THE WORRIED MAN
IN the dull light of an underground room, a man was seated, hunched on a wooden bench. He was smoking a cigarette, and the stone floor about him was studded with many butts that he had thrown away.
The man was nervous, and he appeared to be anxiously awaiting the arrival of another person. There was a reason for the hunted expression that the man betrayed.
He was wanted by the police. He was Homer Briggs, the servant whom Silas Harshaw had dismissed.
The door rattled. Homer’s nervous fingers sought the handle of a revolver. He let the weapon slide back into his pocket as he recognized the man who entered the room.
The newcomer was a shrewd-looking, middle-aged man. His arrival eased Homer’s worry.
“What’s doing, Farley?” Homer asked.
“They’ve got a line on Max Parker,” replied Farley, with a gruff laugh. “How do you like that?”
“You don’t think they’ll trace him here?”
Farley stared contemptuously at the man on the bench. It was plain that he did not share Homer’s trepidation.
Farley shrugged his shoulders as though the matter was of minor consequence.
“What if they do?” he asked. “I’ve given the cops the slip before. I’m ready to do it again. But they won’t get here. Not those blundering flat feet! I’m not thinking about them. I’ve got other ideas on my chest.”
“Well, I’m glad of that,” said Homer, with an expression of relief. “I’ve been worried, Farley, ever since I knew they were after me.
“If they ever got me, they’d lay the killing of the old man on me, sure!”
“Look here, Homer,” declared Farley. “I’m going to give you something to worry about. But I want you to buck up. Get that? I don’t like a guy that’s yellow. You’re going to get some nerve, or I’ll be through with you.”
“Don’t say that, Farley!” pleaded Homer. “Don’t say that! I’m not yellow. But this thing has got my goat, the way it’s broken against us.”
“Hank” Farley was a lone wolf of the underworld; a man who came and went without molestation. He ridiculed police and ignored mobsters.
No one knew his business — except when he required henchmen — which was seldom.
“So you think they’ll trace you, eh?” questioned Farley. “Well, when they do, you’ll be plenty of distance away from here.
“I’m referring to the coppers, now. We’re a hundred jumps ahead of them. But we’re not going to blow yet — not by a long sight.
“We’re going to wait until we get what we’re after; and we’re going to fix the feet of a smart alec that’s been causing all this trouble.”
“All right,” agreed Homer reluctantly. “I’ll work with you, Farley, when I know what it’s all about. But I’ve been doing nothing but lay low — and things have been going wrong.
“I played square with you, didn’t I? I came to you a month ago and told you the old man had something we ought to get — and I told you where it was. But you said to wait — and we waited too long.”
“You are right,” declared Farley. “Sometimes people wait too long; sometimes they don’t wait long enough. We’ve done both.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Homer. I’m going to give you the lay — and to make it clear, I’m starting at the beginning.
“You told me the old man had a machine that you figured would be worth a million,” Farley said. “Maybe you were wrong. But it sounded good enough to be interesting.
“I’ve grabbed off some mighty easy dough dealing with patent lawyers who didn’t ask too many questions. I know plenty of big shots who are phonies, even though their businesses are O.K. with the law.
“So I listened. When you told me where the gimmick was, I was ready to get it. You could have pulled an inside job, but you didn’t have the nerve.
“We’ll forget about that, because you haven’t had experience, and we were dealing with a pretty cagey guy — old Harshaw. I didn’t want to pull it, because I’ve got to be clear later on. So I wired to Max Parker.
“He came on to New York, and you met him at the Black Ship. I wanted him to get the lay straight from you. Then he joined me, here.
“There isn’t a cop smart enough to find out that he was ever here. I play my cards too close for that.
“WHEN Harshaw gave you the sack, I figured we’d better act quick. That’s why Max went on the job that night.
“When it comes to ladder work, there couldn’t be any one slicker than Max was. You know what happened. Max heard a shot while he was going up the ladder.
“He waited a while; then went on up. He found the window open, like he told us. It’s a sure bet the old man must have opened it to look out.
“Maybe he’d heard Max hook up the ladder. But when Max threw the glimmer in there and spotted the old man dead on the floor, he scrammed.”
“He lost his nerve,” declared Homer. “He was the yellow guy — not me.”
“Lost his nerve?” snorted Farley. “Not Max. He kept his head. Why did he want to go in there? Ten to one the guy that bumped off the old man was still around. No, sir. Max showed sense.
“He stayed right there in his room at the hotel, didn’t he? That was nerve, wasn’t it? He laid low until they found the old man’s body.
“He had to wait three nights. Then he figured the dicks were gone. They were still around, but Max was too foxy for them.
“He went in that room again. He’d have got away with the old man’s model, too, if he’d only been dealing with coppers. But somebody plugged him.
“I’ll lay five grand to a fin it was the same bozo that gave the works to old man Harshaw!”
“That doesn’t help us,” groaned Homer. “There’s two been killed there now, and it’s going to be tougher than ever to get in the place.
“The cops will never find the old man’s strong box, but that doesn’t help us.
“No,” agreed Farley, “and it doesn’t help us to know that there’s another guy snooping around. He bumped off Harshaw. That was a help.”
