CLIFF MAKES PROGRESS
CLIFF MARSLAND entered the outer room of his apartment at Larchmont Court. He closed the door softly behind him. He did not turn on the light. Instead, he walked across the room and sat in darkness beside the telephone table.
The window was close by. From this room on the eighteenth floor, Cliff could see over the intervening buildings to the brilliant lights of Times Square, which threw a lurid glow through a smoky mist that had settled over the city.
Cliff watched the changing lights. Most of them were too far away to be distinguished; but there were two electric signs near by that he noticed.
One was a large clock, which marked the hour of nine. The other was an advertising sign with an intricate border of varicolored lights that flashed on and off with great rapidity.
Picking up the telephone, Cliff called a number from memory. Shortly afterward a voice answered.
It was a quiet voice, that spoke almost mechanically. Cliff mumbled into the mouthpiece. The voice at the other end spoke.
“I can’t hear you,” it said.
Cliff spoke plainly.
“Can you hear me now,” he asked.
There was a pause. Then came a reply.
“Not very well. We must have a poor connection. I’m busy at present. I’ll call you back.”
A click came over the wire. Cliff grinned as he hung up the receiver.
Softly, almost to himself, he repeated the words that he had said, accenting two of them.
“Can you hear me now.”
He had sent his first concealed message by The Shadow’s secret method. He had been informed of it in one of his letters of instruction.
“In reporting,” the letter had said, “phrase an innocent sentence in which accented words will give your message. Expect replies of the same nature.”
Cliff had sent his message. By accented words, he had conveyed the information, “Here now.” It could mean but one thing to the recipient — that Ernie Shires was at present in the hotel, visiting Killer Durgan.
Shires was the man whom Cliff was awaiting. There was only one place where Shires would be. All that would be understood.
IT was now only a few minutes after nine. Exactly twenty-four hours ago, Cliff had left Madge Benton near the hotel, and had come in, after she had entered, to resume his vigil in the lobby.
He had used his own initiative when he had gone with Madge. He had run the risk of missing Shires if the man had made a quick visit to Larchmont Court. But he had gained much by the hour which he had spent with Killer Durgan’s moll.
He had found out that the girl knew what was going on in Durgan’s business; and she had mentioned the name of Ernie Shires. Cliff had expressed an interest in the gangster, ostensibly because Shires had been a henchman of Tim Waldron. He knew that he could count on Madge for further information.
In that one brief hour, the girl had expressed a world of hate and contempt for Killer Durgan, whose mastery she detested. Such hatred had increased her desire to win Cliff.
Now Shires was in the hotel. Cliff had seen him come in, ten minutes ago. He had suspected the man’s identity. He had passed the desk while Shires was announcing his name to the clerk.
He knew that Ernie would be in Durgan’s apartment for a considerable length of time. He had taken this opportunity to report to The Shadow, through some intermediary — the man who had answered the phone.
Cliff waited quietly. The darkness was soothing; it gave him a feeling of security. Like The Shadow, he enjoyed the dark. He scented mystery and adventure looming ahead.
There was a light tap at the door. Cliff pressed his hand against the pocket of his coat and felt the automatic beneath. He stepped across the room.
“Who’s there?” he questioned softly.
“Cliff!” The name was spoken breathlessly by a feminine voice.
Instantly, Cliff opened the door. The light of the hallway revealed Madge Benton. The girl stepped quickly into the room. Cliff closed the door. Madge gripped his arms and clung closely to him in the darkness.
“Don’t turn on the light!” she whispered. “Listen! I have something to tell you!”
“Go ahead,” replied Cliff, in a hushed tone.
“Ernie Shires is upstairs,” said Madge. “Talking with Durgan. I was told to beat it — as usual.”
Cliff understood. He had learned all of Killer Durgan’s ways when he had listened to Madge’s outburst of woe while they had dined last night. The girl had talked to him as her lone friend and confidant.
“I listened outside the door,” she said. “I heard your name mentioned. I don’t know why. Then I did beat it.
“It isn’t safe to listen long anywhere while Durgan is around! I went down to the lobby. You weren’t there so I came up here!”
“You weren’t seen?” questioned Cliff. “How about the elevator man?”
“He doesn’t matter. I’ve gone to other floors before. I used to have a few girl friends in the hotel, but they dropped me when they knew I was Durgan’s moll.
“I can’t stay long, Cliff, although” — her voice was wistful — “although I’d like to. I want to be away from Durgan forever!”
