COMMISSIONER WESTON was a sage individual. He sensed that he had a real informant on the other end of the wire. To alarm the man might end the call; to give him too much assurance might mean a change of mind on the fellow’s part. Tactful and practical, Weston decided to learn what he could while the opportunity was here.
“If this is no hoax,” he said, in a calm voice, “I am quite ready to talk with you. It does not matter if you have participated in crime which involves this man they call The Red Blot -“
“I ain’t done nothin’, commissioner,” the voice intervened. “Let me give you the low down. Are you listenin’?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been tippin’ off a guy, understand? Talkin’ with a fellow who works for The Red Blot. He wanted me to go along with him - get the idea? I was scared.”
“The Red Blot’s goin’ to pull somethin’ big, commissioner. You can’t stop him, but there’s a guy that’s goin’ to make trouble for him. The Shadow - that’s who, commissioner! The Shadow is out to get The Red Blot! I’ve seen him - The Shadow!”
Commissioner Weston repressed a snort of disdain. He had heard of The Shadow - a strange phantom garbed in black who warred with crime. One of Joe Cardona’s pet beliefs - The Shadow.
This awed voice, speaking from somewhere in the underworld, was adding new testimony to prove the existence of The Shadow, a thought which Weston had constantly tried to belittle.
“If The Shadow gets The Red Blot” - the voice seemed more scared than before - “he’ll go after the whole works. He’ll get me, maybe, because I know about The Red Blot. That’s why I’m tippin’ you off.”
“Tipping me off?” queried Weston testily. “You haven’t told me anything yet.”
“You’ve got to believe me,” complained the voice. “Listen, commissioner - put this down and you’ll know I’m right. There’s a guy named Socks Mallory. He’s supposed to be out of New York. He’s here - he was in on last night’s job. He’s out to get a big shot named Tony Loretti -“
“Yes! Yes!” Weston spoke eagerly as the voice broke off.
“I can’t tell you no more,” pleaded the informant. “I’ve got to see you. If Socks Mallory knew that I was squealin’, he’d get me, sure.”
“Listen, commissioner. I’ll come up there if you’ll let me. I’ll tell you how I’ll come - and you can cover me all along the way. Send along some dicks - they’ll know me, an’ they can stick close to me.”
“Go ahead,” ordered Weston. “I’ll agree to see you.”
“An hour from now,” said the voice, in a relieved tone. “Say - you’re on the level -“
“Absolutely.”
“O.K., then. I’ll get on the Lexington Avenue sub at Fourteenth Street, an hour from now. Tell the dicks to cover me. Spider Carew - that’s me. They’ll know Spider Carew. I’m a little guy, wearin’ a cap, an’ sweater under a coat. I’ll get on a local to Thirty-third Street. Off there an’ over to your place. Let the dicks trail me - but if they grab me, I won’t talk. I’ve got to see you, commissioner.”
“That’s exactly right, Carew,” said Weston, in a soothing tone. “Come right along. You will not be molested. That is my promise.”
“I’m goin’ back to my hideout,”’ informed Spider. “Then I’ll do a quick sneak over to the sub. I’ll play straight, commissioner!”
The receiver clicked. The call was ended.
COMMISSIONER WESTON lost no time. He called Inspector Klein.
“One hour from now,” Weston told the inspector, “a man named Spider Carew will enter the Lexington Avenue subway at Fourteenth Street. He is coming here. I want him trailed, but he is not to be arrested.”
Klein’s reply of acquiescence came over the wire.
“He is a small man, Klein,” explained Weston. “He wears a cap, and a sweater underneath his coat. He will take a local train to Thirty-third Street; from there he will walk here.”
Weston hung up the receiver after Klein had promised to make the arrangements promptly. A few minutes later, the bell rang, and the commissioner again heard the inspector’s voice.
“I told Detective Sergeant Markham to cover Spider Carew,” explained Klein. “He was to leave with three men. In the meantime, Hembroke came into my office.”
“Good!” exclaimed Weston. “You put him on the job also?”
“Yes,” returned Klein, “He gave me a valuable suggestion. The detectives will leave here separately; each will arrive at Fourteenth Street within thirty minutes. They will post themselves so that they can watch each other. When one spots Spider Carew, all will follow the lead.”
“Excellent,” decided Weston. “That is better than sending them as a squad.”
“Anything else, commissioner?”
“Yes.”
Weston recalled his conversation with Spider. Normally, the commissioner would have mentioned the names of Socks Mallory and Tony Loretti; but another name crowded those from his mind.
“This man Carew” - Weston’s tone became a bit ironical - “said that he feared The Shadow. I am telling you that, inspector, but there is no need to mention it to our men. You know my opinion regarding The Shadow. He may be a myth for all I know. That is all, inspector.”
The call ended, Commissioner Weston sat at his desk. He now recalled the names of Mallory and Loretti, and jotted them on a pad. These could wait. Spider Carew had committed himself, and would surely come here now. Direct questioning would bring more detailed information about The Red Blot.
As Weston pondered, he found himself thinking of The Shadow. Despite his disbelief in the activities of that mysterious being who fought with crime, the commissioner could not forget the awed tone of Spider’s voice.
The Shadow! Weston was doubting his own opinions. Spider Carew had said that he had seen The Shadow. That would be one subject upon which Weston would examine the informant, when Spider Carew arrived for his appointment!
CHAPTER VIII
ON THE SUBWAY
APPROXIMATELY one hour after he had telephoned to Police Commissioner Weston, Spider Carew arrived at the Fourteenth Street station of the East Side subway. The slinking gangster was more furtive than ever. He looked about suspiciously, half expecting someone to accost him.
Detectives were here, Spider was sure. He feared that they might not play the game. Spider was worried about the double cross that he was perpetrating on Socks; yet Spider felt sure that there was nothing to fear from the gang leader who served The Red Blot.
The great menace in Spider’s mind was The Shadow. That fear dwarfed all others. Nothing - so Spider was convinced - could stop the wrath of The Shadow. The little mobster feared that the black-garbed avenger might already be on his trail.
Down the steps of the subway, to the platform where both local and express trains stopped on their way uptown, Spider went. Forty or fifty people were here. Spider clung to a little cluster. He tried not to notice anyone.
Men were watching Spider Carew now. Detective Sergeant Markham, Detective Merton Hembroke, and three other sleuths - all five kept up a stern vigil. A local rolled into the station, Spider Carew sidled into the third car. Hembroke, watching, saw three detectives follow. Then Hembroke boarded the train also.
Where was Markham? Hembroke, always keen, looked back to the platform. He saw Markham still waiting. The detective sergeant was moving along the platform.
Hembroke frowned. Working independently, Markham had decided to stay for some special purpose.
The local pulled out. Hembroke shrugged his shoulders. He set an example for the other detectives by keeping away from Spider Carew. The rat-faced little gangster was hanging on to a strap, staring out through an open window.
BACK on the Fourteenth Street platform, Detective Sergeant Markham was staring suspiciously at a man who was resting against a post which bore a chewing-gun machine. As Markham glanced in the fellow’s direction, the man turned his back and began to make a pretense of dropping a coin in the slot. Markham was sure that he had
