THE MENACE OF THE SHADOW
IT was after midnight. A coupe turned from Broadway, above Seventy-second, and stopped before a house on a side street.
Two men alighted. They ascended a pair of steps. One of them unlocked the door to the house. They entered.
One of the men was tall, pasty-faced and stoop-shouldered; but his features wore a look of cold brutality that marked him as a dangerous character. He was “Moose” Shargin, a dominating figure in the affairs of gangland.
Wary, cunning and close-mouthed, Moose Shargin was one who avoided useless feuds. His name was seldom mixed in gang wars. He preyed on the unprotected, and avoided enterprises that would lead to conflict with others of his ilk.
At the same time, Shargin was noted for his determination. Other czars of the badlands never interfered with him.
His companion, Garry Elvers, was his official bodyguard. Garry was a hard-faced gangster, who aped his commander’s custom of saying little, and keeping his business to himself. He traveled with Moose only when the gang leader was abroad without his gorillas.
The two were frequently seen at Brindle’s Cafe, a favorite Broadway spot for big shots. They had come to this house together, on some unknown mission.
Moose Shargin nudged his thumb in the direction of a room off the hall. Elvers understood. He was to wait there while Shargin went upstairs. Even with his trusted lieutenant, Moose was mute regarding certain enterprises.
Elvers had been here before, and he had obeyed instructions on previous occasions. He did not know what purpose Moose had in mind, and he did not care. It was this quality of indifference that had gained Garry his position of second-in-command of Moose Shargin’s forces.
Garry locked the door while Moose went upstairs. Then the hard-faced bodyguard shrugged his broad shoulders and entered the side room. He turned on a light and pulled a tabloid newspaper from his pocket.
MEANWHILE, Moose Shargin had ascended in darkness. He did not turn on a second-floor light. Instead, he found his way to a closet at the side of the hall. He entered the door of the closet and found a coat peg. He drew it downward.
The wall swung open, and the draft of a narrow passage greeted the gang leader.
It was only a few steps to the end of the passage. There, Shargin encountered a closed barrier. He tapped, rattling his finger nails against a metallic substance. A panel opened. Shargin stepped into a lighted room.
From the blankness of bare stone walls, Moose Shargin had emerged into a small but sumptuous apartment, dark-paneled, carpeted by a thick Oriental rug, furnished with fine mahogany chairs.
The panel closed behind the pasty-faced gangster. Moose stood facing a large easy-chair in the corner. A man was seated there, reading a book.
The man laid the volume aside and glanced toward his visitor. The reading lamp revealed the good-natured features of Hiram Mallory.
“Hello, Chief,” said Moose, in a low, growling voice that was his habitual tone.
“Hello, Moose. How did it go tonight?”
The gangster pulled a chair toward the corner and sat down facing Mallory. A sullen look came over his countenance.
“It didn’t go at all,” he said, grimly. “We got the works. My gorillas are crippled. Maybe you can guess who did it.”
“The Shadow,” said Mallory, quietly.
“That’s the guy!” returned Moose.
Hiram Mallory leaned his head back and smiled. He laughed gently, as though pleased. Moose Shargin had heard that laugh before. It was something that he could not understand.
Hiram Mallory had an air of habitual pleasantry. When it was most evident, the man was most dangerous. This was an enigma that had long puzzled his associates.
“What are we going to do about it?” demanded Moose.
“Make use of it,” replied Mallory, his face beaming as though he experienced great amusement. “I have been looking forward to trouble with The Shadow. I had not anticipated his interference in a simple matter, such as the killing of Thaddeus Westcott.
“Until now, The Shadow has been — well, just a shadow. This expression of interest on his part creates a new situation.”
“It means we’ve got to fight him!” declared Moose.
“Exactly!” agreed Mallory.
“Other guys have tried it—” Moose began.
“—And have failed,” completed Mallory. “Just as others have tried to cross me, and have failed.”
Moose nodded. The pleasant assurance of Hiram Mallory stifled the qualms that were besieging the pasty-faced gangster. Mallory made no further comment, so Shargin broke into his story.
“THERE isn’t much to it,” he said. “When I got the tip-off from Bob Maddox, I took the gang out to Long Island and laid for Westcott’s car. Picked a great spot, too.
