“Granted,” replied Carma. “You made a big mistake when you went into that speakeasy where I found you goofy from bad booze. If your old man hadn’t had a lot of dough, I’d have left you there. But when I found out who you were, I married you.”
“And when I woke up,” retorted Graham, “I knew the whole affair was a frame-up. I told you I was through. I left. Then you came around and threatened to blackmail my father.”
“He had dough,” said Carma. “He could have paid. It would have been quits then.”
“It would have been best,” admitted Graham. “I didn’t see it that way at the time. So I went out to raise cash to keep you quiet. A crook spotted me” - Graham was careful not to name Wolf Daggert - “and showed me the way to easy money.”
“A great fellow,” declared Carma, “whoever he was. You’ve been in the money ever since, big boy.”
“Crooked money,” said Graham bitterly. “Stolen money. Once I started, I had to keep on.”
“And you went at it right.”
“I figured it as a temporary proposition,” declared Graham. “I hoped for a break. I thought it had come when my uncle swindled my father out of all his money. My father died. You were powerless - for I was no longer heir to a large estate. So I thought. That was when I left New York.”
“That was when I used my noodle,” laughed Carma. “I kept on your trail, didn’t I, big boy?”
“Yes,” grunted Graham. “You started a new racket. You knew too much about my criminal activities. Every time I picked up a bundle of cash, you were there to grab your share - always the big share.”
“Turn on the radio,” sneered Carma. “Maybe a little soft music would make you feel better.”
“I came back to New York,” declared Graham, “and I landed in with some big workers. More money here - until you bobbed up again. You wanted a larger share of the cash. I’ve had to give it to you.”
“Or I’ll squeal,” laughed Carma. “Between that marriage license and what I know about you, you’ve got to pay. Plenty!”
“If I happened to be a quitter,” returned Graham, “I’d give up the game. I’d take the rap - even if it meant twenty years in the pen.”
“Not you, big boy,” scoffed the woman. “You like your freedom too well. Maybe you’ll try to ditch me again - I’m always watching for that.”
“Maybe,” said Graham. “But not while things are going good here in New York. Some day, though, I may find a town where I can settle down without you knowing where I am.”
“What about Southwark?” suggested Carma, in a baiting tone.
Graham Wellerton leaped to his feet. His eyes were furious. His fists clenched. His words were bitter as he blurted forth condemning tones.
“Southwark!” he snarled. “Never mention the name of that place! I hate everyone who lives there, now that my father is dead. My uncle - my mother’s brother - old Ezra Talboy - the meanest skinflint in the world! Worse than you, Carma - and that’s saying a lot!
“I wish some calamity would hit that town! Kill everybody in it! I wouldn’t trust myself in Southwark. The very name enrages me!”
“You’re not a killer,” said Carma, with a deprecating laugh. “You never will be. Even if you were in Southwark, you wouldn’t commit murder. Ditch me again, big boy, and I’ll find you. But I’ll give you a tip right now - I’ll never look for you in Southwark.”
“I’m not a killer,” admitted Graham. “That’s the only reason my uncle goes on living. He pilfered my father’s money; I’ll never get a cent of it. Yet Ezra Talboy still lives. No - I draw the line at murder - and that’s the only reason you’re alive, Carma. Dozens of times I’ve wanted to kill you.”
“But you never will,” said the woman calmly, rising as she tucked the five thousand dollars in her hand bag. “Well, so long, big boy. Look me up after the next big job. If you don’t, I’ll find you, wherever you are.”
“I don’t doubt it,” retorted Graham. “You’re a jinx right enough. I’ll probably move to another apartment now that you’ve come here.”
“Suit yourself,” laughed Carma, as she walked to the door and sarcastically blew a kiss in Graham’s direction. “Don’t forget when my next allowance is due.”
AFTER the woman had gone, Graham Wellerton paced up and down the room. He hated Carma - and he had reason. He remembered when first he had met her - Carma Urstead - a typical gangster’s moll.
Graham had seen the woman only once or twice prior to the event in the speakeasy. He could remember now how he had awakened from a drunken stupor to learn that he had married Carma Urstead. He recalled how he had cursed her; how he had departed, hoping never to see her again.
Carma had trailed him everywhere. In desperation, Graham had sought Wolf Daggert, the gangster whom he had met frequently at night clubs in Manhattan. Wolf had shown him the way to crime; Carma had necessitated Graham following the course that Wolf offered.
A smile of grim, determination appeared upon Graham Wellerton’s firm face. The young man strode to a corner of the living room, picked up a telephone, dialed a number and began to speak in a low, cautious tone.
His words were not audible at the window. The Shadow, listening, softly raised the sash and shade. His tall form stepped into the living room. Graham, seated at a telephone table, heard nothing but the talk of the man at the other end.
Sash and shade were lowered. Like a phantom, The Shadow glided to the doorway of another room. There, his form obscured, The Shadow stood close enough to overhear what Graham Wellerton was saying. The gentleman of crime was talking to members of his mob.
Across the floor stretched a streak of blackness, a shade that ended in a weirdly shaped profile. The silhouette, the visible token of The Shadow, appeared upon the carpet by the table where Graham Wellerton was seated.
“All right, Frank,” Graham was saying. “Put Pete on the wire… That you, Pete?… We’re moving out of town tomorrow night… Have everything set… Now listen - I’ll tell you where to meet me.”
Graham Wellerton’s eyes froze. Staring over the mouthpiece of the telephone, they spied the silhouette upon the floor. Instinctively, the young man knew that the blackened profile signified the presence of a human being. Another thought flashed through his mind - the identity of the personage who had somehow entered this room.
The Shadow!
Despite a chilling tenseness, Graham retained his composure. Pete’s voice was coming over the wire, inquiring where the meeting was to take place. Graham realized that if his conjecture was correct - that if The Shadow were watching here, any statement of a meeting point would be suicidal.
“Wait a minute, Pete.” Graham’s voice came steadily. “I’d better wait until I’ve seen the big shot. I’m dropping in on him around nine o’clock. I’ll call you from there… That’s right… Wait around until you hear from me.”
Graham Wellerton hung up the receiver. Without moving from his chair, he drew forth a cigarette and lighted it. Staring over the flicker of the match, he watched the spot upon the floor. Slowly, with progressive glide, the streak of darkness dwindled into nothingness.
THE SHADOW was here. Doubtless he had slipped into the obscurity of the adjoining room. Graham smiled. He arose from his chair, sauntered to the window, raised shade and sash and stood staring into the darkness of the courtyard, whistling softly as he flicked cigarette ashes down into the space below him.
The gentleman of crime could hear no sound, yet he seemed to sense that eyes were watching him, that a living presence was gliding through the room. He knew that he was at the mercy of The Shadow, yet he held the hunch that the master of darkness would depart without striking.
For the crux of crime would come tomorrow. Graham had heard of The Shadow’s ways; how the weird specter of the night toyed with the plans of evil schemers and bided his time until their contemplated crimes were nearing the point of completion.
Two minutes passed. Graham puffed his cigarette furiously, then tossed the butt from the window. He turned back into the living room. The atmosphere seemed relieved. He was sure that The Shadow had gone.
Graham smiled.
He knew now that The Shadow must have learned Wolf Daggert’s ways; that the phantom warrior had been
