The Shadow - The Shadow Laughs Part 14

"Nothin' much," replied Spotter casually. "A mob of gorillas tried to get Reds Mackin."

"Why?"

"Because they thought he was The Shadow."

Tiger Bronson knew all this. But Spotter understood the situation. He knew that he must refer to the event as though Tiger Bronson knew nothing about it.

"Who was in on it?" came the question.

"Maloney's mob," answered Spotter."What about you?"

"I was kinda in on it, too," grinned Spotter. This was leading up to the subject which he wished to handle tactfully. "Say, Tiger, I'm kinda short on dough. Gave five hundred to an old pal of mine, Steve Cronin.

I'd like to borrow that much money, if I could get it."

Tiger Bronson said nothing. He went to a safe; opened it, and took out a package of bills. They were bound with a large red rubber band. The gang master took off the fastening and counted out fifty ten-dollar bills.

Spotter seized the money greedily. Then he stared quickly toward the window. He had an apprehension that some other eyes were watching him.

HAD he been looking at Tiger Bronson, Spotter might have been impressed by the large red rubber band which the big man was replacing on the remaining bills.

It was a very conspicuous rubber band. Spotter had seen one exactly like it-so like it that it might have been the same band-the night before, at Doc Birch's p.a.w.nshop.

But the sudden qualm of fear made the usually observant gangster overlook the matter of the red elastic.

He was sure that eyes were watching him from the window. Such eyes would have seen the rubber band, too.

Spotter's terror pa.s.sed. He could see nothing in the blackness beyond the half-drawn shade. He steadied himself, so that he would not reveal his nervousness to Tiger Bronson.

"You see," explained Spotter, "this fellow Cronin blew out of town after I gave him the dough."

"Why?"

"Because"-Spotter leaned forward to impart this information-"he was the guy that b.u.mped off Reds Mackin."

"How was that? I thought you said Maloney's gang did it?"

"They tried to do it," revealed Spotter. "But they missed out. Cronin knew what they was up to. He got in on it, to help out the gang. He was layin' for The Shadow. So he shot the guy after the others slipped up on the job."

Tiger Bronson made no comment.

"But"-Spotter spoke as though afraid of the consequences of his coming statement-"it wasn't The Shadow that they got. It was Reds Mackin, after all."

Tiger Bronson's face was impa.s.sive. Yet he looked at Spotter for further information.

"You see," said Spotter, "I figure it this way. The Shadow was goin' around like he was Reds Mackin.

He was supposed to meet Birdie Crull.

"I leave a note for him at the Black s.h.i.+p, the night that the works was due to blow. Just by blamed luck, Reds Mackin himself comes back. He used to hang out at the Black s.h.i.+p a lot. He happens to go in there, an' he gets the note.

"It was him-not The Shadow-that showed up.""How do you know that?"

"Because"-Spotter's voice became a low, awed whisper-"The Shadow was on deck when the Feds raided Doc Birch, last night."

TIGER BRONSON shrugged his shoulders as though the information meant nothing to him. Spotter knew differently, however. He knew that he must explain further.

"I was aroun' there," he said. "Was goin' by when the bunch blew in on Doc Birch. So I laid low.

"There was a big battle goin' on inside. A guy got away outa the upstairs window. It wasn't Doc Birch.

Then a cop helps two d.i.c.ks look for him.

"They all come outa the alley. Then I sees The Shadow. He was the guy they was after. But he ducked them."

The big man chewed on his cigar, and looked at Spotter quizzically, as though wondering just why the little man had come to tell him all this.

"It makes me kinda uneasy," confessed Spotter. "Maybe The Shadow has got it in for me-because-because-because Steve Cronin is an old pal of mine. I don't feel so good with The Shadow prowlin' aroun'. Honest I don't, Tiger."

Tiger Bronson laughed.

"It ain't no joke, Tiger," insisted Spotter. "The Shadow will have it in for everybody that had anythin' to do with croakin' Reds Mackin. An' The Shadow is wise. There ain't nothin' he can't find out."

"All right," laughed Tiger Bronson. "You run along now, Spotter. Come in any time you have any more bedtime stories about The Shadow, or the Sand Man or any other funny guys that make people hide in closets. I like to hear those yarns."

As Spotter shambled from the room, the big man stopped him.

"It would be a good idea," said Tiger Bronson, "if you drop in at Loo Look's place some time around eight o'clock, every night. Don't smoke any hop while you're there.

"You may hear something that will interest you-maybe you will make some dough out of it."

Spotter grinned as he left. This was a new command from the big shot. He could not imagine what it meant; but he knew that he had gained Bronson's favor.

After the cunning gangster had left, Tiger Bronson sat in thought. His face betrayed nothing. He flung his half-smoked cigar into an empty metal wastebasket.

Despite his pretended ridicule, he was seriously considering the information that Spotter had brought.

Finally he laughed-a harsh, evil laugh.

