The man who had occupied the drawing-room on the Eastern Limited entered a telephone booth in the Harrisburg station. There was an empty booth behind him. Harry Vincent went into it, and pretended to be calling a number.
The partitions in telephone booths are by no means sound-proof. Harry knew this and smiled when he heard the number which the stranger called. There was something about the man's voice that seemed familiar now.
The number had been obtained. Vincent heard words that gave him the final clue to the stranger's identity.
"Hello, Wally," said the man. "This is Steve."
Steve! That filled the gap in Vincent's memory. He knew now that the fellow was Steve Cronin, the New York gangster who was in hiding. Steve Cronin was known to Harry Vincent, but Cronin did not know Vincent.
Some time ago, Cronin had murdered a man in a New York hotel, and had escaped for parts unknown.
Harry had seen Cronin then, but at that time the man had had a black mustache. Now he was clean-shaven.
The New York police wanted Steve Cronin. That was not Harry's concern, however. His instructions came from one source only — from a mysterious person called The Shadow. At present, Harry was under no orders.
Yet The Shadow had been somewhat concerned with Cronin at the time of the murder in the Metrolite Hotel. Whatever information Harry could obtain about the man's present actions might prove useful. So he listened carefully.
Cronin's conversation was brisk and unilluminating. He seemed to be cutting short the remarks that were coming over the phone.
"Tell me later," Harry heard him say. "Meet me an hour from now. I'll be at the Gorham Hotel. I'll be registered as Stephen Bell. Come up to my room. I'll leave the door open."
The receiver banged on the hook, and Steve Cronin walked from the booth.
* * *
Harry Vincent was at the Gorham Hotel twenty minutes later. The place was an old one that had known better days. There were a few men hanging around the lobby. Harry looked at the register and saw the entry of "Stephen Bell, Room No. 322."
The clerk was busy, and Harry walked away from the desk. He sat in a leather chair and read a newspaper. At the same time he kept a careful watch and was suddenly elated when he saw Steve Cronin come down the stairs and go out the door.
Evidently the man intended to go on some errand before his friend, Wally, arrived. Cronin had said that the door would be open. Perhaps it was open now. Harry decided to act. He went up the stairs and found Room No. 322. The door was unlocked.
The room was dark, and Harry did not turn on the light. There was to be a meeting here; it would be excellent if he could listen in. Where would be the best place to hide? Under the bed would place him in a precarious position if found, for he was unarmed. The closet might do; there at least he could defend himself if discovered.
He turned toward the door which he had closed behind him. Then he became suddenly motionless as the door opened slowly. Hidden in the darkness, he was momentarily safe as a man entered and closed the door.
"Steve," came a whispered voice.
Harry responded to a daring plan which came to him on the instant.
"That you, Wally?" he whispered in return. "Don't turn on the light. Sit down on the bed."
The man who had entered the room obeyed. Harry found a chair and sat by the window.
"It wasn't my fault, Steve," came the man's voice in the darkness of the room. "I spotted the guy the minute he stepped off the train last night. I followed him to his hotel. I figured he'd stay there a while. Instead of that, he hopped out and took a cab. Cabs ain't plentiful around here. I spotted the number of his cab and got one myself. Figured the only place he could have gone was to the station. I was right enough. His cab was there when I got there. But I couldn't find him at all."
* * *
Vincent did not reply. The speaker continued:
"I hope you ain't sore, Steve. I done my best. He must be coming back here. I've watched his hotel. He left his bag there. What took you so long getting in?"
"Slow train," growled Harry, trying to imitate the voice of Steve Cronin.
"What's the racket, Steve?" came the question. "I've been working blind since I got your tip. Let me in on it, won't you?"
"I'll tell you later."
"You act like you are sore," said the man in the dark. "You don't talk this way often, Steve. It don't sound like you. What's the matter?"
"Tell you what, Wally," returned Harry. "You run along a while. Come back in half an hour. Let me think it over a bit."
"All right," said the man reluctantly. "Don't see why you want me to go away, Steve; but this is your game. I didn't think you'd be this way about it. Why don't you turn the lights on and be sociable?"
"The bulls are after me."
"I know that, Steve. But they ain't anywhere around here. They don't know you're in Harrisburg. But you're the boss, Steve. I'll be back in an hour or so."
He rose from the bed and stood listening beside the door.
"Did you hear anything, Steve?" came his whisper.
"No," said Harry softly.
"Sounds like some one outside the door."
"I don't hear it."
Wally stood motionless. Harry could not see him in the darkness, but he knew the man was intent.
Harry's nerves were tingling now. He sensed immediate danger and wondered how he should act. He reached out and placed his hand on the window sill, then peered out. Three stories down. No escape there.
A few seconds passed, and they seemed a long time. Then suddenly two actions occurred with amazing quickness. The door swung open, and a hand pressed the light switch. The room was instantly illuminated.
One of Harry's hands clutched the window sill; the other gripped the arm of the chair as he stared at the scene before him.
By the bed stood Wally, a startled figure. He was a rough-looking individual, with an ugly, unshaved ace.
His mouth was agape with astonishment.
At the door stood Steven Cronin, commanding the room. One hand was still on the light switch. The other clutched a revolver which was close against the holder's body. Cronin's lips were parted in a grim smile that revealed a gold tooth at one side of kits mouth. His keen, quick eyes were taking in the situation.
Harry Vincent felt a sinking sensation. He was caught. What would be next?