Varden had heard the night before, from the man who had introduced himself as Joe Cardona.
'Do you think that's the mug we're after?'
'Don't ask me, Ruff,' came a snarled reply. 'If it is, we'll know it.'
'How, Snakes?' questioned the first speaker.
'He'll be marked,' was the answer. 'I got the dope over the telephone.'
'Who from? The same bird that tipped you off to Varden?'
'That's my business, Ruff. You know where I stand. You know that everything I tell you comes from Gray Fist. You stick to that. You're getting paid for it.'
'Yeah. I'm getting paid. But I'm not going to quit, whether I get paid or not. Gray Fist has got the goods on me—like he has on everybody else, I guess.'
The two men were sitting alone in the parked car. The driver had left; Ruff and Snakes were in the rear seat. They swung their conversation to a less important topic. Suddenly Ruff silenced his companion as a head appeared by the opened window.
'Who's that?' questioned Ruff.
'Gowdy,' came the low answer. It was the man who had driven the car the night before. 'Listen, Ruff.
There was a fellow snooping around here a minute ago. He went up along the street.'
'Where to?'
'I don't know. I tipped Caulkey and Jake to follow him. It looked like he was trying to listen in on what you were saying.'
'Stick around, Gowdy. If he comes back, Caulkey and Jake will be on his trail. Give them the word to grab him if he snoops again.'
'O.K., Ruff.'
'Gowdy' sidled away from the car. He took his post beneath the steps of an old-fashioned house. He looked along the street toward a lighted corner. He saw two figures there; they looked like 'Caulkey'
and Jake.
GOWDY'S speculation was correct. Two rough-faced characters were standing at the corner toward which the car driver had started. They were waiting by the door of a drug store. The man whom they had followed had entered the place.
Neither Jake nor Caulkey could see the man at present. He had sauntered to a far corner, and was loitering there. The gangsters were wisely keeping out of sight, until the man should return.
The man within the store was watching toward the door. At last, convinced that no one was observing him, he looked about for a telephone booth. He saw one, against the side window of the store. He entered it, and closed the door. An automatic light appeared.
The man who was telephoning was a husky chap with a firm, square chin. He was wearing old clothes, which took away the clean-cut appearance which should have been his natural possession. He dropped a nickel in the phone box, lifted the receiver, and paused a moment before dialing his number.
Coincidentally, Jake and Caulkey, the waiting gangsters, had moved down the side street a few paces.
The street was dark at the spot where they stood. They could not be seen from within the drug store. As chance would have it, however, the man in the telephone booth was partly visible to the two outside.
Jake gripped Caulkey's arm. The first mobster had happened to glance toward the window where the phone booth was located. He growled quick sentences to Caulkey.
'Say!' uttered Jake. 'There's the guy! Look! In the phone booth. He's goin' to make a call.'
Drawing Caulkey, Jake edged close to the window. Both mobsters watched with avid eyes while the man within began to use the dial.
'Say'—Caulkey's voice denoted recognition—'I know that bird. It's Cliff Marsland. I wonder what he's doin' around here.'
'Ps-s-t!'
The slight hiss came from beside the two mobsters. Both turned. They saw a man beside them. He identified himself with a short growl. It was the gangster called Snakes.
'Get along, you guys,' ordered Snakes. 'I'm watching here. I came up from the car. Get down there and lay for this guy when he comes back. Stay out of sight with Gowdy.'
As Caulkey and Jake moved away, Snakes pressed closer to the window. His form was stooped and hunched. He watched with sharp, beady eyes. His voice came in a low mumble that ended with a chuckle.
While the two mobsters had been identifying Cliff Marsland, Snakes had been observing the actions of the man in the telephone booth. Something that he had noted seemed to please him. He was watching Cliff's lips—as much as he could see of them. He could not catch the conversation, although he did manage to pick up disconnected words.
CLIFF MARSLAND was talking to Burbank. Completely ignorant of the fact that a man was watching from without, The Shadow's agent was giving information to the contact man.
'I'm following Ruff Shefflin,' Cliff was saying. 'He's a pretty tough guy. Big mob leader. I've got a hunch he may have made trouble for Seth Cowry.'
'Where is he now?' came Burbank's question over the wire.
'Parked in a sedan near the Mandrilla Apartments,' informed Cliff. 'There's a bad egg with him—a fellow named Snakes Blakey. That's what gave me the hunch. Snakes is supposed to be the neatest trailer in the business.'
'Have you been observed?' questioned Burbank.
'No.' Cliff's tone was positive. 'I'm going back to listen in again. I'll call later when I've found out whether this means anything or not.'
Hanging up the receiver, Cliff rose to leave the booth. He threw a glance toward the street as he did so, but noticed no one outside the window. Snakes Blakey, wary sneak of the underworld, had wisely eased away to escape notice.
When Cliff reached the street, there was no sign of Snakes. The stoop-shouldered gangster was keeping out of sight behind a row of parked cars. He took up Cliff's trail after The Shadow's agent had started along the side street toward the apartment building near which Ruff Shefflin's car was located.
Cliff was wary as he reached the automobile. He approached cautiously, straining his ears to catch any conversation that might be passing between Ruff and Snakes. As Cliff's call to Burbank had indicated, The Shadow's agent had not overheard the preliminary talk between the gangsters. Nevertheless, Cliff knew that two such ruffians as Ruff Shefflin and Snakes Blakey could not be in this vicinity for other than a doubtful purpose.
A low whistle sounded near the sedan. Cliff Marsland barely caught its sound. He looked about, straining his eyes toward the street.
In that glance, Cliff glimpsed Snakes Blakey. Then, in answer to the sneaky mobster's call, three men leaped from the cover of a house beyond the sidewalk. They caught Cliff Marsland unaware. The Shadow's redoubtable agent went down under unexpected odds that were too great for him.
The quickness of the encounter was fortunate. These attackers were armed. They would not have hesitated to use their guns if necessary. Cliff was a natural fighter, who would sooner risk death than surrender to such foemen. A swinging hand, however, clipped Cliff a sidelong blow with a revolver.
Stunned, The Shadow's agent offered no resistance. He was shoved, unconscious, into the waiting automobile.
GOWDY clambered to the wheel, expecting Ruff Shefflin to order him to drive away. It was then that an interruption came. Snakes Blakey appeared beside the car and spoke in a low tone to the gang leader.
'Stick here, Gowdy,' ordered Ruff, after he had heard what Snakes had to say. 'You Jake—and Caulkey—wait back where you were. There's a guy coming out of the apartment building. Get him.
Know the sign?'
'A gray mark on his sleeve.'
'You can see it when he reaches the light,' declared Ruff. 'Bring him along, too—with this bird.'
So saying, the gang leader clambered out of the sedan. He joined Snakes. The two walked away.
Gowdy remained at the wheel; Jake and Caulkey moved back to the house where they had watched for Cliff
