This arrival walked directly into an elevator. He stood motionless in a corner as the car moved upward.
His shoulders were erect. His right hand held the cane straight beside him. His left, with crooked elbow aiding, kept the cigarette only a few inches below his chin.
This pose was apparently habitual with the man. It gave him a somewhat military appearance. Despite this, the man was not conspicuous. The other passengers in the elevator scarcely noticed him. When he told the operator to let him off at the sixteenth floor, his tone was carefully modulated.
After leaving the elevator, this stranger went directly to a door marked 1609. He tapped lightly with the head of his cane. The peculiar resonance of the tap was evidently recognized from within. The door opened, and the visitor was admitted.
One small light shone in the corner of the room. It dimly outlined the figure of the man who had answered the door. This individual was shorter and chunkier than his visitor. His face, too, was firm; but it showed crude features that gave its owner a wolfish expression.
'Hello, Zubian,' croaked the occupant of Room 1609. 'Been expecting you ever since morning.'
'I waited until after nightfall, Gats,' responded the visitor dryly. 'Discretion is wise at all times.'
'Thought maybe I was in a jam, eh?' 'Gats' chuckled as he spoke. 'Well, I don't blame you. That looked like a risky job this morning, but I knew it would swing easy. When Gats Hackett does his stuff, it goes across.'
'Apparently,' said Zubian, with a smile.
Gats Hackett grinned. He took the statement as a compliment.
THE contrast between the two men was obvious. Gats Hackett was as crude as his visitor was subtle.
That was why Gats had a wholesome respect for this man whom he knew as Felix Zubian.
With an evil smile, Gats produced a bottle of liquor. He offered his visitor a drink, and Zubian accepted.
This act completed, Gats sat in a chair opposite Zubian, and began to talk in a low tone.
'I'll give you the whole lay, Zubian,' he said. 'If I've figured it right, the job is going through on schedule.
You're not in on this part of the work, but Carleton wants you to know the whole business, so I might as well start with the beginning, even if he's already told you some of it.'
'Proceed,' said Zubian quietly.
'Well, we're out to get The Shadow!' declared Gats emphatically.
'The Shadow,' repeated Zubian reflectively. 'The Shadow—whoever he may be.'
'The Shadow's real enough,' stated Gats, licking his cracked lips. 'Maybe you've never heard much about him—being out of the country the way you've been; but I've heard about him. Say—you don't think I run a mob for nothing, do you?'
Zubian did not reply. He merely shook his head.
Gats helped himself to another drink, and stared directly at Zubian as he continued to assert the reality of The Shadow.
'Listen, Zubian,' said Gats, 'when this silk-hat fellow, Carleton, came to me and give me a chance to work in on the big jobs he's planning, I grabbed the idea quick. Savvy? Carleton tells me that with a good guy working for him—a guy with a mob—he can knock off plenty. He's got the dough to back it.
'When he told me that he had lined up a smart guy from the other side of the pond—meaning you—I figured there would be plenty in it. But when Carleton spills the thought that he's going after jewels in a big way, I tells him that we've got to fix The Shadow first.'
'Why The Shadow?'
'Because that bimbo has queered some mighty big jobs in the jewel line. Did you ever hear about the raid that some smart boys pulled on the Bolsheviks in Moscow; when they went after the Russian crown jewels?'
'Yes. I heard talk of it in Paris.'
'Well, those in the know figure The Shadow put the skids under that job. But there's another case that goes further back than that. Ever hear of Diamond Bert Farley?'
'No.'
'He's doing time now. Had the greatest racket in the country. Disguised himself like a chink, and called himself Wang Foo. The cops got him and sent him away to the Big House. But it wasn't the cops that got him—it was The Shadow.'
Gats paused for a few moments, then continued his account in a reminiscent voice.
'There's not many of them see The Shadow and remember it,' he declared. 'Bert Farley was one. He's keeping mighty mum, I'll tell you. The Shadow let him live so the bulls could make him confess. He didn't tell them much more than he had to. But he hates The Shadow, and he squawked to an old pal of his—
Squint Freston.'
'Ah!' Interest was expressed in Zubian's tone. 'Squint Freston! The same man that is -'
'The smooth guy that's working for me right now,' interposed Gats, with a knowing grin.
'What does Freston know?'
'He figures he knows plenty. He found out from Diamond Bert that The Shadow had a guy working for him. So Squint goes snooping around on his own hook. The breaks were with him. He saw a guy that answered Diamond Bert's description. That's the guy we're working on now.'
'Harry Vincent?'
'You guessed it. Now I'll give you the dope. This bird Vincent seems to be a sort of handy man for The Shadow. We figured that if The Shadow got wise to something through Vincent, he'd fall for it. So we framed the gag.
'First, we grabbed off Dobie Wentz. He was a rat—Dobie—a regular double-crosser. At odds with his pal, Zipper Marsh. We took two rooms here at the Metrolite. This is one—my room; Squint took the other on the fourteenth floor. Both of us under phony names.
'Last night we got Dobie up to the room that Squint was living in. Had him half doped, and kept him that way. Just enough shots of hop so he wouldn't really wake up.
'This morning, down in Squint's room, we watch and see Vincent go out. Good. Squint meets the chambermaid in the corridor and bamboozles her into opening the door of Vincent's room—1408.
'We slide Dobie in there. Load him with some sure poison, and set him on the bed; then let him flop down on the floor. We plant some odd articles around him, and among them an envelope addressed to The Shadow.'
'Ah! So Vincent would discover it on his return.'
'Sure thing. That's just what Vincent does. But Squint and I aren't around to watch it. We're up here, laying low.
'It made a big mess, finding that body, but we figured Vincent would be smart enough to sneak the envelope. He must have done it, and got away with it. Joe Cardona, the dick, came up to investigate, and he let Vincent go. Couldn't hold him; he had a good-enough alibi.'
'And then?'
'Squint took up the trail. Smart gazebo, Squint. He's the best guy in the business when it comes to trailing anybody.'
'Perhaps,' observed Zubian. 'I doubt it, though. I know of one who is probably superior.'
'Not here in New York?'
'Here in New York,' responded Zubian significantly.
'I'd like to meet him,' growled Gats. 'Well, there's no use arguing about it. Squint is doing this job. He's trailing Vincent; and that way, he's going to find The Shadow. That's why I wanted you here to-night—or earlier. I've been expecting Squint back. When he gets here, he'll have plenty to say. I want you to hear it.'
FELIX ZUBIAN was reflective. He was a calm man, who seldom expressed his detailed thoughts. The words of Gats Hackett had been of the utmost interest to him.
Despite his inquisitive attitude, Zubian knew much more than he had shown. He had heard of The Shadow in Paris. He knew of a mysterious raid, in the heart of the apache district of the French capital, wherein The Shadow had triumphed over the fiercest fiends of the Parisian underworld.
All that Gats Hackett had said to-night was known to Zubian. He had heard it from their mutual friend—the man to whom Gats had referred as a 'silk hat.'
