behind him, holding the man helpless, while Pinkey stooped and reclaimed the dropped revolver.
Bron slumped to a chair when Slick released him. He was burying his face, gasping that he hadn't tried to kill Parrington.
Again at the doorway, The Shadow saw the glances exchanged by Pinkey and Slick. They had been puzzled, first, when they saw Parrington's body; but their
expressions were becoming triumphant.
This was better than the frame-up that the crooks had planned. It wasn't necessary to display a scene of faked death to make Bron worry.
Instead, they had trapped Lewis Bron with the evidence of real crime against him!
CHAPTER XIV
CROOKS GET THE GOODS
IF ever an innocent man believed himself a murderer, the case fitted Lewis
Bron. Pinkey observed that; and he saw something else. The bedroom door had cautiously opened; Bugs poked his head into sight. Pinkey nudged Slick, who also took a look.
"Do your stuff," whispered Pinkey. "Flash that badge and sell this guy Bron on the idea you're Quaine."
Slick flashed the badge. Bron eyed it fearfully; when Slick announced that
he was Bill Quaine, from headquarters, Bron took it for granted. He stammered an
argument of self defense, but it sounded feeble and Bron knew it.
"Suppose you write out a confession," suggested Slick. "It'll go easier with you, if you do. Better get it down."
Bron took the pen and paper that were handed him. With Parrington's body still in sight he was shaky; ready to do whatever told. Slick began to dictate;
and Bron copied. The way the smart crook handled it would have been a lesson for
the real Quaine, had he been present as a witness.
Meanwhile, The Shadow made no move.
This wasn't the sort of situation that could be cleared, like the one intended in Bron's office. There, death was to have been a sham; here, it was real. Bron had become so eager to swear that he had killed Parrington, that it would be difficult to make him realize the truth.
The Shadow decided to let plotters go further with their game, before he terminated it. Apparently, they had plenty of time; but that didn't last.
Crooks were due for an interruption, as sudden as the one that The Shadow had experienced.
From somewhere came the faint wail of a police car. Bugs caught that sound, gave a warning gesture that his pals saw. "Come along!" snapped Slick, to Bron. "You've written enough. We're going to take you somewhere else to finish it."
He started Bron out through the door, with Pinkey and Bugs following.
Bron
had scarcely noticed Pinkey; he didn't even see Bugs.
When the group reached the stairs, The Shadow followed. He wanted to see the finish of this game; and he wasn't worried about Bron's safety. He knew that the auditor was too valuable for thugs to harm him.
At the bottom of the stairs, the crooks could hear the police car stopping
in front of the old apartment house. Pinkey drew Bugs aside.
"We're going out the back," Pinkey told him. "The mob's here - you take care of the bulls; while Slick and I haul Bron to the hide-out. Come around there, afterward."
IN less than half a minute, Pinkey and Slick were gone with Bron, while skulking thugs were joining Bugs in the darkness of the rear hallway. Brought in from the back alley, those lurkers were eagerly watching the men who entered
from the front. A smarter crook than Bugs would not have pitched into Joe Cardona and the detective sergeant who came with the ace inspector. In fact, Pinkey had meant that Bugs was simply to cover the departure with Bron. But Bugs, with one kill to his discredit, was anxious for more. Pinkey had said to
"take care" of the bulls; and with Bugs; that meant to drill them.
Moreover, Joe Cardona was the one member of the force who had lived far too long, according to the mode of calculation used by Bugs Hopton.
Cardona was a man of hunches. He wasn't halfway to the stairs, before he scented danger. His swarthy face went suddenly grim; he shoved his stocky body in front of the accompanying detective sergeant.
"Look Out, Markham!" With the words, Cardona reached for a gun. "Dive for cover!"
Foemen were leveling revolvers when Cardona shouted; but those crooks weren't the first to fire. Intervention came from the stairway. There, a strident laugh offered challenge that no crook could ignore. Thugs snarled their recognition of The Shadow's sardonic laugh; changed their aim to his direction.
The Shadow was speaking with bullets, as well as mirth.
