The Road Of Crime

CHAPTER VIII MOBSMEN CHOOSE

TWENTY-FOUR hours later, two sedans pulled up beside a filling station at the side of a lonely road. A man in a dark gray overcoat stepped from one automobile and approached the filling station, ordering gasoline for both cars.

The service man noted a frank, well-featured face beneath the visor of a cap. He also saw a dark sweater under the half-buttoned overcoat. He classed the stranger as an ordinary tourist in informal garb. He went out to fill the gas tanks.

The man with cap and overcoat was Graham Wellerton. His mobsmen were lounging in the cars, ready to proceed as soon as the tanks were filled. The squad of raiders, traveling in a pair of automobiles, was not many hours from its final destination.

As Graham Wellerton walked to the front of the first machine, he came into the glare of headlights that were arriving along the road. Brakes ground as a coupe swung in beside the sedans. The door of the coupe opened and a familiar figure stepped forth.

Graham stared as he recognized Wolf Daggert.

There was a malicious gleam in Wolf’s eye — a token which made Graham instantly understand that something was wrong. Graham, however, quickly recovered from his surprise.

“Hello, Wolf!” he exclaimed. “How did you get here?”

“I’ll tell you later, Wellerton,” returned the gang leader. “Slide one of your men into my car. I want to ride along with you.”

Graham motioned to a man in the front seat of the first sedan. The fellow clambered out to take Wolf’s place in the coupe. Graham sat behind the wheel of the sedan; Wolf dropped into the seat beside him. The sedan started forward and the other cars followed.

“What’s the gag, Wolf?” queried Graham.

“I’ll tell you when we get away a bit,” returned Wolf. “Pick a side road where we can stop. There’s trouble back in New York. I came after you to put you wise.”

GRAHAM felt ill at ease when he heard Wolf’s words. He suspected malice on the part of the yellow gang leader. He could not understand why King Furzman could have dispatched Wolf in pursuit of the secret expedition.

Nevertheless, Graham could see no possible danger from Wolf’s presence. In accordance with his companion’s suggestion, he picked a side road and brought the sedan to a stop. The other cars came up in back.

“All right, Wolf,” ordered Graham brusquely. “Let’s hear what’s on your mind.”

The mobsters in the rear seat were leaning forward to catch Wolf’s words. Other men were coming up from the sedan behind. Wolf laughed sourly, while he waited for all hands to arrive.

“Have you read the newspapers?” he queried, at last.

“No,” returned Graham shortly. “We’ve stayed away from towns during our trip. We haven’t seen any of today’s news.”

“Take a look at this, then,” stated Wolf, pulling a folded newspaper from his pocket. “Out here — you can read it by the headlights.”

Before Graham could object, Wolf was clambering from his seat and making for the front of the sedan. Graham’s mobsters, eager to know what was up, were following. There was nothing to do but act in accord with Wolf’s suggestion. Graham hurriedly stepped to the road.

As he reached the front of the car, Graham heard growls of astonishment coming from the men who had arrived ahead of him. Shouldering his way through the crowd, Graham seized the newspaper that was in Wolf Daggert’s hands and stared at the headlines. His gaze hardened.

Graham was reading an account of King Furzman’s mysterious death. The affray in the apartment was reported as an unexplained killing. Most potent of all was the discovery of stolen funds in a wall safe behind a panel of the big shot’s reception room.

“What do you think of that?” queried Wolf Daggert, as he watched Graham scan the headlines. “Who do you think gave King the bump?”

“The Shadow?” questioned Graham.

“You guessed it,” retorted Wolf with an evil leer. “The Shadow bumped King Furzman!”

Audible responses came from the mobsters. This piece of information was startling. All turned to Wolf for further news. The gang leader showed his ugly teeth. His lips twisted as he prepared to loose the scheme that was in his mind.

“Kind of funny, ain’t it?” he quizzed. “The way you named The Shadow the minute I asked you who you thought bumped King. You seemed to know a lot about it, Welterton.”

“I warned King Furzman,” retorted Graham. “I told him The Shadow had been trailing me—”

“Yeah?” queried Wolf. “Did you tell these fellows about it, too?”

“No.” Graham faced his mobsmen. “I ducked The Shadow, boys. That’s why I kept mum about it. I knew The Shadow would still be in New York and—”

“I’ll tell you about The Shadow.” Wolf’s snarl was an interruption. “It was The Shadow who queered my mob when we tried to hold up the Parkerside Trust. That’s news, ain’t it?

“Kind of funny, wasn’t it, that The Shadow picked on me? Kind of funny that Wellerton here was hitting the Terminal National, right at the same time? Well, The Shadow may be tough but he can’t be two places at the same time.

“Then Wellerton starts out for Grand Rapids. What does The Shadow do? He comes in an’ bumps King Furzman. He kills the big shot, boys — an’ gets the dough that Furzman has—”

“Lay off that stuff!” challenged Graham. “You’re looking for trouble, Wolf. I get what you’re driving at.”

