The Shadow's Shadow

CHAPTER XV THE NEXT STROKE

ON the second day after the bold attempt on Lamont Cranston’s life, Felix Zubian and Douglas Carleton again met in conference; but on this occasion, Gats Hackett was with them, and their meeting place was the gangster’s room in the Gargantuan Hotel.

It was shortly before five when the three assembled; and the greetings which they exchanged showed that any previous tendency toward ill feeling had been forgotten. Zubian had gained a high respect from Gats; and, similarly, the gang leader had won Zubian’s esteem.

Both realized that the fiasco in the Holland Tunnel was no fault of the other. The Shadow — otherwise Lamont Cranston — had escaped by a display of genius that could not possibly have been anticipated by his enemies.

It was Gats who brought up the subject of that affair, within a few minutes after the conference had begun.

“He slipped us all right,” admitted Gats. “But I thought for sure we’d gotten him. When I loaded that limousine full of lead, I figured The Shadow was all washed up. We made a perfect get-away.

“When the truck came along with Louie, I thought that was the wind-up. Then Louie tells me what happened under the river; how some guy raps him on the noodle and puts him to sleep. I knew the answer. That meant The Shadow.”

“The newspapers bore out your story,” responded Zubian quietly. “No talk of a dead man. Just a bullet-riddled car. No interview with Lamont Cranston. According to the servants, he had left home for parts unknown.”

“The only thing I can’t figure,” declared Gats sullenly, “is why The Shadow didn’t give Louie the works. He might have taken a few shots at me, for that matter.”

“Not that night,” objected Zubian. “The minute you fellows went after Lamont Cranston, he was wise. Remember — he lays low. He wasn’t going to do anything that would be hung on Cranston. That identity is ended. Lamont Cranston has not appeared at the Cobalt Club since the affair in the tunnel.”

“Do you think he’s trying to make us believe that he is dead?” questioned Carleton.

“Hardly,” said Zubian. “He is letting us wonder; that is all. Nevertheless” — Zubian smiled shrewdly — “I learned more, perhaps, than The Shadow has suspected. I believe that I can pick up his trail again; and once more become The Shadow’s shadow.”

“But in the meantime—”

“In the meantime, we shall follow the advice of our good friend, Gats Hackett.”

The gang leader looked at Felix Zubian in surprise. Zubian promptly began a series of questions that indicated his purpose.

“Where is Squint Freston?” asked Zubian.

“Keeping his eye on The Shadow’s stools,” responded Gats promptly. “He’s watching Vincent and Mann, both.”

“Excellent. You are prepared to capture them when you receive the word?”

“Sure thing. I figured on getting them both at once. After that — well, leave it to me. They’ll squawk!”

“How do you intend to take Vincent?”

“Easy enough. Trail him when he leaves the Metrolite Hotel.”

“And Mann?”

“At his office. He stays there until after six o’clock every afternoon.”

“Six o’clock” — Zubian was thoughtful — “in his office. That is odd. Lamont Cranston had a habit of making a telephone call from the Cobalt Club at six. You intend to take Mann in his office?”

“That’s it,” explained Gats. “The office next to his is empty. Squint got in there; he’s fixed the door that opens through. Give the word, and the boys will be there.”

“That gives me an excellent idea,” declared Zubian. He turned to Carleton. “You are willing that Gats should seize these agents of The Shadow?”

“Absolutely,” responded Carleton.

“And that I,” added Zubian, “make certain arrangements with Gats for what may follow?”

“Certainly,” said Carleton.

“Here is the plan, then,” announced Zubian, turning to Gats. “Put some competent men on Vincent. Have Squint and six others in the office next to Mann’s. You and I will join them after five o’clock. Be ready to seize Mann.”

Zubian turned to Carleton.

“So far as we are concerned,” declared the international crook, “the treatment of Mann and Vincent depends entirely upon Gats. It is his idea; therefore, it should be his privilege. He can make them talk; he can dispose of them as he sees fit. You will be at Devaux’s; I shall be at the Cobalt Club.”

DESPITE Zubian’s dictatorial tone, Douglas Carleton offered no objection. The clubman had come to rely upon Zubian’s craft, and he was wise enough to refrain from petty interference. The knowledge that The Shadow was a formidable foe had broken down all bars of discord that might have existed within this triumvirate of plotters.

Thus it developed that at five o’clock the same afternoon, Felix Zubian and Gats Hackett entered the Grandville Building, and rode to the twenty-first floor. Arriving in the office that adjoined Rutledge Mann’s suite, they found Squint Freston, with a crew of half a dozen picked thugs. The little, wolf-fanged gangster gave them a whispered greeting.