“Not for me,” objected Homer. “The cops are after me—”
“Forget those heels!” growled Farley. “Just remember that Harshaw can’t raise a squawk now. When we get his model, it’s ours. But there’s a slick guy after it, too, and he’s going to get busy as soon as we do.
“There’s too many dicks around that hotel now. When they thin out a bit, I’m going in there myself. But I’m not going too soon, and I’m not going too late.”
“How will you manage that?” questioned Homer. “If the other guy is watching the place when the dicks leave, you’ll go too soon.
“If he slides in and hooks the model, before you do, you’ll get there too late.”
“Right!” agreed Farley. “So I’m going out of my way to do a special job. I’m going to bump off the gazook that’s caused us all this trouble. I’ll get the guy that got Max!”
“You know who he is?”
“Know who he is? Say, Homer, anybody ought to know who he is. There’s only one guy in New York who could have made the get-away that guy is supposed to have made.”
“Who’s that?”
“The Shadow!”
Farley’s revelation caused Homer Briggs to crouch back upon his bench.
A small-timer among crooks, Homer had never encountered the man in black. But to him — as to all the yellow rats of the underworld — the name of The Shadow was a greater deterrent than the fear of the law.
The Shadow was known to war on dangerous mobsters. Many denizens of the bad lands feared to join gangs of gunmen because they dreaded an encounter with The Shadow.
Homer Briggs was one of these; and when he heard Farley boldly say that he would get The Shadow, the very thought was appalling.
“You — you” — Homer was chattering — “you’re going to get The — The Shadow!”
“Sure thing,” said Farley calmly. “What’s more, it’s going to be easy. And you’re going to help me, yellow!”
Homer was too cowed by Farley’s boldness to resent the insult with which the cunning-faced gangster had ended his statement.
The cringing man was unable to say a single word. Ignoring Homer’s pitiful expression, Farley calmly unfolded the details of his scheme.
“Here’s the way we’ll work it,” said the gangster. “They know you down at the Black Ship. They know you met Max Parker there. But there’s not a guy in that place who would spill a word to the coppers.
“That’s one joint where a stool gets his the moment he pokes his ratty nose through the door.
“So I stopped down at the Black Ship tonight. Early. And when I left there, the word got buzzed around that you were going to stop in the place tomorrow night.”
“Me,” exclaimed Homer. “You want me to go back down there? Where I met Max?”
“Sure thing,” declared Farley. “When you’re there, you’re going to talk a bit, too. You’re going to tell them that you’re coming back here.”
“But if there’s stools there—”
“There won’t be any.”
“Then why—”
“LISTEN, Homer,” said Farley, in a cold tone. “Do you think The Shadow is asleep? He wasn’t when he bumped off Max, was he?
“You can bet that he knows somebody is going to tackle that room of Harshaw’s again. Well — what’s he doing with his time? Taking lessons in backgammon? Not on your life!
“He’s looking for us; that’s what he’s doing. Looking for you, Homer, because he doesn’t know I’m in it. Get that? Looking for you!”
“No — no!” Homer was protesting, fear-stricken. “Don’t say that, Farley! If The Shadow—”
“If The Shadow is really looking for you,” interrupted Farley contemptuously, “he’s going to find you! But he’s not going to grab you by yourself. One look at you — he’d know you were yellow.
“The Shadow knows all the joints. Maybe he’s got stools of his own — if he has, the mobs haven’t wised up to who they are.
“So it’s duck soup that tonight The Shadow knows you are coming to the Black Ship tomorrow. But get this, Homer: He didn’t learn it until after I got out — because I picked the right guys to spread the news.
“He won’t know where this place is until you begin to blab tomorrow night.”
“Then what?” questioned Homer.
“Then he’ll come here,” said Farley, laughing, “but he won’t get here right away. You’ll be back first. You’ll be here with me — and I’ll be waiting for The Shadow!”
“He’ll get you, Farley,” gasped Homer. “He’ll get you, sure, like he’s got guys before. You can’t double cross The Shadow.”
“Listen, Homer. The word is out. Do you think I’m the only guy that wants to get The Shadow? Not by a long sight!
“There’s five hundred others with the same idea — that is, there will be by tomorrow night. If he gets into this place, he’ll have to fight his way through the best rods in New York.
“You know what we’ll do? We’ll lay low, right here — and wait for the news.”
“I get you, Farley,” said Homer, “but what if he does get through? What then?”
“Huh,” grunted Farley. “What can he do here? Look at these walls. He can’t get through them.”
“How about the door?”
“Let him try it. I’ve got two big smoke wagons that will say ‘No.’ When I open up, boy, I know how!
“He won’t get in this place. If he manages to find his way back, he’ll be ready for the works. He might slip through, but he won’t slip out!”
Homer sat open-mouthed, not only because of the apprehension he felt, but also because of his admiration for Hank Farley’s scheme.
The lone wolf had lined up the hordes of gangdom for tomorrow night. It was an ideal trap.
The Shadow, going forth on a minor skirmish, would encounter a mammoth ambuscade.
Hank Farley puffed his pipe and grinned in anticipation. He was sure of results tomorrow night.
Homer, however, despite his chief’s assurance, still quailed on the corner of the bench.
The worried man dreaded the task that lay before him. For he feared the wrath of The Shadow.