commissioner was there two nights ago, when I knocked off Tony Loretti. Well” - a sneer appeared upon Mallory’s ugly face - “he had a friend with him - a high-hat guy named Cranston. He’s the bird we’re watching. He was at the Club Janeiro last night.”
“I get you. One of those smart babies that thinks he’s an amateur dick, eh? Going to wise up to something that fooled the commissioner.”
“Right. That’s the way we figure him. Just the sort of bird who might fall into something. Well, we’re not taking any chances, Moocher. The place is clear now; and if he snoops around tonight, we’ll get him sure.”
“I’m to watch for the signal?”
“From the inside. Dynamite Hoskins is coming through tonight. We’ll need him for the big job. He’s got three gorillas with him, and they’re going to join up - but they’ll follow him. They’ll hold back; and if this bird Cranston snoops, you’ll get the signal from Juanita.”
“Which will put the smart Aleck in between.”
“You guessed it.”
Moocher Gleetz strolled toward the door; then paused to light a cigarette.
“Say, Socks,” he remarked, “maybe you pulled a boner knocking off Tony Loretti.”
“Yeah?” queried Socks. “That’s my business, Moocher. What would you have done?”
“Let him ride for a while.”
“That shows just how much you don’t know. Loretti was a wise guy, Moocher. He had Juanita worried. She was afraid he’d find out the lay. That’s why The Blot said I could bump him. I wanted to get him, anyway.”
“O.K.; but it brought the bulls to the Club Janeiro, didn’t it?”
“What of it? They’ve gone away, haven’t they? They’re thinking about the Hotel Gigantic instead. Don’t be dumb, Moocher. When I started this racket with The Blot, the Club Janeiro was our best bet. It was the joint where we could get the gang to make the dive under cover when we needed them.
“Along comes Loretti. Muscles in on my nightclub racket - I was going easy on it, too, because it was only a blind - and he grabs off the Club Janeiro. Then I got into trouble.”
“Here, tonight, we’re waiting for Dynamite Hoskins. He had the date all set, long ago. He’s been out of New York. His orders were to come to the Club Janeiro and get the instructions there. I can’t give them to him - but Juanita can. Suppose Tony Loretti was there tonight? How would we tip off Dynamite?”
“I get you now, Socks.”
“It’s time you did. I handled things right when I gave Loretti the works. Slide along, Moocher. Tell the mob I’ll be out there soon. We’ve got them in a good humor. Let’s keep them that way.”
“No trouble about that, Socks. There’s nowhere for them to go, Say - this is a great racket. Wouldn’t Joe Cardona and Mert Hembroke go goofy if they knew our lay?”
“Slide along, Moocher. I’ll be seeing you.”
AFTER Moocher had departed, Socks Mallory went to the left end of the corridor and opened the steel door that was located there. The gap revealed a passage that led to the right; also, a steep flight of steps that led downward until they disappeared in blackness. Socks followed the steps. He returned several minutes later, closed the corridor door, and went into the stonewalled office.
From a drawer in the desk, Socks produced a folded sheet of paper. He spread it out before him. It was a large map of Manhattan; upon it were traced lines in inks of different colors. Socks gave a satisfied grunt as he surveyed this chart. Finally, he replaced the map in the drawer, a satisfied look on his features.
A buzzer sounded; its note was different from the one which had announced Moocher Gleetz. Socks picked up a telephone from beside the desk. He was eager as he placed the receiver to his ear.
“Hello,” he said. “Yes… Sure, I was just talking to Moocher… Yeah - he’ll take care of the Club Janeiro tonight… Right. I’ll stick here all day - any time I go out, I won’t be gone more than three or four minutes… Yeah, I can count on Moocher. He was O.K. the time we got the lay on Spider Carew. He passed the word to me quick that time.”
Socks Mallory hung up the receiver. He leaned back in the chair, and grinned as he lighted a cigarette. This was the call he had been awaiting word from The Red Blot - the master mind whose identity Socks Mallory knew.
All set for tonight. That had been the message. Much might happen between now and then, yet Socks felt no alarm. Success had been the watchword for The Red Blot’s crimes; once only, during the raid on the East Side Bank, had the schemes of the supercrook been offset.
There was only one person who could have been responsible for that partial failure - The Shadow. Since then, however, there had been no further intervention. At last - Socks Mallory relished the thought - crime had been devised that was too much for even The Shadow to fathom!
Moocher Gleetz, a squad of wanted men, all able criminals - they were The Red Blot’s mob. Under the direction of Socks, they had proven themselves a scourge. “Dynamite” Hoskins was joining them tonight, as another of Socks Mallory’s subordinates.
Socks enjoyed a laugh as he thought of how little these mobsmen knew. To them, Socks Mallory was the leader, although they understood that an unknown chief - The Red Blot - stood above.
Socks Mallory - The Red Blot’s right arm! But The Red Blot was not one-handed in his strokes against the law. He had a left arm also - another aid, whose identity was not even suspected.
Socks relished that thought, also. While he delivered the open blows, the man who served as left hand was used for secret thrusts. Therein lay The Red Blot’s might!
Right and left - they had worked together. They would do so again, tonight. Should emergency arise before them, those aids of The Red Blot would cooperate whenever their services were required.
Socks Mallory was wearing an air of gloating triumph when he left the little office and headed for the door at the right of the corridor. Satisfaction dominated his malicious mind. He was thinking again of the only menace whom the underworld feared - yet one who had failed to thwart The Red Blot.
Socks Mallory was thinking of The Shadow.
CHAPTER XVI
THE SHADOW PREPARES
AT the very time that Socks Mallory was thinking of such important personages as Ralph Weston and The Shadow, a visitor was being ushered into the office of the New York police commissioner. Weston, seated behind the huge glass-topped desk in his downtown office, was looking up to meet the keen eyes of Lamont Cranston. The millionaire was an unexpected caller.
“Hello, Cranston,” greeted Weston briskly. “You caught me at a very busy time. What can I do for you?”
“Nothing, since you are busy,” returned the millionaire, with a quiet smile. “I merely dropped in to learn if you could lunch with me at the Cobalt Club. I have not forgotten” - Cranston’s voice had a reflective monotone - “the interesting events of our last meeting.”
“At the Club Janeiro,” responded Weston, “Quite a difference between that place and the Cobalt Club. If you crave the unusual, Cranston, I should advise you to choose a more likely spot than an exclusive meeting place such as the Cobalt Club.”
“The Hotel Gigantic, for instance?” queried Cranston.
Weston smiled grimly, Cranston had given a keen refutation to the commissioner’s suggestion. The reputation of the Hotel Gigantic allied it more closely with the Cobalt Club than with the Club Janeiro.
From a man other than Lamont Cranston, Weston might have resented the inference. The police commissioner, however, had a respect for Cranston; and also recalled the aid which the millionaire had given him only two nights ago.
“You have me this time,” admitted Weston. “Frankly, Cranston, this matter of The Red Blot is one which may crop out anywhere. Nevertheless -“
Weston paused. He was on the point of discussing affairs with Cranston. The police commissioner had just returned from a visit to the offices of the Amalgamated Builders’ Association. He had warned all concerned to preserve absolute secrecy regarding tonight’s arrangements.
Lamont Cranston was lighting a cigarette. His keen eyes, peering past the illuminated lighter in his hand, were reading a penciled notation that lay upon the commissioner’s desk. A clever ruse, this. With the flame