“The stenographer has left,” he said. “Mann is in the office alone. Not many people here on the floor. We can slide in any time.”

“Wait a little while,” ordered Gats.

It was five fifteen when the attack was made. Squint, smooth and wiry, unlocked a door that led into the outer office of 2121. He entered, followed by two gangsters. The door of the inner office was closed. Squint approached and opened it, inch by inch.

The widening space revealed the chubby-faced investment broker seated at his desk. Squint crept slowly forward. Mann, suddenly aware of a foe close by, turned to find himself facing two armed gunmen at the door.

With a startled expression, Mann raised his arms. He made no outcry; nor did he hold that opportunity long. Squint Freston was upon him, his arm around the victim’s throat, ready to choke Mann, should he offer the slightest resistance.

Gats Hackett entered the room. He took immediate charge. Drawing a rag from his pocket, he saturated it from a bottle and applied it to Mann’s face. The investment broker sagged toward the floor.

“Now to drag him out,” declared Gats.

It was Felix Zubian who spoke now. He had entered the room, and was standing near the door.

“Just a minute, Gats,” he said.

Leaving Mann’s helpless form in Squint’s charge, Gats approached Zubian. The two conversed in low tones. A sudden exclamation came from Gats.

“You mean The Shadow will come here?” he questioned, not loud enough for the others to hear.

“Of course,” replied Zubian.

“Then we can get him!” exclaimed Gats.

“Not we ourselves,” said Zubian. “That would be a mistake. You have your own job — with Vincent and Mann. It is not wise for me to join in a gang attack. Leave chosen men here with Squint, in the next room.”

“I get you. Then when The Shadow comes to see why he hasn’t heard from Mann—”

“He will walk into another trap.”

“Great! I’ll give the lay to Squint.”

Gats took the little gangster into the adjoining office. In brief terms, he explained the situation.

Squint was elated. He, like Gats, was out to get The Shadow. Waiting here would be different from Twenty-third Street. At the close range between the offices, Squint could not fail to spot The Shadow.

“There’ll be five men with you, Squint,” explained Gats, in a low tone. “Don’t tell them who you’re laying for. Have them set and gang the guy when he blows in.”

“Leave it to me, Gats,” rejoined Squint, speaking from the corner of his mouth. “I ain’t goin’ to pass up no chanct to get The Shadow! Leave it to me, Gats!”

RETURNING to Mann’s office, Gats threw one powerful arm under the investment man’s shoulder and drew his form up. Another gangster grasped Mann from the other side.

The Shadow’s agent was groggy, but capable of action. With expert precision, the three walked from the office, Gats placing Mann’s hat on the investment broker’s head as they went by the rack.

To all appearances, Rutledge Mann was leaving the Grandville Building, accompanied by two friends. He was awake enough to speak; but the muzzle of a revolver advised him to keep silence.

Felix Zubian followed shortly afterward. Squint Freston and five mobsters remained.

There was an ugly smirk on Zubian’s face as he made his way to the Cobalt Club. Wherever The Shadow might be, he would soon discover that one of his trusted men was missing, and Zubian expected action on that!

Zubian had not questioned Gats Hackett regarding his plans. He considered the gang leader a capable inquisitor. If anything could be learned from The Shadow’s agents, Gats would find it out.

Vincent and Mann were but pawns in the game; but pawns might prove useful. Zubian congratulated himself upon his cleverness in turning Gats Hackett’s scheme into a new snare for The Shadow.

Arriving at the Cobalt Club, Zubian strolled through the spacious lounges, in hopes that he might spy the familiar figure of Lamont Cranston. His quest was not rewarded; the millionaire was nowhere to be seen.

Nevertheless, Zubian was satisfied. In his previous studies of Cranston’s activities he had discovered one fact that might prove a useful clew — should it ever be required.

There was no use in considering the future now. Once again, the odds were against The Shadow. That he would appear at Rutledge Mann’s office, Zubian accepted as an assured fact. This would be Squint Freston’s opportunity to prove the faith that Gats Hackett had in him.

The big clock in the lobby of the Cobalt Club showed ten minutes after six when Felix Zubian passed it on the way to the grill. One last glance assured the crook that Lamont Cranston had not entered.

Shrugging his shoulders, Zubian lighted a cigarette and took his place at a table in the grillroom. He ordered dinner, and sat back in ease.

To-night, the next stroke would be given. Once again, the odds lay with The Shadow’s enemies. Mann was captured; Vincent would soon be a prisoner also. Then would come the reckoning.

Once more, Felix Zubian smiled. Failure seemed impossible; yet even failure would not reflect on him. So long as The Shadow was at large, Zubian felt that he could trail him. He was still The Shadow’s shadow!