It was late in the afternoon when Biff Towley, the swarthy racketeer, strolled into the office of Glade Tremont. The visitor's name was announced, and he was ushered into the lawyer's private office. Every gangster of Towley's ilk had an attorney; and even so prominent a man as Glade Tremont was willing to act as legal representative for persons who kept on the shady side of the law. Hence there was nothing out of the ordinary about Biff Towley's visit to this place.
But within the walls of the inner office, where the two men were sequestered undisturbed, the relationship between gangster and attorney took on a new light. Biff Towley had not come here for advice. He had come to make a report, and to receive instructions.
"I've got a good man for you," declared Biff, in a low tone. "Fact is, I've picked two of 'em. It's up to you to make your choice."
"Tell me about them," said Tremont quietly.
"Well," said Biff, "when you told me night before last, that you needed a guy that could handle a rod and act like a stiff shirt, too, I knew it wasn't going to be too easy to get one. You know the kind of bozos I keep in my mob."
Glade Tremont nodded.
"I figured I could spot a guy I wanted," continued Biff, "if I waited around at the Club Savilla. That's my regular hangout, and lots of smooth birds come in there. Well, last night, two of them showed up. Got talking with both. Expect to see 'em again tonight, and I'll sign up the one you want."
"Who are they?"
"One is Pinkey Baird. Looks like a gentlemen, and acts like one. An old con man, resting easy. Good with the rod. I've known him from years back. Just the smooth sort of fellow we want; talks in long syllables and all that."
"Who is the other?"
"I don't know him so well, but I've met him before. He's been out of New York for a while. Cliff Marsland is his name. He did time up in the Big House, but that's pretty well forgotten now. He's been mixed up in a couple of big rackets, and he's always come out O.K. The dicks haven't got a thing on him."
"Does he look the part we want?"
"To the dot. Younger than Pinkey Baird. Poker-faced, but he talks like a college graduate. I guess he is one, for that matter."
"Did you make a deal with either of them?"
"No. I wanted to talk to you first. They'll both be at the Club Savilla tonight. All I've got to do is give the wink to the right one, and hold him there after the other has gone away. Thought I'd talk it over with you, first."
"That's right," commended the lawyer. "From what you say, Biff, either one would do. I prefer Pinkey Baird, however."
"I feel the same way," agreed the gangster.
"You've known Baird longer," said Tremont thoughtfully. "He's older and, from what you say, he's safer. This fellow Marsland sounds like a good one — but I choose Baird in preference. Try him.
"If he wants the job, give it to him. If he doesn't, then take Marsland. I'm leaving it to your judgment, Biff. I want the man to go to Glendale tomorrow."
Biff Towley nodded.
"You know all about it, Biff," declared Tremont. "Tell your man the old story. Orlinov has enemies. Needs an intelligent companion. Has the place under guard. All the rest of it. Beyond that, keep mum as usual." The gangster grinned. Well did he know the game that Glade Tremont was playing. He had helped that game, and it had proven profitable.
Tremont was a square shooter in Biff's estimation. At the same time the swarthy gangster knew well that he was totally within the lawyer's power. A snap of Tremont's fingers, and the police would have enough evidence to send Biff to the electric chair.
Yet the gang leader was not ill at ease. He knew that the threat which hung over him would never be used so long as he played square with Glade Tremont.
Biff had never entertained the notion of double-crossing his chief. Hence he dwelt in security, and had proven himself an important adjunct to the lawyer's schemes.
"That's all, Biff," said Tremont. "I choose Baird — if you can get him. Otherwise Marsland. Orlinov knows all about it. Fix it tonight."
Biff Towley left the office. He strolled along Broadway and dropped into a theater. Biff liked crime thrillers. They gave him a laugh — these murder pictures — when he compared them with the reality. It was nearly six o'clock when he went into the theater. That meant that he would reach the Club Savilla after nine.
Mentally, Biff Towley agreed with Glade Tremont's choice. "Pinkey" Baird was the right man for the job at Glendale. There had been trouble because of Louis Steffan — but Louis Steffan had not been a product of the underworld.
With either Baird or Marsland serving Orlinov, there would be no repetition of the trouble that had occurred with Steffan.
Biff had left both men eager to meet him again. He knew that each was looking for a tie-up with a shady enterprise. Either could be bought cheap and would serve well.
Biff had promised nothing. He had merely intimated that he would like to see his acquaintances again. Tonight he would line up Baird and ease off Marsland. Unless — as was extremely unlikely — Baird should express a lack of interest.
Business was moving at the Club Savilla before the hour of nine. While Biff Towley was still enjoying the feature talkie, a throng of early comers was filing into the gay uptown nightclub. Among these early arrivals were the two men who were anxious to meet Biff Towley again.
They entered the club almost side by side, but did not speak to one another, for they were not acquainted. They had met Biff Towley separately, the night before.
