sure—and we'll be on hand to see him get the works.'
'Let's hope so.'
'Well, we may have to help things along a bit. If we do, you'll see some real fireworks. They don't call me Gats because I'm a good ping-pong player. When they hand out a moniker like mine, it means plenty.
Just the same, lay low is my motto, when you can follow it.'
'Let the others mix it up.'
'Right. Zipper Marsh can have the grief to-night.'
'You think he's prepared for it?'
'You bet. He's a tough gazebo. With Dobie Wentz cashing in— picture in the papers and all that—you can bet your last nickel that Zipper will be set.'
'Maybe he'll get cold feet.'
Gats Hackett guffawed in response to Carleton's expression of doubt.
'You don't know Zipper!' declared the gang leader. 'He's smart, and he's careful. He never backs out of a job. Besides that, he don't know anything about the phony note we sent The Shadow. Savvy?
'Here's the whole lay. Zipper planned this job out on Long Island. He's got the watchmen fixed at Grayson's place. He's got his mob along with him— not a big crowd, but a tough outfit just the same.
Dobie Wentz was scheduled to be with them.
'Dobie had an argument with Zipper, and got talking too much to Squint Freston. All on the q.t., you know, so Zipper never got wise. After Dobie spilled the beans, we grabbed him, wrote out the message to The Shadow, and left it on Dobie. Vincent got it; it went to Mann; now, if we've got any luck at all, The Shadow has it.'
'Which means,' interrupted Carleton, 'that he will butt into Zipper's affair on Long Island.'
'Right,' responded Gats. 'Now, Zipper likes to crack safes all on his own; but when he does, the other boys are laying near. Zipper's sure to know that Dobie has gotten his. What does that mean? I'll tell you.
Maybe somebody has found out something—that's the way Zipper will size it up.
'So to-night, the other boys will be watching for trouble. When The Shadow goes in there, he'll fall into the neatest trap a guy could find.
'But that isn't all. We framed the note to bring him there at two thirty. Zipper works on schedule, like a railroad train. His time isn't two thirty to-night. It's two o'clock. The job will be under way when The Shadow gets there. Just the time when they'll all be on the lookout.'
'Great stuff, Gats,' exclaimed Carleton, 'Say—this is the kind of a job I like. If it goes through like you've planned it, the big times will be just around the corner.'
The car had crossed a huge bridge to Long Island. Now it swerved into a narrow side street, and came to a stop. Three men came out of the darkness and climbed into the car.
These were Gats Hackett's mobsmen. Carleton viewed their arrival with pleasure. It showed that Gats was sparing no effort to see that plans worked out to-night.
'No talk of The Shadow now,' whispered Gats to Carleton. Then, in a louder tone, he said: 'There may not be much doing to-night, boys. We're going to lay low, that's all. There may be a gun fight with some soft swag laying loose after it's over. If it looks right, we'll crash in; if it doesn't we'll scram. So have the old smoke wagons ready when I give the word to go.'
The car rolled on through silence. The mobsmen at the wheel knew his destination. The automobile neared Jamaica; then took a narrow road and pulled into the driveway of an empty house. A hundred yards away, the trees of a broad lawn denoted the presence of another building.
Douglas Carleton glanced at the dial of his watch. It was after one o'clock. He smiled in the darkness.
Here, with Gats Hackett, he was waiting the outcome of this vigil. He, Douglas Carleton, clubman turned gangster, was the man behind the plot to end the career of The Shadow! The plot that was at this moment about to unfold in the Grayson mansion!
CHAPTER VI. OUT OF THE DARK
IN the corner of a paneled room, a gaunt man with twisted shoulders was working on the combination of a safe set in the wall. His face— cunning and evil in expression—held the semblance of a smile as he turned the dials before him.
A table lamp provided the illumination for the room. It was resting upon a taboret that the safe-cracker had chosen for the purpose. Its small, thick shade had been carefully arranged so that the light would shine directly upon the safe.
The remainder of the room was obscure. The black safe-front afforded no reflection, although the rays of light glistened upon its surface. Pieces of furniture showed dimly in the background; beyond them were the blocklike surface of drawn window shades.
Zipper Marsh was at work in the home of Adolph Grayson. Free from molestation, with all prepared for his task, the cunning crook was performing his job with calculated deliberation.
That was Zipper's method. He never operated haphazardly. His associates constituted a gang of well-chosen underlings. They took care of the details.
Egotistically, Zipper liked to imagine himself the principal character in a dramatic presentation. After the prologue came Zipper Marsh; after him, the epilogue.
So it had been to-night. Bribed watchmen, gangsters on guard, a trusted henchman at the wheel of a waiting car—these formed the misc en scene of Zipper Marsh's star performance.
The twisted crook paused in his work. It would not take him long now. A little rest would make the rest of the task easier.
With consummate caution, Zipper listened to make sure that there were no sounds from outside. He arose from the floor and crept to the door of the room. He softly opened it a few inches and listened for sounds in the adjoining room. There were none. Zipper returned to his job.
The star safe-cracker knew that all were in his favor. He had come here to-night, prepared for a job that required a specialized type of skill. Zipper had never encountered a safe which he could not, by sheer manipulative effort, open within a reasonable length of time.
Not the safes, but the surroundings were the conditions that commanded Zipper's chief attention. He liked secluded, easy spots; to-night he had one. When Zipper had entered to-night, he had found the path clear.
He had not come alone, however. He had been followed by a picked band of stalwarts who had bestowed themselves at strategic spots both without and within the house.
Thus Zipper had double protection. He was free from surprise attack. Should he be forced to beat a hasty retreat, he would be covered by a valiant rear guard.
These factors accounted for Zipper's ease of mind. Without them, he might have been hurried and nervous; with them, he was calm and painstaking. Therefore, as Zipper reasoned it, he could do a more efficient job.
THE contents of the safe were, of course, of great moment to Zipper Marsh. It was not his policy to pry open an empty crib. He had no idea of the exact value of what might be inside this strong box, but he knew that the spoils would be worth having.
Adolph Grayson, who had closed his house before leaving New York, was a man of great wealth. His wife owned many valuable jewels, which she frequently wore in public.
She might have taken some of these with her; or she might have placed some in a safe-deposit vault. But Zipper had a decided hunch that many of the gems rested within this safe.
His hunch was logical. The safe was the accustomed resting place of the gems. It was a modern type of container. Two watchmen were stationed on the premises.
In addition, Zipper fancied that Adolph Grayson himself might have left items of value within this steel- fronted contrivance. Fine safes meant fine contents. Rarely, in Zipper's experience, had the rule failed to work.
Only one disturbing thought spoiled the tranquillity of the safe-cracker's mind. That was the death of Dobie Wentz, who, until a few days ago, had been Zipper's pal.
It was not that Zipper grieved Dobie's passing; on the contrary, Zipper preferred that Dobie should be no more. It was not that Zipper felt worried because the police suspected him of being Dobie's killer; that meant nothing to so toughened a thug as Zipper Marsh.
The real source of his annoyance lay in the fact that he did not know the cause of Dobie's demise.
