Vincent shook his head.
“All I’ve heard was you banging on my door a minute ago. Been asleep,” he said.
The house detective nodded.
“It must have been muffled,” the house officer said musingly. “Fellow in 1415 didn’t hear it, either. Well, we’ll look into that part of it later. Want to change your room? There’ll be a lot going on around here to disturb you.”
“All right,” said Vincent.
“Call a bell boy to move you then,” said the detective.
Detectives had arrived from headquarters when Vincent went down the corridor to his new room, with the bell boy carrying his belongings. Vincent still appeared to be sleepy, but when he was alone in his new quarters, he suddenly looked very wide awake.
He was somewhat worried that he might be linked with the murder; but a more important thought had suddenly occurred to him. He went to his clothes that lay draped on a chair and fumbled in the pocket of his vest. He found the object that he wanted and brought the little article to view.
An exclamation came to his lips as he held his hand beneath the light. In his palm lay a disk of grayish metal, smaller and thinner than a half dollar, and its center was a dull red character of the Chinese alphabet.
CHAPTER V
THE SHADOW ON THE WALL
A few hours after the murder of Scanlon, a man was walking hurriedly along a side street west of Broadway. There was something about his gait and actions that indicated his anxiety.
The collar of his brown overcoat was turned up about his ears, despite the fact that the night air was no more than cool. His purpose was evidently to avoid observation without exciting suspicion. In this he was successful, for he passed an officer at a corner without gaining a single glance from the man in uniform.
In the middle of a block, the man slowed his pace and came almost to a stop in the doorway of a darkened cigar store. His head turned quickly as he glanced in both directions; then he moved quickly across the street and into the shadowy entrance of an old-fashioned apartment. He pushed a key into the lock of the main door, gave a hurried glance behind him, and entered.
Hardly had the door closed before a slight motion occurred in the dark doorway of the cigar store across the street. The gloomy blackness seemed to spread and project itself into the street.
Something flitted across the street and was absorbed by the entrance way of the old apartment house. It was as though a shadow had detached itself from one building and had passed over to the other.
All was silent in the entrance to the apartment. Then came a slight, almost imperceptible clicking in the lock. The door opened inward and cast a long, moving shadow down the dimly lighted hall.
The door swung shut, noiselessly; but its shadow remained, and then extended itself along the hall, to be lost in the darkness of the unlighted stairway. A man came down the steps, whistling; but he noticed nothing.
The strange, movable shadow reappeared in the hallway of the third floor, and formed an oddly shaped blot outside a doorway. It remained there, motionless, part of the many shadows that were there.
The door of the apartment swung suddenly open, and its shadow spread over the queer blotch of darkness, completely obscuring it.
Two men peered down the hallway. One was short and stocky, with a black mustache, and a tense, grim countenance. The other was somewhat taller - a slender man with a long, pointed nose, and shrewd, shifty eyes. The muscles of his face twitched nervously. He stepped into the hall, his thin lips forming a mirthless grin.
“There’s no one here, Steve,” growled the slender man, in an undertone.
“I just wanted to make certain sure, Croaker,” replied the other, in a smooth, low voice.
“Don’t worry, Steve,” was the answer. “You’re safe. The entry gives us two doors between us and the hall. You know me well enough, Steve. I’m no sap. There’s no listeners-in on anything that goes on here.”
“All right, Croaker. Let’s get back inside. I’ve got a lot to spill.”
The door closed and the shadowy blot reappeared on the floor. It remained there a full minute; then it twisted fantastically and moved back toward the stairs.
Within the room, the man called Croaker was reassuring his visitor.
“Look out that window, Steve,” he said, “three stories down into the courtyard. Not a window below us. This floor is an extension, over a storehouse. You’d need a fire ladder to come up here. Shall I shut the window?”
“Leave it open,” said Steve nervously. “We’re safe right here, and we can hear any loud noise in the street like police whistles, for instance.”
He thrust his head from the window and satisfied himself of what his companion had said.
The lower floors were solid brick masonry, dark almost to a point of blackness. He could see the white pavement of the courtyard below.
On the other side of the court was a low one-story building; evidently an old garage. Croaker was right; only a fire ladder could scale this height.
Steve slipped into a chair in the corner of the room, just away from the window, from which he could face the door. It was at the foot of the bed, and Croaker sat on that article of furniture while he looked at his visitor.
“Well, Steve, what’s up?”
The stocky man pressed his knuckles against his mustache; then lowered his hand and spread it on his knee.
“I can trust you, Croaker?”
“Of course.”
“You’ll stick by me; even if you have to forget the rest of the gang?”
This time it was Croaker who appeared nervous.
“You aren’t figuring a double-cross, are you, Steve?”
“What if I am?”
“I won’t go in on it.”
“You won’t? Why not?”
“Because I don’t play that kind of a game.”
“You don’t, eh? Well, I know different.”
The man on the bed leaned angrily toward his visitor. For several seconds the two men glared steadily at each other. Then Croaker’s face began to twitch, and his eyes shifted from the stare of the other man.
Steve laughed.
“Why do you think I had you watch the hotels?” he asked. “Do you think that was for the crowd? I told you it was important, but I didn’t say who wanted it done. I’ll tell you why I picked you for it, Croaker. I picked you because I’m the only man who knows what you did when the gang pulled that job in Hoboken.”
Croaker’s face began to twitch again. His eyes showed their nervous fright as he looked toward Steve.
“You ain’t saying nothing about it?” he pleaded.
“Not a word, Croaker - if you work with me now.”
A long, distorted shadow appeared on the wall at the far side of the room. It might have come from something swinging in from the window, for the light was in the corner, close by Steve’s chair. But neither of the men observed it. Both were intent in their conversation. The shadow remained motionless.
“Listen, Croaker,” said Steve. “When we slipped you that cash and those stock certificates over in Hoboken, you thought that we hadn’t had time to count them. But we had. I was the guy that did the counting. It was short when we got together to split.”
“You ain’t told anybody?”
“Nobody.”
“You ain’t going to tell?”
“Not if you stick with me this trip. I know why you keep in this room so much. You’ve still got some of those certificates here. Maybe you’ve got some other swag you pinched from other jobs. But I don’t tell people all I know.”
The shadow on the wall swung away suddenly and disappeared completely. A moment later, Croaker rose from the bed and walked to the window, where he peered anxiously into the dark night. Then he returned and sat
