The Silver Scourge

CHAPTER VI THE DOUBLE CROSS

DUFFY BAGLAND was the man whom The Shadow had set forth to find. The hard-faced gang leader, much though he might be fuming, had encountered luck tonight. He had escaped The Shadow — an accomplishment as rare as the consummation of a daring crime.

His accidental discovery of the black-cloaked watcher had been Duffy’s salvation. The Shadow had dealt with him silently, in order not to alarm the mobsters, and Duffy Bagland had still lived. The roar of revolver shots had come dimly to the gang leader’s groggy brain. Duffy Bagland, rising while The Shadow fought, had instinctively staggered away from the direction of the shots.

Good fortune had guided him. At the moment of The Shadow’s departure — even while men were entering from the stage of the ballroom — Duffy Bagland had snapped from his daze to find himself clear across the big room.

The men who had entered had no flashlights. They were seeking switches on the wall. Duffy, unarmed and helpless, arose in hopes of finding an avenue of escape. His shoulder jostled against a door.

Duffy found a knob. Again, with Lady Luck at work, Duffy gained what he needed. He was at the very door which Silk Elverton had used to enter the ballroom. The door was still unlocked. Duffy opened it and entered the room beyond.

The place was dark, but Duffy could see the palm tree in the corridor. He could hear voices beyond that spot.

The gang leader decided to investigate. Though his appearance was not wholly unpresentable, he might be able to make a get-away amid an excited throng.

People were talking excitedly. Duffy neared the protecting palm. He could see men’s backs; all were staring down the corridor toward that other end.

Duffy Bagland waited, his eyes glued to the black backs of two men who were attired in long-tailed evening coats. This pair appeared to be the members of a small group, but they had drawn away from their fellows.

“Stay up here,” a low voice was saying. “You’ve got the alibi. Don’t worry. Let them take it.”

The words apparently came from the taller man of the pair. Duffy could see lips moving as a bluff face showed its profile. He did not catch the answer which the other gave. The big man spoke again.

“Only one who knows you, eh?” he questioned his companion. “Do you think he would give you away?”

“He might” — Duffy Bagland could barely catch the reply.

“Well,” laughed the big man reassuringly, “maybe he’ll get his. Let’s hope he does. If he’s out of it, you won’t have to worry.”

The big man turned toward the palm tree. Duffy Bagland was about to slide away when the slighter man turned also. A snarl stopped upon Duffy Bagland’s lips as he saw the face.

The man whose back had been completely turned was Silk Elverton!

THE big man — Foulkrod Kendall — spied Duffy Bagland through the latter’s inadvertence. An excited look came upon Kendall’s bluff countenance. Silk Elverton swung to find himself face to face with Bagland.

The gang leader was seeing red. Thoughts flashed through his brain in scattered sequence. He heard people clattering at the door through which he had come. Return to the ballroom was blocked. The game was up. But those factors were not the ones which enraged the thwarted man.

The surprise attack — the complete collapse of the thieving scheme — these, Duffy attributed to Silk Elverton. Here was the inside man talking with a stranger. The hope had been expressed that some one would be killed — the only one who knew Silk Elverton — and that one was Duffy Bagland!

The look on Silk Elverton’s face showed consternation. With a fiendish cry, Duffy Bagland leaped forward.

Let them get him now — he would spoil Silk Elverton’s game, too. The smooth worker who posed as an Englishman would be unmasked by the one whom he had foiled!

“You double-crosser!” spat Duffy, as he lunged toward Silk. “I’ll queer your work! I’ll get you — ” His fist shot out for Silk’s chin.

It was Foulkrod Kendall who intervened. The big man struck down the blow; a moment later, he was wrestling with Duffy Bagland.

Kendall’s heavy attack drove the gang leader against the palm tree. The plant went over as the pair staggered toward the room. Duffy wrested free; with gangster skill, he drove a hard punch to Kendall’s jaw. The big millionaire staggered backward.