“It’s time you got it,” was the retort. “I know your game, Wellerton. Making me a sucker — making King a sucker — so The Shadow would be busy takin’ care of us. I know who tipped off The Shadow—”

Graham Wellerton leaped forward. He was ready to beat Wolf Daggert to a pulp. His spring, however, stopped abruptly. Wolf had anticipated it. The leering gang leader had whipped out a revolver.

With the muzzle of a gun covering him, Graham had no chance. He subsided, but his jaw was set as he eyed Wolf Daggert firmly.

ANGRY murmurs came from the mobsmen. Trouble was in the balance. Wolf Daggert’s insinuations had reached receptive ears. While Wolf held his gun, while Graham glared in return, a feeling of unrest and dissatisfaction stirred the brutal minds of the assembled mobsmen.

“King Furzman told me how to reach you,” declared Wolf. “I got there while he was dying. I didn’t have time to look for any dough. I scrammed just before Joe Cardona showed up with a flock of dicks—”

“And so you trailed me,” interrupted Graham. “Came along to queer a good lay — to make trouble — to muscle in on my job—”

“That’s it,” jeered Wolf. “There’s the give-away. Your job, you say. You ain’t workin’ for King Furzman no more. Ditched him, didn’t you — left him to The Shadow—”

“Gag that guy,” growled Graham, appealing to the mobsmen, as he indicated Wolf with a nudging thumb.

Grunts of doubt were the response. Not a mobsman stirred. Wolf’s accusations had already proven fruitful. Graham Wellerton had played his high card. Wolf Daggert trumped it with an evil laugh.

“Come on, gang,” suggested Wolf. “Grab me — put me on the spot. You know me — like you know Wellerton here. He’s your boss. Grab me — before I can tell you the rest of it.”

Yellow in face of fire, Wolf Daggert was the opposite when he dealt with mobsmen. These were men of his ilk; he understood them. His sarcastic request that Graham’s command be followed was a stroke of cleverness on his part.

“All right, men,” interposed Graham calmly. “Take your pick — between Wolf and myself. Listen to what this yellow guy has to say—”

“I’m yellow, eh?” snarled Wolf. “You call this yellow — comin’ to tip off some real guys to the game you’re playin’? Think you’re smart, you silk-hat gorilla. That’s all you are, Wellerton. You worked for me once; you got in right with King Furzman an’ he gave you a mob of your own. Then you queered my lay so you’d look good an’ I’d look punk. Then you double-crossed King—”

“Double-crossed him?” queried Graham. “Say — my cut from the Terminal National job was there with the dough the cops grabbed. What do you think of that?”

“You didn’t collect what was comin’ to you?” Wolf’s tone was a hoarse laugh. “Say — do you think we’re a lot of punks? Tryin’ to hand us boloney like that? Listen to him, gang. Then listen to me.

“I was goin’ great until this bozo began to chisel. He’s the guy that let The Shadow get wise to what I was doin’. Some of you fellows worked for me when Wellerton was takin’ my orders. Was The Shadow mixin’ in it then?”

As Wolf turned his head from side to side, he momentarily forgot Graham Wellerton. With a savage cry, the young man precipitated himself upon the leering gang leader. He gripped Wolf’s gun wrist; the two men locked themselves in a furious struggle.

“Get him!” gurgled Wolf, as Graham’s hand gripped his throat. “Get the double-crosser!”

Garry, the man who had come with Wolf, was the one who ended the indecision. Mingled with Graham Wellerton’s mobsmen, he echoed Wolf’s cry. “Get the double-crosser!”

Two mobsmen responded. They leaped upon Graham Wellerton and dragged their denounced leader away from Wolf Daggert. Had Graham used discretion, he might have saved his cause; instead, he furiously swung against the men who had seized him. That brought the entire mob.

In the fray, Graham’s overcoat was ripped from his body. He went down under force of numbers.

Wolf Daggert was snarling imprecations. He had won over the entire squad of mobsters. Two men had pinioned Graham Wellerton’s arms behind him. They were dragging the young man into the back seat of the first sedan.

“We’re goin’ ahead with the Grand Rapids job,” Wolf decided. “But this bird’s goin’ to be out of it — the dirty double-crosser. Come on — move along an’ we’ll put him on the spot.”

“How about finishin’ him right here?” growled a mobsman.

“Farther along,” rejoined Wolf. “Too near the main road here. We’ll cut over through the country. Leave it to me — I’ll give him the bump.”

Men leaped back into the cars. The caravan started. Graham Wellerton, pinned by two men, was huddled in the back seat of the first sedan. Wolf Daggert, his revolver threatening, crouched on the floor directly in front of the prisoner.

As the cars rolled along, Graham began to realize his predicament. He knew that his only hope for life lay in turning the men against Wolf Daggert. With an opportunity to talk, he might be able to swing the tide the other way. But Wolf’s revolver made him wary. If Graham began to argue, Wolf would shoot. That was obvious.

