THE SHADOW HEARS
THE man who had watched Harry Vincent enter the Metrolite Hotel now wended his way toward Broadway. When he reached Manhattan’s most famous canyon, he mingled with the after-theater crowd and followed a rapid, devious course.
He became an insignificant figure among thousands, and so artfully did he weave his path that even the most capable sleuth could not have kept upon his trail.
For the wolfish-faced individual was a man who knew the methods of the underworld, and he used a definite routine wherever he went. He entered a speakeasy, several squares above Forty-second Street.
There he paused a few moments, and left by a side entrance known only to the chosen few. At last, satisfied that no one could possibly be noticing him, he swung again from Broadway and strode westward until he arrived at an old apartment building.
Here, after a quick, covert glance, the man entered a darkened hallway and moved noiselessly up carpeted steps, disdaining to use the automatic elevator in the building.
Halfway up the stairs, he threw another suspicious glance back in the direction from which he had come. He saw only the silent, dark hall. As he reached the head of the stairs, he grinned wolfishly.
Perhaps that grin was in acknowledgment of his own cleverness. But if so, he had grinned without good reason.
The moment after he had disappeared from the top of the stairs, there was a movement in the hallway. A shadowlike form detached itself from the darkness and flitted toward the stairway. Up it came, moving with amazing swiftness, following the very path that the man had taken.
The course led upward; for the man ahead was mounting to the fourth floor. He reached his destination and paused. He stood beside a little window that opened into a high-walled courtyard. He remained there, peering out into the dim, vague light that gave but slight visibility to the narrow area.
While he was standing there, a mass of blackness grew behind him; then became as motionless as a statue. The man at the window turned. He stared almost directly at the peculiar form close beside him, but his eyes saw nothing.
Then the sharp-faced man walked to the nearest door, a few paces down the corridor, and tapped softly. The door clicked; stealthily it pushed open an inch — then two. The man brushed inside. The door closed silently.
Even as the trailed one stepped into the apartment, the black form in the hallway swept toward the window. The sash glided upward. Then the figure of a man projected itself outward. The window moved softly down.
The dim glow of the courtyard revealed a shadowy mass, poised upon the courtyard wall. A long arm crept sidewise like a living creature. It found an ornamental shaft of brick. The entire form followed the arm.
Foot by foot, the black shape pursued a lizardlike course along the perpendicular side of the wall!
The man with the wolfish face was not present to view this miraculous occurrence. He was safely in the apartment.
While events were taking place upon the wall of the courtyard, he was hanging his hat and coat on a hook at the end of a small entryway.
That accomplished, he stepped into a dimly lighted room. It had two windows, side by side, opening on the courtyard. Shades were drawn over the windows.
THE room already had one occupant. A man was sitting in the corner beside a table. The table bore a telephone. The man was directly beneath the light of the shaded lamp which illuminated the room.
Well-dressed, smooth-faced, and quiet in appearance, he might have been a prosperous business man, just returned from the theater. He was reading a magazine.
“Hello, Dip,” he said, without raising his eyes.
The wolfish-faced man grinned. He walked halfway across the room, pulled a chair from beside the wall, and sat down. He waited a few minutes. The man in the corner tossed the magazine aside. Then “Dip” spoke:
“Here I am, Flash,” he declared. “I followed the guy. I found out what I wanted!”
No two men could have appeared more different than this pair. No student of facial characteristics would have placed them in the same category. Yet actually, the men were similar in nature. “Flash” Donegan and Dip Riker were known as the Siamese twins of gangdom. They were cronies.
Dip, with his wolfish face and ugly, leering smile, was not the type of man to excite admiration. In appearance, Flash was quite the opposite.
The gangster beneath the light had a calm and composed expression. His straight nose, his thin, well-formed mouth, his narrowed, green eyes, made him a type — the racketeer de luxe. It was the mastery over his expression alone that gave him a superiority over his companion.