"The Shadow!" he said, half aloud. "What does he know? Nothing! What does he suspect? Something, perhaps.

"Well, let him come-let him try to find out. It's all here for him. I'll wait to see if he suspects. If he does-"Tiger Bronson snapped his fingers with a gesture that indicated the cold-blooded ending of a man's life.

"The Shadow," repeated Tiger Bronson. "Let him come-like the others did this afternoon. He'll find what they found-nothing.

"The Shadow!"

It was strange that, as Tiger Bronson repeated the last words, a shadow moved along the floor. It was the same black splotch that Spotter had seen when he had come into the room.

Tiger Bronson did not see it depart. His eyes were on the far wall of the room.

A moment later there was no shadow on the floor.

CHAPTER XIX. TWO AGENTS TALK.

AT five o'clock the next afternoon, a quiet man of una.s.suming appearance entered the lobby of the Falcon Hotel, near Broadway.

He took the elevator to the fourth floor; then stopped at room 418 and knocked twice. The door opened. He was admitted. The man who received him was tall and thin, with a keen face.

The two men sat in conversation. A bell boy knocked at the door. He was a big fellow, large for his youthful appearance. But his face was dull and expressionless.

He brought a message for Mr. Waltham, the guest who occupied the room. The tall, thin man read it and dismissed the bell boy with the words, "No reply."

The hotel attendant did not go downstairs after the door had closed. Instead, he used a key to unlock the door of the adjoining room. There was a door that led to 418, and the bell boy listened there.

The sound of voices on the other side was almost inaudible. The listener must have possessed ears of exceptional keenness to hear anything.

Evidently, his eavesdropping was not entirely successful. He drew a small instrument from the pocket of his coat and placed it over one ear. He pressed the instrument carefully against the keyhole as he knelt on the floor. He remained in that position.

His face betrayed no interest; but it was evident that he must be hearing everything that was said.

THE men in 418 spoke in low voices, as though they were accustomed to talk in that manner. This was not surprising. Both of them were Federal agents, who had partic.i.p.ated in the raid on Doc Birch's place, the night before.

"We've got all there is to get, Jim," said the man named Waltham. "There's no doubt about it."

"Guess you're right," came the reply. "I wish we had landed some of the goods. It would have been better."

"Birch burned them all up. Aaron saw him do it."

"I know that. Wish we knew the amount he destroyed."

Waltham shrugged his shoulders. Evidently the loss of the counterfeit bills did not disturb him. He seemed satisfied that the plates had been seized."We've ended the supply," he said. "That's all there is to it. We've got Birch. He was the man behind it."

"I guess you're right," replied the other secret-service man. "But I thought there was a bigger game to it.

We don't know where Birch had the stuff printed."

"That doesn't matter so much."

"Well, who engraved the plates?"

"Listen, Jim. We want to find out about all of it. But we might just as well quit kidding ourselves. Birch is liable to tell us everything in time. He won't stick to that story that the stuff was brought in to him, and that the plates must have been planted.

"Now we're after the engraver, and the place where the printing was done. I figure that Birch hired some fellow to make the plates. The man got paid and cleared out.

"That may have been a year or more ago. We'll center on Birch. Make him come clean. That's our only course."

"I guess you're right," agreed Jim, reluctantly.

"Meanwhile," continued Waltham, "lay off being foolish. This is an order-not a suggestion. Get that, Jim?"

"What do you mean-being foolish?"

"Well, just before we raided, you saw a car pulling away from Birch's place. You sent Guysel after it.

Guysel saw it go in a garage. Remember? He didn't even get the number of the car.

"Then he saw a man come out and take a taxi. He followed the cab to a house. He spotted the place.

Yesterday you went in there. What did you find?"

"Nothing."

"Was the place empty?"

"Yes."

"Who lives there?"

"A man named Bronson."

Waltham snorted.

"I'm glad you found that out," he said. "Do you know who this Bronson is?"

"No."

"He's Tiger Bronson. Big political man. Has plenty of influence. He could reach far enough to get you in wrong. Lucky for you he was out of town. Why didn't you raid the mayor's house, too?"

The sarcasm was biting.

"You're right, Waltham," admitted Jim. "It must have been a crazy notion on my part. I had the idea we were working on the wrong end of this business."Guysel was sure that the fellow who went to Bronson's house had been at Birch's. It might mean that there was some phony stuff at Bronson's. Guysel kept watch and tipped me off that the house was empty. So we went through it."

"If there had been anything there," replied Waltham, "it would probably have been hidden where you couldn't find it."

"Not in that place," replied Jim. "We even found the safe open! What do you think of that? About five thousand dollars in real cash there. I thought we had something when I saw it.

"I guess if the bills had been counterfeit, Bronson would have had the safe locked. No, sir. It was real cash. A lot of it in ten-dollar bills."

WALTHAM'S face did not change. He shook his head as he continued talking.

"You walked into trouble, all right, Joe," he said. "It's lucky you got out of it."