'Suppose we three did the job ourselves. We couldn't go to Melbrun's office wearing masks, or we wouldn't get inside. So we go as ourselves, and then what? We get the dough and lam with it, before the bulls can nail us. But we're marked, and there's one guy that will never forget us.'
Pausing, Grease stared from Banker to Clip, then snarled the name that both of his pals had in mind:
'The Shadow!'
IN the following silence, the three forgot Jake Smarley. They didn't remember the sad-faced bookie until he broke the spell with one of his crazy cackles.
'Three big-shots!' jeered Smarley. 'Three big guys, chopped down to midgets! Maybe you'd be useful, though' - his dryish lips took on a grin - 'if a real big-shot let you work for him. Suppose a real brain came along. Would you play ball?'
Puzzlement, then interest, showed on the faces of the three listeners. It was Grease who gruffed:
'On what kind of terms?'
'Forty percent for the big-shot,' proposed Smarley. 'You three divide the other sixty. The big guy walks in and gets the hundred grand, and you three have your outfits outside, to cover his getaway. And this' - Smarley was crouched forward on the table - 'won't be the only job.'
No vote was needed. Grease, Banker, Clip, all voiced their instant agreement. They were willing to serve as lieutenants under such a chief, if Smarley could produce him. When they inquired who the bigshot was, Smarley gave
them a dryish grin.
'Call him Five-face,' suggested the bookie. 'Because he's got five faces
-
get it? He gets spotted when he grabs the mazuma, sure, but even The Shadow won't find him. Because Five-face will wipe off his map, like this' - Smarley started to spread his hands across his face - 'and be another guy!'
An instant later, the lieutenants were gawking in amazement. They weren't looking at Jake Smarley any longer. His face had changed; it was shrewd, rather
than drab. As the three men squinted, Smarley's hands made another sweep.
His face seemed to enlarge, to become fuller and more genial. Then, as his
hands performed another swing, he turned his head and gave them a brief view of
a set profile that wore an expression of disdain.
One more quick change came, as the face turned toward them, but before the
three lieutenants could gain more than a vague impression, a sweep of the swift-moving hands restored the drab features of Jake Smarley.
'That's just the general idea,' cackled Smarley. 'From now on, you'd better call me Five-face. Because, after tonight, you won't see Jake Smarley again. I'll need some make-up, and a reasonable amount of time, to make each face look permanent.'
Thoroughly amazed, Banker and Clip finally turned to Grease, expecting him
to be their spokesman. With a glance at his companions, Grease took the assignment.
'Listen, Five-face,' said Grease. 'You mean you'll pull this job as Smarley, get the dough, and come back here as another guy?'
The man who looked like Smarley was nodding as Grease spoke. With a half gulp, Grease continued:
'And then you'll pull another job, in the open, and show up different.
You'll keep on -'
'Until I've done four jobs,' inserted Five-face, in Smarley's wheezy style. 'I'll get rid of four faces and show up with the fifth. That's when we'll make the final settlement. But, meanwhile, you three have got to cover for me. The kind of jobs I pick' - the crackly tone was sharp - 'will mean some
swift getaways. I'll need guns and plenty of them.'
Grease shoved his hand across the table. The man called Smarley received it with a scrawny grip that suited the bookie's style. Banker and Clip proffered their hands to seal the bargain. Each was conscious that Five-face was giving them a shake that went with his present role of Smarley.
Then, with a final chortle, Five-face stepped to the door. He looked like Smarley, he acted like the bookie, but the lieutenants accepted him as a master
hand of crime, a brain that they were ready to serve. Their new leader, the man
of marvels, gave them a final admonition.
'Get posted at six,' ordered Five-face, 'outside of Melbrun's building.
I'll be Smarley when I go in, and Smarley when I come out. Tell your crews to cover for Smarley; nothing more. Let them think they're working for Smarley; they can spill that to the coppers, if any of them are ever asked.'
The door half opened, Five-face paused. Still wearing the withery look of Jake Smarley, he added:
'Because it won't matter in the future. After tonight, no one will ever see Jake Smarley again - not even The Shadow!'
CHAPTER II
CRIME TO COME
IT was midafternoon when the incredible Five-face changed the ambitions of
three lesser crooks and made them glad to be lieutenants, instead of big-shots,
on their own. The plan that Five-face proposed - that of crime at six o'clock
-
was quite in keeping with the situation, and therefore satisfactory to all.
By six, darkness would arrive, offering suitable surroundings for the lieutenants and their followers. But there was also a chance that other things could happen prior to the hour that Five-face had set. Crime's new brain had not fully calculated the effect of the newspaper report that told of cash in the office of the United Import Co.
Shortly before five o'clock, a car pulled up in front of the building where the importing company was located. Two private detectives, stationed near
the building entrance, gave the car a wary eye, until they recognized its occupant. The man who alighted was Arnold Melbrun, head of the United Import Co.
Melbrun was middle-aged, but he had the buoyancy of youth. Tall, broad-shouldered and erect, he displayed the true manner of a business executive. His face was broad and strong-chinned, marking him as a man of action. But his gray eyes, quick and restless, were those of a deep thinker and
matched the tapering shape of his features.
From the people thronging from the building, Melbrun promptly picked out the private detectives and drew them to one side. From beneath his arm, he brought a newspaper, showed them the headlines. The detectives began to understand Melbrun's worried air.
'I don't like it,' declared Melbrun, in a crisp tone. 'The newspapers were
not to know about this matter until the Anitoga docked. I'm going up to the office, to learn who let the news out. Meanwhile, I expect the utmost vigilance
from both of you.'
The detectives assured Melbrun that they would be on their toes. Entering the building, Melbrun waited while an elevator disgorged a load of workers who were going home. Riding up, he reached his own suite of offices, to find another pair of detectives on guard. He showed them the newspaper account, and repeated the admonition that he had given to the men below.
The employees of the United Import Co. were still at their desks. They often worked late, and Melbrun had insisted that they stay on the job this evening, without telling them why. As he glanced from desk to desk, the half dozen men busied themselves, as they always did when Melbrun was about.
Near an office marked 'Private' was a single desk, with a sallow man behind it. The fellow was Melbrun's secretary, Kelson. His eyes shifted when Melbrun's met them.
Without a word Melbrun opened the door of the private office and beckoned for Kelson to follow. When Kelson entered, Melbrun spread the newspaper and ordered the secretary to read it.
'I'm sorry, Mr. Melbrun,' pleaded Kelson, in a weak tone. 'The newspapers called up this afternoon and