Silk Elverton had leaned against the wall. His pose was one that might have betokened cowardice. But with that action, the smooth crook slipped his hand to his pocket. His stub-nosed revolver came out in his hand.

Hidden from those who were coming up the corridor, the weapon was in readiness as Duffy Bagland sprang forward to deliver another blow to Foulkrod Kendall.

Silk pressed the trigger. The shot burst forth. The bullet was well aimed. Duffy Bagland twisted and caught himself as he staggered. Foulkrod Kendall, too excited to realize that a shot had been fired, launched himself against the gang leader, and shoved him back into the darkened room.

Silk Elverton followed rapidly, his gun held close in front of him. Kendall was swinging a hard punch at Duffy Bagland. The gang leader never received it. His body collapsed at the millionaire’s feet. The revolver clattered there as Silk, within cover of the room, gave it a deft toss.

FOULKROD KENDALL, leaning his bulk over Duffy Bagland’s form, gained a sudden horror as he saw the sickly look upon the dying gang leader’s face. He saw chewing lips, flecked with blood. His eyes spied the revolver, away from Duffy’s grasp.

Mechanically, Kendall reached down and plucked up the weapon. He stood, half dumfounded, while men came hurrying in from the corridor. The door from the ballroom opened, and others appeared to find out the cause of the shot.

“My word!” Silk Elverton was speaking excitedly. “What bravery! Fancy it — this bounder attacked Mr. Kendall with a deadly weapon. Mr. Kendall plucked it from him and shot the beggar!”

Kendall stepped back in momentary horror. His lips wavered as he stared toward Silk Elverton. He caught the crook’s steady gaze; he saw the trifling nod that Silk gave. A hoarse, nervous laugh came from Kendall’s lips.

“Sure I shot him,” admitted the millionaire. “It was in self-defense. I managed to yank the gun away from him just as he tried to kill me.”

Men who knew Kendall were crowding up with words of grim congratulation. It was known now that detectives had just broken the attack of robbers who had come to take the Russian plate.

“Served him right,” was the comment that passed along. “He’d have shot his way through here if it hadn’t been for Kendall!”

Some men formed a curious crowd; others were drawing away from the scene of death. Silk Elverton joined these. He neared the elevators.

Police detectives were now in evidence. One of them, a swarthy man who appeared to be the leader, was talking with the wounded detective who had been brought from the tier of rooms.

This was Detective Joe Cardona of the New York police. The sleuth strode away in the direction of the room where Kendall had remained. Silk Elverton and others who appeared to be of timorous mold remained by the elevators. It was several minutes before Cardona returned.

“All right,” he ordered. “Let these people go down. The whole mob has been nailed.”

People herded into an open elevator. Silk Elverton was forced to wait for the second car.

He noted that the detectives were looking over the crowd. He knew the reason. They were letting these men in evening clothes depart. The roughness of the mobsmen’s attire would point out any who might have slipped free from the fight.

“They got the big shot of the outfit,” Silk heard Cardona say. “It was Duffy Bagland. I knew that bozo needed watching. He bumped into a big silverware manufacturer while he was trying to make a get-away. Fellow named Kendall. He landed Duffy’s gun, and plugged him with it.”

“That’s a hot one,” returned another detective.

“I’ll keep Kendall for a witness,” resumed Cardona. “He seemed kind of worried, so I told him to forget it. Say — if there were a lot of millionaires like him to stop some of these tough bimboes, it would be sweet, wouldn’t it?”

The door of an elevator opened. Silk Elverton moved aboard unmolested. A smile appeared beneath the smooth crook’s mustache.

Foulkrod Kendall had taken the credit for nailing Duffy Bagland. The millionaire would be congratulated — not condemned. Quick headwork — that was Silk’s watchword. It was better for Kendall to talk to the police. He was known. He needed no explanations.

A GENTLEMAN in evening clothes was stepping from the elevator as Silk went aboard. The stranger threw a hawklike gaze about him. In that glance, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the smart crook’s face. The door closed. Silk rode downward. He alighted at the eighteenth floor.