“Keep lookin’ for a good spot,” growled Wolf, to the man at the wheel. “Somewhere that’ll do to dump this double-crosser after I plug him.”

“Here’s the place,” rejoined the driver. “Right ahead.”

A snarling laugh came from Wolf Daggert’s lips as the gang leader peered over the front seat. The lights of the sedan showed a twisting, slanting road, an embankment on the left; a ravine on the right.

“Ease up,” ordered Wolf. “Here’s where he goes out.”

As the driver applied the brakes, Graham Wellerton did the unexpected. The mobsmen on his right was opening the side door of the sedan. With a sudden leap, Graham broke free from his captors and dived in that direction.

Hands clutched furiously as Graham hurled himself against the door. The car was traveling at less than thirty miles an hour when the barrier burst open and Graham Wellerton paused momentarily upon the brink, while the man closest to him made a wild grab to stop his escape.

Turning his body, Graham delivered a swift punch squarely in his captor’s face. At the same instant, Wolf Daggert swung to aim his revolver at the maddened prisoner. Momentarily freed, Graham lost his balance. With a startled shout, he launched from the car, just as Wolf fired two rapid shots.

IT was impossible for Wolf to tell whether or not his bullets had gone home. Graham’s hurtling form had struck the turf at the top of the embankment. From the car, stopped within a dozen yards, Wolf could see the flying form traveling in long bounds down the side of the rough ravine. The other cars had halted.

Mobster eyes were watching the body of Graham Wellerton as swift momentum carried it to the bottom of the gulch. The form of the ex-gang leader crashed into a thick clump of brush. As it disappeared, saplings wavered in the moonlight, indicative of the force with which the body had struck.

“Looks like you got him, Wolf,” laughed a mobster.

“Yeah,” agreed the gang leader. “I fired close enough, but he was on his way. Maybe one of you guys had better go down there an’ make sure.”

There were no volunteers. At spots, the sides of the sloping ravine were precipitous. Both descent and return would be difficult. Graham’s body had ended its wild trip more than one hundred feet away.

“Car comin’ this way,” informed the mobster at the wheel. “See the lights?”

Wolf observed a tiny gleam from a turn in the road a quarter of a mile ahead. The approaching car went out of sight as it took another bend. Its arrival here would occur within another minute.

“Get goin’,” growled Wolf.

The sedan started. The other cars followed promptly. The three automobiles passed the approaching machine. Apparently, Wolf’s car was merely a vehicle that was hogging the narrow road and slowing up two cars behind it.

“Keep on,” ordered Wolf. “We don’t want no trouble. That guy that we just passed won’t suspect nothin’. It’s a sure bet that Wellerton got the works.”

“That trip he took didn’t do him no good,” laughed one of the mobsters. “It don’t matter whether you gave him any lead or not.”

“I plugged him,” decided Wolf, beginning to resent any doubts regarding his marksmanship. “Give him two bullets. One’s enough when I use the gat.”

THE cars were speeding onward. The leading driver was talking about the best way to reach a main road. Graham Wellerton was a matter of the past. Wolf Daggert was the leader now.

“We’re in no hurry,” declared the gang leader. “We’ll go ahead with the job Wellerton planned. That bank in Grand Rapids will be our gravy — and you can bet nobody’s going to interfere. Wellerton saw to that.”

This was the only intimation which Wolf Daggert delivered regarding the menace of The Shadow. There was a positiveness in the gang leader’s tone. He knew that The Shadow had been in New York; that King Furzman — the only man who had known Graham Wellerton’s plans — was dead.

The Shadow!

Wolf chuckled in the assurance that the black-clad phantom would not be on hand to spoil the robbery that lay ahead. He, Wolf Daggert, had profited by Graham Wellerton’s schemes. Not for an instant did Wolf suspect the truth.

Graham Wellerton’s foray was already doomed to failure. This mob of New York bank robbers was traveling directly into a trap which would be well set when they arrived.

The Shadow was already in Grand Rapids, awaiting Graham Wellerton’s mob. He would receive the enemy tomorrow night. The change of leadership would make no difference.

Wolf Daggert, by usurping the power which Graham Wellerton had possessed, was directing a crew of hardened mobsters into The Shadow’s snare!

In plunging from the moving sedan, Graham Wellerton had merely chosen a present danger in lieu of one which he would have unwittingly encountered had he traveled on with a mob at his command.

The trip into the depths of the obscure ravine was a much more desirable experience than the foray on the Grand Rapids bank — although Graham Wellerton had no cognizance of the fact.

Wolf Daggert, triumphant, was in a much less desirable position than Graham Wellerton, vanquished. Wolf was gloating over his victory. His evil joy would cease tomorrow night.

The Shadow would be responsible for that! Mobsmen had chosen a new leadership. The result would be the same — a futile surge against the hidden might of The Shadow!