The Shadow - The Death Sleep Part 10

"h.e.l.lO, Cliff."

Cliff Marsland looked up from a table at the Black s.h.i.+p. He recognized the hard-faced rowdy who was sliding into an opposite chair. The fellow was known as "Muggsy" McGilly. He was another gorilla of Luke Gonrey's ilk.

"h.e.l.lo, Muggsy. What's new?"

The rowdy looked about. Seeing no one close by, he leaned across the table. His tone was both cautious and confidential. Cliff sensed that serious business was afoot.

"Luke Gonrey was talkin' to you two nights ago," informed Muggsy. "Right here at this table. Supposed to meet you last night, wasn't he?"

Cliff made no reply. Muggsy laughed.

"It's O.K., Cliff," he a.s.sured. "Spud Claxter sent me here."

"Spud Claxter?" Cliff acted as if he had never heard the name. "Sure," chuckled Muggsy. "Luke was workin' for him. You know all about it."

"Yeah?" Cliff was still quizzical. "Say - where's Luke? Have you seen him?"

"Luke got crippled in that fight out at Currian's," stated Muggsy. "Him an' a lot of other guys. He told Spud about you. Spud needs a new mob. I'm in it. So are you."

"For when?"

"Tonight. Listen. There's real dough in it. One grand. Are you on?"

Cliff nodded.

"Up in Soklow's old garage," stated Muggsy. "Half an hour. The mob's goin' out. Be there."

Muggsy started to rise. Cliff stopped him. He had one question - a natural one.

"Say," he inquired. "What's come of Luke?"

"I don't know," answered Muggsy. "Spud says he's been taken care of. But I ain't seen him. Maybe he's in a badder way than Spud wanted to say."

"When did you see Spud?"

"Half an hour ago. I've been sort of hidin' out, lately, an' he knew where I was. Snook in there an' slipped me the word. Told me to see you."

Cliff sat silent after Muggsy had left. He had figured that Luke Gonrey had been dropped in the battle with The Shadow. But Cliff, following his chief's instructions, had made the Black s.h.i.+p his habitat in hopes that the missing mobster might show up. This news from Muggsy explained why Luke had not arrived. It also gave Cliff the very break he wanted.

HALF an hour from now; at Soklow's garage. Cliff knew what his task would be. He was to serve as one of the outside crew, just as Luke had served in the raid on Currian's. This was better than before. It would be to The Shadow's liking. Cliff got up and strolled from the dive. He reached the store with the battered phone booth and put in a call to Burbank.

The contact man ordered him to remain. Five minutes pa.s.sed. The bell rang in the phone booth. Cliff s.n.a.t.c.hed the receiver from the hook. He spoke. Burbank responded. The contact agent had communicated with The Shadow; the orders were for Cliff to go along with the mob.

It had been after nine o'clock when Muggsy had dropped into the Black s.h.i.+p. It was nearly ten when Cliff entered the old garage and growled his name to the first mobster who challenged him. He was being initiated into Spud Claxter's methods. Louie and Gabby were again a.s.signed to the wheels of the touring cars. They were to pick up Spud's trail somewhere along a certain street.

The cars started from the garage. Tonight, however, the second touring car had no excess pa.s.senger upon its rear b.u.mper. One block from the old garage, a small sedan took up the trail of the touring cars.

It followed slowly, nearly a block behind. It was still trailing when Spud Claxter's coupe appeared up ahead.

"Say" - a voice growled beside Cliff, in the rear seat of the second touring car - "there's a rattletrap sedan tailing us. What about it, Gabby?"

"Watch it," ordered the driver. The touring car turned a corner. Back in the sedan, a tail light blinked. A trim coupe, one block behind, came speeding forward. It followed close as the sedan turned the corner. The mobsters were turning another corner up ahead. Again the tall light blinked as the sedan swung to the curb.

The coupe pulled up alongside. A man leaped from the driver's seat, out into the seat. At the same instant, blackness arose from behind the wheel of the sedan. The Shadow s.h.i.+fted swiftly to the coupe.

The trim car shot forward. Harry took charge of the sedan.

The Shadow's new car swerved the corner. It gained rapidly upon the mobster cars, but did not approach too closely. The effect was apparent in the car wherein Cliff was riding.

"See anything more of that mug in back?" queried Gabby.

"There's a car coming along," informed the fellow beside Cliff. "A coupe. Good-looking buggy, what I can see of it."

"I thought you said an old sedan was tailing us."

"That's what was. But it ain't anywhere around."