Reaching his suite, Silk Elverton found Tim Mecke staring from the window. Packed bags showed that the fake valet had been attending to his work. Tim turned quickly as he heard his pretended master enter.

“What’s up, Silk?”

Tim could see the grim look on Silk’s face.

“Plenty,” returned the smooth crook, tossing his hat, coat, and cane on the bed. He had picked up these articles from a chair where he had dropped them in the corridor outside the ballroom.

“Yeah?” Tim’s tone was worried. “Say, Silk, I thought I heard some shots way off in the hotel—”

“You did, Tim. Listen. There were a lot of detectives up there, see? The gang must have been clumsy. I had the way open for them — but I figure they made a noise, and the dicks busted in. Anyway, they got the gang—”

“Got Duffy?” Tim asked, aghast.

“Yeah. They got him.”

Observing Tim’s reaction, Silk was pleased that he had avoided discovery as the actual killer of the gang leader.

“It all went sour, Tim. Only piece of luck was that they didn’t suspect me. We’re going to move out — like we told them at the desk. Come on.”

“But if Duffy’s dead” — Tim was apprehensive — “it puts me out of luck, Silk. I belonged to that gang. They’ll trail me if I stick around New York any—”

“You’re going with me,” informed Silk quietly. “I can use you, Tim. You belonged to Duffy Bagland; I’ll take you, now that he’s been killed. We’re going to another hotel, for tonight. That will be all right, because we’re supposed to be aboard ship. Tomorrow, we leave New York.”

“Say, Silk,” responded Tim, in a grateful tone, “you’re a real pal — a real guy—”

“Just finding that out, eh?” laughed Silk. “Well, you’ll be in the money, Tim, if you play along with me. Come on — help me on with that coat, just for practice, in case I need you for a valet again.”

Tim complied. Silk Elverton strolled to the mirror, adjusted his attire, and donned his silk hat.

“Call for the porter,” he ordered.

Tim obeyed. A few minutes later, the pretended Englishman and his phony valet marched from their suite, leaving the door open for the porter to enter.

“We’ll call a cab when we get downstairs,” said Silk, as they stood by the elevators. “Listen, now, Tim. I’m boss. Understand?”

Tim nodded.

“The first thing,” declared Silk, “is to forget all about this. No talk about Duffy. He’s gone. When a thing’s all over, it’s done. No mooching around looking at newspapers. I’ve seen plenty of wise birds go South because they fooled around with a little detail like that. If you’re with me — stay with me. Get it?”

“Right,” agreed Tim. “You’re a brainy guy, Silk.”

Silk Elverton agreed with the compliment. He was pleased with the way tonight’s work had turned out. It was best to have old associations ended, with the scheme that he now planned. Of all Duffy Bagland’s underlings, only Tim Mecke knew the connection between Silk and the dead gang leader.

Tim could be handled. He had been deputed to aid Silk. He was a useful man; one that would go along. The easiest course was to kill two birds at a single shot. By keeping Tim with him, Silk could prevent the man from becoming wise; with Tim in his employ, Silk could have an expert gunman in his employ when he reached Kendall’s headquarters at New Avalon.

UPSTAIRS, on the ballroom floor, the man who had arrived when Silk Elverton departed was strolling over the battle ground with other curious persons. The police were putting a clamp on this procedure, but the stranger had managed to edge his way through.

Moving along the floor beside him, shifting with every change of light, a blackened silhouette marked the walker’s progress. No one noticed that strange shadow. Yet it had appeared hereabouts not long before.

That patch of darkness was the mark of The Shadow!

The stranger reached the room where Joe Cardona was talking to Foulkrod Kendall. The millionaire was expressing his own bewilderment. He knew only that he had yanked a gun from Duffy Bagland’s grasp. He could not even remember firing it.

Cardona nodded. He understood. He had encountered situations similar to this.

