The Shadow Laughs

CHAPTER XIX TWO AGENTS TALK

At five o’clock the next afternoon, a quiet man of unassuming appearance entered the lobby of the Falcon Hotel, near Broadway.

He took the elevator to the fourth floor; then stopped at room 418 and knocked twice. The door opened. He was admitted. The man who received him was tall and thin, with a keen face.

The two men sat in conversation. A bell boy knocked at the door. He was a big fellow, large for his youthful appearance. But his face was dull and expressionless.

He brought a message for Mr. Waltham, the guest who occupied the room. The tall, thin man read it and dismissed the bell boy with the words, “No reply.”

The hotel attendant did not go downstairs after the door had closed. Instead, he used a key to unlock the door of the adjoining room. There was a door that led to 418, and the bell boy listened there.

The sound of voices on the other side was almost inaudible. The listener must have possessed ears of exceptional keenness to hear anything.

Evidently, his eavesdropping was not entirely successful. He drew a small instrument from the pocket of his coat and placed it over one ear. He pressed the instrument carefully against the keyhole as he knelt on the floor. He remained in that position.

His face betrayed no interest; but it was evident that he must be hearing everything that was said.

The men in 418 spoke in low voices, as though they were accustomed to talk in that manner. This was not surprising. Both of them were Federal agents, who had participated in the raid on Doc Birch’s place, the night before.

“We’ve got all there is to get, Jim,” said the man named Waltham. “There’s no doubt about it.”

“Guess you’re right,” came the reply. “I wish we had landed some of the goods. It would have been better.”

“Birch burned them all up. Aaron saw him do it.”

“I know that. Wish we knew the amount he destroyed.”

Waltham shrugged his shoulders. Evidently the loss of the counterfeit bills did not disturb him. He seemed satisfied that the plates had been seized.

“We’ve ended the supply,” he said. “That’s all there is to it. We’ve got Birch. He was the man behind it.”

“I guess you’re right,” replied the other secret-service man. “But I thought there was a bigger game to it. We don’t know where Birch had the stuff printed.”

“That doesn’t matter so much.”

“Well, who engraved the plates?”

“Listen, Jim. We want to find out about all of it. But we might just as well quit kidding ourselves. Birch is liable to tell us everything in time. He won’t stick to that story that the stuff was brought in to him, and that the plates must have been planted.

“Now we’re after the engraver, and the place where the printing was done. I figure that Birch hired some fellow to make the plates. The man got paid and cleared out.

“That may have been a year or more ago. We’ll center on Birch. Make him come clean. That’s our only course.”

“I guess you’re right,” agreed Jim, reluctantly.

“Meanwhile,” continued Waltham, “lay off being foolish. This is an order — not a suggestion. Get that, Jim?”

“What do you mean — being foolish?”

“Well, just before we raided, you saw a car pulling away from Birch’s place. You sent Guysel after it. Guysel saw it go in a garage. Remember? He didn’t even get the number of the car.

“Then he saw a man come out and take a taxi. He followed the cab to a house. He spotted the place. Yesterday you went in there. What did you find?”

“Nothing.”

“Was the place empty?”

“Yes.”

“Who lives there?”

“A man named Bronson.”

Waltham snorted.

“I’m glad you found that out,” he said. “Do you know who this Bronson is?”

“No.”

“He’s Tiger Bronson. Big political man. Has plenty of influence. He could reach far enough to get you in wrong. Lucky for you he was out of town. Why didn’t you raid the mayor’s house, too?”

The sarcasm was biting.

“You’re right, Waltham,” admitted Jim. “It must have been a crazy notion on my part. I had the idea we were working on the wrong end of this business.

“Guysel was sure that the fellow who went to Bronson’s house had been at Birch’s. It might mean that there was some phony stuff at Bronson’s. Guysel kept watch and tipped me off that the house was empty. So we went through it.”

“If there had been anything there,” replied Waltham, “it would probably have been hidden where you couldn’t find it.”

“Not in that place,” replied Jim. “We even found the safe open! What do you think of that? About five thousand dollars in real cash there. I thought we had something when I saw it.

“I guess if the bills had been counterfeit, Bronson would have had the safe locked. No, sir. It was real cash. A lot of it in ten-dollar bills.”

Waltham’s face did not change. He shook his head as he continued talking.

“You walked into trouble, all right, Joe,” he said. “It’s lucky you got out of it.”

“We searched the place,” said Joe.

“We even looked through letters, and papers in the safe. There weren’t many of them. They didn’t tell us a thing.”

“You see, I figured that maybe there’d be letters from Birch — or some evidence we could work on. But there was nothing.”

“Bronson is a politician,” explained Waltham. “He’s not a crook. He has too many ways to make money. Why should he risk counterfeiting?”

“Well, I didn’t know that.”

“You should have known it.”

“I didn’t find any letters or papers that looked at all suspicious. We read all that were in the place. There weren’t any bonds or other valuables. Nothing but the cash.”

“Bronson probably keeps most of his stuff in a safe-deposit vault.”

The men were silent. Then Waltham spoke:

“This trail ends with Birch,” he said. “We only slipped in one thing. That was Aaron’s fault. He let Birch burn the stuff.”

“Birch caught him unawares.”

“That wasn’t all Aaron’s fault. He thought we were coming downstairs. He didn’t know it was Birch. But he should have been ready for anything.”

“We should have had Vic Marquette to do that job.”

“Right enough. But Vic isn’t available right now.”

“Where is he?”

“Nobody knows. You know how Vic is. Gets the wildest clues, and drops out of sight. Every now and then he has luck. But this time he missed out. While he’s away in the sticks, we nab Birch.”

“I guess I’m like Vic,” observed Jim. “I always look for something more than there is. I wish I had Vic’s nerve!”

“You looked for too much,” was Waltham’s comment. “What did we have to work on? We caught a crook passing counterfeit bills. He told us where he got them — from Birch — and that he was going back to get more that night. So we raided. If Marquette had been with us, we might have got the goods as well as the plates. That’s all.”

The conversation ended. The visiting agent left his chief, and took the elevator to the lobby. A few minutes later a bell boy walked down the stairs. He was the one who had listened through the door of the room adjoining 418.

He entered the door of a private dining room. He did not come out. When the head waiter entered the room a few minutes later, to prepare for a private party of diners, there was no one in the place.