unarmed ship crew before the officers could halt them.
Thus The Shadow held real command of the situation, from his shrouded lookout post. His laugh, and a few well-directed shots, could frustrate any invasion and bring the police to the vital spot before crooks might gain a foothold. The Shadow was ready, vigilant, awaiting such attack.
The moment did not come. Nothing disturbed the scene upon the pier. The money was distributed; some crew members went to their quarters, while others came ashore, where police escorted them away from the treacherous waterfront.
Arnold Melbrun and the shipping men drove away in their cars. Lights were extinguished on board the Anitoga. Deep quiet lay along the river.
Guards about the interned liner were puzzled by a whispery laugh that came
from the ship's bridge, like a ghostly echo. They made a search, but found no one. By then, The Shadow was gone. His parting laugh had a significance which the men who heard it did not understand.
It was a tone of prophecy. The Shadow foresaw that crime would strike again. Melbrun's cash was a thing of the past, so far as crooks were concerned.
Their next effort would involve larger game. Meanwhile, it would be The Shadow's
business to locate the missing man who managed crime, Jake Smarley.
The law had chosen the same quest, and regarded it a simple one. The Shadow felt that it might prove more complex than the police supposed, for he credited Smarley with foresight in choosing a suitable hideaway. Nevertheless, The Shadow's whispered laugh denoted confidence.
As yet, The Shadow had not struck upon the crux of the whole case. He did not know that in searching for Jake Smarley, he would be hunting a man who no longer existed!
CHAPTER VI
THE SECOND FACE
THREE glum men sat in their customary meeting place, glowering at one another. They were the lieutenants who had taken orders from the mysterious crook who called himself Five-face, and they were beginning to regret their new
alliance. Their apartment looked shabbier than ever; they had less money in their card game.
It was Grease Rickel who broke the monotony, by slapping a fistful of cards upon the table. Rising with a growl, the slimy-faced racketeer stalked the room, then began a verbal outburst.
'Jake Smarley!' sneered Grease. 'A flash in the pan! A guy who couldn't deliver. We were boobs to join up with him!'
Banker Dreeb did not fully agree. His solemn face was thoughtful. At last,
he spoke dryly:
'Why blame Smarley? He worked the game as well as he could. It just happened that Melbrun outfoxed him.'
'Yeah?' Clip Zelber put the sharp query. 'Smarley didn't know the cash box
was a dummy, did he?'
'No,' admitted Banker, 'I guess he didn't.'
'Then what did he drop it for?' snapped Clip. 'I'll tell you why. Because he was yellow! He met up with The Shadow, and he couldn't stand the gaff.
Smarley, the bigshot! We were lugs to waste a bunch of good trigger men helping
that guy.'
Outvoted two to one, Banker became silent. Both Grease and Clip continued to gripe. Three days had passed since the raid at Melbrun's. The whole thing had been a fluke. The only luck lay in the fact that their own parts in the crime lay undiscovered. At least, they had managed to cover their tracks, but that was small comfort.
They needed cash, and said so. The argument was one that Banker could not dispute. Plucking a newspaper from a table, Grease shoved it under Banker's nose and pointed out two photographs on the front page.
'There's the guy that claimed he had brains,' sneered Grease, pointing to Smarley's picture. 'Look at that dried-up map of his. Five grand reward for Jake Smarley. Say - if he comes crawling in here, the best thing we could do would be grab him and collect the dough.
'When it comes to brains, here's the fellow that really has them.' Grease tapped the other picture. 'Arnold Melbrun, who is putting up the reward. You know why he's offering it - because Smarley was dumb enough to put the blast on
that secretary, Kelson. That was the biggest boner of all.'
Banker was seated at the table, shuffling the pack of cards. He invited Grease and Clip to join him, but they saw no reason for the game. As Clip put it, they were tired of passing money around the triangle and borrowing it back from each other. Banker smiled at Clip's remark.
'We'll get some new money into the game,' he said dryly. 'I just heard that Flush Tygert is back in town.'
Mention of the name brought eager looks from Grease and Clip. They remembered their last game with Flush, a few months before. It had proven profitable to everyone except Flush Tygert.
'A funny gazebo, Flush,' chuckled Banker. 'Card hustling is his racket.
He
used to trim the chumps every time he took a boat trip. But he never could make
dough playing poker straight. It kind of annoyed him.'
'I remember,' nodded Grease. 'He said he liked to join a game with guys like us, just to see how it felt being on the losing end. There's one thing I never could figure out. If Flush was so smart, why couldn't he trim us?'
'Because he didn't have a shill,' explained Clip. 'He always signed up a stooge when he rode the packets to Europe. I guess you weren't here, Grease, the day he showed us the flush trick. That's the one that gave Flush his moniker.'
Grease showed new interest.
'I heard it different,' he said. 'I thought they called him Flush because he always looked flush. You know, with diamonds sticking all over him and wads of dough bulging from his pockets.'
'That's the story he tells the chumps,' explained Banker. 'Flush had to have some alibi for his moniker, after the other hustlers pinned it on him.
When Flush gets here, Grease, we'll have him show you that pet trick of his, just to put him in the right mood.'
THE three lieutenants were deep in a new card game, when a knock at the door announced the arrival of Flush Tygert. They were due for a disappointment,
as soon as the gambler entered.
Flush looked the same as ever: tall, thin-haired, with a long, sallow face
that wore a perpetual gold-toothed smile. But his blue serge suit was shiny; its
glitter took the place of diamonds. As for his pockets, they hadn't the slightest sign of a bulge.
It was quite plain that Flush Tygert had fallen on bad times. His roving eyes were actually greedy, as they studied the few hundred dollars of cash that
lay on the card table.
Grease Rickel gave a snarling welcome, which brought him a shin kick from Clip Zelber. Meanwhile, Banker Dreeb covered the incident by extending a glad hand to the visitor.
In this instance, Banker and Clip were outvoting Grease. They considered it good policy to give Flush a welcome, even if he did look broke. Flush had quick ways of getting into the money. He might come back within a week quite as
flush as ever.
'Sit down and play a few hands, Flush,' suggested Banker. 'Your credit is good, if you need any. By the way, before we start, show Grease the flush trick. He was asking how you trimmed the chumps so easy.'
A pleased gleam showed on Flush's face, as apparent as the glitter of his gold teeth. He took a chair and invited Clip to sit opposite, to assist him in the stunt. Then, gesturing toward Clip, Flush stated in a smooth but drawly tone:
