Part 1 (2/2)
Moe had swung the corner while Hawkeye was speaking. They roared through a narrow street. Callard's cab had increased speed; it was turning right again at the next avenue, doubling back beneath another elevated railway.
Moe stuck to his task and kept up a threading trail as the cab ahead took to side streets.
It soon became apparent that Callard must have given his driver a new address. The fleeing cab was keeping in and about a section near Twenty-third Street, twisting back to streets that it had traveled before. Spurting to a lead of a full block, it rounded a corner. Moe Shrevnitz spied a motion of the door as Callard's cab took the turn.
”He's dropping off,” informed Moe. ”That's what he's doing. Going to leave me an empty hack to follow -”.
”I'm dropping, too,” broke in Hawkeye. ”Hit the corner slow, Moe.”
MOE complied. Hawkeye pushed open a door and sprang to the curb. Moe opened up around the corner; Hawkeye reached the edge of a building and peered along the darkened side street.
He could see Callard's cab less than a block ahead, with Moe speeding after it. Hawkeye took to the side street, ducking from doorway to doorway as he moved forward.
Suddenly the spotter stopped. A man was coming cautiously in his direction. Hawkeye waited a few moments, then sneaked in pursuit. He saw Dave Callard come beneath the light of a corner street lamp.
The man turned to the right. Hawkeye trailed him, keeping up a crafty course for a full block. Callard was reaching a lighted district. Hawkeye crouched by a large rubbish can as the man stopped and looked about. Lingering, Hawkeye saw Callard enter a lighted doorway. Hawkeye moved forward and reached the spot himself. Looking up, he saw an electric sign and made out its name despite the fact that a third of the incandescents were unlighted: WUHU CAFE.
Hawkeye slid across the street and observed the restaurant from that perspective. Chinese characters showed against the dull light of grimy windows. The Wuhu Cafe was obviously a Chinese restaurant of mediocre quality.
Hawkeye headed for a neighboring cigar store. He entered the place, found a telephone booth and dialed a number. Across the wire came a quiet, steady voice: ”Burbank speaking.”
Hawkeye was in communication with The Shadow's contact agent. Burbank, posted at a secluded spot, was the man who kept in touch with active agents. Briefly, Hawkeye told of watching Cardona and Markham; then added what had followed.
”We trailed Callard to a chop suey joint,” concluded the wizened-faced spotter. ”Place called the Wuhu Cafe. Looks like he's in there now.”
”Report received,” came Burbank's calm reply. ”Move farther away from the district. Call for instructions in ten minutes.”
Hawkeye hung up and left the cigar store. He shuffled along for two blocks; then loitered as he neared a drug store. He had picked the drug store as the place from which he could make his next call. Idling, Hawkeye moved away from a street lamp and lighted a cigarette.
The flicker of the match showed a pleased smile on the crafty lips of the little spotter.
From now on, the watching of Dave Callard would be continued by one far more proficient than Hawkeye. The Shadow would soon a.s.sume the duty that his agent had begun.
CHAPTER II. THE SECRET MEETING.
FIFTEEN minutes after Hawkeye had put in his first call to Burbank, a blackened shape emerged from the darkness just below the street entrance of the Wuhu Cafe. There was something sinister in that shrouded pall that glided from obscurity. Phantomlike, it clung close to a wall, avoiding the revealing glow of the nearest street lamp.
The Shadow had arrived at the point where Hawkeye had last seen Dave Callard. Promptly informed by Burbank, the master sleuth had taken up a new quest.
The splotchy light of the restaurant entrance was the one barrier that remained to The Shadow's immediate progress. That was why he peered so keenly through the night, ready to detect hidden watchers should they be present. One figure alone attracted The Shadow's gaze.
It was Hawkeye. He had made his second call to Burbank; he had been instructed to post himself in this terrain. Keenly, The Shadow watched his agent s.h.i.+ft from one doorway to another. Swis.h.i.+ng from the darkness, The Shadow swung swiftly into the street door of the upstairs restaurant. His figure showed in spectral outline as he pa.s.sed a single light and moved upward on the gloomy stairs.
