Tower of Death

CHAPTER III LUSKIN SPEAKS

“HELLO.”

Mallet Haverly’s thick lips were expressionless as the racketeer growled in response to a telephone ring. A few short words followed. Mallet hung up.

“Your man’s downstairs,” Mallet informed Luskin. “Waiting outside the apartment house.”

“With the money?” questioned Luskin, eagerly.

Mallet’s lips formed a grin.

“Of course not,” stated the racketeer. “Do you think I’d have him bring it around here? He’ll meet you outside the door. Go with him. He’ll give you the cash in a suitcase.”

“And after that?” Luskin’s tone was nervous.

“You’ll have a chance to count the dough,” explained Mallet. “My man will take you wherever you want to go — and you can check up on the cash while you’re in the cab with him.”

Luskin gulped his agreement, he walked to the door with Mallet beside him.

“You’ll know the fellow right away,” added Mallet. “He always wears a big stick-pin in his necktie — with a sparkler in it — a diamond.”

Luskin nodded as he left. Mallet thrust out his hand and the dupe shook it in parting.

As Mallet Haverly turned back after closing the door, his pudgy lips framed an evil smile. Speedy Tyron indulged in a similar expression.

“Come along,” ordered Mallet. “My bags are packed. We’re hopping out of town — to stay out.”

“Leaving the job to Dirk Halgan and Burnetti,” added Speedy. “Two guys who know their stuff.”

“And the last job they’ll be doing for me,” declared Mallet. “If this job pans out, we’re through with New York.”

DOWN on the street, Luskin was looking about nervously. He spied a man standing near the curb; as the fellow turned, Luskin spied the glimmer of a diamond stick-pin. He approached the man.

“Hello,” greeted the stranger. “Are you from Haverly?”

Luskin nodded.

“O.K.” The man — “Dirk” Halgan — turned briskly and waved to a cab that was standing across the street. The vehicle approached. Dirk motioned to Luskin to enter. Dirk followed.

Luskin showed no signs of trepidation. His nervousness was allayed as soon as he had entered the cab. Dirk — Luskin did not know the fellow’s name — appeared to be the very type of henchman that Mallet Haverly would assign to the duty of delivering funds. Dirk had spoken cautiously; he gave a direction to the cab driver in a low tone that Luskin did not overhear.

Luskin’s eyes were approving as they studied Dirk. Engaged in studying his companion, Luskin did not glance behind as the cab pulled from the curb. Hence he did not note the activity which occurred further down the block.

An old sedan pulled away from darkness by the old Majestic Theater. A few seconds later, a rakish touring car started from another spot. These two automobiles took up the trail of the cab which carried Luskin and Dirk Halgan.

Back near the corner, a young man was seated behind the wheel of a coupe. His hand was on the gear shift lever; his eyes were watching toward the curb. This was Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow, delegated to this duty. He was awaiting the arrival of Cliff Marsland. Harry had received a call from Burbank. Already uptown, Harry had gained this spot ahead of Cliff.

Harry shoved the car in gear, realizing that he could wait no longer. A man, swinging from the passers on the sidewalk, caught the handle of the door. It was Cliff Marsland. The underworld agent had arrived just in time to join Harry. He boarded the coupe and Harry started after the cars ahead.

The coupe reached the avenue ahead. It shot across just as the light was turning. A larger coupe, coming up the avenue, made a sudden swerve and followed Harry’s car. A strange, whispered laugh sounded in the dark interior.

The driver who had uttered that short burst of mirth was hidden in the gloom. His eerie tones, however, were sufficient pronouncement of his identity. The driver was The Shadow.

SWIFT master of action, The Shadow had dispatched his agents to the scene immediately upon receiving word from Burbank. His own location must have been more distant. Instead of coming up the avenue near where the pursuit had begun, he had taken the one ahead, knowing that he might intercept the chase should it have already begun.

