both wrong.”
“Which makes us both right.”
Quidler, gulping from a glass, stopped short. He turned to Walbert, with a serious stare.
“Somebody was watching me,” he declared. “Maybe not at Coyd's; but at other places. Say—there couldn't be a third guy working for Weed?”
“Not a chance. Finish your drink. The next is on me.”
Quidler complied; then made another comment:
“There is a guy, though. He's working for somebody different than Weed. Guess he didn't spot you, Walbert; but he trailed me.”
“If he trailed you, he's liable to trail me. Especially if we team up on the q.t.”
“You said it. It's something we ought to find out about.”
“I'm going to.”
QUIDLER turned and spied Jake. He beckoned to the fellow and Jake came over. Quidler spoke confidentially.
“There's a guy been trailing me, Jake. How about getting a line on him? Could you help me?”
“Sure. It's a cinch. Want me to bag him?”
“Can you do it?”
“Soft. I got everything outside. A phony cab for the saps; a touring car to cover. All you got to do is start out in a cab of your own. The phony will pick up the bird you want.”
Walbert interposed.
“You don't need a cab, Quidler,” offered the mustached dick. “Ride with me in my coupe. Which way will we head, Jake?”
“Over the Potomac bridge. Duck off the road and douse the glims. My man in the hack will do the rest. You can come on back.”
“What about the mug?” inquired Quidler, “We got nothing against him, you know.”
“We'll make him squawk,” assured Jake. “It don't take much. Leave that to us.”
“Sure,” grumbled Walbert. “Jake knows his stuff. He'll handle the bird.”
“You bet I will.” leered Jake. “Out at Stew Luffy's joint. Wait a couple of minutes, while I fix things. Then go out and get in your buggy.” Jake departed.
FIVE minutes later, Walbert and Quidler set down their empty glasses. Buzzing as they left the taproom, they went through the lobby and out to the street. Cliff Marsland saw them pass. Calmly, The Shadow's agent followed.
Walbert's coupe was parked a hundred feet down the street. The dicks boarded it; Walbert started the motor, and the car drew away. Cliff spied it from the curb; as he looked for a taxi, one shot into view from the other side of the street. Cliff boarded the cab and ordered the driver to follow the coupe.
The two cars crossed the Potomac. Walbert took to a curving boulevard; then found a little?traveled road and chose it. Cliff, crouched forward in the taxi, pointed out the path to the driver. The fellow nodded; but lagged slightly. Up ahead, the coupe swung a curve.
“Here's a good spot.” said Walbert, to Quidler. He pulled the coupe to the side beneath some trees. “We'll douse the glims and watch what happens.”
Out went the lights. The dicks watched from darkness. As they did, the top of the rumble seat opened cautiously. A wizened face poked its nose into view. Hawkeye looked about; then gazed toward the road as he heard a car approaching.
It was Cliff's taxi. Hawkeye watched it pass; he heard the chuckles from the dicks. The cab was slowing, a hundred yards ahead. Then, from around the curve, came a swift touring car. As Hawkeye peered over the rear fender, he saw the larger machine overtake the cab, just as the taxi stopped.
Watching, Hawkeye saw men pile from the touring car and drag a figure from the taxi. Walbert started the coupe; the car swung about and started back toward Washington. Hawkeye, high out of the rumble seat, could see the taxi turning to come back; the touring car was going on ahead.
Boldly, the little spotter swung clear of his hiding place. Clinging to the right fender, he pushed his face up toward the open window. He could hear comments despite the rattle of the car. The dicks were chuckling.
“The guy was trailing you, right enough, Quidler.”
“Yeah. Thanks for helping get rid of him, Walbert. He'll talk plenty when he gets out to Luffy's joint.”
“Jake's taximan must have shoved a gun in his face. Covered him unexpected and made it soft for the other guys.”
The car was near the Potomac bridge. Lights showed a gasoline station. Hawkeye dropped from the running board as the coupe showed. With loping gait, he hurried toward the service station. There, Hawkeye found a telephone.
THREE minutes later, The Shadow saw the clerk at the Hotel Halcyon look into the box marked 808. Rising from his lobby chair, The Shadow went to a telephone. He called the room. Burbank's quiet voice gave the news.
“Instructions,” declared The Shadow, in Arnaud's easy tone. “Hawkeye to cover Weed.”
“Instructions received.” was Burbank's response.
The Shadow strolled from the lobby. He walked straight to a parking space; there he entered a coupe that was parked there in the name of Henry Arnaud. Behind the wheel, he started the car and slowed at an inconspicuous corner of the lot. Swiftly he donned cloak and hat, from his briefcase.
Hands thrust automatics beneath the black cloak. Gloves slid over long fingers. A foot pressed the accelerator as hands gripped the wheel. The car roared as it sped along a clear street. The speedy coupe reached the Potomac bridge.
The car passed a cab on the bridge. Not the one that had carried Cliff; that had already reached Washington.
This was one that Hawkeye had called from the service station. The shrewd spotter was speeding back, to serve as The Shadow's substitute.
For The Shadow had given up his plan to follow Tyson Weed in person. His mission was one of emergency; a rescue that had become most pressing. Hawkeye had learned the vital facts by listening to Walbert and Quidler.
The Shadow knew the location of “Stew” Luffy's notorious gambling dive, an undercover establishment that persisted in defiance of the law. Minister of vengeance, he was speeding thither to aid Cliff Marsland, trapped by men of crime!
CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW'S SUBSTITUTE.
FIVE minutes after The Shadow had left the Hotel Halcyon, Tyson Weed appeared in the lobby. Luck had tricked The Shadow to?night. The chance meeting of Walbert and Quidler had forced an issue that the dicks, individually, would not have pressed. Cliff Marsland's capture had been the result of a cooperative plan.
Drawn to an immediate quest, The Shadow had been forced to leave an open time period. Chances were that Weed would not choose those few minutes for his trip to the old apartment house that lay somewhere in Washington; but again, the short odds won. Weed was leaving the hotel while Hawkeye was still on his way in from the Potomac bridge.
Outside the hotel, Weed hailed a cab. About to enter it, the lobbyist paused. A newsboy, coming along the street, was shouting out the headlines as he sold the bulldog editions of a morning journal. Weed paused to buy a newspaper. He fumbled for the change and found it.
A penny slipped from his hand as he paid the newsboy. The coin rolled across the sidewalk and disappeared through a grating. Snatching the newspaper roughly from the boy's hand, Weed turned toward the cab.
“Say, mister—”
The newsboy's plaint was wistful. He had not even touched the coin that the man had dropped. Weed snarled angrily.
