THE TRAP IS LAID
BOB MADDOX — falsely known as Bob Galvin — was sitting at the big, flat-topped desk which had become his accustomed place.
Bob’s brow was furrowed, and his lips were twitching impatiently. He looked up as Briggs entered. The big man appeared none too pleasant.
“It’s getting on my nerves, Briggs,” growled Bob.
Briggs shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ve always stood by the Chief,” added Bob, “but this time I think he’s making a mistake. Here we are, ready for final action, and he’s holding up the works. I know he’s got good reasons. But we can’t wait forever.”
“There hasn’t been any trouble yet,” said Briggs. “This is a gloomy old joint, but I’ve seen worse. But I don’t blame you for being tired of it. You haven’t been out for four days.”
“That’s just it,” declared Bob. “I know what the Chief is after. He’s not worried about the cops, and so far there’s been no trouble with any inquiries for the girl.
“He’s up against The Shadow — at least he thinks he is — and he’s waiting to pull one over on that guy.”
“Why doesn’t he do it then?”
“It’s all arranged,” said Bob. “But the Chief doesn’t want a slip-up. He wants to be sure — or nearly sure that The Shadow is on the job. So far, he’s had no indication. That’s why he’s waiting.
“I wish something would happen to make him spring the trap. I’m tired of waiting. Getting nervous, for the first time. Itching to get going.”
Briggs nodded. He had not talked with Bob about the contemplated plans. Briggs was content to wait for orders. Theoretically, he held a position equal to Bob’s; but his value lay in the fact that he could follow instructions.
Briggs never cared to know too much. He had found it profitable to attend only to details that were set for him. He knew that he was to play a part in the coming enterprise, and he was ready.
Bob stared about the gloomy room and became thoughtful. Briggs sat down and began to read a newspaper.
It was late in the afternoon. Darkness had fallen outside. Briggs expected another long evening of waiting.
Ten minutes passed. Bob began to drum restlessly upon the flat-topped desk. He picked up a sheet of paper and began to trace cryptic characters upon it.
He was marking the symbols of the strange code which only he and Hiram Mallory had seen — unless Thaddeus Westcott could be counted. It was improbable that Westcott had kept a copy of the paper which had been given to him by Theodore Galvin.
THE thought of Thaddeus Westcott bothered Bob. Only two others had known of the paper. Theodore Galvin and Reynold Barker. Both were dead.
It would be better if Westcott were dead, too. Then it would be only Mallory and Bob. No — he was wrong there. Briggs had seen it; but, of course, Briggs was all right. Bob spoke to the man.
“Say, Briggs,” he questioned, “you remember that — the article you took from R. B.?”
“Who?”
“Barker,” said Bob impatiently.
“Oh, yes,” replied Briggs, indifferently. “The hunk of paper. I gave it to you for the Chief. What about it?”
“Do you remember what was on it?”
“No. Some funny-looking signs was all I saw. I knew it was what Barker was after, so I got it.”
Bob looked at Briggs half wondering, half admiring. The big fellow was dense in some ways; in others, he was clever. He was a man of action.
Bob half closed his eyes and tried to picture Briggs entering this very room, catlike in stealth, approaching the unsuspecting man who had found the object which he had traveled far to obtain.
Briggs had taken it by force. He had covered his tracks. He had left a sign, which even Bob did not understand — the turned-down corner of a rug — and the matter had been ended. So far as Briggs was concerned, it was forgotten entirely.
Bob looked at the characters which he had traced. He was not sure that he had them correct except the last two, which were alike.
He wrote the letter “s” upon the sheet of paper and repeated it. He crossed out the letters. He wrote “t” twice, and again crossed out the marks. He wrote the letter “l” two times.
He picked up the sheet of paper and tore it. He ignited the pieces and watched them burn in an ash tray. He even destroyed the ashes, as though piqued at his own folly in considering those cryptic signs.
HE opened a drawer in the desk. From it he removed an address book which had belonged to Theodore Galvin. The book contained more than one hundred names.
Bob ran through the list mechanically. He paused a moment at the letter “M.” He continued to the end of the book.
Not a single name in the little volume bore even a check mark. Yet Bob seemed satisfied.
“One more,” he said thoughtfully. “Only one more — unless our guess is altogether wrong. This is something The Shadow missed — if he really was here that night the girl came in. But then — how could he know?”
Bob smiled. He looked toward Briggs indulgently. The big man was still reading the newspaper, his lips moving as he perused the words.
Bob put the address book back into the drawer. At that moment, the deep tone of the doorbell was heard. Briggs looked up. Bob nodded. The big man went out.
When Briggs returned, he had a puzzled look upon his face. Bob detected it and raised his eyebrows quizzically.
“A man named Vincent,” said Briggs, handing Bob a card. “Comes from South Africa.”
“Is he supposed to know me?”
“No. He was sort of apologetic about disturbing you. He knows a friend of yours in a place called Durban. A diamond dealer named Young—”
“Hm-m-m,” observed Bob. “I know who he means. Those papers in young Galvin’s trunk are coming in handy. Glad I read them.
“Show this fellow in, Briggs. Do it right. Understand?”
The big man nodded as he left the room. He returned with a young man who was well dressed and who wore a pleasant smile. Bob arose to greet the newcomer.