Flash expressed a very definite interest when Dip spoke. His eyelids narrowed, his eyes sparkled. It was this odd flashing of his optics that had given the man his nickname. More than one gun toter had quailed before that sparkle. Some had gone to the big beyond while facing that sinister gaze.
“He lives at the Metrolite Hotel,” declared Dip, resuming the subject that he had mentioned. “I beat him there in a taxicab. Waited for him to come in. Looked him over close. I’ll know him again any time I see him.”
“He was alone?”
“Yeah. I don’t know how to figure him. He may be a dick — he may not. He’s in Room 506 at the Metrolite — under the name you said he had — Harry Vincent.”
“You followed him into the hotel, then?” Flash asked.
“I did not!” Dip’s voice was ridiculing. “What was the use of that? I spotted him when he went in; then I beat it. I stopped off at Frankie Gull’s — you know, the speak where we met Pete Boutonne — and I buzzed the Metrolite Hotel from there. Got Vincent’s room number.”
Dip Riker waited for his companion to make some comment. Instead of replying, Flash Donegan frowned as he looked toward the window. He arose, walked by Dip, and raised the window shades slightly. He examined the window on the left; then slipped his hand beneath the shade and felt the lock.
“What’s the matter, Flash?” questioned Dip.
“Thought I saw the window shade move,” returned Donegan. “Funny — I generally keep this window locked. Seemed like some breeze was blowing against the shade. Couldn’t have been, though. The sash is down.”
He raised the shade, opened the window, and peered out into the courtyard. Still not satisfied, he leaned from the window and looked about.
His gaze turned downward, to the concrete area four stories below. Quizzically, Flash surveyed the inner walls of the building. His gaze was sharp; but he did not detect a shadowy shape that clung close to the wall beside and above the window. The shape resembled a huge, batlike creature. But it was utterly silent and motionless.
Flash pulled down the window and locked it. He lowered the shade, but left a tiny space, so that he could see the bottom of the sash. He left the other window the way he had found it. Then he strode back to his chair.
“Acting like you’ve got the jumps, Flash,” was Dip’s terse comment.
“Jumps, nothing!” declared Flash. “I’m sitting pretty, Dip, and so are you — because you’re sticking along with me. Ours is the sweetest racket in New York — all gravy and very little trouble.”
“I’m taking your word for it, Flash. But I’ve got to admit I don’t know what it’s all about.”
“Don’t be a sap, Dip. You know what we’re doing. Keeping these uptown warehousemen free from trouble. That’s simple enough, isn’t it? Why do you think I put Marty Jennings and Pete Boutonne on the job? Just to give them something to do?”
“Don’t try to kid me, Flash,” retorted Dip. “I’m with you — I don’t have to tell you that. But I’m not falling for a lot of hokum. I know the rackets too well. Lookit, Flash: Why do you take these guys on, keep them a while, and then let them go?
“Pete was with you two months — then he drifted away. Marty has been with you a little less than that. You’re talking about letting him go. Want me to promote another guy to take his place. The same way with those other fellows you had—”
“Listen, Dip.” Flash was talking with the smoothness that had gained him his reputation in gangland. “You know me well enough to know that I work different from these other gazebos. I’ve got my methods.
“Why keep a bunch of gorillas and let them get cocky? I use brains. Give a guy a soft snap. Treat him right. Pay him plenty. Then, when you need him, he’ll jump with you right away without asking questions.
“I’ve got two birds working for me right now. Marty Jennings and this fellow, Lance Bolero, who came back when Pete Boutonne left. Three, I’ve got — counting you. That’s enough. When I want more, all I’ve got to do is send out a hurry call.
“The old boys will be back — and they all know their onions. They’re glad to work for Flash Donegan.”
“That’s a good line, Flash,” grinned Dip. “But it ain’t the way you used to work. Your idea was always to get bigger and bigger. I was to have my mob — under yours. Then you wise me up, a while ago, that you’ve landed the best racket going.