“However it happened, Mr. Kendall,” he said, in a congratulating tone, “you deserve all the credit we can give you. This man was dangerous. He was a killer — the leader of a desperate mob. You may have saved innocent lives by your prompt action. You are staying at this hotel—”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be around to see you later. Routine — that’s all.”

The stranger in evening clothes was standing close by. His keen eyes noted the open door through which Duffy Bagland had come. His gaze fell upon the short-barreled revolver which Joe Cardona held.

Where had Duffy Bagland gained that weapon? This observer — The Shadow, in a conventional guise — knew well that the gang leader would not have carried so small a weapon. The open door — the revolver — both were evidence of some one in this picture; some one who had paved the way for Bagland’s mob; some one who might have carried that revolver beneath the cover of a dress coat.

“Kendall was talking to the Englishman,” The Shadow heard a witness say. “You know who I mean — that fellow Elverton, from London. The gangster made a grab for Elverton first; Kendall broke in, and did the good work. I saw it as I came along the corridor.”

“Where’s Elverton?” some one asked.

“Guess he was scared,” came the laughing reply. “He looked that way. I don’t blame him, though.”

Elverton!

The tall listener considered the name. Firm lips remained expressionless. The Shadow walked slowly along the corridor, and reached the deserted room past the coat-and-hat booth. He went to the telephone and spoke in a calm, steady voice.

“Mr. Elverton’s room, please.”

“Mr. Ronald Elverton?” was the operator’s question, “Wait a few moments, sir… Mr. Ronald Elverton has gone. He has checked out.”

“Where can I communicate with him?”

“I shall inquire, sir. Hold the line.”

A pause of half a minute; then the operator’s voice came back.

“He is sailing for England tonight, sir.”

“What steamship?”

“Mr. Elverton did not say, sir.”

The Shadow left the telephone. He entered an elevator, and stepped off at a lower floor. From then on, his course became obscure.

IT was not until nearly an hour afterward that a mysterious presence appeared in a black-walled room, where the sudden illumination of a blue light revealed a pair of long white hands.

The right hand wrote. Its fingers traced a diagram of the ballroom floor at the Gargantuan Hotel. Names appeared; they were those of Duffy Bagland, Foulkrod Kendall, and Ronald Elverton.

Duffy Bagland, hardened gang leader; Foulkrod Kendall, millionaire manufacturer. They had met tonight in combat. The gang leader had been slain. A strange outcome!

There must be an explanation for this event. What was the link between? Had the revolver actually belonged to Foulkrod Kendall? No; the millionaire would probably have admitted it. Whose was it? How did Kendall gain it?

The hand of The Shadow underlined the name of Elverton. There was the unknown quantity. An Englishman — so it was said — who had lost no time in leaving after tonight’s events.

Elverton — the gun.

To The Shadow, the connection was obvious. Had Elverton given the weapon to Kendall? Had the millionaire picked it up after Elverton had dropped it?

Between the names of Bagland and Elverton, The Shadow drew a line. They were linked. Elverton — particularly in the pose of an Englishman at this typically American convention — might well have been Bagland’s confederate.

The hand drew another line, this time between the names of Elverton and Kendall. The millionaire had been talking to Kendall when Bagland had appeared. Both men had been involved in the fight. Bagland had been slain.

The names began to fade. Hastily, the hand of The Shadow traced over the letters in two names, so that they alone remained. Foulkrod Kendall — Ronald Elverton. They were the living pair. Duffy Bagland’s name had passed from view, obliterated, like the man himself.

A whispered laugh spread through the sanctum. The Shadow had met one crook tonight — Duffy Bagland. He had not, however, encountered the hidden person to whom Bagland had spoken over the telephone. That man, Silk Elverton, could have been traced through the dead gang leader.

He must be traced now; but not through the man who was dead. Through a living person — Foulkrod Kendall — The Shadow could find this smooth plotter who had played so great a part in tonight’s attempted crime.

The light went out. The laugh again reverberated through the sanctum. Its weird mirth died amid empty walls. The Shadow had departed.

The Shadow knew!