“The chauffeur fell for the phony cop idea. He stopped. The boys yanked open the door. Westcott wasn’t there, but The Shadow was. He gave ‘em the works.
“The chauffeur got away, and The Shadow with him.”
“Where were you?” queried Mallory.
“In my car. Laying back. I couldn’t shoot while the boys were in the way. I fired after the limousine when it started down the road, but I was too late to stop it.”
“The Shadow,” mused Hiram Mallory. “I told you he was likely to appear.
“He was in the game early, but he didn’t find anything. Killing Harkness brought him back. He did something unusual then. Ran in with the police.”
“He did? How?”
Mallory smiled cryptically. It was his sign that a question was unwise. But as an afterthought, he became indulgent.
“The Shadow,” he said, “made an attack upon Inspector Zull, hoping, evidently, to obtain some evidence of who killed Richard Harkness.”
“Whew!” exclaimed Moose Shargin. “He picked the wrong guy there! That’s the one guy on the force that has my nanny.
“How you manage to get around him is a wonder to me, Chief. Yes, The Shadow picked the wrong guy there!”
“On the contrary,” declared Mallory, calmly, “he picked the right man.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Because Zull was the one who eventually discovered the identity of the actual murderer — Clink.”
“Yes,” agreed the gangster. “You’re right, there. But it didn’t do Zull much good, finding Clink full of lead. That ended matters right there. Covering up everything.”
“Exactly as intended,” said Mallory. “I complimented you upon your job, Moose. I compliment you again.”
“Thanks.”
“Now regarding The Shadow.” Mallory became suddenly speculative. “I have an idea that he knows a great deal more than we suppose. He certainly put Thaddeus Westcott out of harm’s way.
“In view of what happened tonight, I feel quite positive of who The Shadow is — at least, who he pretended to be tonight.”
“Who?” Moose Shargin’s question was eager.
“A gentleman who rode uptown with Westcott tonight,” answered Mallory in his cryptic tone. “He must have prevailed upon Westcott to remain in the city overnight, knowing that danger threatened.”
“What’s his name?” demanded Shargin. “I’ve got a settlement to make with that guy—”
“Useless,” declared Mallory. “You could never find him now, Moose.”
“What about Westcott?”
“Also useless. We can be sure that The Shadow has placed him in safety. The best thing now is to let him leave town.”
“I don’t get you,” Chief,” admitted Shargin. “You say we’ve got to knock off The Shadow. Yet you won’t go after him, and you intend to leave Westcott alone. What’s the idea?”
“FINESSE, Moose,” said Mallory, smiling, “finesse — which in English means subtle strategy. We must never lose sight of our main issue. If The Shadow has no bearing upon our principal task, we can ignore him.
“But I feel certain that he is about to interfere with our important plan. Therefore, we must give him immediate consideration.
“Westcott was to have been Number Three. Chance decreed that he should have been Number Two. We have found out all he knows — which is very little.
“His death is not necessary, although it would have been desirable, under the circumstances which I planned. So we must first consider our dealings with the man who is now Number Three.”
“Work quick,” suggested Moose.
“No,” said Mallory, shaking his head thoughtfully. “Not too quickly, Moose. For then The Shadow would meet us on the ground.”
“You think he knows—”
“He knows enough to watch Bob; and Bob is the man for the job. I am positive that there are certain facts that The Shadow does not know — facts pertaining to Theodore Galvin—”
“The double-crossing snake!” growled Moose.
“But,” continued Mallory, ignoring the interruption, “there are also facts which he may have discovered.
“For instance, he may know that Bob Maddox is not Bob Galvin!”
“Do you think he has found that out?” quizzed Moose.
“If he has not,” declared Mallory, “I intend to have him learn the fact.”
MOOSE SHARGIN stared as though he thought his chief had gone crazy. He was too surprised to speak. Mallory continued now, with no interruption from his subordinate.
“Let us sum up what The Shadow knows,” declared Mallory. “First, he knows that a man was killed in Theodore Galvin’s study.”
“You mean Barker.”