So well timed had The Shadow's action been that Hawkeye did not catch a glimpse of his chief's quickentry into the watched doorway.
Gaining a new post, Hawkeye was about to resume his duty when he spied the glimmering lights of a taxicab stopping half a block away. Hawkeye caught a quick blink as the lights were extinguished. It was a signal meant for him. He knew that the cab was Moe's.
Hawkeye edged up to the cab. He spoke cautiously; a low reply came from the driver's seat. Briefly, Moe explained how he had come here.
”Trailed the empty,” stated the cabby. ”Stuck close to it for twenty blocks. Got up alongside at a red light. Asked the hackie what was his big idea.”
”Did he spill anything?” queried Hawkeye.
”Sure, he did,” returned Moe, with a grin in the darkness. ”I told him I'd had a d.i.c.k riding with me. Said I'd come along to tip him off so he could lay low in case of trouble.”
”You ask him about Callard?”
”Sure. The guy was going to a house in Talleyrand Place. Number twenty-eight. Changed his mind when he spotted us following. Told the hackie to forget it and drop him off near here. He slipped the hackie a fin and said for him to keep going.”
”Where's Talleyrand Place?”
”Uptown. Swell sort of a layout over by the East River. I put in a report about five minutes ago. Burbank told me to join you here.”
Hawkeye grunted his understanding. The Shadow must already be on his way to the Wuhu Cafe.
Hawkeye had a hunch that The Shadow might by now have entered the gloomy portals of the Chinese restaurant.
This guess of Hawkeye's was more than correct. The Shadow had ventured far in his progress. Arriving at the head of the stairs, he had found a little entry that afforded a view of the restaurant's interior.
Just beyond, The Shadow had spied the opened front of an unused cloakroom. He had moved forward to that vantage point. Hidden in a blackened look-out post, he was studying the limited scene that the Wuhu Cafe afforded.
There were only three patrons in the restaurant. They were seated at different tables, busy with chop suey and chow mein. A solitary waiter was in view; he was an ap.r.o.ned Celestial who stood by a doorway to the kitchen, keeping an eye upon the wants of the diners.
The Shadow watched this Chinaman. The Celestial's face was expressionless. One minute pa.s.sed; then the waiter edged toward the kitchen door. Watching, The Shadow saw him dart one quick glance toward a row of curtained booths that began just beyond the cloakroom. Then the waiter went into the kitchen.
The Chinaman's instinctive glance had been a give-away. The man with the ap.r.o.n had glanced toward the booth that was nearest to The Shadow's present look-out spot.
Emerging from his hiding spot, The Shadow glided swiftly to the nearest booth. He spread the curtains and made out the surface of a door against the inner wall. The Shadow entered the booth and closed the curtains behind him. His action was none too soon. At that very moment, the waiter emerged from the kitchen. As before, the Chinaman's first thought concerned the very booth which The Shadow had just entered. The waiter peered stolidly; the glint of his eyes detected that he had seen the rustle of the closing curtains. After a short period of steady staring. the Chinaman went back into the kitchen.
INSIDE the booth, The Shadow had found the door unlocked. Opening it, he had discovered a darkened pa.s.sage. Creeping forward through blackness, he had discerned a thin line of light along the floor, at the right. It was a s.p.a.ce beneath a closed door.
A tiny flashlight glimmered. Its rays focused upon the blackened keyhole of the door. The Shadow thrust a gloved fist into the flashlight's glare. His hand turned the k.n.o.b and pressed; every motion slow and calculated. The door was locked.
Long, oddly shaped tweezers came into the light. The Shadow probed the keyhole with this instrument.
A gloved hand twisted in darkness. Again he turned the k.n.o.b; this time, the door opened inward.
The singsong tone of voices came to his ears; his peering eye perceived the interior of a lighted office, a windowless room with paneled walls. The Shadow saw the speakers: two men seated on opposite sides of an oak desk. The door stood half open.
One answered Hawkeye's description of Dave Callard. The adventurer from China was sitting with folded arms. His rugged face showed a sophisticated smile as he nodded while watching the man across the desk.
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