The Silent Death

CHAPTER XIV. MOBSMEN STRIKE

ANOTHER night had come. Denizens of the underworld had begun their assemblage in Red Mike’s den.

The proprietor of the speakeasy, noncommittal as was his wont, cast no more than a casual glance toward those who thronged his dive.

The capture of Slips Harbeck had created no great stir in gangdom. The detectives had effected it quietly outside of Red Mike’s. There had been no witnesses other than Gawky Tyson, Cardona’s stool pigeon.

Red Mike, himself, was not perturbed by Slips Harbeck’s fate. In fact, he had come to consider Slips as a liability. Ricordo’s lieutenant, fomenting schemes, had been too closely clinging to Red Mike. The speakeasy proprietor was glad that the mysterious phone calls had ended.

Nevertheless, Red Mike regarded Slips Harbeck as a pal; and in the back of his head, Red Mike was ready to bring discomfort to any one concerned with Harbeck’s capture. Contrarily, Red Mike did not trouble himself to seek the culprit who had brought about the arrest of Slips.

There were two men in the speakeasy this night who could have given Red Mike information concerning Slips Harbeck’s doings. One was Gawky Tyson; the other was Cliff Marsland.

Cardona’s stool pigeon was seated near the door that led to the little side room. Cliff Marsland was across the speakeasy. Besides them, there were perhaps twenty typical habitues of the bad lands, ranged about the big room.

Two hard-faced gangsters entered. They said nothing. They sat at a table not far from the little room.

Both Cliff and Gawky eyed them; Cliff with a casual glance, Gawky with a furtive sidelong stare.

Minutes passed; another pair of mobsmen came in. They paid no attention to the first ones. They, too, seemed occupied with their own business.

“Gorillas getting together,” mused Cliff. “Good idea to watch them.”

Cliff’s thought was a usual one. It was just such an assembly that had given the final tip-off to Slips Harbeck’s activities, the night that Ricordo’s lieutenant had set forth to Alfred Sartain’s apartment house.

ANOTHER man entered the speakeasy. Cliff Marsland’s gaze narrowed. He was sure that he recognized these hardened, evil features. Larry Ricordo!

Cliff had seen the gang lord in the past. Moreover, he was here to watch for any sign of Ricordo, even though the chances of the missing gang leader’s visit had appeared quite remote.

Another pair of eyes spotted Larry Ricordo. Gawky Tyson, too, was interested in the gang leader’s arrival. He had been planted here by Cardona in hopes of this very visit. Thus the gorillas were forgotten.

Both Cliff and Gawky became concerned with Ricordo.

The gang leader stopped to talk to Red Mike. As he glanced about the room, Ricordo scarcely noted Cliff Marsland. But he did let his eyes pause mildly upon Gawky Tyson, who happened to be the nearest person to him.

As a spotter, Ricordo lived up to his claims. It required only a second glance to assure him that Gawky was the stool pigeon the police had posted here.

Ricordo caught the eye of one gorilla. The gang leader’s gaze shifted back toward Gawky Tyson. That was the sign that meant suspicion. The gorilla nodded. Ricordo went on talking to Red Mike.

There was no occasion for Ricordo to mark Cliff Marsland. Among the gunmen whom he had gathered in dives other than Red Mike’s, were two who knew Cliff by sight. Larry Ricordo repressed a leer as he talked with Red Mike. The stage was set; now for action.

“So they grabbed Slips Harbeck, eh?” Ricordo spoke in a less guarded tone. His words reached both Gawky and Cliff. “Well, don’t talk about it, Mike. I’ll tell you why — I’m picking up where Slips left off. Where’s the telephone?”

Red Mike nudged his thumb toward the inner room. He was anxious to please Larry Ricordo. He had never heard Slips Harbeck mention the gang leader, but he was willing to take Ricordo’s say-so.

“Sit down,” offered Red Mike. “Have a drink on the house, Larry. I’ll let you know when a call comes for you.”

“Can’t wait, Mike,” returned Ricordo. “I know the number. I’ll call it myself. I was intending to wait — that’s why I came here. But with this crowd here I—”

“Somebody may recognize you, eh?”

“Sure. I’ve been keeping out of town, you know. I’ll chance a call — if I don’t get an answer, I’ll wait — but I’ll stick in the little room.”

WHEN he concluded, Larry Ricordo went to the door that Red Mike had indicated. Both Cliff Marsland and Gawky Tyson were intensely interested. They were anxious to learn the number that Ricordo was calling. The closed door prevented them. But it was not long before that door, which had a habit of not staying completely closed, opened inward, as though by accident.

Ricordo was talking, and the tones of his voice were audible to both listeners. As successor of Slips Harbeck, the gang leader was apparently receiving important instructions.

“Thomas Jocelyn?” Ricordo’s tone denoted surprise. “Sure… I’ll go there… Afraid he’ll squawk, eh? Well, he knows too much… Sure… I know where old Jocelyn’s apartment is… Leave it to me… Easy. I’ll go there right away. I can make it in half an hour…”

The receiver clanked. Larry Ricordo stalked from the inner room. The expression on his face was plain.

One could see that it boded ill for Thomas Jocelyn. Larry Ricordo stopped in the outer room.

“I’ll have that drink, Mike,” he said to the proprietor. “Then I’ll start along. Thanks for letting me use the phone.”

While Ricordo’s back was turned, Cliff Marsland arose quietly from his table. The Shadow’s agent had shifted before. He was apparently seeking a new place. Instead, he changed his mind and sauntered toward the door of the speakeasy.