“Correct. Next, he knows that Richard Harkness was killed by Clink. Third, he knows that a plan was made to eliminate Thaddeus Westcott, shortly after Westcott had dined with Bob Maddox — presumably Bob Galvin — and myself.”
Mallory paused thoughtfully; then resumed his discourse.
“The Shadow may suspect other things,” he said. “But, uppermost of all, he must wonder why Bob Galvin is mixed up in shady business.
“After all, Maddox was a makeshift. He passes fairly well as a man from South Africa, but not too well.
“It is probable that The Shadow believes Bob to be an impostor. Therefore, he is wondering what has become of the real Bob Galvin.”
“I’ve got him safe,” grinned Shargin.
“Correct,” said Mallory, “and I want you to keep him safe! Because The Shadow is going to try to get him!”
Shargin’s mouth opened wide. A sudden understanding began to dawn upon him.
“Why attack The Shadow?” questioned Mallory. “You tried it tonight. You found out what happened. When you have a dangerous enemy, don’t go after him. Bring him to you. Trap him! That’s what I intend to do with The Shadow!”
“Will he fall for it?”
“Will he fall?” smiled Mallory. “Why ask me that question, Moose? He went into trouble tonight, didn’t he? He will go into it again. But this time we will be prepared. That will be your job, Moose.”
“I’ll take care of it,” said the gang leader grimly.
“I expect you to do so,” said Mallory. “The Shadow’s attack will serve a double purpose. Not only will it bring him into our trap. It will also leave us free to deal with Number Three while The Shadow is otherwise engaged.”
“I get you, Chief. You’ll have Bob do his job while The Shadow is trying to pull young Galvin out of the stew.”
“Exactly! Therefore, our plan is to play a waiting game for the present. Do nothing until you hear from me. My instructions to the others will be the same.
“The Shadow — knowing that something important is at stake — will have to act on his own initiative. Until now, he has watched our moves. It is our turn to watch his.”
“I get you, Chief.”
MOOSE SHARGIN arose. He knew the interview was ended. In Hiram Mallory, he recognized a superior mind. This kindly faced old gentleman, known to his social friends as a retired business man, was a supercrook who kept his name free from all criminal enterprises.
Moose cast a last look about the room, with its elegant furnishings. The handsome, well-stocked bookcases; the expensive curtains and paintings that adorned the wall; the tall, decorated screen in the corner — all these were signs of the luxury that went with wealth acquired by legitimate methods.
There was nothing in this room that revealed the true nature of Hiram Mallory.
The panel opened in the wall. Moose Shargin entered. He went through the passage, back to the old house that stood adjacent to Hiram Mallory’s home.
Moose knew only part of his chief’s schemes and connections. Similarly, Shargin’s own underling — Garry Elvers — would be waiting for him, unknowing of his own chief’s dealings.
Hiram Mallory continued to smile after Moose Shargin had left. He picked up a French telephone and called a number. The voice of Bob Maddox answered.
“Await instructions,” said Mallory quietly. “There are new developments which require a delay. No action whatever. Be ready.”
After he had concluded his telephone call, Mallory spoke softly, his voice scarcely audible.
“Each knows but part,” he said. “Shargin wonders how the others get away with their killings. Maddox wonders why Shargin stays in line. Briggs wonders about everything.
“Theodore Galvin knew too much. I trusted him too far. Reynold Barker knew too little — otherwise he would not have been so foolish. Until now, no menace has arisen except within our own forces.
“Now we must meet The Shadow!”
He drew an envelope from his pocket. It was a letter that had come to South Africa, addressed to Robert Galvin. Mallory had received it from Bob, after they had left Thaddeus Westcott.
“This,” declared Mallory, softly, “must go to young Galvin. He must be forced to answer it.
“We have weeks to work — there will be no question about Hodgson or the girl. But we cannot afford troublesome inquiries from South Africa.
“This letter must go to Robert Galvin — and when it goes” — Mallory’s smile became benign — “it will be the bait for The Shadow!”
The kindly-faced old man sat speculative, holding the letter in his hands, beaming and chuckling in a pleased manner. Moose Shargin was right. When Hiram Mallory seemed jovial, he was most dangerous.
The master of crime was plotting. He knew the menace of The Shadow, and he was ready to meet it!