“Instead of getting more gorillas and keeping them, you cut and change all the time. No strong-arm stuff — no ‘collecting’ — nothing to bother about.”
“Well, the dough comes in, don’t it?”
“Right! I’m satisfied. I ain’t saying nothing to nobody. But I know you well enough to talk to you, Flash. I get your idea. You’re pulling something different — and you’re afraid to keep a guy working for you too long.
“I ain’t asking you to tip me off to the lay. I’m just telling you what I see — being on the inside. That’s all, Flash. You get me, don’t you? I—”
AN oath came from Flash Donegan’s lips as he leaped to his feet. Dip Riker thought that he had incurred his pal’s displeasure. Wheedling words were upon Dip’s lips; then he saw Flash moving toward the window. This time, the racketeer pulled up the other shade.
With a puzzled look upon his face, he raised the window. Once again, he stared out into the courtyard. He closed the window and lowered the shade.
“What’s the matter, Flash?” questioned Dip.
“This thing’s giving me the heebie-jeebies,” came the reply. “Here I make sure one window’s locked and keep my eye on it; then the other curtain begins to move. That window’s unlocked. Am I goofy, Dip?”
“We’re up here on the fourth floor,” laughed Dip. “There can’t be nothing working at those windows. What’s the matter? Afraid of some guy?”
Alarm sounded in Dip’s voice, as he went on. “You ain’t pulled a double cross on nobody, have you, Flash?”
“I’m no double-crosser, Dip.”
“I know that, Flash. I didn’t mean nothing like that. I just wanted to make sure you were O.K. - that nobody might be gunning for you—”
“Listen, Dip.” Flash spoke seriously. “You’re sure nobody followed you when you came here?”
“Sure, Flash. You know how I dodge — all the time! I don’t take no chances!”
“Well” — Flash seemed dubious — “I can’t figure it. It looks mighty like some bird was prying around those windows!”
“Any fire ladders out in the court?” asked Dip, with a raucous laugh. “A guy would need one to be peeking in up here.”
“Don’t be a sap, Dip.”
Flash unlocked both windows and opened them.
“Take a look out here. No — wait! We’ll slide out in the hall and get a look from there!”
He led the way to the door of the apartment. He and Dip entered the dark hall, leaving the door ajar. A soft, squidgy sound came from the direction of the windows.
The dim glow of the courtyard was blotted out by a blackish mass that spread over an opened window. The mass became a human form — a man garbed in a cloak, his features hidden by the brim of his hat.
The Shadow stooped forward. He removed two circular devices from his hands and slipped his feet free from two more. Upon the floor lay four rubber suction cups, each six inches in diameter. With these, the man in black had clung to the wall, moving along it like a fly.
THE man in black was clear of the window; hence he could not be seen by Flash Donegan and Dip Riker as they made their observation from the lookout post at the head of the stairway.
The Shadow’s keen ears heard a sound from the hallway. Sliding the rubber cups beneath his cloak, he made for the half-opened door. Then his spectral form blended with the darkness of the small entry. He became almost a part of Dip Riker’s coat, which was hanging from a hook.
Flash Donegan was returning. He moved by the hidden form without seeing it. He walked to the window in his apartment. He peered out and signaled to Dip Riker. Then Flash closed the windows, locked them, and drew the shades. Dip Riker came into the apartment, after closing the door behind him.
“Satisfied, Flash?” he asked.
The racketeer nodded, and his eyes sparkled grimly. He took his accustomed chair and sat back, with a slight frown upon his face.
“It may seem funny, Dip,” he said, “but I’m taking no chances. You’re right — I’m playing a game. But keep that to yourself, and don’t ask questions. Get me?”
“O.K. by me.”
“This game is so safe,” declared Flash, “that it’s too good. Did you ever figure anything that was too good? It’s got me woozy at times, Dip. I’ve been waiting — waiting — waiting — just for something to happen. It would ease me up a bit, Dip, if we had to unload a few gats!
