less lighted portion of the curb.
Dropping from the cab, The Shadow merged close to the darkness of a building wall. Blended with blackness, he looked across the street to the small
old-fashioned building where Bron's office was located.
The Shadow saw a lighted office at the front of the third floor. Its curtains were drawn; but he knew that the office must be Bron's.
While he watched, The Shadow spotted another light that suddenly appeared at the window of a side office on the same floor. That window was also shaded; but The Shadow could picture the scene within as plainly as if he possessed X-ray vision.
The side office was the waiting place chosen by Pinkey Findlen. That fact brought a whispered laugh from The Shadow. Fake murder was shaping itself as crooks intended; and with its climax would come The Shadow's triumph.
That soft laugh would have faded, had The Shadow foreseen the change that chance was to produce. Already, events were leading to a different climax.
Such
matters, it happened, were unknown to Pinkey Findlen as well as The Shadow.
Real murder - not false - was in the cards tonight, and through it would come success to present schemes of crime!
CHAPTER XI
BUGS SWINGS A DEAL
VERY shortly after The Shadow's departure from the Bubble Club, two unexpected customers arrived there. One was Bugs Hopton; attired in ill-fitting
tuxedo; the other was a stoopish, sly-faced man, similarly attired. The two took
a table; when Claude Ondrey stopped near by, Bugs beckoned.
Worried, Ondrey approached the table. Bugs clapped him on the back; then introduced his companion.
'Meet Mr. Parrington,' announced Bugs. 'Roy Parrington - one swell guy!
And you, Roy - shake hands with Claude Ondrey. He's regular!'
Handshakes were exchanged; all the while, Ondrey was looking anxiously toward Bugs, wondering what twist of circumstances had brought him to the Bubble Club.
There was a burst of music from the orchestra; a trim dancer whirled to the center of the floor, amid the applause of the patrons. Bugs nudged Parrington.
'Get an eyeful, Roy,' advised Bugs. 'That kid is some looker - and can she
dance! Here - shove your chair around for a better look.'
Parrington obliged. When his back was turned, Bugs shifted in the opposite
direction, grabbed Ondrey's sleeve and whispered in the managers ear:
'Is Slick in the office?'
Ondrey nodded; then began: 'But - but what -'
'I don't ask questions,' undertoned Bugs. 'See this hat check? Its Parrington's. Listen - get a gat from Slick and plant it in the guys coat pocket. Leave the rest to me.'
Ondrey hurried away, still wondering what it was all about. He reached the
office, to find Slick lounging there. He told Slick what Bugs wanted. Slick was
mystified; but obligingly provided Ondrey with a revolver, in accordance with the request.
Hurrying from the office, the night club owner reached the cloakroom near the street door. He spotted the garments that bore the ticket number. Getting rid of the check girl on a pretext, Ondrey fumblingly slid the revolver into Parrington's overcoat pocket.
The task wasn't exactly easy, for Ondrey encountered a fat bundle in one pocket and had to slide the gun to another. Since Bugs hadn't mentioned the package in the overcoat, Ondrey left it where it was. Sidling from the cloakroom, Ondrey neared the table where Bugs sat with Parrington. Bugs thumbed
the manager toward his office; then leaned forward to watch the floor show.
'How do you like it, Roy?' he queried. While he spoke, Bugs was watching an approaching waiter. 'Ain't this a classy joint, with plenty for de money? I come here a lot.'
The waiter had arrived. Bugs shifted suddenly in his chair, jolted the fellow and caused him to spill the contents of a tray. Mixed drinks poured over
Bugs and Parrington. Both came to their feet.
In the argument, that followed, Bugs blamed the waiter; so Parrington did the same. Bugs staged a portion of his 'crazy act' in very competent fashion.
The result was that Parrington agreed when Bugs gave loud decision:
'Come Roy. Let's get out of this lousy dump!'
They were still arguing with a head waiter when they put on their hats and
coats. It was then that Bugs became more reasonable.
'We ought to talk to Ondrey,' he decided. 'After all, he's a good guy.
Come on, Roy, we'll go to his office.'
PARRINGTON agreed that the protest would be in order. They reached the office, found Slick with Ondrey. Bugs shook hands with Slick; introduced him to
Parrington as Bill Quaine.
'A good guy,' voiced Bugs, 'even if he is a dick.' Then, to Ondrey: 'Say
-
wait'll you see the way one of your cluck waiters messed us up.'
Bugs took off his coat to show his soaked tuxedo jacket. Parrington did the same; Bugs planked both overcoats upon the table. There was a clank when Parrington's pocket hit the woodwork.
Turning at the sound, the fake dick took the cue.
'What's that?' snapped Slick. 'That your coat, Parrington? Let's see what you got in the pockets.'
Uneasily, Parrington lifted the coat, pulled out the bundle and laid it with his hat. That done, he fished out gloves and cigarettes. Finally, his fingers found the revolver. Parrington didn't realize that it was a gun, until he brought it into the light. Slick snatched the weapon from Parrington's fingers. While the man was gasping, Slick demanded:
'What's the idea of carrying the gun? Where's your permit?'
Parrington tried to protest. He failed.
He said he didn't know the gun was in pocket; that was all, and it sounded
pitifully weak. Even Bugs looked reproachful, especially when Slick cracked the
revolver and found it loaded.
'Better see what's in the bundle,' suggested Bugs. 'Maybe it will give us one on the guy.'
The bundle was filled with currency; bills totaled five thousand dollars.
Slick wanted to know where the money had come from.
'I'm a promoter,' panted Parrington, 'This was for - well, I'd arranged an
advertising campaign, and was -'
'And you flimflammed somebody out of the dough?'
'No, no! - well, this was a commission - I -'
'In cash? Sounds phony to me, Parrington.' Slick shoved the money to the far, side of the desk, along with the gun. 'Tell us some more about the dough.'
Parrington confessed that the cash was tainted. It was a cut that he had received for swinging a national advertiser to a wildcat agency. Becoming bolder, he suddenly declared:
'But you can't prove anything because of that!'
'We can prove plenty with this gun,' interposed Slick. 'Enough to put you in the cooler for a long stretch. Come along! We're going down to headquarters.'
Parrington wilted. His head in his hands, he was moaning incoherently when
Bugs motioned to Slick, signaling that the bluff had gone far enough.
Slick was mightily relieved when Bugs took over the burden; for even yet, the fake detective hadn't decided
