WHEN Clipper Tobin and Cliff Marsland left the Club DeLuxe, the toughened gangster who headed the two-man expedition led his companion to a taxi. They rode rapidly down the avenue and alighted at the corner of a side street. Here Clipper conducted Cliff along the street, away from the brilliant lights.
Hardly had they moved into obscurity before another man followed the same path. He stepped from a doorway near the corner and moved swiftly in pursuit. Only for a brief moment did his face show beneath a corner light. It was Sneaks Rubin, secret director of the crime that was about to transpire.
Neither Clipper nor Cliff knew any thing of his presence. Clipper was simply following a carefully laid-out plan, in which the time element had been taken into account. Cliff, in turn, was following Clipper’s instructions.
As a precaution, Cliff, always wary, glanced behind him as he moved along. Clipper did not consider the action strange. It was to be expected. But Cliff saw nothing, for Sneaks Rubin knew where the other men were going, and kept well out of sight.
“We’re goin’ to cut in the back way,” said Clipper in a low voice. “There’s a fire tower that’s easy to get into. Nobody sees us comin’— nobody sees us leavin’. This will be a soft get-away.”
The course taken by Clipper led across another avenue; then through an alley in back of a garage.
Clipper had discharged the cab sufficiently far from the apartment house where Arnold Bodine lived to ward off possible suspicion of the driver.
Now, ahead of the two men, showed the lighted windows of the building for which they were bound.
“You can’t see Bodine’s apartment from here,” whispered Clipper in the darkness. “The garage runs right up against the apartment house. Bodine’s apartment is one story above the top of the garage — on the fourth floor.”
Cliff understood this as they turned a corner of the alley. The old garage building fronted on the next avenue. So did the apartment house. The garage had an L-shaped front, the projection being an extension which abutted against the lower stories of the apartment building.
The alley ran down to this, ending in a cul-de-sac. Clipper stopped at the beginning of the short blind alley. They had reached the entrance to the fire tower.
Clipper pointed almost straight upward, toward the front of the apartment. He designated lighted windows on the fourth floor.
“See?” came his whisper. “That’s the place. Take it easy until we get into the fire tower. There ain’t nobody around here, but we gotta play it safe. This is our way out — don’t forget that!”
Cliff gazed into the black space that ended with the garage wall and realized that there could be no escape by that direction. The path which they had followed was their one means of leaving. He smiled grimly to himself. Clipper Tobin expected an easy escape. He did not know what he was about to encounter.
For Cliff was positive that by this time The Shadow had arrived. It was nearly twenty minutes since they had left the Club DeLuxe. Burke had received the all-important information. He had surely relayed it to The Shadow promptly. The Hotel Goliath was only eight blocks away. Perhaps The Shadow had entered the apartment house by this very method — the fire tower! Perhaps he had come by the front way! At any rate, Cliff was confident that the mysterious man in black would be on hand with one of his amazing surprises.
A few minutes’ stall would not hurt. Cliff nudged Clipper and whispered in his ear.
“Lay low a minute, Clipper,” was his warning. “Maybe somebody’s followed us.”
He knew that even if The Shadow were lurking in the darkness, vigilant observation would be of no avail.
The Shadow had a strange ability for remaining unseen, even when persons were looking at the very spot where he might chance to be.
Clipper Tobin heeded the warning. Crouched by the black side of the apartment house, he listened, while his shrewd eyes sought to pierce the shroud of night that hung throughout the narrow alley.
“Nobody around,” he whispered. “Come on!”
They moved cautiously to the fire tower. Up the steps they went, silently and slowly. They reached the fourth floor. Clipper opened a steel door gently and peered into a lighted corridor. He waved Cliff along.
The corridor turned; Clipper pointed along the branch that led to the front of the building.
There was only one door visible — at the end of the passage. Cliff knew that it must be Bodine’s apartment. The number was plain as they approached— 458.
A KEY appeared in Clipper’s hand. Cliff decided that it must have been provided by the informant who had discovered Bodine’s hideout— the traitor who had revealed the name under which the celebrated big shot lived in this abode.
With expert touch, Clipper inserted the key in the lock. He opened the door softly. The men stood in a little hallway, with a door on each side.
Clipper closed the door through which they had come. He hesitated a moment, undecided which door to open next. He shrugged his shoulders.
Evidently either one would do. Bodine could be in only one room. If they saw no one in the first, they could try the second.
“Ready,” whispered Clipper. “I’m goin’ in; you stick here to cover.”
