The Road Of Crime s-39 Page 3

  THE woman possessed a handsome face, yet there was something about her countenance that rendered it unattractive. Perhaps it was the hardened smile upon her painted lips; possibly it was the challenging glint that came from her dark eyes.

  Whatever the cause, Graham Wellerton seemed annoyed because the feminine visitor had appeared, and the woman seemed pleased at the man’s dismay.

  “Not so glad to see me, eh?” was her first question. The tones were harsh. “Well, it was time I looked you up. Here I am!”

  “How did you find my apartment, Carma?” questioned Graham angrily.

  “That’s my business!” the woman snapped. “I’ve found you before, haven’t I? All right - I’ll find you again!”

  “Perhaps,” returned the young man, seating himself in a chair by the window. “Nevertheless, there was no reason for you to come here. I told you that I would see you tomorrow - to give you the money that you want.”

  “I’ll take the cash now, big boy,” prompted Carma. “Five grand - kick in.”

  “I promised you three thousand.”

  “I want five.”

  “I haven’t that amount.”

  “No?” Carma’s tone was scoffing. “Say - you must work cheap, big boy. After that Terminal National robbery, you ought to have plenty of dough.”

  “What makes you say that?” quizzed Graham angrily. “Where do you get the idea that I was in on the Terminal National holdup?”

  “I read the newspapers,” laughed Carma. “I know the kind of work you do. Come on - five grand!”

  Irritably, Graham drew a roll of bank notes from his pocket and peeled off fifty bills of hundred-dollar denomination. His bundle of cash was still a stout one when he replaced it in his pocket.

  “This will do for a while,” volunteered Carma. “But when I want more - I’ll get it. Understand?”

  Graham eyed the woman as she took a chair and lighted a cigarette. The young man chewed his lips, then spoke in a concerned tone.

  “Some day, Carma,” he remarked, “this is all going to end. Your demands for money are becoming more and more troublesome.”

  “I’ve got the goods on you, Graham,” retorted Carma harshly. “You’ll keep on paying - that’s all.”

  “Let’s be reasonable,” suggested the young man. “It’s about time you called quits on the racket. Otherwise -“

  He paused as he caught the woman’s glare. Thoughtfully, Graham assumed a reminiscent tone as he changed the subject to a discussion of the past.

  “A FEW years ago,” he said, “you and I were married. You know very well that I was shanghaied into matrimony. I don’t even remember the ceremony. You showed me the marriage license - that was all.”

  “Granted,” replied Carma. “You made a big mistake when you went into that speakeasy where I found you goofy from bad booze. If your old man hadn’t had a lot of dough, I’d have left you there. But when I found out who you were, I married you.”

  “And when I woke up,” retorted Graham, “I knew the whole affair was a frame-up. I told you I was through. I left. Then you came around and threatened to blackmail my father.”

  “He had dough,” said Carma. “He could have paid. It would have been quits then.”

  “It would have been best,” admitted Graham. “I didn’t see it that way at the time. So I went out to raise cash to keep you quiet. A crook spotted me” - Graham was careful not to name Wolf Daggert - “and showed me the way to easy money.”

  “A great fellow,” declared Carma, “whoever he was. You’ve been in the money ever since, big boy.”

  “Crooked money,” said Graham bitterly. “Stolen money. Once I started, I had to keep on.”

  “And you went at it right.”

  “I figured it as a temporary proposition,” declared Graham. “I hoped for a break. I thought it had come when my uncle swindled my father out of all his money. My father died. You were powerless - for I was no longer heir to a large estate. So I thought. That was when I left New York.”

  “That was when I used my noodle,” laughed Carma. “I kept on your trail, didn’t I, big boy?”

  “Yes,” grunted Graham. “You started a new racket. You knew too much about my criminal activities. Every time I picked up a bundle of cash, you were there to grab your share - always the big share.”

  “Turn on the radio,” sneered Carma. “Maybe a little soft music would make you feel better.”

