The Unseen Killer

CHAPTER XVII. FORCES CONVERGE

THE next morning, Wallace Norgan received a new threat from the Unseen Killer. It was a typewritten message that came in the first mail. Its terms called for a repetition of the scene at Warlock’s. This time, Norgan would have an opportunity of his own to deliver the wealth that the Unseen Killer wanted.

The note specified an announcement to the newspapers after arrangements were made to use Warlock’s safe the second time. It also stated that unless Warlock had changed the combination, a note would not be necessary on the front of the safe.

Joe Cardona was not at Norgan’s when the new note arrived. But half a dozen dicks were there; they put in a prompt call to Commissioner Barth. He called Warlock; found the corporation president willing to go through with the new arrangement; and then sent Norgan’s statement to the newspapers.

The Unseen Killer!

His name, mentioned by the press, had stirred the underworld. Throughout the district where the dragnet had been working, furtive, husky voices were speculating regarding the prowess of crimedom’s newest product.

“A guy you can’t see—”

“De bulls ain’t got a chanct to snag him—”

“A big shot—”

These were the expressions made by those who still roved free. To-night, those same speakers would be dodging the law, for the dragnet would work again. Yet crooks had no antagonism toward the Unseen Killer, despite the trouble that his deeds had caused them. They were all for him.

Not only in the bad lands. Elsewhere, men of criminal tendencies were speaking of the Unseen Killer in terms of praise. One spot where his name was whispered was a small cigar store on Ninth Avenue, an ordinary-looking place in a quiet district.

One man behind the counter. Two loungers in front. Beyond them, a door that led into a small pool room, where men were playing at two tables. This was a place that The Shadow’s agents had failed to uncover during their prolonged search; it was also one spot that the dragnet had not located.

The cigar store and the pool room were the “front” that covered Miles Crofton’s hideout. From the pool room, one could step into a little hallway that showed stairs leading to the second floor. Crofton had a complete apartment on that upper story.

One exit only. That was the path from the hallway through the cigar store. The shop and the pool room remained open late each night. Men were constantly on duty. The fellow behind the counter; the loungers in and out; the habitues of the pool room — all were under the command of Chuck Galla.

These were no ordinary gorillas whom the police could spot. They were crooks from out of town; men whom Trip Burgan had imported. He had chosen them well, carefully eliminating any who might have been known in and about Manhattan.

The police had failed to suspect these men. So had The Shadow’s agents. Trip Burgan, himself, had no record other than his gambling past. Thus no one — not even Hawkeye — had gained the needed trail, until last night.

Then had come the relayed leads. Fox Cullis had opened the way to Crazy Lagran; from Crazy, the trail had continued to Chuck Galla. Finally it had reached Trip Burgan. After listening to Trip and Chuck, The Shadow had reversed the course. He had ordered men to watch Chuck Galla.

That was last night. This morning, Chuck had come to the combined cigar store and pool room. He had gone upstairs; come down again; then left. Chuck was coming back again, later. That much was known to The Shadow.

MORNING had passed. Afternoon was waning. Men in the cigar store were alert. One of the squad was standing by the door, looking out into the street. He saw a huckster pushing a dilapidated fruit cart along the avenue.

“That guy’s never been in this block before,” growled the watcher. “First time I’ve seen him around.”

“What of it?” queried the man behind the counter, taking a look for himself. “He ain’t the first pushcart peddler to try this territory.”

“Business ain’t so hot around here.”

“Tell me anywhere that it’s likely to be good for one of them guys.”

The lounger shrugged his shoulders. He nodded. The man behind the counter was probably right.

Furthermore, he was boss while Chuck Galla was not around.

“All right, Hobey,” decided the lounger. “I guess the pushcart guy’s all right. But what do you think of that bird across the way?”

Hobey leaned over the counter. He looked across the street. He saw an antiquated truck pulled up in front of a lot where workmen had torn down an old building. A huge African, attired in overalls, was picking out chunks of wood and heaving them aboard his truck.

“Him?” questioned Hobey. “Say — you have gone bugs! First it’s a pushcart man that bothers you. Next it’s a fellow clearing out junk from an old house. Can’t nobody do any work in this block without you worrying?”

“You remember what Chuck said about—”

“He told us to watch out for snoopers. Them guys ain’t snoopers, are they?”

“I guess not, Hobey.”

“All right then.”

The lounger decided that Hobey was right. He turned away from the window and forgot the men in the street. But in his first suspicious impression, the fellow had been correct. Both of those men outside had come here for a purpose.

