The Road Of Crime

CHAPTER V THE WARNING

ANOTHER evening had come to Manhattan. King Furzman was seated in the room where he received his visitors. The big shot was anticipating the arrival of Graham Wellerton. Tonight, Furzman was to hear his lieutenant’s plans.

The big shot drew a heavy gold watch from his pocket and noted the time as half past eight. Wellerton was due to arrive at any minute. Furzman, as he chewed the end of a fat cigar, wondered just what locality the daring gentleman crook intended to invade.

Not once did Furzman glance toward the heavy curtains that hung between this room and the next. The big shot did not notice the strange, sinister blot that projected from those draperies. Less sensitive than Graham Wellerton, King Furzman failed to gain an inkling that the hidden eyes of The Shadow were upon him.

Minutes drifted by; then came a knock from the door at the other side of the room. Gouger entered in response to Furzman’s growl. The bodyguard announced that Graham Wellerton was calling on the telephone.

“Tell him to come up,” ordered the big shot.

“He’s not downstairs,” returned Gouger. “He’s calling from outside somewhere—”

“Bring me the telephone,” interposed Furzman brusquely.

Gouger went back into the far room, then returned with the telephone, dragging a long extension wire after him. He handed the instrument to the big shot, who took it without even moving from his chair.

“Hello, Wellerton,” greeted Furzman. “Where are you?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” came the reply. “Are you alone, there in the apartment?”

“Gouger’s here.”

“Send him away” — Graham’s voice came in a guarded tone — “and listen carefully to what I have to say. Don’t repeat anything. This is very important.”

“All right,” returned Furzman, in a puzzled tone. “Wait a second.”

The big shot made a motion with the telephone, indicating that Gouger should leave. The bodyguard went back through the far doorway.

“Gouger’s gone,” informed Furzman. “Go ahead. Spill what you’ve got to say.”

“Just a minute.” Graham’s voice carried a warning note as it came across the wire. “Hold the phone away from your ear, King. See if my voice can be heard.”

STILL puzzled, but convinced by Graham’s impressive tone that the matter was important, Furzman obeyed the injunction. He noted that Graham’s next words were hopelessly indistinct when heard without receiver to ear.

“Can’t make outa thing,” said Furzman, again speaking into the mouthpiece. “Your voice doesn’t carry at all, the way you’re talking. What’s up, Wellerton? What’s the idea—”

“Easy, King!” Graham’s voice was low but distinct. “I’m putting you wise to something important. Don’t say a word to give away what I’m telling you. Someone may be listening.”

“Where?”

“In your apartment.”

“Who?”

“The Shadow!”

King Furzman sat in momentary bewilderment. As he waited, unable to speak because of his surprise, he heard new information coming across the wire.

“I’m over in Jersey, King,” declared Graham. “I’m here with the mob. We’re starting out tonight for Grand Rapids, Michigan. We’re going to knock off a couple of banks out there and—”

“You’re coming here first?”

“Sh-h!” Graham’s voice hissed across the wire. “I’m not taking any chances, King. The Shadow was covering me last night. He may be laying up at your place right now — waiting for me to show up. That’s why I don’t want to come there.”

“I see,” commented King, nervously glancing about him.

“Our first job” — Graham’s voice was still cautious — “will be the Riverview Trust in Grand Rapids. Listen, King — Wolf Daggert pulled a big mistake by coming up to see you last night. The Shadow was on his trail then — now he’s on mine. But I’m sliding out on him.

“Keep Wolf away. Tell him you don’t want to see him. Count on me for a while. I’ll get the gravy you want. Watch things until you’re sure that The Shadow isn’t going to bother you.

“We’re heading West — in cars — and we’ll be two nights on the road. We’re going to hold up the Riverview the night after we get to Grand Rapids. I know all about the bank — it does a big night business, It’s a set-up—”

“Say, Wellerton,” interrupted King Furzman, “if this stuff is on the level as—”

“It is on the level,” came back Graham’s quick response. “It’s a tough situation, King. Don’t take any chances. I’ve given you the lay; you know what I’m going to do. You can’t be too careful.”

All of King Furzman’s doubts were dispelled. The big shot found himself becoming nervous. Wolf’s theory that The Shadow had broken up the robbery yesterday noon; Graham’s convincing statements that The Shadow was following up the victory — these were sufficient for King Furzman.

“I’ve got you, Wellerton,” he declared, in a decisive tone. “Go ahead with the lay the way you’ve planned it. When will I hear from you?”

“I’ll get word to you,” returned Graham. “But I want you to be sure that The Shadow’s not on deck before I come back to New York.”

“All right,” said Furzman. “Leave that part of it to me.”