  “I came back to New York,” declared Graham, “and I landed in with some big workers. More money here - until you bobbed up again. You wanted a larger share of the cash. I’ve had to give it to you.”

  “Or I’ll squeal,” laughed Carma. “Between that marriage license and what I know about you, you’ve got to pay. Plenty!”

  “If I happened to be a quitter,” returned Graham, “I’d give up the game. I’d take the rap - even if it meant twenty years in the pen.”

  “Not you, big boy,” scoffed the woman. “You like your freedom too well. Maybe you’ll try to ditch me again - I’m always watching for that.”

  “Maybe,” said Graham. “But not while things are going good here in New York. Some day, though, I may find a town where I can settle down without you knowing where I am.”

  “What about Southwark?” suggested Carma, in a baiting tone.

  Graham Wellerton leaped to his feet. His eyes were furious. His fists clenched. His words were bitter as he blurted forth condemning tones.

  “Southwark!” he snarled. “Never mention the name of that place! I hate everyone who lives there, now that my father is dead. My uncle - my mother’s brother - old Ezra Talboy - the meanest skinflint in the world! Worse than you, Carma - and that’s saying a lot!

  “I wish some calamity would hit that town! Kill everybody in it! I wouldn’t trust myself in Southwark. The very name enrages me!”

  “You’re not a killer,” said Carma, with a deprecating laugh. “You never will be. Even if you were in Southwark, you wouldn’t commit murder. Ditch me again, big boy, and I’ll find you. But I’ll give you a tip right now - I’ll never look for you in Southwark.”

  “I’m not a killer,” admitted Graham. “That’s the only reason my uncle goes on living. He pilfered my father’s money; I’ll never get a cent of it. Yet Ezra Talboy still lives. No - I draw the line at murder - and that’s the only reason you’re alive, Carma. Dozens of times I’ve wanted to kill you.”

  “But you never will,” said the woman calmly, rising as she tucked the five thousand dollars in her hand bag. “Well, so long, big boy. Look me up after the next big job. If you don’t, I’ll find you, wherever you are.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” retorted Graham. “You’re a jinx right enough. I’ll probably move to another apartment now that you’ve come here.”

  “Suit yourself,” laughed Carma, as she walked to the door and sarcastically blew a kiss in Graham’s direction. “Don’t forget when my next allowance is due.”

  AFTER the woman had gone, Graham Wellerton paced up and down the room. He hated Carma - and he had reason. He remembered when first he had met her - Carma Urstead - a typical gangster’s moll.

  Graham had seen the woman only once or twice prior to the event in the speakeasy. He could remember now how he had awakened from a drunken stupor to learn that he had married Carma Urstead. He recalled how he had cursed her; how he had departed, hoping never to see her again.

  Carma had trailed him everywhere. In desperation, Graham had sought Wolf Daggert, the gangster whom he had met frequently at night clubs in Manhattan. Wolf had shown him the way to crime; Carma had necessitated Graham following the course that Wolf offered.

  A smile of grim, determination appeared upon Graham Wellerton’s firm face. The young man strode to a corner of the living room, picked up a telephone, dialed a number and began to speak in a low, cautious tone.

  His words were not audible at the window. The Shadow, listening, softly raised the sash and shade. His tall form stepped into the living room. Gra
ham, seated at a telephone table, heard nothing but the talk of the man at the other end.

  Sash and shade were lowered. Like a phantom, The Shadow glided to the doorway of another room. There, his form obscured, The Shadow stood close enough to overhear what Graham Wellerton was saying. The gentleman of crime was talking to members of his mob.

  Across the floor stretched a streak of blackness, a shade that ended in a weirdly shaped profile. The silhouette, the visible token of The Shadow, appeared upon the carpet by the table where Graham Wellerton was seated.

  “All right, Frank,” Graham was saying. “Put Pete on the wire… That you, Pete?… We’re moving out of town tomorrow night… Have everything set… Now listen - I’ll tell you where to meet me.”

  Graham Wellerton’s eyes froze. Staring over the mouthpiece of the telephone, they spied the silhouette upon the floor. Instinctively, the young man knew that the blackened profile signified the presence of a human being. Another thought flashed through his mind - the identity of the personage who had somehow entered this room.

  The Shadow!

  Despite a chilling tenseness, Graham retained his composure. Pete’s voice was coming over the wire, inquiring where the meeting was to take place. Graham realized that if his conjecture was correct - that if The Shadow were watching here, any statement of a meeting point would be suicidal.

  “Wait a minute, Pete.” Graham’s voice came steadily. “I’d better wait until I’ve seen the big shot. I’m dropping in on him around nine o’clock. I’ll call you from there… That’s right… Wait around until you hear from me.”

  Graham Wellerton hung up the receiver. Without moving from his chair, he drew forth a cigarette and lighted it. Staring over the flicker of the match, he watched the spot upon the floor. Slowly, with progressive glide, the streak of darkness dwindled into nothingness.

  THE SHADOW was here. Doubtless he had slipped into the obscurity of the adjoining room. Graham smiled. He arose from his chair, sauntered to the window, raised shade and sash and stood staring into the darkness of the courtyard, whistling softly as he flicked cigarette ashes down into the space below him.

  The gentleman of crime could hear no sound, yet he seemed to sense that eyes were watching him, that a living presence was gliding through the room. He knew that he was at the mercy of The Shadow, yet he held the hunch that the master of darkness would depart without striking.

  For the crux of crime would come tomorrow. Graham had heard of The Shadow’s ways; how the weird specter of the night toyed with the plans of evil schemers and bided his time until their contemplated crimes were nearing the point of completion.

  Two minutes passed. Graham puffed his cigarette furiously, then tossed the butt from the window. He turned back into the living room. The atmosphere seemed relieved. He was sure that The Shadow had gone.

  Graham smiled.

  He knew now that The Shadow must have learned Wolf Daggert’s ways; that the phantom warrior had been at King Furzman’s this evening. From that point, The Shadow had taken up Graham’s own trail.

  Tomorrow night, The Shadow would again be at King Furzman’s, there to learn what Graham Wellerton intended. Graham’s smile increased. He thought of the two visitors who had been in this room tonight.

  Carma.

  Graham had tricked her. She fully expected him to remain in New York. Once he had started for a distant city with his mob, Graham felt sure that he could successfully lose the woman who had been his Nemesis. She would not be able to find him.

  The Shadow.

  There was a more potent enemy. Yet Graham Wellerton felt sure that he had tricked The Shadow also. Tomorrow night, Graham would not visit King Furzman. A telephone call to the big shot would serve instead of a personal call.

  With King Furzman warned, with Wolf Daggert lying low, with Graham Wellerton out of New York, The Shadow would be frustrated in any effort to break this ring of crime. Graham, now, would be the only active worker; by the time he could be traced, he would be bound to another destination.

  Still smiling, the gentleman of crime stared at the spot of carpeting which now was clear of the blackened silhouette. Graham Wellerton had seen the visible sign of The Shadow. Forewarned, he was prepared to deceive the master who battled crime.

  CHAPTER V

  THE WARNING

  ANOTHER evening had come to Manhattan. King Furzman was seated in the room where he received his visitors. The big shot was anticipating the arrival of Graham Wellerton. Tonight, Furzman was to hear his lieutenant’s plans.

  The big shot drew a heavy gold watch from his pocket and noted the time as half past eight. Wellerton was due to arrive at any minute. Furzman, as he chewed the end of a fat cigar, wondered just what locality the daring gentleman crook intended to invade.

  Not once did Furzman glance toward the heavy curtains that hung between this room and the next. The big shot did not notice the strange, sinister blot that projected from those draperies. Less sensitive than Graham Wellerton, King Furzman failed to gain an inkling that the hidden eyes of The Shadow were upon him.

  Minutes drifted by; then came a knock from the door at the other side of the room. Gouger entered in response to Furzman’s growl. The bodyguard announced that Graham Wellerton was calling on the telephone.

  “Tell him to come up,” ordered the big shot.