Each took his place at a separate table, but both were close to the spot where Biff Towley made his headquarters on his nightly visits to the Club Savilla. Tilted chairs denoted the gang leader's reservation.
Cliff Marsland, husky and steady-faced, did not appear to be a gangster. Quietly puffing at a cigarette, he had the air of a wealthy club member. He was attired in a tuxedo, and his clothes were well-fitted and immaculate.
Pinkey Baird, twenty feet away, formed a contrast to Cliff Marsland. His face had a cunning look. His roving eyes were everywhere as though seeking someone whom he could interest in a gold-brick proposition.
Cliff's eyes met Pinkey's; but the stare was only momentary. Neither knew that the other was awaiting Biff Towley. In Pinkey, Cliff recognized the look of the shrewd confidence man. In Cliff, Pinkey saw only a stern-visaged person who would be too smart to fall for any plan that he might offer. So both lost interest in the other.
A tall man clad in a dark suit entered the Club Savilla and strolled over to the table where Pinkey Baird was seated. He sat down without a word, and looked at the menu card.
Pinkey Baird surveyed him quizzically, then looked elsewhere. But Cliff Marsland stared with furrowed brow.
The newcomer had an impassive face, and his hawklike nose gave him a stern appearance. Somehow, that face impressed Marsland.
He tried to catch a glimpse of the stranger's eyes, but failed. They were turned toward the table, except when they occasionally peered in the direction of Pinkey Baird, who was staring straight ahead, unnoticing.
Cliff had seen that man last night. The hawk-faced stranger had been seated at a table close by, while Cliff had been chatting with Biff Towley. Strangely enough, the same man had been there while Biff and Pinkey Baird had conversed. But Pinkey, unlike Cliff had not noticed his presence. Now, as Cliff Marsland ended his scrutiny, it was Pinkey Baird who found his interest aroused by the man with the hawk nose. A voice spoke at Pinkey's elbow. Surprised by the low tones, Pinkey turned suddenly to meet the gaze of two sharp, burning eyes.
"Good evening, Baird," came the even, monotonous voice. "You are waiting for Biff Towley."
"Who are you?" questioned Pinkey, in a low growl.
"That does not concern us," was the deliberate reply. "The important matter is that you are leaving here before Towley arrives."
"Yes?" Pinkey Baird raised his eyebrows "That's your idea, is it?"
"It is my order," stated the hawk-faced one.
"Try and make me," chuckled Pinkey Baird.
"I have no quarrel with you," said the stranger quietly. "But I can make one if you desire it. The easy course is for you to leave — now. I feel that a trip South would be good for your health.
"This envelope" — a long hand appeared with a sealed package — "contains a ticket and reservation on the Florida Flyer that leaves at 9:15. Take it."
With a contemptuous gesture, Pinkey Baird flung the envelope back to the man who had given it to him. He leaned back in his chair, and grinned as he looked toward the dance floor of the club. Then the smile froze on his lips.
Without a word, the stranger had nudged close to his chair, and now the threatening muzzle of an automatic was tickling Pinkey's ribs. The confidence man turned pale.
"Move along," came the low voice.
Pinkey stared into a pair of menacing eyes. He realized that he had met a man who meant business. Shakily, he arose from the table and started toward the door of the Club Savilla. The hawk-faced man rose with him. Side by side, they kept pace. Cliff Marsland stared in surprise as the men passed his table. He did not see the hidden automatic.
"You are going to Florida," whispered the voice in Pinkey's ear. "You are going to stay there — for one month. Longer, if you wish. Here is your ticket."
Pinkey felt the envelope as it entered his pocket. Gradually, he was yielding to the dominance of this man who had so suddenly appeared to command him.
They reached the street in front of the Club Savilla. There, the stranger beckoned to a taxicab. He urged Pinkey into the car. He followed.
Pinkey realized that this man would brook no delay. He was taking him to the station — for that was the order that Pinkey heard him give to the taxi driver.
As the cab pulled away from the curb, the pressure of the automatic relaxed. Slumped back in the seat, Pinkey Baird appeared completely subdued. The cab moved onward a few yards; then stopped at a traffic light, less than half a block from the Club Savilla.
The sight of a uniformed policeman brought a sudden inspiration to Pinkey Baird. He was not in wrong with the police. Perhaps this man was. Why should he let himself be shunted away at the order of a stranger?
Like a flash, Pinkey fell upon the man beside him. Sinewy and wiry, the confidence man was a powerful fighter. He knew that his opponent would not risk a shot.
The swiftness of his attack served him well. With one hand, Pinkey pulled the knob of the door. As his opponent gripped him, Pinkey dove with both hands for the automatic.
The cab was starting forward, its door swinging wide, as Pinkey raised a cry for help. The policeman was dashing for the sidewalk. Pinkey was gripping the muzzle of the gun as he sought to drag the other man toward the door of the cab.