It was quite dark in the little hallway, the only light coming from a transom that let dull rays flicker in from the corridor outside. Still, the light was sufficient to show the automatic which Clipper had unlimbered.
Cliff had his own pistol in his hand. His brain was working fast, but his nerves were steady.
Nevertheless, Cliff Marsland was tense as Clipper placed his left hand upon the knob of the door at the right. What would that opened door reveal?
Cliff knew that he was on the verge of an exciting adventure. Until now he felt that he was playing a passive part. But somehow he had a hunch that he now had work to do.
His instructions were based upon a very simple formula. Unknown to Clipper Tobin, Cliff was working with The Shadow. It was The Shadow’s purpose to frustrate the crime that brewed tonight — not because The Shadow had anything in common with Arnold Bodine, but because the killing foretold by Double Z must be frustrated.
Cliff was simply The Shadow’s informant. The course of events had decreed that he must accompany Clipper Tobin on this expedition, but with The Shadow now here, there was no need for Cliff to act.
Whatever The Shadow might do, Cliff’s status would remain the same. He, like Cliff, would appear as an intercepted killer.
Still, it was Cliff’s duty to aid The Shadow in any way within his power. He could do this if necessary, even though it might reveal his true capacity. One point pleased Cliff. His identity was unknown to any man except Clipper Tobin.
He knew that Clipper worked for some other man, but Clipper had agreed to deal with Cliff alone, and to keep his name a secret. When Clipper agreed on something, he kept his word. That was why he had so long remained a free agent in gangdom, unmolested by warring gunmen.
Cliff ceased all contemplation suddenly as the door which Clipper controlled began to open inward under the gangster’s pressure. Light entered the little hallway. Cliff’s body moved forward his gun hand raised.
The gangster stepped swiftly into the room, and Cliff slid to his place at the open door. The entire scene was revealed to Cliff.
A man was sitting in a chair at the far corner of the room. Cliff recognized him as Arnold Bodine, although his appearance was a trifle different from the usual pictures of the big shot.
Bodine’s hands were sprawled upon the chair arms. A startled, hunted expression was upon his face. He was staring at the muzzle of Clipper’s automatic. The gangster was threatening him from the center of the room. Cliff, from an angle, saw Clipper’s ugly, menacing profile.
Peering quickly around the edge of the door, Cliff was surprised to note that the room was otherwise empty. Where was The Shadow? Could it be possible that he had not arrived?
For an instant Cliff thought that Bodine might be The Shadow in disguise; but one more view of the startled man in the corner altered that opinion. Bodine, answering a grunted command from Clipper, was elevating his hands above his head. The man was helpless.
“Big Shot Bodine,” sneered Clipper sarcastically. “All ready to be bumped off! Don’t like it, neither, eh?”
The threatened man licked his lips painfully. He made a reply in a forced voice a feeble effort to mislead his enemy.
“My name is Davis,” he said slowly. “Andrew Davis. I can’t understand why you have come here.”
“‘Andrew Davis,’ eh?” came Clipper’s contemptuous retort. “You’ve got Bodine’s mug. That’s enough to spell curtains for you, wise guy.”
Bodine quivered, and his eyes rolled from side to side, like some hunted beast at bay. He saw Cliff’s dim form in the doorway, but knew that he was viewing another enemy. His expression became more fearful.
Funny, thought Cliff, how the biggest men among gangsters hated to die. Those who ordered death for scores of enemies, underworld czars like Bodine, were the ones who loved life the most!
The helpless man stared at Clipper Tobin and sought to parley as a last resort.
“How much dough do you want?” he questioned hoarsely. “Name it. I’ve got it!”
“You have?” ridiculed Clipper. “Well, you can keep it — but it won’t be yours long. Lay offa that money squawk. I’ve heard it before, and it don’t go. I’ve got my dough for this job, and I go through with it. Savvy?”
BODINE did not reply. Cliff could see the satisfied look upon Clipper’s face. The killer instinct was coming to the fore. Clipper had deliberately waited in order to taunt his helpless victim; now, his gloating finished, he was ready to fire the fatal bullets.
“Ready, Cliff,” came his voice. “Get set for the get-away. I’m goin’ to plug him.”
“Wait!” came Cliff’s quiet response. “Don’t shoot yet! It won’t be good for you, Clipper.”
The gunman did not turn. His finger was still on the trigger, but he noted something in Cliff’s tone that made him hold back. Still facing Bodine, he listened for Cliff’s next words.
They were not long delayed. Cliff Marsland had seen that action was imperative. Something had delayed The Shadow. Perhaps he had never received the message!
