Thinking in terms of a disguised master crook, The Shadow was wondering how many faces the man could display and what identity he might be using at present. Even more important was the question of coming crime: whether the unknown could risk another daring robbery, and, if so, what it would involve.
A BIG-TONED voice brought The Shadow from his reverie. Barney Kelm had arrived; the bluff-faced fight promoter was receiving a welcome. When Breddle shook hands, Barney clapped a broad hand on the jeweler's shoulder.
'Sorry my boys weren't down at your place,' declared Barney. 'They'd have stopped Flush Tygert in a hurry. They've been talking about him all afternoon.
Say - if we could only locate Flush, I'd like to let them loose on him.
They're
like a pack of wolves, those boys, when I let them loose!'
Weston was introducing his friend Cranston. Barney gave The Shadow a powerful grip. Seating himself at the table, Barney tilted his derby hat back over his head and began to look at the police reports. Mention of his own name pleased him.
'So I'm a public hero,' he chortled. 'That's swell! They'll be pointing me
out when I walk along Broadway. You know, I was thinking of moving that gymnasium of mine. I didn't like it, because my boys were so close to Lody's.
'A bad influence, that place, but I'm glad I stayed. A good thing that I was there. Good, too, that I keep an eye on whatever is happening. When I heard
that shooting, I knew that something big was up. I took a look outside and saw Lody's door bust open. When those rats tried to put the cops on the spot, I knew it was up to me to stop them.'
Barney's bluster was rather painful to old Breddle, who was still thinking
in terms of his lost diamonds. Cranston, too, seemed bored by all the palaver.
When Breddle decided to leave, the commissioner's friend went along. In the foyer, Cranston paused to make a phone call, then went out to his limousine.
Inside the big car, he slid open the drawer beneath the rear seat and rapidly cloaked himself in black garments. Watching from the window, he saw old
Breddle turn the corner, walking toward the subway. Opening a door with one hand, The Shadow reached for the speaking tube with the other. He spoke to the chauffeur, using Cranston's tone.
'I think I shall remain at the Club, Stanley,' said The Shadow. 'See if you can overtake Mr. Breddle before he reaches the subway. Tell him that this is my car, and that I instructed you to take him wherever he wants to go.'
Stanley heard the slight slam of the rear door and started the limousine forward. It happened that the closing door was on the street side of the car.
The figure that left the limousine wasn't Cranston's. It was The Shadow who whisked himself away toward the darkness across the street.
While Stanley thought that Cranston had actually gone back to the club, the doorman and others on the sidewalk supposed that he had left in his limousine. Instead, The Shadow had taken up an unsuspected vigil. Obscured in the opposite darkness, he was watching the entrance of the Cobalt Club!
A taxicab coasted into sight. It stopped when the driver saw a tiny red gleam from a special three-colored flashlight. Moe Shrevnitz was the driver of that cab; The Shadow had summoned him through a call to Burbank.
But even Moe was rather amazed to learn that The Shadow was spying on the Cobalt Club, the place to which he had access as Cranston any time he wanted it.
The reason was explained when a burly man with a tired derby hat stalked from the club and strode manfully along the street. Instantly, The Shadow's light flashed green, but followed with a cautioning blink of yellow.
It meant that The Shadow was taking up a trail on foot, but wanted Moe to be close, ready if needed. The Shadow had used that system frequently; hence the process offered no surprise. The astounding thing was the nature of The Shadow's trail.
The master of darkness was playing a long hunch. He was picking up the trail of Barney Kelm, the public hero who rated as a champion of law and order,
not as a man who dealt in crime!
CHAPTER XI
THE THIRD FACE
GREASE RICKEL was in an impatient mood. The living room wasn't large enough to hold him. Pacing back and forth, he slashed aside the curtain of the wide doorway that led into a dinette. He kept on pacing through to the kitchen.
Looking at Clip Zelber, Banker Dreeb gave a shrug. They could hear Grease yank open the door of the electric icebox; they heard the rattle of ice cubes, the gurgle of liquid from a bottle. Grease was fixing himself another gin buck,
the sixth that he had sampled in the last hour.
'Don't blame the guy,' said Banker. 'Why should he keep sober? There's not
much chance that Five-face will be needing us.'
'I don't think Five-face has lammed,' returned Clip. 'He's got a schedule,
like he told us.'
'Like he told us, yeah,' repeated Banker, with a snort. 'But that may have
been the old baloney, sliced nice and thin. Maybe he was just counting on one big job, instead of four.'
'And playing us for suckers,' said Clip, with a slow nod. 'That's what Grease thinks, although he hasn't said so.'
The two silenced, as Grease came storming back. Slashing the curtain shut with one hand, Grease gestured a half-filled glass with the other. Turning, he took a gulp of liquor, then wagged a forefinger in emphatic fashion.
'Flush Tygert has pulled a runout,' voiced Grease, thickly. 'He'll clean up a couple of hundred grand out of those rocks he grabbed from old Breddle.
He
won't ever show his face around here; his own, or any other -'
A heavy thump interrupted. It came from the apartment door. Clip was the first man to reach it; as he opened the door, he heard a snarl from Grease.
Flinging his glass aside, Grease started forward with a drunken lunge, trying to tug a revolver from his pocket. Banker jumped in front to intercept him. Unable to guess what it was all about, Clip pulled a gun to cover the man who had entered. Seeing the fellow's face, Clip mouthed:
'Barney Kelm!'
Banker had Grease under control and was shoving him to a battered sofa.
Nudging the door shut, Clip concentrated on Barney. Ordinarily, such a situation would have called for smart bluff work, but it was useless, now that Grease had given things away. Clip came to the real point in a hurry.
'Hello, public hero!' he snapped. 'Think you're a copper, too, don't you?
Figured we were working with Flush Tygert. Well, that means it's your own idea,
or the bulls would have come here ahead of you.'
Barney's big lips spread in a wide grin.
'Suppose I told you that this joint was covered,' he said, 'with coppers all around, outside. What would you guys do about it?'
'We'd put the blast on you,' informed Clip, 'and then shoot it out with them. Only, you haven't got those coppers with you, Barney. You thought you could bluff us better alone.'
Barney said nothing. He simply stepped to the table and picked up a greasy
pack of cards. He picked out four spades, showed them in his left hand, then dropped them faces upward.
'Spread 'em out,' said Barney. His voice had lost its boom and was taking on a drawl. 'Show all of 'em, fella.'
