under the half-buttoned overcoat. He classed the stranger as an ordinary tourist in informal garb. He went out to fill the gas tanks.
The man with cap and overcoat was Graham Wellerton. His mobsmen were lounging in the cars, ready to proceed as soon as the tanks were filled. The squad of raiders, traveling in a pair of automobiles, was not many hours from its final destination.
As Graham Wellerton walked to the front of the first machine, he came into the glare of headlights that were arriving along the road. Brakes ground as a coupe swung in beside the sedans. The door of the coupe opened and a familiar figure stepped forth.
Graham stared as he recognized Wolf Daggert.
There was a malicious gleam in Wolf’s eye - a token which made Graham instantly understand that something was wrong. Graham, however, quickly recovered from his surprise.
“Hello, Wolf!” he exclaimed. “How did you get here?”
“I’ll tell you later, Wellerton,” returned the gang leader. “Slide one of your men into my car. I want to ride along with you.”
Graham motioned to a man in the front seat of the first sedan. The fellow clambered out to take Wolf’s place in the coupe. Graham sat behind the wheel of the sedan; Wolf dropped into the seat beside him. The sedan started forward and the other cars followed.
“What’s the gag, Wolf?” queried Graham.
“I’ll tell you when we get away a bit,” returned Wolf. “Pick a side road where we can stop. There’s trouble back in New York. I came after you to put you wise.”
GRAHAM felt ill at ease when he heard Wolf’s words. He suspected malice on the part of the yellow gang leader. He could not understand why King Furzman could have dispatched Wolf in pursuit of the secret expedition.
Nevertheless, Graham could see no possible danger from Wolf’s presence. In accordance with his companion’s suggestion, he picked a side road and brought the sedan to a stop. The other cars came up in back.
“All right, Wolf,” ordered Graham brusquely. “Let’s hear what’s on your mind.”
The mobsters in the rear seat were leaning forward to catch Wolf’s words. Other men were coming up from the sedan behind. Wolf laughed sourly, while he waited for all hands to arrive.
“Have you read the newspapers?” he queried, at last.
“No,” returned Graham shortly. “We’ve stayed away from towns during our trip. We haven’t seen any of today’s news.”
“Take a look at this, then,” stated Wolf, pulling a folded newspaper from his pocket. “Out here - you can read it by the headlights.”
Before Graham could object, Wolf was clambering from his seat and making for the front of the sedan. Graham’s mobsters, eager to know what was up, were following. There was nothing to do but act in accord with Wolf’s suggestion. Graham hurriedly stepped to the road.
As he reached the front of the car, Graham heard growls of astonishment coming from the men who had arrived ahead of him. Shouldering his way through the crowd, Graham seized the newspaper that was in Wolf Daggert’s hands and stared at the headlines. His gaze hardened.
Graham was reading an account of King Furzman’s mysterious death. The affray in the apartment was reported as an unexplained killing. Most potent of all was the discovery of stolen funds in a wall safe behind a panel of the big shot’s reception room.
“What do you think of that?” queried Wolf Daggert, as he watched Graham scan the headlines. “Who do you think gave King the bump?”
“The Shadow?” questioned Graham.
“You guessed it,” retorted Wolf with an evil leer. “The Shadow bumped King Furzman!”
Audible responses came from the mobsters. This piece of information was startling. All turned to Wolf for further news. The gang leader showed his ugly teeth. His lips twisted as he prepared to loose the scheme that was in his mind.
“Kind of funny, ain’t it?” he quizzed. “The way you named The Shadow the minute I asked you who you thought bumped King. You seemed to know a lot about it, Welterton.”
“I warned King Furzman,” retorted Graham. “I told him The Shadow had been trailing me -“
“Yeah?” queried Wolf. “Did you tell these fellows about it, too?”
“No.” Graham faced his mobsmen. “I ducked The Shadow, boys. That’s why I kept mum about it. I knew The Shadow would still be in New York and -“
“I’ll tell you about The Shadow.” Wolf’s snarl was an interruption. “It was The Shadow who queered my mob when we tried to hold up the Parkerside Trust. That’s news, ain’t it?
“Kind of funny, wasn’t it, that The Shadow picked on me? Kind of funny that Wellerton here was hitting the Terminal National, right at the same time? Well, The Shadow may be tough but he can’t be two places at the same time.
“Then Wellerton starts out for Grand Rapids. What does The Shadow do? He comes in an’ bumps King Furzman. He kills the big shot, boys - an’ gets the dough that Furzman has -“
“Lay off that stuff!” challenged Graham. “You’re looking for trouble, Wolf. I get what you’re driving at.”
“It’s time you got it,” was the retort. “I know your game, Wellerton. Making me a sucker - making King a sucker - so The Shadow would be busy takin’ care of us. I know who tipped off The Shadow -“
Graham Wellerton leaped forward. He was ready to beat Wolf Daggert to a pulp. His spring, however, stopped abruptly. Wolf had anticipated it. The leering gang leader had whipped out a revolver.
With the muzzle of a gun covering him, Graham had no chance. He subsided, but his jaw was set as he eyed Wolf Daggert firmly.
ANGRY murmurs came from the mobsmen. Trouble was in the balance. Wolf Daggert’s insinuations had reached receptive ears. While Wolf held his gun, while Graham glared in return, a feeling of unrest and dissatisfaction stirred the brutal minds of the assembled mobsmen.
“King Furzman told me how to reach you,” declared Wolf. “I got there while he was dying. I didn’t have time to look for any dough. I scrammed just before Joe Cardona showed up with a flock of dicks -“
“And so you trailed me,” interrupted Graham. “Came along to queer a good lay - to make trouble - to muscle in on my job -“
“That’s it,” jeered Wolf. “There’s the give-away. Your job, you say. You ain’t workin’ for King Furzman no more. Ditched him, didn’t you - left him to The Shadow -“
“Gag that guy,” growled Graham, appealing to the mobsmen, as he indicated Wolf with a nudging thumb.
Grunts of doubt were the response. Not a mobsman stirred. Wolf’s accusations had already proven fruitful. Graham Wellerton had played his high card. Wolf Daggert trumped it with an evil laugh.
“Come on, gang,” suggested Wolf. “Grab me - put me on the spot. You know me - like you know Wellerton here. He’s your boss. Grab me - before I can tell you the rest of it.”
Yellow in face of fire, Wolf Daggert was the opposite when he dealt with mobsmen. These were men of his ilk; he understood them. His sarcastic request that Graham’s command be followed was a stroke of cleverness on his part.
“All right, men,” interposed Graham calmly. “Take your pick - between Wolf and myself. Listen to what this yellow guy has to say -“
“I’m yellow, eh?” snarled Wolf. “You call this yellow - comin’ to tip off some real guys to the game you’re playin’? Think you’re smart, you silk-hat gorilla. That’s all you are, Wellerton. You worked for me once; you got in right with King Furzman an’ he gave you a mob of your own. Then you queered my lay so you’d look good an’ I’d look punk. Then you double-crossed King -“
“Double-crossed him?” queried Graham. “Say - my cut from the Terminal National job was there with the dough the cops grabbed. What do you think of that?”
“You didn’t collect what was comin’ to you?” Wolf’s tone was a hoarse laugh. “Say - do you think we’re a lot