The pushcart man was known as Pietro. The big African bore the name of Jericho. Both were special agents of The Shadow. This morning, Hawkeye had spotted Chuck Galla taking a cab outside the Lyceum Hotel. Hawkeye had popped into Moe Shrevnitz’s taxi. They had trailed Chuck.

Pietro and Jericho had taken up guard duty, Pietro first, off and on during the day. With waning afternoon, Pietro was soon to go off duty. Jericho, coming up with his old truck, was taking on the job.

Dusk was settling. A telephone rang behind the counter in the pool room. Hobey answered it. He spoke in short sentences. When he hung up, he looked toward the loungers and gave a low-voiced order.

“Chuck’s coming down,” he informed. “Maybe Trip will be with him. Guess they want to talk with that guy upstairs. You birds are to ease out. Tell the boys in the back room.”

“All right, Hobey.”

Jericho’s truck had pulled away by the time men were sauntering from the cigar store. Pietro, passing for the last time, spied them but gave no indication. The huckster kept along to the end of the block. But he had counted the slouchers as they began to take their places in doorways and other secluded spots along the line.

When Jericho’s truck came rattling back for another load of rubbish, it passed the pushcart man. Pietro made a sign; Jericho grinned and nodded. He kept on until he reached the old building across the avenue from the cigar store.

While he loaded more junk, Jericho was conscious of lurkers in the dark. He kept at his work, knowing that they would not bother him. This load would go to an old garage, two blocks away, where Jericho was dumping the stuff. The African knew that Pietro had already headed for that old garage. A message was on its way to The Shadow.

MEANWHILE, other of The Shadow’s watchers were on the alert. Hawkeye was standing across the street from the Hotel Revano, awaiting the appearance of Chuck Galla and Trip Burgan. For Hawkeye had seen Chuck enter, half an hour before.

The two men came out. Hawkeye spotted them and flicked a cigarette into the gutter. Moe Shrevnitz, stationed in the hack-stand space, was prompt with his cab. He shot up in front of the door.

Neither Trip nor Chuck had asked the doorman for a cab. Apparently they had intended to set forth on foot for a few blocks. But Moe’s timely appearance made them change their minds. They stepped into the cab. Trip growled an address on the East Side.

Moe repeated it aloud. His voice was clear from the front seat, for he had opened the window beside him. Trip and Chuck heard Moe’s repetition of the destination. So did Hawkeye, slouching across the dusky street. Moe pulled away.

Hawkeye headed for a telephone. He put in a call. Like Pietro, he was relaying information to The Shadow. Through Burbank, these messages would reach their goal — The Shadow’s sanctum.

After phoning, Hawkeye headed out, grabbed a cab and made for the same destination that Trip had given Moe.

SOME twenty minutes after leaving the Hotel Revano, Moe Shrevnitz’s cab stopped beneath the overhanging structure of an elevated line. Trip and Chuck alighted. Trip paid Moe. The two headed into an old clothing store.

Moe swung his cab around the el pillars and parked on the opposite side of the street.

Soon a slouching figure came up beside the taxi. It was Hawkeye. The little fellow asked a quick question. Moe pointed out the clothing store. Hawkeye shambled across the street and went by the lighted front of the emporium. Seeing no sign of the men he wanted, Hawkeye found a courtyard at the side of the store and went through.

A blind alleyway was at the rear. There, Moe heard voices. He made out the shape of a rakish touring car. As he crept forward, he discovered that there were four men in the machine. Two gorillas in front; Trip and Chuck in the back.

A growled order from Trip. Hawkeye heard reference to the cigar store on Ninth Avenue. He edged back to the passage just as the touring car began to move. Lights blinked on. The car was on its way.

Hawkeye headed back to find Moe.

IN the meantime, Moe had gained another passenger. Some one had entered his car from the darkness beneath the elevated. Moe had heard a hissed order to cruise about the block. He knew who was in his cab. The Shadow.

Hawkeye, scurrying through the space beside the clothing store, saw Moe’s cab shoot away. The little man grunted angrily; then decided upon a course of his own. A report call; after that a quick trip to Ninth Avenue.

He waited for a few moments, though, to see if Moe would return. The taxi did not show up.

There was a reason. As Moe’s cab had turned the corner, keen eyes had spied a touring car swinging from an alley. The Shadow had spotted it as a mobster-manned machine. He had hissed a new order to Moe. The taxi driver had taken up the trail.

Thus were forces converging. Trip and his minions; The Shadow and his agents; both groups were heading toward the spot where men of both sides were already on watch. Events were due in the vicinity of Miles Crofton’s hideout!