His two guns produced a sudden staccato, as they coughed their leaden message. Crooks went diving for cover of their own, and all of them didn't make
it. Their own shots might have been blanks, for their aim was halted on its way.
Those who tried to get in accurate shots were dropped where they stood.
The ones who dived weren't able to keep their muzzles on the blackness where they knew The Shadow lurked.
Joe Cardona recognized The Shadow's laugh. From its tone, he knew that the
cloaked fighter had a route of retreat, if he needed it. That was why Cardona made for the street, taking Markham with him.
Out front were two patrolmen; Cardona wanted them with him, when he made another sally.
From among the scattered crooks, Bugs Hopton made a sudden lunge; then turned in the direction of the alley. He wasn't anxious to face The Shadow's fire; nor were the gorillas who went with him. Nevertheless, they were due to experience more battle. They could hear The Shadow's laugh, as he pursued them.
IN the alley, mobsters spread. The Shadow kept to the doorway, stabbing shots that were aimed for the spurts of his foemen's revolvers. Occasional yells told when crooks were clipped by The Shadow's withering fire. Finally, a shout was proof that Bugs and his crew had lingered too long.
The shout came from Cardona. He and his small squad had rounded the block to reach the alleyway.
Thugs took to their heels; and sweeping close behind them came The Shadow.
Bugs saw him; tried to dive away from an aiming automatic muzzle. The Shadow's arm swung; his fist sledged the mobleader's head.
It wasn't that Bugs was just lucky. The Shadow was easy with him, for a reason that was to become apparent later. That was why Bugs received The Shadow's weighted fist instead of the metal barrel of a gun. As it was, the jolt left Bugs half groggy.
Bugs didn't even wonder where The Shadow had gone. Hazily, he tried to find a car with mobbies in it. He didn't realize that his crew was hopelessly scattered.
As he thought of it afterward, Bugs was in luck when someone grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him behind the wheel of a coupe.
"Get goin' Bugs," came a gruff voice. "You gotta drive, while I watch for the bulls."
Avenue lights were dancing ahead of him, but Bugs managed to maneuver the car, while the man beside him occasionally yanked the wheel to keep the coupe off the curb. As Bugs steadied, he kept his eyes straight ahead, while he sidemouthed the inquiry:
"That you, Joey?"
"Yeah," was the reply. "Don't waste no time, though. There's a car tailin'
us. Wait! I guess it's O.K. Just, some more of the mob."
Taking a roundabout course, Bugs finally reached a darkened parking space alongside an old garage. He told Joey to wait, while he talked to the others.
When Bugs returned, he ordered Joey to come up with him.
They entered a doorway; reached the second floor of an old house that looked deserted. There, Bugs left Joey in a darkened hall, while he went in to find Pinkey and Slick.
Bugs didn't have a chance to tell what had happened. Pinkey motioned for silence. Slick was still working on Bron. The confession was nearing its completion. Bugs watched Bron scrawl the last line, then apply his signature.
"Thanks for bringing me here," said Bron, plaintively. "Its quiet. I could
think. I'm ready to go with you to headquar
ters."
It was Pinkey who snorted a rebuke to Bron's suggestion. Pinkey had snatched the confession, and was reading it.
"You won't have to take a rap for this," he told Bron. "There's an easier way out. Listen, while I tell you."
BRON listened. He was amazed when he learned what Thurley wanted done on the morrow. Even in his present plight, he foresaw bad consequences.
"If I accept those books," he exclaimed, "I can go to jail for it!"
"It would be easier than a murder rap, wouldn't it?" demanded Pinkey.
"Anyway, you won't be found out. And neither will this be."
Thurley waved the confession under Bron's eyes. He made it plain that Detective Quaine was a regular guy; to which Slick added his own declaration.
Bron finally capitulated.
"I'll go through with it," he gasped. "But if you blackmail me once, you may try it again -"
"Not me," interrupted Pinkey. "This is the only deal you can handle for me, Bron. So why should I bother you?"
It became evident that Bron was suspicious of the supposed Bill Quaine.