The odds were all in Pinkey Baird's favor. He had raised the shout. His opponent could not stop him now. That gun in the other man's hand would mean trouble for him. It was too late for his enemy to fire, Pinkey reasoned; but in that he was wrong.
A muffled shot occurred within the taxicab. Pinkey's tugging hold relaxed. He toppled away, and plunged headlong through the open door, falling flat in the street.
The door closed, and the startled driver heard a sharp command to drive onward.
Knowing that his remaining passenger was armed, he had no other choice. He slipped the car into gear. The driver did not hear the left door of the cab open and close. The darkened street was filled with stopping cars. The shrill blast of a police whistle sounded from the spot where the cab had been. The way was blocked ahead.
Between two menaces, the cabman stopped his car and crouched upon the driver's seat.
He expected a shot to issue from within the cab.
The shot never came. A husky policeman dashed up to the side of the cab. With heavy hands he yanked open the door. The driver, rising, stared in that direction.
The cab was empty!
Where was the mysterious passenger? People were thronging about the cab. Drivers of other cars were running up. They were talking excitedly about the shot that they had heard; but none could offer further information.
A tall man with a hawkish face picked his way between two stopped cars, and approached the cab. He plucked the policeman's sleeve. The officer turned toward the newcomer.
"Someone left the cab," the tall man announced, in a deliberate voice. "He went out of the door on the street side. Just as the cab started forward."
A driver who had left his car some distance back came puffing up in time to hear the words.
"He's right, officer," the new arrival declared. "I thought I saw some fellow cut in front of my headlights. I couldn't trace him after that. He was headed for the opposite sidewalk. He must have gone down the street."
The statement was logical. It was obvious that the mysterious assailant would no longer be anywhere near this vicinity.
Other policemen were arriving The people crowded about the cab were pushed aside.
Drivers went back to their cars. Bystanders moved to the sidewalk. Among these was the hawk-faced man. He watched until an ambulance had driven away with Pinkey Baird. He waited until traffic was flowing along the street. Then he quietly returned to the Club Savilla.
Ten minutes later, Biff Towley arrived at the entrance to the nightclub. An assistant to the manager drew him to one side as he stepped through the door.
"Trouble out in the street a little while ago," said the assistant manager, in a low voice.
"A couple of tough babies began to shoot it out in a taxicab."
"Who were they?" questioned Biff, in an undertone.
"I only saw one of them," replied the assistant. "He was the fellow who took it. He was in here before it happened, but I didn't shout about it. Thought you would like to know, though, because you met the guy last night. Pinkey Baird, the old con man."
"Pinkey Baird!" Biff's eyes narrowed "You don't know who got him?"
"Nope. I didn't see him go out. You know the way it is with those small-timers. Always battling among themselves."
"Did Pinkey get the works?"
"No. Just a clip in the shoulder. He did a nosedive out of the cab, though, and he was cold when I saw him. He'll be around again in a few days."
Biff Towley was thinking as he walked back to his favorite table. A few days on the shelf put Pinkey Baird out of a job, so far as Biff was concerned. Furthermore, he did not like the idea of taking on a man who had participated in a recent feud.
In a way, Biff was glad that this had occurred tonight. It showed him that Pinkey would not do. Looking up from his table, Biff spied Cliff Marsland. He waved a greeting to his acquaintance. Cliff arose and came over to Biff's table.
"I want to talk to you," said Biff. "I've got something for you, Cliff. A job that's made for you. Want it?"
"Sure thing."
"All right, then. Listen."
In a low voice, Biff Towley began his story. Cliff Marsland listened, nodding his understanding. Both men were intent. Neither noticed another who was watching them from the seclusion of a table beside a pillar. It was the hawk-faced man who had returned from his encounter with Pinkey Baird. Quietly, he surveyed the chatting men. He waited, silent and austere, until the two arose and left the Club Savilla. Then, from his firm, straight lips came a low-whispered laugh that throbbed inaudibly. It was the soundless mirth of The Shadow. He had called the turn. Last night he had observed Biff Towley talking with two men — Pinkey Baird and Cliff Marsland. He knew that one of these was to be selected. He had eliminated Pinkey Baird.
There was a reason. Cliff Marsland reputed gangster, was a man who had a special mission. Presumably a free lance in the underworld, he was in reality an agent of The Shadow.
He had been summoned to make contact with Biff Towley, the very night that The Shadow had listened to the schemes of Glade Tremont and Doctor Gerald Savette.
A new man was being called in by the plotters; and that man was The Shadow's emissary.
Biff Towley had found two who would do. He and Glade Tremont had made their choice — Pinkey Baird. But circumstances had altered that decision. Pinkey Baird was not to be their man.
Instead, Cliff Marsland had received the job.
Cliff Marsland was The Shadow's choice!