"Then it wasn't tailing us," decided Gabby, with a short laugh. "That's that."

The other mobster agreed. Nevertheless, he cast wary glances toward the coupe as it still kept along in back. The mobster cars had reached a lighted thoroughfare; they shot forward in procession just as a traffic light changed. The coupe was lost on the other side of the crossing. It pulled up to the curb, just behind a taxicab.

WHEN traffic changed, the cab sped forward. The driver had a pa.s.senger. The Shadow had abandoned his coupe and taken the taxi instead. Within a few blocks, his keen eyes spied the last touring car as it swerved a corner to the right.

"Take that street," ordered The Shadow, in a quiet tone. The driver obeyed.

Up in the touring car, Gabby was still thinking about sedan and coupe. Chuckling, he shot a remark to the silent gunman who was seated beside Cliff.

"Hey, Goofy," laughed Gabby. "What's following us now? A delivery truck?"

"There's a taxi coming along in back," growled the disgruntled mobster.

"About twelve thousand of them in New York," snorted Gabby. "Say you can't go anywhere in this burg without a taxi being on your trail. What kind of a cab is it?"

"I'll look. No" - the gangster paused as he stared from the rear window - "I can't make it out. What did you want to know for?"

"Thought maybe it was one of them with a radio in it," chuckled Gabby. "If it was, I'd slow up so it could come alongside. Get a little free music."

The mobster growled an oath from the rear seat. Gabby laughed and turned another corner on to a wide avenue. Here a medley of cabs came into the picture; the mobster in the rear seat could not have identified The Shadow's if he had tried.

Cliff Marsland felt sure that the cars were nearing their destination. Spud's coupe had led a s.h.i.+fty course, northward and westward. At last the front car swung toward the blackness of a side street, negotiating aleft turn that gave difficulty to the touring cars. While Gabby was maneuvering, a taxi cut left with a wild swing and headed over toward the far curb of the side street.

"Right here," came a quiet order.

The driver stopped short in front of a gloomy, old-fas.h.i.+oned apartment building. He did not know what it was all about. His pa.s.senger had given one new order after another. On the last avenue, he had called for a sudden left turn, in a hurry. Now it was stop. The driver turned to express an opinion. A hand thrust him a green bill.

"Keep the change," said the quiet voice.

The first touring car had swung past the cab; the second, freeing itself from traffic, negotiated the turn. As it coasted close by the cab, the street door of the taxi opened. While the taxi driver was still fondling the money that he had received, the figure of The Shadow performed a series of swift leaps.

The cloaked shape gained the touring car just as Gabby gave it the gas. Once more, The Shadow was riding with the mob. Like Cliff, he had sensed that the end of the journey was close. Along this darkened street, he could risk another trip on the rear b.u.mper.

THE three cars swung right. They came to a stop upon a short, wide street - one of those peculiar, little-used thoroughfares that run parallel with the upper avenues in Manhattan. Mobsters came to the sidewalk. They followed Spud's lead through a pa.s.sageway between two old apartment buildings.

It was here that Spud gave his instructions as he pointed ahead. He was explaining the location of an old-fas.h.i.+oned apartment building, the corner of which was just visible from this spot. Spud was terse.

"We've got to cover it all around," said the mobleader. "Muggsy and Marsland pick the fire tower. The rest keep farther off. Two of you opposite the front door. Louie and Gabby will do. We don't need you in the cars tonight."

Mobsters moved toward the designated positions. Cliff found himself with "Muggsy," in a short, blind alley that was by the bottom of the fire tower. Muggsy moved forward to inspect the darkness. Cliff was about to follow when a soft hiss restrained him. Cliff caught a whispered command. It was from The Shadow, unseen in the darkness.

Muggsy returned, pa.s.sing the lighted entrance to the tower. Cliff put a prompt question, one that The Shadow had inspired by his whispered command.

"Say, Muggsy," suggested Cliff. "Get out to Spud and ask him what floor the job is on. We ought to be posted. Somebody might start a fool racket upstairs. If we don't know the floor, we won't know what to do about it."

"Guess you're right, Cliff."

Muggsy sidled out from the alley. Cliff caught sight of a blackened shape that moved swiftly into the fire tower, unseen by the departing gangster. Once inside, The Shadow's form became unseen. Muggsy returned. He had found Spud across the street.

"Fourth floor," informed Muggsy. "Side toward this street. Number 4G, Spud says."

Within the fire tower, The Shadow moved into the blackness of the stairs. Silently, his form was gliding upward. His keen ears had caught Muggsy's words. The Shadow was moving to his post.