He
felt that he could trust an ordinary crook; but not a detective who had double-crossed the law. Pinkey listened seriously to that argument.
He nudged Bugs, who caught the idea. Pinkey wanted the gun that had the blank cartridges. Bugs slipped it to him. Shoving his face toward Bron's, Pinkey rasped:
"You've got guts, Bron. That's why I'm listening to what you tell me. You think Quaine's a double-crosser; so do I. We don't need him, neither of us!"
Pinkey jabbed the gun, muzzle against Slick's ribs, so suddenly that the fake dick was startled. There was a tug of the trigger; a muffled shot. For the
moment, Slick thought that Pinkey had actually handed him a bullet. Staggering back, hand against his side, Slick suddenly understood.
The fall that he made won the approval even of Bugs Hopton. Afterward, Bugs was willing to concede that he couldn't have faked a death scene any better. Slick was writhing when he reached the wall; his collapse came with the
same suddenness that Bron had noted in Parrington's death.
Bron stared - partly awed, partly fearful.
"You - you've killed him!" he told Pinkey. "Like I killed Parrington!"
"Yeah," agreed Pinkey, "only there's a difference. They've found Parrington's body; but they won't find Quaine's. I know where to bury my dead.
Anyway, I've done you a favor. There won't be no double-cross while I'm around.
That goes for you, Bron, like it did for Quaine!"
Turning Bron over to Bugs, Pinkey told the mobleader to have one of his men take Bron home. Bug said he'd use Joey, because the latter was in the hall.
He took Bron outside; then returned to find Slick alive again, receiving Pinkey's congratulations.
RIDING in the coupe with Joey, Bron didn't have a word to say. The hoodlum
driver dropped him near his home; watched Bron walk away like a person waking from a dream. When the coupe pulled away from the curb, a whispered laugh came from Joey's lips.
That tone proved that Bugs had made a bad mistake. It wasn't one of his own thugs who had rescued him; it was The Shadow. From beneath his sweater, The
Shadow was producing black hat and cloak, placing them on the seat beside him.
Once he had taken this coupe back where it belonged, he could vanish, letting Bugs think that Joey had simply gone with the rest of the crowd. But it
wasn't his clever ruse, alone, that caused The Shadow's laugh.
A silent witness to the scene at the hideout, The Shadow had linked a few more facts. He was willing to let Bron go through with the matter of the oil company's books. For The Shadow knew that Pinkey Findlen wasn't through with crime.
There was a pay-off coming, larger than any before. That was when The Shadow would find his greatest opportunity to expose the present reign of New York's biggest racketeer.
CHAPTER XV
CARDONA TAKES ADVICE
THE next morning, crooks had more cause to congratulate themselves.
According to the newspapers, the death of Roy Parrington was something of a mystery. The gun battle that had occurred downstairs in the apartment house; had merely served further to confuse the facts.
A few thugs had been captured; but they couldn't have told much, even if they had been willing to squeal. Those hoodlums who formed the core of Bugs Hopton's outfit had all managed to get away in the second car. The rest were recruits who didn't even know who commanded them.
Why had Roy Parrington died?
Even that was a mystery; for the man had no underworld connections, nor was he wealthy. There were persons, of course, who had engineered shady deals through Parrington, but they were keeping strict silence.
All that news unquestionably had its effect upon Lewis Bron. When the auditor visited the offices of the World Oil interests, he certified the books just as they stood. That pleased Giles Jondran, the gray-haired president of the oil company, when Bron stopped in to see him. Jondran always prided himself
on the efficiency of his own staff; and he felt that the auditor's unqualified approval was a tribute to the entire organization.
Despite the comfortable quiet of Jondran's office, Bron felt ill at ease, and was glad to get away. Not only was he conscience stricken when he received Jondran's commendation; but there was a visitor present whose eyes worried Bron.
Jondran introduced that hawkfaced stranger as Lamont Cranston, one of the stockholders of World Oil. Bron had heard of Cranston; knew that he was reputedly a millionaire.