The duty that was now Cliff’s stood obvious. The Shadow had planned to prevent this killing. It was Cliff’s job to do that work in the absence of The Shadow.
“I’ve got you covered, Clipper,” said Cliff in the same steady voice. “One move — and out you go!”
Clipper did not move.
“Put up your gat!”
Clipper obeyed sullenly.
“You, Bodine,” added Cliff, speaking to the man in the corner, “keep away from any foolishness. I’ve got a bead on you, too!”
Encouraged by this remark, Clipper Tobin swung in the direction of his former pal. He stepped back as he saw the leveled automatic.
“Up with the mitts,” ordered Cliff.
Clipper obeyed. Cliff was master of the situation. Hunter and hunted, both were now at his mercy. The scowling face of Clipper Tobin was equaled in expression by the puzzled countenance of Arnold Bodine.
“What’re you tryin’ to do?” demanded Clipper sullenly. “Sell out to this guy?”
“That’s none of your business,” responded Cliff. “I’ve got my own game.”
He was in a quandary. This was not an enviable spot. Cliff had saved Bodine, but neither did he desire to kill Clipper Tobin. Yet now that he had betrayed his hand, there would be certain danger if Clipper remained alive.
It was impractical to await the coming of The Shadow. This tableau of two men with hands poised in front of a revolver might lead to unexpected consequences. Cliff decided upon immediate action.
Even though he was now an enemy of Clipper’s, he could keep the gangster from discovering his true associations. Clipper’s last remark gave him a cue.
“I’ve got my own game,” declared Cliff. “Bodine’s not going to be bumped off by you. I’m going to let you slide out. That’s more than you deserve.”
“Double-crossin’ me, eh?” derided Clipper, defiant even in the face of death. “I get you now! Bodine fixed it with you before this. You tipped him off. He wanted to see the guy that was out to get him. You’re both yellow — you’ve got me here, but you’re scared to bump me!”
“Let him have it, Bud,” interposed Bodine, seeking to work with his rescuer. “I’ll slip you five grand for the job. He won’t squawk when he’s dead — and you won’t run any chances. They’ll think I got him.”
“That’s not in my game,” returned Cliff. “I don’t want your money, Bodine.”
“Baloney!” sneered the defiant Clipper.
“You’re leaving here, Clipper,” said Cliff. “Leaving without your rod. Come over here, and don’t lower your hands.”
Clipper obeyed. Cliff stopped him before he was too close. With a quick, decisive action, he caught the butt of Clipper’s revolver and dropped the weapon on the floor. He stepped back and waved the man toward the center of the room.
Clipper retired sullenly. Bodine had made no motion. It was easy to see that Cliff’s businesslike methods had impressed him.
CLIFF made no motion to pick up the revolver that lay on the floor. That could come later. Instead, he motioned to Bodine, and pointed toward the telephone with his left hand.
“You’re going to call your mob, Bodine,” he said. “Tell them to hop over from the Goliath Hotel. As soon as I know they’re on the way, you’re going to travel, Clipper — and I’ll follow. So keep going, plenty fast!”
Bodine, seeing salvation, kept his hands well away from his body as he reached for the telephone. He gave a number, and when the hotel responded, asked for his suite on the eighteenth floor. Without stopping to inquire who was at the other end, he gave his hasty information.
“I’m over at my hideout,” he said. “Suite 458, the Maurice Apartments. There’s a guy here who’s trying to croak me. Get some gorillas over here quick!”
There was a response; then Bodine asked quickly:
“Who’s this — Gus?”
Another reply came over the wire. Bodine dropped the receiver on the hook. His expression changed.
Cliff detected it. Bodine observed his quizzing look. He hastened to explain.
“It wasn’t Gus,” he said. “It was Joe Cardona, from headquarters!”
This was unexpected news to Cliff Marsland. He was on the point of commanding Clipper to flee. Now his idea changed. Clipper, in the hands of the police, would be no menace! Should he leave him here for Cardona?
Then came another thought: Bodine’s surprise seemed genuine enough, but it might be feigned. Perhaps he was thinking the same as Cliff. Maybe he wanted Clipper to be left, to learn the merciless methods of Arnold Bodine’s mob.
Cliff’s hesitation came to a sudden end. As Cliff stood with his back in the hallway, something struck him from behind. A man had entered silently from the corridor.
The tap of a revolver butt had settled the question. Cliff Marsland collapsed in a helpless heap.
Some one had struck from behind. In his moment of certain victory, with the killing of Arnold Bodine thwarted, Cliff Marsland was stunned and at the mercy of his unexpected foeman!