Cliff had just reached the door when Gawky Tyson hunched himself upward and began a furtive progress in the same direction. He had not gone three paces before one of the gorillas leaped to his feet. At that moment, Larry Ricordo was finishing his drink.

“Well, so long, Mike,” said the gang leader.

A cry sounded through the speakeasy. It was directed toward Gawky Tyson, by the gangster who had leaped forward to block the stool pigeon’s path.

“Get this guy!” shouted the gorilla. “He’s a stool; that’s what he is! Get the squawker!”

From the door, Cliff Marsland caught the flash of revolvers. He also saw Larry Ricordo approaching the door. As the gang leader stopped to view the action, Cliff ducked out into the night. Larry Ricordo, looking over his shoulder as he went, reached the door.

Gawky Tyson was screaming denials. Like a frightened rat, he was squirming away from the mobsman who had accosted him. The other gorillas were on their feet, covering the suspect with their revolvers.

Red Mike was bellowing out threats. He wanted no disturbance in this place.

Other customers were on their feet. None were friends of Gawky Tyson, but they all knew Red Mike.

Larry Ricordo watched grimly, knowing that his men must not delay. They could act now and explain afterward.

Two revolvers roared. Other shots followed. With almost one accord, the gorillas loosed their lead into the form of Gawky Tyson. The stool pigeon uttered a piercing shriek and toppled to the floor.

Red Mike, with clenched fists, was trying to put the blame on the proper man. But the gorillas had acted with the precision of a firing squad. Backing away, they held their revolvers in menacing hands, as though challenging any one who might call them to task.

LARRY RICORDO stepped through the door. He walked away, glancing back as he went. He saw the murderers come hurrying from the speakeasy. Their work was done. Larry laughed as he sauntered along and ducked through a side alley.

These men were half of his corps. The others had remained outside. They had gone; and Larry knew where. They had taken up the trail of Cliff Marsland.

Hurrying his pace, Ricordo kept on for several blocks and finally stopped at a little restaurant. He entered, went through to a back room and picked up a telephone. He called the number of Thomas Jocelyn. He recognized the voice that came over the wire.

“Hello, Grewson,” said Ricordo. “All set? Good… Listen now. You’ve got the bottles… Do the job right… No, I’m not coming there, but there’s a guy that thinks I am… He’ll be there later. You’re to be gone when he gets there… Well — fifteen minutes will be all right; but move in a hurry after that… Yes… Yes… Scram; keep going clear out of town… You’ve got the dough I slipped you. There’ll be more waiting when you reach Chicago…”

Larry Ricordo left the restaurant. He laughed in a pleased manner. It rested with Grewson now; and Grewson was capable. Furthermore, Grewson did not know that The Shadow was concerned in this episode.

As for Thomas Jocelyn’s apartment — Larry Ricordo had no reason for going there now. That was part of Professor Urlich’s scheme. A new trail for The Shadow; another duty for Ricordo. Half a dozen blocks to go; and Larry would learn if the rest of his plot had succeeded.

The gang leader neared the appointed spot. He was back in a secluded district of the underworld, far from Red Mike’s establishment. A man came out of the darkness to meet him. It was one of the gorillas who had been set to trail Cliff Marsland.

“We got him, Larry,” whispered the gangster. “Laid outside the place where he was phoning and nabbed him when he came out. Knocked him cold.”

“Is he in the car now?”

Larry put the question as they stalked along. He saw the gangster nod.

“Yeah,” said the underling. “Him and another guy. This bird jumped us while we were grabbin’ Marsland. One of the gang socked him with a rod.”

“Who is he?” demanded Ricordo.

“Some reporter,” explained the gangster. “Found his cards in his pocket. Name’s Burke — Clyde Burke. We didn’t want to bump him off because the noise might have made trouble. We can drop him somewhere or take him for a ride—”

They were at the spot where the car was parked. Three mobsters emerged from the side of an old sedan. Larry Ricordo used a flashlight to study the two men who were bound and gagged in the back seat. He recognized Cliff Marsland. He did not know the other.

THE gang leader pondered. He wondered if this reporter was an acquaintance of Cliff Marsland or whether the man had chanced to happen by during the attack of the gorillas. Ricordo knew that it would be a mistake to deal with a newspaperman as one would handle a member of the underworld.

To take Clyde Burke for a one-way ride was the first suggestion that Ricordo ignored. He considered the results that might occur should Burke be freed. They looked bad also. Ricordo wondered what Professor Urlich would have to say about the capture of two men instead of one.

That thought gave the answer. There was no time to lose. The sooner Ricordo reached Long Island, the better. The quickest, surest course was to take Burke along with Marsland. Professor Urlich could decide what to do.

Larry Ricordo paid off his mobsters. He took the wheel of the sedan and pulled away. As he rode along, he was more than satisfied with his decision regarding Clyde Burke. It was no greater risk to carry two bound men than one. Burke could be freed if Urlich insisted; if the scientist decreed death, it would be more certain and effective in Urlich’s laboratory than at the hands of the cumbersome mobsters whom Ricordo had just discharged.

The gang leader had a hunch that both prisoners would soon experience the sensation of silent death. The thought turned his mind to The Shadow. Larry Ricordo laughed as he guided the car toward the twinkling lights of an avenue.

Silent death! The Shadow! The two were interlocked. The Shadow was on his way to silent death at this very moment. Cliff Marsland had certainly sent word of Ricordo’s plans. That, alone, was necessary.

The subtlety of Professor Folcroft Urlich’s present scheme surpassed all that had gone before it. Larry Ricordo saw certain doom destined for The Shadow!