Harry Vincent’s coupe had passed the next avenue. It was half a block behind the cars which it was trailing; The Shadow was a similar interval behind Harry. Watching from the wheel of his coupe, Harry saw the taxi making a turn to the right. Reaching to the dashboard, Harry clicked the light switch twice.

Cliff Marsland made no comment. He assumed that this was a signal ordered through Burbank; that Harry had been instructed to mark the turns which the cars ahead might make. Cliff’s assumption was correct.

The Shadow, almost at the avenue behind, saw the double flicker of the tail light on Harry’s coupe. With a quick swerve, he swung his heavy car to the right, going down the nearer avenue just as the traffic lights were changing.

The motor roared as The Shadow’s coupe took the straightaway. The heavy car showed a remarkable burst of speed. Green ahead — as he passed the first cross street, The Shadow laughed. Glancing to the left, he had seen the cab passing the same street on the further avenue, a block away.

The pointer on the speedometer shot up to sixty. Across two streets; then, as a traffic opening showed on the left, The Shadow applied the brakes. The big coupe half-skidded and sped across the path of an oncoming truck; a hidden foot pressed the accelerator and the sturdy car roared down the side street.

A red light showed ahead. The Shadow took a right turn. His eyes gleamed as they peered toward the mirror. The soft laugh again sounded from his lips. By rapid maneuver and swift pace, The Shadow had passed all the cars that formed the caravan. He was ahead of the taxicab which mobsters had chosen for their quarry.

With slackened speed, The Shadow kept ahead. His eyes were on the mirror. They were watching the cab, now nearly a block to the rear. The avenue lights changed from green to red. The taxi took a left turn. The Shadow glimpsed the sedan that swung behind it. He, too, turned left, one street ahead. His was a two-way thoroughfare.

AGAIN, the coupe showed its speed. The Shadow knew that the one-way street which the taxi had taken might mark the end of the quest. He picked an avenue which ran beneath the superstructure of the elevated. A red light gleamed; The Shadow swung left at high speed.

Brakes screamed as cars swerved to avoid the coupe which shot across their path. The Shadow’s firm hand whisked the coupe past an elevated pillar and swung it clear of a parked car.

The Shadow reached the next street ahead of oncoming traffic. Another breakneck turn to the left. The coupe made a complete U turn and came to a stop facing down the avenue.

Like a phantom shape, The Shadow glided from the car. His form seemed a fleeting patch of darkness as it gained the walls of buildings that fronted on this avenue. Two seconds later, he had reached the corner. His tall shape merged with the blackness of the side street.

Clad in cloak and hat of sable hue, The Shadow had demonstrated his mysterious ability to travel under cover of the night. His uncanny intuition was also in evidence. Less than a block away, the taxicab which he sought was pulling up to the curb. The Shadow had picked the secluded block which had been chosen by men of crime.

IN the cab, Dirk Halgan was speaking in deliberate fashion. The easy speed of the cab, coupled with Dirk’s friendly tone, had completely eliminated all suspicion from Luskin’s mind.

“Here’s where we get out,” remarked Dirk. “Step to the curb — I’ll be with you.”

Luskin rose to obey. He opened the door beside him. His foot descended to the sidewalk. The taxi driver was looking over his shoulder. A fake cabby; he had been deputed to this job; he was awaiting Dirk Halgan’s order.

“All right, Jake,” came Dirk’s whisper. “Get ready—”

The driver’s hand was on the gear shift lever. Then, like a living avalanche, a blackened figure seemed to spring from the sidewalk. A pair of arms caught Luskin and hurled his form back into the cab. Before Jake, the gangster driver, could start the taxi, the fighter from the dark was upon him.

“The Shadow!”

Jake blurted the name as a swift fist swung toward his jaw. The gloved hand of The Shadow clipped the fake cab driver on the chin. Flinging himself backward to escape the blow, Jake was lifted clear from the wheel. Senseless, he went sprawling backward to the street.

