s through—”

A rap at the door came as an interruption. The big shot emitted a growl. The door opened and Gouger poked his head into the room.

“Wolf Daggert is downstairs,” he informed. “Shall I tell him to come up?”

“Sure,” responded the big shot.

Gouger disappeared. He was going to the anteroom by the other route — through the apartment. It would only be a few minutes before Wolf Daggert would arrive.

“I’m all set, then,” declared Graham Wellerton.

“Yes,” agreed King Furzman. “Take your mob wherever you want to go.”

“We’ll start out tomorrow night,” said Graham quickly. “I’ll have the crew ready. I’ll come here and tell you my plans. They won’t know where I’m taking them until we’re on our way — maybe not until we get there.”

“Good stuff,” nodded the big shot. “You’re all right, Wellerton. I’ve got your idea now. You know how to handle a mob. Keep them guessing.”

The conversation ended. Graham Wellerton resumed his chair and lighted a cigarette. King Furzman applied a match to the cigar which he had been chewing. While neither man was observant, the long black patch upon the floor drew slowly toward the curtain at the archway. The Shadow, hidden listener to all that had been said, was retiring into a darkened corner of the next room to await the passage of another visitor — Wolf Daggert.

Whatever might be said after the third man had arrived, The Shadow would also hear. The foe of crime, this phantom of the night had come to a spot where crime was in the making.

His presence here a mystery, his knowledge veiled from those who plotted crime, The Shadow had heard the plans of Graham Wellerton. Now he would listen to the pleas of an unsuccessful crook, when Wolf Daggert faced the big shot.

The Shadow’s presence was a proof that he had had a hand in thwarting crime. That presence also signified that The Shadow would have much to say ere crime again struck!