The Shadow - The Shadow Laughs Part 5

"That has all been arranged," replied The Shadow. "You sail to-morrow afternoon on the Aquatic. I antic.i.p.ated this a few days ago, and made all preparations.

"Your name is not published in the pa.s.senger list. So remember my warning. Say nothing to reveal your ident.i.ty until you are on the ocean."

The millionaire laughed. Then he extended his hand.

"I suppose the check was signed by Lamont Cranston," he said. "That would be the final touch."

"It was."

"Well, it sounds sporty. This is a new experience for me. You have convinced me that there is no use in opposing you.

"I don't know your purpose, or what you intend to do; but I wish you the best of luck."

The eyes of The Shadow were piercing as they studied the face of the millionaire. They seemed to read Lamont Cranston's thoughts; to learn that he spoke the truth, and would play his part in this unexpected game.

The Shadow grasped the millionaire's hand. Then he stooped, and lifted his cloak and hat. The garments enveloped his form; his features of Lamont Cranston's double were obscured.

"Remember!" came the whispered voice.

The millionaire watched the figure as it moved noiselessly toward the side of the room. It disappeared in the darkness by the window.

Then The Shadow was gone, into the night, without a single sound of his departure.

Lamont Cranston laughed nervously. A great tension had left him; but that last whispered warning seemed to live in his brain. He turned out the light, and went to sleep.

In his dreams he seemed to see a tall black figure, that whispered the single significant word:"Remember!"

CHAPTER VIII. SPOTTER MEETS A FRIEND.

A SHORT, stooped man, with thin body and cunning, wicked face, entered that den of the underworld known as the Black s.h.i.+p. His keen, beady eyes made a quick survey of every person in the room, from the man behind the bar to a drunken mobsmen who lay across a table in the corner.

"h.e.l.lo, Spotter," said the proprietor.

"H'lo," answered the little man.

He took his place at a table, and called for a bottle and gla.s.s.

The Black s.h.i.+p was a rendezvous for gangsters-a haven and a refuge for those who were seeking to avoid the law, and a meeting place for those who plotted new crimes.

"Spotter," wily creature of the underworld, was a familiar figure at the Black s.h.i.+p. He was comrade to all the crooks; he knew them all by face, by walk, and by actions.

He himself had been mixed in shady doings, but he possessed an instinctive cleverness that had always enabled him to keep from the toils of the law.

The police had hopes that they might some day get the goods on him. They wanted him as a stool pigeon.

In the services of the authorities, Spotter would be a trump card.

But they had never been able to connect him with any crime, and it was rumored, among gangsters, that Spotter had twice outwitted the police when they had tried to frame him.

Spotter had been living a life of idleness. He always had a supply of money; where he obtained it was a mystery.

He was seen frequently at the Black s.h.i.+p, the Pink Rat, and other dives of the underworld. He seemed to be living a life of honesty-too honest to be genuine.

To-night there was a restless look in Spotter's cunning eyes. They betrayed the fact that he was hankering for activity; that the criminal instincts which dominated his twisted soul were anxious for an outlet.

Nevertheless, Spotter never sought crime. He waited for opportunities.

A man entered the door. Spotter blinked in sudden recognition.

The fellow came across the floor, noted Spotter, and made a slight beckoning motion with his thumb.

Then he entered the inner room of the den. Spotter followed.

THE new arrival was a tall man, with sallow face, and beaklike nose. He was well dressed, and his moppy red hair made its presence known beneath the gray hat which he wore. The stranger's features were impa.s.sive.

He and Spotter were alone in the room.

"Reds Mackin!" exclaimed Spotter, softly, as he looked at the man across the table. "I thought you was in Chi."The other man smiled, almost imperceptibly.

"I just came back," he replied.

"Ain't things goin' right?" questioned Spotter.

Mackin's smile disappeared.

"They always go right with me, Spotter."

"Sure they do, Reds. I ain't questionin' you. You're a smooth guy. I know that. Smooth as they make 'em.

"I ain't never known you to get in no trouble. All you do is legit. But I didn't expect to see you back here for another month, anyway."

"Listen, Spotter." "Reds" Mackin's voice was low, and emphatic. "I've got a-well, I've got nothing; but I know of somebody that's got a job to be done. There's dough in it. Quick work. Pretty safe, too. But it means that one fellow's got to croak."

Spotter nodded.

"I get the idea, Reds."

"Wait!" Reds gestured as he spoke. "I don't have to come to you to find the man that's needed. There's plenty of them out in Chi. But this wants to be done right. It needs the right man."

"If there's dough in it," said Spotter, "there's plenty that will do it."

"Not the way it's got to be done. The man must have three things."

Reds raised three fingers and enumerated: "First, he must be smooth-not like a regular crook. A fellow with education, nerve, and everything that goes with good appearance. That's number one.