CHAPTER XV. CARDONA FINDS LUCK

WHILE The Shadow was trailing mobsters bent on new crime, Commissioner Wainwright Barth and Detective Joe Cardona were concerning themselves with old events. The two representatives of the law were at the Talleyrand Hospital, in conference with Doctor Seton Lagwood.

The first of the death-sleep patients had recovered. The others were showing signs of life. Doctor Lagwood's hopes had been realized. As with the first group of victims, the time element of forty-eight hours had done its helpful work.

"My former patients" - Doctor Lagwood was speaking from his chair in the experimental room - "recovered at midnight. We allowed them until morning before they were questioned regarding their experience."

"Would you advise the same in this case?" asked Barth.

"I would," nodded Lagwood. "Unquestionably their minds will be clearer then. Of course, if it is imperative, we could allow one or two of them to speak. But I advise the utmost caution for the present."

"Very well," decided Barth. "Come, Cardona, let us leave."

"Just a minute, commissioner," insisted the detective. "I want to find out which one of that bunch woke up first. Which one was it, doctor?"

Doctor Lagwood picked up a chart from the table. He consulted it carefully, then made his reply.

"Gerald Throckmorton," stated the physician. "Let me see - he is the man from Boston, is he not?"

"Yes." Cardona turned to Barth. "Commissioner, I'd like to ask that fellow just one question. Why he came down here with a private detective."

"Could we allow that?" Barth asked Lagwood.

The physician pondered. At first, he seemed on the point of refusing the request. Then, after giving more thought, he decided that it would be allowable. He conducted Barth and Cardona along a hallway and into a private room. There they saw Gerald Throckmorton propped, white-faced, upon the pillows of a cot.

Despite his pallor, Throckmorton seemed very much awake. His eyes were clear as they saw the visitors.

His lips opened and he smiled as he put a greeting to Lagwood.

"h.e.l.lo, Doc," said the young man, "you're back again, eh? Who are your friends?"

"Commissioner Barth," introduced Lagwood, "and Detective Cardona. The latter has a question which he would like answered. You were accompanied to New York by a private detective. Why was he with you?"

"That's a long story," smiled Throckmorton.

"Just give the primary reason," urged Lagwood. "Did you fear robbery? Did you have valuables with you?"

"Yes," responded the young man, half closing his eyes. "Securities to deliver to Currian." DOCTOR LAGWOOD turned to Cardona. The detective nodded. This gave him the start he wanted.

Throckmorton had been robbed, but apparently did not know it. Lagwood's gesture indicated that it would be unwise to worry him with the news.

Barth turned toward the door. Cardona was about to follow when Throckmorton opened his eyes and again smiled. He spoke, half in a tone of surprise.

"You're leaving?" he queried. "I wanted to talk longer -"

"Wait until the morning," interposed Lagwood. "Detective Cardona will be back then."

"All right," agreed Throckmorton. "Tomorrow morning will be all right. Just so long as I can talk before Wednesday night."

Joe Cardona stopped abruptly. Almost involuntarily, he spoke aloud, responding to the statement that Throckmorton had made.

"Wednesday night?" he queried. "This is Wednesday night."

Throckmorton swung in the bed and propped his head on one elbow. He was completely aroused from his lethargy. His tone, though bewildered, was clear.

"Wednesday night?" he echoed. "It - it can't be. Why I was at Currian's last night - Monday night. I - I - have been asleep for two days? I thought it was only one."

Doctor Lagwood stepped forward anxiously. Commissioner Barth was also apprehensive. Joe Cardona remained stolid, as Throckmorton blurted objections to the two men who tried to quiet him.

"I've got to talk!" he cried. "I know that crooks must have grabbed my securities. Currian's safe was open. They could have rifled it, too. But that's nothing! Tonight - Wednesday night - you can't stop me!

I'm going to talk!"

"The result might be serious," warned Lawgood, turning to Barth. "He can speak if you order it; but the consequences will be your own. I speak as a physician."

"Quiet him," agreed Barth. "His life may be at stake."

"Perhaps," broke in Cardona, thrusting forward between the physician and the commissioner, "but maybe other lives are already at stake. I'll stand for the consequences, commissioner. I want to hear this man's statement."

For an instant, Barth boiled with indignation. He glared at Cardona while Doctor Lagwood stood by, shaking his head in troubled fas.h.i.+on. Angered at Cardona's insubordination, the commissioner was ready to use forcible measures. It was Throckmorton who changed the situation. Already the recovered patient was gripping Cardona's coat, pouring out his story to the detective.