“Thanks for the tip-off about Shires,” said Cliff quietly.
“That’s not all, Cliff,” added Madge. “I don’t know what Shires is going to do, but something’s under way! Shires has been up in the Bronx. He’s going to make trouble up there, soon; and I heard Durgan tell him to get busy tonight!”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all I heard!”
CLIFF was silent. He had expected this. He wondered how soon The Shadow’s return message would arrive. He was positive that it was now being relayed to the master mind. There could not be long to wait.
Cliff was oblivious of the girl’s presence until he felt her press his arm more closely, and heard the pleading tones of her whispered voice:
“Cliff!” she was saying. “Cliff! You know why I’ve told you this, don’t you? You know — I love you! Don’t you care for me, Cliff?”
“Yes,” replied Cliff. “I care for you, Madge.”
He spoke truthfully. The girl’s love for him was positive. Cliff knew that Madge would make any sacrifice for him.
It had been a long time since he had known a woman’s love. Her words struck a responsive chord. She was a woman of the underworld, young but worldly wise.
Past recollections swept through Cliff’s mind. Once he had known a wonderful girl — but that must be forgotten now. After all, he belonged to the underworld now. Madge was the type of girl that he must accept, unless he chose to ignore women entirely.
She was looking up at him now, and he could see her eyes in the dimness of the room eyes that sparkled with tears, he fancied. Cliff bowed his head to give her the kiss she desired. At that instant, the telephone rang.
The girl stepped back, startled. Cliff leaped toward the window and raised the receiver to stop the ringing. He placed his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone.
The interruption had made Madge realize that every minute meant a risk for herself and Cliff.
“Good-by,” came her whispered voice.
Cliff heard the door close behind the girl as she departed. He raised the receiver to his ear and spoke into the telephone.
“You know that watch I left with you?” said the voice. “It belongs to a boarder up here at the house. He wants it on Monday. Send it up by messenger. I’ll sign for it.”
“All right,” agreed Cliff.
The terminating click came over the wire.
“Watch border on sign.” That was the message. Cliff was puzzled for only an instant. Then he gazed from the window and watched the electric sign with its fascinating change of lights.
Two minutes passed; then he detected an irregularity in the flashing of the colored lights that bordered the sign. The code that he had memorized sprang to his mind. He began to read a message, formed by the intervals of the flashes.
He had no trouble in doing so. Cliff had been familiar with codes during the war. He had applied his knowledge during his prison term by communicating with fellow convicts.
“Follow — Shires,” came the gleaming, flashing message. “Learn — all — possible — be — careful — depending — on — you — for — important — information.”
The flashes resumed their original intervals. Cliff waited a while and stepped away from the window. He was lost in admiration of The Shadow’s ingenuity.
“What an idea!” he exclaimed to himself. “This fellow is a marvel!”
CLIFF was still thinking of The Shadow when he went down to the lobby. He realized that this supermind of the underworld had conquered many master criminals.
He suspected — and his supposition was correct — that The Shadow had uncovered many clever methods utilized by his enemies. Each new one meant another artifice for The Shadow, if he chose to use it.
“It’s a game,” murmured Cliff, as he took his place in the obscure corner of the lobby. “A game and a real game! Watch what the other fellow does, and if it’s a good idea, use it! Fox him with your own methods at the same time!”
Minutes moved slowly by while Cliff waited patiently. It was nearly ten o’clock when Ernie Shires put in an appearance.
The hard-faced gangster glanced about the lobby. Cliff was apparently half asleep. Shires scarcely noticed him. The man went out of the door.
Cliff arose leisurely and strolled after him. He saw Shires looking up and down the street, watching for a passing cab. A slight drizzle was falling. There was no cab in sight; it was a time when cabs were much in use.
Cliff thought of the cab stand around the corner. It was a better spot to hail a cab, for it was on an avenue. Cliff anticipated what Ernie Shires would do. Cliff went around the corner. There were no cabs at the stand, so he sidled into an obscure niche in the wall — the very spot where Madge had been waiting for him the night before.
A few minutes later, Shires appeared. The man shouted at a passing cab. It pulled up to the curb, only a few feet away from where Cliff was standing. Shires spoke to the driver.
“You know where the Club Drury is?” he asked. “Up on Seventh Avenue in the Fifties? All right. Take me there!”
The cab whirled away with its passenger. Cliff stepped to the curb and watched for an empty taxi. One came along. Cliff entered it.
“Club Drury,” he said. “On Seventh Avenue.”