“You will pardon me, Mr. Galvin,” said the stranger. “My name is Harry Vincent. I just arrived in New York. Our mutual friend, Mr. Young, suggested that I call upon you. I live in Durban, you know—”
“Oh, yes,” replied Bob. “How’s everything there? Was Mr. Young in good health when you left?”
“Quite.” Harry Vincent smiled. “In fact, he intends to come to America himself. With another friend of yours, Ronald Stokes — son of Sir Hubert Stokes—”
“How soon?” inquired Bob, trying to feign enthusiasm.
“I fancy they are on the ocean now,” declared Vincent. “I have no knowledge of their sailing, but they may arrive within the next fortnight.”
Bob Maddox was thinking quickly. Both names mentioned by Vincent were familiar to him, not only through papers belonging to Bob Galvin, but also through letters which now rested in Theodore Galvin’s desk — letters which the nephew had written to his American uncle during the past year.
It was this latter fact that gave him a sudden suspicion. The Shadow had been at that desk when he had been seen by Betty Mandell!
“Six o’clock,” observed Bob, glancing at his watch. “By Jove, I didn’t know it was so late. I say, old fellow, where are you stopping?”
“At the Astorbilt.”
“Suppose I stop there for you — in about an hour? I should like to have you dine with me. We shall have more time to talk. I have a few important phone calls to make; I must dress—”
“Certainly,” said Harry, rising. “I shall return to the hotel, to expect you between seven and half after—”
“Between half after seven and eight,” suggested Bob.
AS his visitor waited, Bob turned to the desk. Two letters were there, addressed to Robert Galvin.
Bob noted that Harry Vincent was observing them. He sidled over and picked up the letters quickly, turning them so his visitor could not see the addresses. He called for Briggs. The man entered and Bob gave him the letters.
“Take care of these right away,” he said in an undertone. “When you go out. Understand?”
Briggs nodded. Bob turned to shake hands with Harry Vincent. Briggs ushered the visitor to the door. When he returned, Bob was at the telephone.
“Keep on the lookout, Briggs,” he said, in a low voice, as he covered the mouthpiece of the instrument. “Be sure that bird has gone.”
“He’s left, all right,” said Briggs, moving toward the door.
Bob was talking to some one now. He was discussing the man who had just left. Briggs divined from the conversation, that the Chief was on the other end of the wire.
“If this guy Vincent is O.K.,” said Bob, “we’ve got to get busy before these birds show up from South Africa. But he may be a phony — sent by The Shadow to work in with me.
“If that’s the case, I’ve planted the idea with him. He saw those fake letters addressed to Bob Galvin. He saw me give them to Briggs—”
His voice cut off as he listened. Briggs knew that he was getting instructions. Bob uttered the word “yes” at intervals as he kept the receiver close against his ear. His face bore a smile when he laid aside the telephone.
“It’s all set, Briggs,” Bob said. “You go down to Brindle’s. Keep your eye out for Moose Shargin. Hand him the letters and give him this note.”
Bob seized a sheet of paper and scrawled a few lines in pencil. He folded the message and handed it to Briggs.
“Tell Moose to tear it up,” he added, “but drop the pieces. Say it low — just make sure that Moose is wise. He’ll probably know what to do, anyway. Don’t act suspicious, whatever you do.
“Wait, now — don’t say a word to Moose unless he doesn’t tear the note. Get me? You’ll probably be watched while you’re there; but don’t let on.”
BRIGGS put the note in his pocket, with the letters. He left the house and walked leisurely to the nearest elevated station.
Some twenty minutes afterward, he arrived at Brindle’s. He took a table in a corner and waited. Moose Shargin appeared, accompanied by Garry Elvers. They sat near by.
Briggs moved over and spoke to Shargin as one would address an acquaintance. He laid the letters and the note on the table as he spoke.
The gang leader did not refer to the note until Briggs had stepped away. He opened it rather slyly and noted its contents.
Shargin’s hands dropped beneath the edge of the table as he tore the paper and let the pieces flutter to the floor. He glanced at his watch.
“Kind of early, Garry,” Shargin said. “Let’s drop down the street and kill an hour at the News Reel Theater. They’re showing some shots of Jake Bernie being quizzed on that kidnapping he pulled.”
The men left the restaurant and strolled to the theater. It had one entrance and one exit, that led back to Broadway.
Back in Brindle’s, Briggs was finishing a sandwich. He left the cafe shortly afterward.
Following his departure, a middle-aged man entered the restaurant and chanced to take the table where Moose and Garry had been. The man ate slowly and thoughtfully, apparently paying no attention to the people about him.
When he left the restaurant, the torn pieces of paper were no longer on the floor. When they came to light, they showed beneath the dash lamp of an automobile, which was parked on a side street near Broadway. Two long, white hands deftly united the fragments so the message could be read.
Leave with your friend at nine o’clock. Will wait until I hear from you at destination. Will join you then.
The dash lamp was extinguished. A soft laugh sounded within the car as this man slipped out into the darkness.
Only a shadow moved along the sidewalk. It reached Broadway and its shape was lost. It reappeared, a motionless blotch, outside the exit of the News Reel Theater. It was still there when Moose Shargin and Garry Elvers came from the movie house.
As the gangsters walked up Broadway, the patch of darkness followed them.
Hiram Mallory’s theory had worked. He had counted on The Shadow to follow any trail that might lead to the imprisoned Bob Galvin.
Moose Shargin and Garry Elvers were the two redoubtable personages who were leading Mallory’s enemy into the trap!