  “He’s not downstairs,” returned Gouger. “He’s calling from outside somewhere -“

  “Bring me the telephone,” interposed Furzman brusquely.

  Gouger went back into the far room, then returned with the telephone, dragging a long extension wire after him. He handed the instrument to the big shot, who took it without even moving from his chair.

  “Hello, Wellerton,” greeted Furzman. “Where are you?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute,” came the reply. “Are you alone, there in the apartment?”

  “Gouger’s here.”

  “Send him away” - Graham’s voice came in a guarded tone - “and listen carefully to what I have to say. Don’t repeat anything. This is very important.”

  “All right,” returned Furzman, in a puzzled tone. “Wait a second.”

  The big shot made a motion with the telephone, indicating that Gouger should leave. The bodyguard went back through the far doorway.

  “Gouger’s gone,” informed Furzman. “Go ahead. Spill what you’ve got to say.”

  “Just a minute.” Graham’s voice carried a warning note as it came across the wire. “Hold the phone away from your ear, King. See if my voice can be heard.”

  STILL puzzled, but convinced by Graham’s impressive tone that the matter was important, Furzman obeyed the injunction. He noted that Graham’s next words were hopelessly indistinct when heard without receiver to ear.

  “Can’t make outa thing,” said Furzman, again speaking into the mouthpiece. “Your voice doesn’t carry at all, the way you’re talking. What’s up, Wellerton? What’s the idea -“

  “Easy, King!” Graham’s voice was low but distinct. “I’m putting you wise to something important. Don’t say a word to give away what I’m telling you. Someone may be listening.”

  “Where?”

  “In your apartment.”

  “Who?”

  “The Shadow!”

  King Furzman sat in momentary bewilderment. As he waited, unable to speak because of his surprise, he heard new information coming across the wire.

  “I’m over in Jersey, King,” declared Graham. “I’m here with the mob. We’re starting out tonight for Grand Rapids, Michigan. We’re going to knock off a couple of banks out there and -“

  “You’re coming here first?”

  “Sh-h!” Graham’s voice hissed across the wire. “I’m not taking any chances, King. The Shadow was covering me last night. He may be laying up at your place right now - waiting for me to show up. That’s why I don’t want to come there.”

  “I see,” commented King, nervously glancing about him.

  “Our first jo
b” - Graham’s voice was still cautious - “will be the Riverview Trust in Grand Rapids. Listen, King - Wolf Daggert pulled a big mistake by coming up to see you last night. The Shadow was on his trail then - now he’s on mine. But I’m sliding out on him.

  “Keep Wolf away. Tell him you don’t want to see him. Count on me for a while. I’ll get the gravy you want. Watch things until you’re sure that The Shadow isn’t going to bother you.

  “We’re heading West - in cars - and we’ll be two nights on the road. We’re going to hold up the Riverview the night after we get to Grand Rapids. I know all about the bank - it does a big night business, It’s a set-up -“

  “Say, Wellerton,” interrupted King Furzman, “if this stuff is on the level as -“

  “It is on the level,” came back Graham’s quick response. “It’s a tough situation, King. Don’t take any chances. I’ve given you the lay; you know what I’m going to do. You can’t be too careful.”

  All of King Furzman’s doubts were dispelled. The big shot found himself becoming nervous. Wolf’s theory that The Shadow had broken up the robbery yesterday noon; Graham’s convincing statements that The Shadow was following up the victory - these were sufficient for King Furzman.

  “I’ve got you, Wellerton,” he declared, in a decisive tone. “Go ahead with the lay the way you’ve planned it. When will I hear from you?”

  “I’ll get word to you,” returned Graham. “But I want you to be sure that The Shadow’s not on deck before I come back to New York.”

  “All right,” said Furzman. “Leave that part of it to me.”

  A click came over the wire. The big shot hung up. He mopped his forehead thoughtfully; then began a succession of nervous glances, his gaze traveling to all corners of the room.

  Almost before his eyes, the black streak that indicated The Shadow performed a fadeout. The big shot did not notice the motion of darkness on the door.