with the darkness at the far end of the corridor, the black-cloaked phantom had been waiting for someone to arrive.
Neither Graham Wellerton nor Gouger had detected his uncanny presence; neither was aware that The Shadow, master of the night, had observed their meeting at the opened door!
THE SHADOW!
Spectral figure of darkness, he was one who sought the spots where crime was fostered. A master of mystery, his very name was terror to the underworld! A lone wolf who battled the hordes of crookdom, a supersleuth whose prowess of investigation knew no equal, The Shadow had entered here to learn facts concerning bold crime.
The gleaming eyes spied the door upon the right. A soft, whispered laugh came eerily from unseen lips. The tall form glided across the carpeted floor and reached the closed door. A black-gloved hand slowly turned the knob. The door yielded.
Peering through a narrow crevice, The Shadow spied an empty room, which was almost totally dark. The one source of illumination came from a narrow archway which was hung with heavy curtains. Beyond that was a room lighted by floor lamps - a condition which signified that someone was present there.
The Shadow entered the gloomy room and silently closed the door behind him. His tall form was totally obscured as it clung to darkness in its path toward the heavy curtains. Only the slight swish of the black cloak was audible.
The Shadow halted when he reached the curtains. His weird shape merged with a hanging drapery.
The eyes of The Shadow peered into the room beyond. They spied one man - Graham Wellerton. The visitor, his coat, hat, and cane laid aside, was seated in an easy chair, smoking a cigarette.
A handsome face, above the peaked points of a Tuxedo collar - that was the visage which The Shadow saw. Graham Wellerton, tonight, was a gentleman of crime. As such, he was awaiting the arrival of the big shot - the man whom he called King Furzman.
Graham Wellerton’s eyes, steady despite their idle appearance, were fixed upon a door at the opposite side of this reception room - the spot from which the young man knew King Furzman would enter.
Intent in thought, Graham Wellerton gave no attention to the draperies at the archway. He did not see the blotting patch of darkness that crept slowly inward from the other room and became an unmoving blotch upon the floor.
That single sign of The Shadow’s presence was motionless as The Shadow waited. An interview was in the making - an important conference between Graham Wellerton and his superior, King Furzman.
The ears of The Shadow would listen, unsuspected, to whatever might be said; and in the meantime, the eyes of The Shadow were gazing sternly upon Graham Wellerton, the gentleman of crime!
CHAPTER II
THE BIG SHOT
THE door at the opposite side of the room opened. A stout, dark-haired man stepped into view. Graham Wellerton arose from his chair and smiled in greeting. The other man grinned broadly and gave acknowledgment with a slight wave of his hand. Graham sat down and the stout man took a chair opposite him.
Graham Wellerton, gentleman of crime, was face to face with King Furzman, racketeer and big shot, whose word was law to skulking hordes of evil mobsters.
King Furzman, like his visitor, was attired in Tuxedo. But where Graham’s clothes were smoothly fitting, Furzman’s, despite the efforts of the big shot’s tailors, were rumpled and misshapen. Furzman’s stiff shirt was bulging and his fat bull neck stuck turtlelike from his upright collar.
The difference in the faces of the two men was apparent. Graham Wellerton did not have the expression of a crook. King Furzman, though he sought to maintain a frank and friendly expression, could not hide the brutal, selfish characteristics that were a latent part of his physiognomy.
This meeting was one, however, that could have but a single outcome - an expression of approval on the part of King Furzman. Confident in that knowledge, Graham Wellerton adopted an attitude of easy indifference and waited for the big shot to begin the conversation.
“Good work, Wellerton,” began Furzman. “You pulled a clean job today. The best part of it was the way you slipped the swag to Gouger, where he was waiting for you. He could have walked here with it.”
“Certainly,” agreed Graham. “We made a perfect getaway. I could have come here with the dough myself - but you wanted me to pass it to Gouger instead, so, I did.”
“Well, it’s tucked away here,” returned Furzman, “and you’ll get your cut of the dough any time you’re ready for it.”
“Better hold it for me,” said Graham nonchalantly. “I’m not broke - and I can collect later on.”
“You’ve got me beat, Wellerton,” admitted the big shot. “Wolf Daggert always hollered for his split right after the job was done. You don’t seem to worry about it.”
“Why should I?” questioned Graham. “I’ve got good enough security.”
“How?”
“The cash that’s coming in the next job,” replied Graham suavely. “It will be bigger than this one.”
“Say” - Furzman’s growl voiced his approval - “that’s the way to talk. I like to hear it because I know you mean it. Wolf never talks that way; howls for his split - that’s all he does.”
“But he won’t howl tonight,” asserted Graham.
KING FURZMAN scowled as he heard the words. His face showed disapproval of Graham Wellerton’s comment. After a moment of consideration, the big shot voiced his thoughts.
“What’s the idea of that crack, Wellerton?” he questioned. “The way you spoke, it sounded as though you’re glad Wolf Daggert flopped on the job today. Have I got you right?”
“You have,” retorted Graham, in a direct tone. “The sooner you find out that Wolf Daggert is a has-been, the better it will be for you - and therefore for me. Figure it out for yourself, King. I pulled a sweet job today - Wolf Daggert made a total failure.”
“All right. What about it?”
“Wolf has his gang. I have mine. Both outfits are yours. Therefore, there is a connection. Some of my crowd may know the fellows who were killed down at the Parkerside Trust. Is that going to improve my chances of future success?”
“No,” admitted King Furzman.
“You’re right it’s not!” declared Graham. “What’s more, it’s put a crimp in the whole works. Bank tellers - watchmen - cops - they’ll all be chesty now. They’ll talk about the way the mob was stopped at the Parkerside Trust.”
King Furzman began to nod. Graham Wellerton had gained his point. Yet the big shot was not entirely satisfied.
“Wolf Daggert is an old hand,” he remarked. “He pulled some good jobs on his own - and he started out well when he began to work for me. I don’t like to give him the gate, just because of this flop.”
“Wolf is inefficient,” asserted Graham, rising to his feet. “I knew it when I worked with him. He was lucky to get by as long as he did. He counted on me to help him, but never gave me the credit that was coming to me. You found out where I stood. You gave me my own mob. You’ve seen what I can do.
“Listen, King. When a crowd goes in to stick up a bank, everything depends on teamwork. It’s a matter of seconds. You get the jump on the people there or they get the jump on you.
“The Parkerside Trust should have been a set-up today. The tough job was the Terminal National - I that’s why Wolf let me take it. The odds were with him - the odds were against me. I came through and Wolf didn’t.”
“The tear gas was a great stunt.”
“Certainly. Wolf could have used it on his job, but he didn’t show any brain work.”
“I can’t let Wolf out.”
“I’m not asking you to. But I’m telling you this, King: while Wolf is working in New York, I’m not!”
The big shot surveyed his lieutenant narrowly. His fat lips took on an ugly leer.
“You’re thinking of quitting, eh?” questioned Furzman. “Figuring maybe you’d better take it soft -“