Therefore, it bothered Bron badly, when his mind went skipping back to his
homeward ride from Pinkey's hideout.
Why he kept thinking of Joey, the thug who had driven the car, Bron couldn't guess. He certainly did not link Joey with Cranston.
Afterward, Bron was inclined to believe that his own imagination had been responsible for his nervousness. But he was confident that he had covered all traces of the jitters.
Bron received a telephone call, after he reached his office. When he reported that everything had gone as ordered, he heard a gloating chuckle from the receiver.
That piece of news was all that Pinkey Findlen wanted to know.
The big-shot was confident that The Shadow knew nothing of last night's factors. Pinkey assumed that The Shadow, hard up for a trail, had merely tagged
along with Joe Cardona. As for Joey's arrival at the apartment house, that was easily explained.
Someone in another apartment must have heard the shot that Bugs fired, and
put in a call to headquarters. Probably that caller had been uncertain about the
affair; hence, Cardona had decided to make it a matter of personal investigation.
Pinkey hadn't the remotest idea that Parrington had made the call. In Pinkey's opinion, the fellow would have been too scared to do so. Slick had certainly put the heat on him, with that old stunt of passing himself as Quaine.
PERHAPS it was The Shadow's own lack of information regarding Parrington that caused him to suppose that the man had actually called Cardona.
The Shadow had encountered no clues to the five thousand dollar shake-down
that had been staged in Ondrey's office. All he had to work on was the fact that
Bron had gone to Parrington's apartment.
That indicated that Roy Parrington had suspected coming crime. Therefore, The Shadow regarded a call to Cardona as the one logical explanation for the ace inspector's arrival. Calculating further, The Shadow saw that Cardona might
have facts that he had not revealed to the newspapers.
That was why, at noon, a reporter named Clyde Burke made an unexpected visit to Cardona's office. Clyde, though he worked for a tabloid newspaper called the Classic, was also an agent of The Shadow.
Clyde's arrival was highly opportune.
The reporter found Cardona going over a batch of papers that the inspector
/> shoved aside the moment he saw Clyde. Hunching back in his chair, Cardona became
poker-faced. Clyde only grinned.
"I thought you'd have something, Joe," he said, wisely. "What is it; new dope on the Parrington murder?"
"No. Talk to the homicide squad about that." Cardona spoke bluntly at first; then suddenly changed tone: "Say, Burke, you get around a lot. Tell me
-
do you think any rackets are starting up again?"
Clyde shook his head. He hadn't heard of any.
"I'm supposed to look into it," remarked Cardona as if annoyed by a new assignment. "What I need is some good men. Here's one fellow who helped a lot in the clean-up" - Joe lifted the papers from the desk - "so I've been going over his record. You've heard of him: Bill Quaine."
Clyde agreed that Quaine had a real reputation as a racket-smasher.
Secretly, the reporter was elated. Facts pieced perfectly. Cardona had certainly received a call from Parrington: what was more, the man had mentioned
Quaine by name.
Though Cardona didn't know it, he was getting close to unsuspected facts.
With more to go on, he might learn the details of the clever impersonation staged by Slick Thurley.
Working under orders from The Shadow, Clyde was prepared for such a situation. That was why he suggested:
"Why don't you talk to Quaine, Joe?"
"Quaine is out of town," returned Cardona. "On a long vacation. Anyway, he'd say he was good. I want somebody else's opinion."
Clyde jotted down several names, passed them across the desk to Cardona with the comment:
"Why don't you talk to these fellows?"
The list contained the names of managers of various night clubs. The Bubble Club was not included. That was one place where The Shadow didn't want Cardona to drop in.
"They all knew Quaine," insisted Clyde. "Maybe they can tell you how much he really did toward smashing the night club racket. When you make the rounds, Joe, stick to the bunch that I have listed. They're the sort who won't stall."
IT was nearly five o'clock when Cardona completed his tour, for he had to sit around in several night clubs waiting for the managers to arrive. The whole
job, however, was worth the trouble. Cardona was in a state of mental torment, when he arrived back in his office.
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