"Next, he's got to be a sure shot. Handle the rod quick and well. A sure killer. That's number two.

"Last-this is the hitch-he's got to be good with the knife.

"We-I mean they aren't sure just how this is going to work out. Maybe it will take a good quick stab to do it right-without using the rod at all. So that's number three.

"Now, there isn't a yegg in Chicago that I've seen that can fill the bill. I've been thinking that there's none to be had anywhere. But if there is such a guy, there's one person who would know him. That's you, Spotter."

Spotter licked his thin lips. "How much is it worth?" he asked, thoughtfully.

"How much is what worth?" questioned Reds Mackin. "To get the guy I want?"

"To tell you who he is."

Reds Mackin laughed disdainfully.

"What's the game, Spotter?" he demanded. "I want the guy. Are you trying to hold out on me?""That ain't it, Reds. I know just the guy you need. But I don't know where he is.

"I ain't mistrustin' you, Reds; but all I can do is tell his name right now. How do I know you ain't goin' to get him on your own hook, after you know who he is?"

"So that's the trouble." Reds Mackin snorted. "Well, I'll fix that. You know where you can get a bird like the one I want. Are there any others as good as he?"

"No. Just the one. And listen, Reds"-Spotter spoke knowingly -"there ain't many fellows knows how good this guy is.

"You might ask plenty of 'em-just like you asked me-and they wouldn't think of this guy at all.

Because he's smooth, Reds. Like a card shark. He don't show his stuff to the crowd. Keeps it hid."

REDS MACKIN pulled two fifty-dollar bills from his pocket. He pa.s.sed them to Spotter with his right hand.

"Here, Spotter," he said. "These are yours. Just for giving me the guy's name. That's all. If I can get hold of him-either through you or any one else, there'll be a hundred more for you.

"Maybe"-he spoke rather cautiously-"you'll get another chunk of real dough, later on. You're safe in this, Spotter. I don't want you to do anything else. You don't have to be around, even, when I meet the guy."

The crafty little crook took the money with eagerness. He spread the bills in front of his eyes, and examined them carefully.

"What's the matter with them?" demanded Reds Mackin. "I got them from a bank in Chi."

"I always look 'em over," returned Spotter. "You never can tell."

"They don't pa.s.s counterfeits on me," sneered Mackin. "You act like there was a lot of phony mazuma going around. Is that the dope?"

"No, no," returned Spotter, quickly. "It ain't suspicions, Reds. I just go careful, that's all."

He held the bills in his hands, while Mackin suddenly came back to the subject.

"What's the guy's name, Spotter?"

"Birdie Crull."

"Don't know him. Where is he now?"

"I ain't wise to that. I think I can find out, though."

"What's he doing-laying low?"

"No. That ain't it." Spotter warmed up to his explanation. "I think Birdie's in some soft racket, Reds. He ain't no ordinary crook. He went to college, and all that. Then he found he could make soft dough.

"Come in on a guy like a thug; take the sap's bank roll; then double on his tracks, and walk up to the guy like he was his friend, ready to sympathize with him."

"That sounds smooth.""That ain't nothin', Reds. This Birdie Crull has gone to the station house with a guy he's stuck up, reported it, an' started the bulls out to find the crook that did it. All the time he's got the stuff he took from the sap right in his pocket.

"Beat that?"

"Sounds good, Spotter. But what about the rod, and the knife?"

"He's used 'em both, Reds, an' got away with it."

"Maybe he's done it too much to be safe."

"Not him, Reds"-Spotter leaned forward to whisper-"he plants everything on some sap, and lets him be the goat. That's his game, Reds. Don't let on I told you. I'm the only guy that knows it."

"Great," replied Mackin. "Just the guy I want. Get him for me, Spotter."

"I'll try. But he's away, now, on some big racket. He's got too much nerve to waste his time on small stuff."

"Well, the job I mentioned is a big one."

"Only once," said Spotter reminiscently, "that Birdie Crull ever got fooled. That was when I run into a big car for him, an' he pulls a rod on the bloke in the back seat. Right in the middle of the street. But he got his that night. Who do you think was in the car, Reds?"

"Some bulls?"

"No. The Shadow!"

THERE was a momentary pause after Spotter had uttered that ominous name. The tone of the little man's voice was tense and fearful. Reds Mackin laughed.

"The Shadow!" he jeered. "That's a lot of talk. The Shadow! Who was with him? Santa Claus?"

"Don't fool yourself, Reds," replied Spotter, seriously. "This Shadow guy is real! I seen him myself, that night.

"He comes right out of the car like a big, black blanket. He wraps himself around Birdie, and shoots him with his own rod. Birdie flops in the street. Away goes The Shadow-just like the street gobbled him up."

"You saw that, Spotter?"

"I did. You'll believe me yet, Reds. You see this room we're in right now? Well, the gang had The Shadow right in here. But he got away."

"How?"