seen this man before. Tall, heavy - someone connected with crime -
Markham’s thoughts broke off as an express roared into the station. He saw the man start slowly for one car; then, on an impulse, hurry down the platform and board the train at another spot. The doors were closing. Markham leaped aboard, two cars away from his quarry.
As the train started, the detective sergeant was on his way to the car where the other man had entered. There were four watching Spider Carew; it would be well to watch this fellow also. There might be some connection, Markham decided.
The detective sergeant reached the car where the man was just as the express was passing the Eighteenth Street local station.
Then came the unexpected. Before Markham’s eyes, a drama of crime crept into actuality, so subtly that the detective sergeant did not realize what was about to happen until the actual deed occurred.
First, Markham recognized the profile of the man whom he was watching. A pair of bloated lips, a pudgy nose, a bulging forehead; these and roughly shaven cheeks awoke the detective sergeant’s recollections.
Socks Mallory! One-time racketeer - owner of the Club Janeiro - a man wanted for murder! That was the fellow whom Markham had followed on a hunch!
The local train had pulled out of Eighteenth Street, and at the very moment when Markham made his discovery of Mallory’s identity, the express was overtaking the local. The detective sergeant caught a peculiar gleam in Mallory’s eye. He realized that the man was watching for something as he stared from the window.
Markham looked in the same direction. He was near the front of the car; Mallory just beyond the center. Thus, as the express slowly moved past the speed-gaining local, Markham was the first to spy the occupants of the third car in the other train.
Spider Carew was gripping a strap. Hembroke and the three other detectives were all at least ten feet away from him. Markham noted the anxious look on Spider’s face.
The express moved slowly by; Markham looked through his own car, and suddenly realized that Socks Mallory was on a direct line with Spider Carew.
The trains were traveling at almost uniform speed. In the local, the detectives who were watching Spider saw a hunted look come on the stoop-shouldered gangster’s face. They looked into the express. They, like Markham, saw Socks Mallory!
The hard-faced gang leader yanked a revolver from his pocket. With a sure, determined motion, he leveled the weapon through the open window before him, and covered Spider point-blank.
With the roaring trains side by side, in the midst of terrific noise, Mallory had a perfect shot at a range of no more than six feet!
The flash of the revolver was accompanied by a roar that was scarcely heard above the rumbling of the trains. A second report followed immediately afterward, as Socks Mallory made sure.
THE second bullet was not needed. The first found its mark; the next caught Spider Carew as he was toppling away from the strap.
The detectives in the local pulled out their revolvers. Markham, in the express, duplicated the action.
Socks Mallory was too swift. His next deed eliminated all but Markham. With his free hand, the killer reached up and yanked the emergency cord which ran through the car. The air brakes whistled. The cars of the local swept along in rapid succession as the express came to a jolting stop.
Socks Mallory was springing toward the end of the car. No one moved to stop him. Markham could not fire; too many people were in the way. By the time the detective sergeant had reached the end of the car, Socks had opened the door between the cars, and was leaping to the local track.
Markham delivered bullets that flattened themselves against a post between the tracks. He leaped from the train to follow the escaping killer. Somewhere along the tracks, heading back toward the Eighteenth Street station - that was the way which Socks had taken.
Markham kept grimly on. Socks Mallory was well ahead; the detective sergeant could see no trace of him. It took Markham some four minutes to reach the Eighteenth Street station; meanwhile an uptown local and roaring downtown trains had forced him to stick to the uptown express track.
At sight of the lighted station platforms, Markham paused. He realized that Socks could have scurried by this point; but he knew that the killer would have been seen had he clambered up either platform.
Markham waited a full minute, undecided whether to keep on, or to take to a station platform. Suddenly a flashlight glared from the uptown station. Markham heard a voice shouting his name. Cautiously, the detective sergeant went across the local track and raised his arms, to be pulled up to the platform.
It was Merton Hembroke who had called. The detective was explaining how he had arrived back at Eighteenth Street so suddenly.
“Saw the express stop,” he said. “Left one man at Twenty-third Street when the local reached there. Another to get on the telephone. Brought one man here with me. He’s on the platform opposite. Man on the wire is telling headquarters to cover Fourteenth and Twenty-eighth.”
“The emergency exits?” queried Markham. “I passed one on the way here, but I didn’t see the man I was after.”
“Couple of policemen at Twenty-third,” responded Hembroke. “Sent them to cover the emergencies. They’re getting others. Headquarters will take care of it. I came here in a taxi - in a hurry. Say, Markham, I saw the guy. I thought I recognized him. Do you know who he was?”
“Socks Mallory,” returned Markham. “Wanted for murder.”
“That’s the bird!” exclaimed Hembroke. “I know him now! Say - I’ve got to pass that word along quick.”
“Go ahead,” said Markham. “I’ll take charge here and along the line. Leave it to me, Hembroke.”
THE detective was momentarily piqued at Markham’s assumption of command; then a thought occurred to him. He spoke in the tone of a subordinate, even though his words were a suggestion.
“Suppose I hop up to the commissioner’s,” he said. “After I’ve passed along the dope on Socks Mallory. The commissioner was waiting for Spider Carew to show up - and Spider’s dead.”
“O.K.,” agreed Markham.
Detective Hembroke hurried to the street. He encountered two policemen as he reached the top of the steps. He flashed his badge.
“Detective Sergeant Markham in charge,” said Hembroke. “Socks Mallory is the man we’re looking for.”
As Hembroke paused upon the street corner, a police car sirened up to where he stood. Inspector Timothy Klein alighted. He saw the detective. Hembroke stepped forward and gave the information regarding Socks Mallory; then added that he was on his way to Weston’s, at Markham’s approval.
“Very good,” agreed Klein. “Hurry along, Hembroke.”
All along the avenue, police and detectives were coming to the search for the escaped killer. Socks Mallory’s daring deed had been quick in its execution. The response of the law had not been lacking.
Detective Hembroke smiled grimly as he boarded a cab and gave Weston’s address. Socks Mallory was underground. Every exit of the subway for blocks was covered. Whether or not the killer was captured, nothing but commendation could be made for Detective Hembroke’s promptitude.
CHAPTER IX
THE SHADOW’S CLEW
WHILE policemen and detectives were engaged in the swift and thorough search for Spider Carew’s murderer, another quest was under way - one which Spider had dreaded, and had taken drastic measures to forestall.
The Shadow, moving through the underworld, had reached the end of a trail. He was at the threshold of the secret hideout which Spider Carew had so recently abandoned.
The turn of last night’s events had forced The Shadow to abandon his original course. The Shadow had used Spider as a means of locating the spot where the minions of The Red Blot were to perpetrate their plotted crime. Then, in order to rout the marauders, he had given no further heed to Spider.
After his battle with Socks Mallory’s mobsters, The Shadow had again been forced to give up the chase. He had left that to the police; they had failed. The Red Blot’s henchmen had made another mysterious