Dirk Halgan, jounced back by Luskin’s quick return to the cab, was yanking a revolver from his pocket when he heard Jake’s gasp. The gangster’s hand came upward. His finger pressed the trigger as he fired toward the blackness of the front seat.

The shot was wild. As it crashed the windshield, Dirk could see the head and shoulders of The Shadow by the flame from the revolver. The gangster had fired a foot to the left of his mark. He swung to deliver a second bullet. It never left his gun.

An automatic thundered within the cab. The Shadow’s prompt reply performed its work. Dirk Halgan slumped sidewise, against the left door of the cab.

A hand from the dark seized Luskin’s shoulder and pressed the saved man to the floor of the cab. A fierce, whispered voice hissed its order:

“Stay where you are! You will be safe!”

In quick seconds of action, The Shadow had nullified the scheme for Luskin’s death. Instead of the doomed man being left upon the sidewalk, an open target for approaching killers, he was lying within the cab, protected by The Shadow!

The touring car shot up beside the cab. The would-be murderers knew that something had happened. Two mobsmen bounded to the street as the driver shot the glare of a bull’s-eye lantern toward the taxi.

The brilliance showed The Shadow. Leaning from beside the wheel, the master fighter was ready with his automatics. As the light gleamed, he fired. The driver groaned as the lantern was shattered in his hand.

Mobsters aimed for that spot behind the wheel. The Shadow had dropped away. Bullets riddled the car body beside the driver’s seat. One mobster, circling the rear of the cab, was coming to attack the other side.

He was the next to meet The Shadow’s might. The black-garbed warrior had reached the curb. His automatic blazed its welcome. The gangster sprawled upon the sidewalk as The Shadow sprang toward the front of the taxi.

NEW shots from the dark. They were delivered from the front of the cab, from a spot close by the radiator. Two mobsters went sprawling from the running board beside the driver’s seat of the cab.

The touring car shot forward as a new driver handed it. A revolver barked an instant too soon. Its bullet nicked the chromium of the radiator. The Shadow’s automatic spoke in return. The touring car swerved, took the curb on the far side of the street and rammed against a building.

The sedan, which had waited behind, came forward, its headlights blazing down the street. Shots burst from The Shadow’s automatics. Simultaneously, new gunfire echoed from behind the sedan. Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland were opening fire from their coupe.

The coupe stopped. Caught between The Shadow and his henchmen, murderers leaped from the closed car to seek the cover of the houses, firing as they sprang for safety.

While guns barked, the shrill burst of a police whistle came from the avenue where The Shadow had left his car.

This was the signal that produced the unexpected. Luskin heard it as he cowered in the taxicab. Realizing that he, himself, was a man who had aided in plans of crime, Luskin uttered a hoarse scream and leaped to the door. A moment later, he had reached the sidewalk.

A man was close by the rear of the cab. It was Burnetti. The gang leader had managed to gain this temporary refuge. As he saw Luskin, Burnetti leaned forward and fired a quick shot that felled his quarry. Swinging, Burnetti aimed toward the front of taxicab.

He was too late. The Shadow, rising, loosed a shot that drilled the murderer. As Burnetti’s body collapsed upon the sidewalk, The Shadow reached the spot where Luskin lay. The man was dying.

“Speak!”

The Shadow’s command was a sinister whisper. Luskin responded. His lips moved feebly as they tried to frame gasping words.

The traitor had been double-crossed. He had been duped by an offer of easy wealth. Dying, he was seeking vengeance upon Mallet Haverly, the crook who had sent him to his death!

Mobsters were groaning in the street as Harry Vincent’s coupe shot by, heading away from this zone which police were approaching. The battle had been won. The time had come for prompt departure. Yet, while his agents were hastening away, The Shadow lingered.

From Luskin’s last words, this super-sleuth was seeking the answer to the crime that had been launched by Mallet Haverly.