“There was one job — well, it was soft; and there’s likely to be others like it. It didn’t suit me. Now, tonight — well, maybe you’ve started something. If you have, we may get some of the action I’ve been itching for.”
“That sounds good. But listen, Flash! I don’t get the lay at all! We’re sitting here tonight — Marty Jennings is uptown — along comes a phone call — next thing I know, I’m waiting for a guy named Harry Vincent to come out of an old house on—”
“Never mind talking about it, Dip! You know what this fellow Vincent looks like, don’t you?”
“I’d pick him out a mile away, Flash!”
“Great! Well, get a line on him — easylike, you know. Don’t hang too close to him. Remember what he looks like, and also remember that house where you trailed him from. Get me?”
“Right!”
“See if he goes snooping around there. Don’t watch him close enough so he’ll get suspicious. But be on the job Thursday night. We don’t want him snooping up there then. Keep him away from there!”
“Leave it to me, Flash.”
“I’m leaving it to you, Dip! Remember, you’ve got a funny-looking mug, and it’s not a good idea to show it around too much. I’m going on the job, Thursday — up with Marty Jennings. You take care of your end. That’s all!”
“What about Marty? Thought you were going to drop him.”
“I am — but not until after Thursday. Wait until that’s past then you can dig up a new gorilla. I’ll give Marty the tip to scram. He’s in bad right now!”
“Lance Bolero is O.K.?”
“Sure thing. He’ll be on the job, too. No chances Thursday night. No questions, either! Keep this mum — that’s your specialty!”
Dip grinned. He watched Flash Donegan get up from his chair and go to the window. This time the inspection was satisfactory. There had been no motion of the shades. Both windows were locked.
Dip arose and stretched himself. He stared at Flash a moment; then seeing that there were no further instructions, he gruffly announced that he was leaving.
“You know where to get me, Flash,” he said. “Leave it all to me, boy. This guy Vincent will be soft pickings for me, if he starts any trouble.”
DIP was on his way to the entry as he spoke. His head was turned back over his shoulder. Reaching his destination, he swung directly toward the spot where his hat and coat were hanging. Because of this, he failed to notice that the door was closing.
That fact would have surprised Dip Riker. For the door had been shut and latched from the inside by Dip himself. But the wolfish-faced gunman did not see the door in motion, nor did Flash Donegan, who was standing back in the room.
Hat and coat on, Dip opened the door. Flash was beside him now. Dip gave a knowing nod, and a whispered comment, as he stepped into the hall.
“Leave it to me, Flash,” he said. “I’ll take care—”
“Ps-s-t!” warned Flash. “Keep mum!”
Flash watched his underling go down the hall. As Dip turned the corner to the stairway, Flash closed the door. The racketeer went back into his apartment, a satisfied smile upon his face.
He was here. Dip was on his way to the street; all was settled for Thursday night!
But Flash Donegan could not see beyond that closed door.
Nor could the departing Dip Riker know what was happening in the silence of that darkened hall, for Dip was now nearing the second floor.
From the blackness outside of Flash Donegan’s abode came a mirthless, quivering laugh — a gibing laugh that made very little sound, yet which awoke whispering echoes from the gloom.
The man who laughed was invisible. He could not be seen as he stood by Flash Donegan’s door. He was naught but a form of blackness as he moved along the hall toward the stairs, following the very path that Dip Riker had taken.
The sound of his mysterious mirth continued — an echoing trail that moved toward the floor below. No one was near to hear that strange, uncanny laughter, nor to seek the man who uttered it.
It was The Shadow who laughed — The Shadow, master of darkness, terror of the underworld!
His laugh was a foreboding laugh. It meant no good to the racketeers who had just discussed their affairs in private meeting. For Flash Donegan’s fears of a listener had been caused by a living presence. He had spoken only when he was sure that no one was near enough to catch his words.
But The Shadow had heard.
The Shadow knew!