A click came over the wire. The big shot hung up. He mopped his forehead thoughtfully; then began a succession of nervous glances, his gaze traveling to all corners of the room.

Almost before his eyes, the black streak that indicated The Shadow performed a fadeout. The big shot did not notice the motion of darkness on the door.

“Gouger!”

The bodyguard appeared in answer to Furzman’s summons. The big shot made a sweeping motion with his hand.

“Look around the place,” he said. “Make sure there’s no snoopers here.”

“Not a chance,” rejoined Gouger. “Say, King — the way I keep that outside door locked—”

“Take a look anyway,” ordered the big shot.

WONDERING, Gouger walked out between the curtains. He was heading for the anteroom to begin his search. King Furzman picked up the telephone. He dialed a number.

“That you, Wolf?” he inquired. “This is King Furzman. Say, Wolf — that idea of yours about The Shadow sounds right. I got a tip-off from Wellerton. He says The Shadow was on his trail, too.”

“He says what?” Wolf’s reply was an incredulous tone over the wire.

“He says The Shadow is on his trail,” repeated King. “That is, The Shadow was on his trail, until he managed to duck out.”

“Where?” came Wolf’s question.

“That’s my business,” snapped Furzman, remembering Graham’s injunction to say nothing regarding his whereabouts. “The point is that Wellerton figures The Shadow trailed you here last night.”

“So that’s his game, eh?” Wolf’s snarl sounded clearly in the receiver. “Tryin’ to blame somethin’ on me. Say, King, don’t let that egg stall you. He’s got somethin’ up his sleeve. He’s out to double-cross you, Wellerton is.”

“I know where he’s gone,” declared the big shot harshly. “I want you to keep away from here. Lay low for a while.”

“Honest, King,” came Wolf’s plea, “I ain’t handin’ you no boloney. Let me come up there tonight — I can put you wise to the kind of a bird Wellerton is. He’s tryin’ to slip somethin’ over on you. Say — he couldn’t duck The Shadow if that guy was on his trail—”

“Can the gab, Wolf,” ordered Furzman. “You won’t get anywhere by knocking Wellerton. You heard what I had to say. Lay low until you hear from me.”

“Listen, King—”

Wolf’s plea was cut short as Furzman hung up. The big shot set the telephone heavily upon a table and growled to himself as he stood staring at the wall.

His mind was at odds. Graham Wellerton’s warning had been impressive; Wolf Daggert’s doubts, however, began to change the matter.

King Furzman wondered.

Was Wolf right? Had Wellerton been stalling?

It was conceivable that Graham could have some game of his own; that he had followed Wolf’s lead and used The Shadow as an alibi.

The big shot’s face was grim. His eyes were angry. With hands thrust in his Tuxedo pockets, he fumbled with the revolver that he kept there. At last he brought his hands into view and reached for the telephone again. On the point of giving Wolf Daggert another call, he laid the instrument aside.

Two lieutenants, at odds with one another. Were both on the square or were both crossing the big shot? Weighing the matter, King Furzman considered yesterday’s episodes.

Wolf Daggert had failed. Graham Wellerton had succeeded. Moreover, Graham had deliberately left his share of the loot in Furzman’s possession. That was the deciding point. Graham Wellerton was on the level.

A new thought came to King Furzman. Graham Wellerton was a keen worker. He had suggested that The Shadow might even now be spying on the big shot. Gouger had started out to search the apartment. How was he making out?

Turning, King Furzman looked toward the archway with its hanging draperies. He stopped suddenly. His eyes became fixed; his body rigid. In one instant he had gained positive proof that Graham Wellerton’s warning was a sound one.

Standing within the range of light was a living apparition of darkness. A tall figure, clad in black, was blocking King Furzman’s path. The folds of a sable-hued cloak were motionless. The face of the being who wore that garment was hidden beneath the projecting brim of a black slouch hat.

The only tokens of the hidden face were two gleaming eyes that burned with steady light. Despite the hypnotic power of those sinister optics, King Furzman could visualize the entire form of the personage before him. His startled gaze took in the muzzle of an automatic that projected from the folds of the cloak, held firmly by a black-gloved hand.

King Furzman made no motion. Like a statue, he stood gazing at the spectral figure which had so silently materialized itself. There was no mistaking the identity of this weird phantom that had seemingly emerged from nothingness.

King Furzman, erstwhile racketeer who had turned his hand to crime, was face to face with the master mind who battled men of evil. The gasp that came from the big shot’s twisted lips was proof of the recognition that was in his mind.

King Furzman was face to face with The Shadow. Graham Wellerton’s warning had failed to save the big shot from this meeting with the archenemy of crime!