The Hand s-150

by Maxwell Grant

  The Shadow was correct in his assumption that Pinkey had arrived. The big-shot occupied the center of the office and two others were present with him. One was Claude Ondrey; the other, Slick Thurley.

  It happened that Bugs Hopton was absent; and from the conversation, it came apparent that the leader of the strong-arm crew was not expected.

  "Tonight, we frame Bron." Pinkey made that statement in positive tone.

  "The way we'll handle it, the job will be the neatest one we've staged. There won't be a chance of The Shadow mooching in to queer it."

  Slick Thurley added a nod; he knew the general plan, but Claude Ondrey hadn't yet heard the details. His fat face showed worry; he was mopping sweaty spots from his baldish forehead.

  "Don't get jittery," rasped Pinkey. "We ain't yanking you into it, Ondrey!

  Bugs Hopton is the guy that's going to start things."

  "Which means a mob," reminded Ondrey, "and that may bring cops - and The Shadow."

  "Not tonight," assured Pinkey. "Bugs is working alone. Just so you'll be posted, I'll give you the set-up."

  Pinkey began his explanation.

  "First of all," he declared, "Bron is going to be in his office until midnight. He's cleaning up an auditing job, so he can go over the World Oil interests books tomorrow. What's more, we know that Bron will be alone in his office. That's where Bugs will walk in on him."

  ONDREY'S nervousness returned. Pinkey gave a harsh laugh;

  "Bugs won't begin by pulling a gat," declared the big-shot. "He's going to

  hand Bron a letter of recommendation given to him by a sap named Roy Parrington.

  Bron will think that Bugs has come to ask for a job."

  "Parrington?" questioned Ondrey, suddenly. "I seem to know that name."

  "Maybe you do," returned Pinkey. "Parrington goes around to a lot of bright spots; he's probably been here. He's an advertising promoter; at least, that's what he calls himself. But he spends most of his time playing the races.

  That's how Bugs got acquainted with him - by giving him tips on the ponies."

  "And Parrington knows Bron?"

  "Of course. That's why Bron won't be suspicious when he sees the letter.

  But he won't have a job for Bugs. That'll make Bugs mad."

  For the first time, Ondrey showed a smile. Evidently, he had begun to picture certain fine points of this game.

  "You know what Bugs is like when he pretends he's goofy," reminded Pinkey.

  "They call him 'Bugs' because of the way he can stage the nut act. From then on,

  its a cinch!"

  "Bron will get scared and try to heave him out. Bugs will yank a gat and Bron will make a grab for it. There'll be a blank shot and - blooey! - Bugs will be flopped like he was dead with Bron holding the rod."

  It was Slick who put in the next approval.

  "Bugs can fake that dead stuff as good as I can," declared Slick. "We've both seen so many boobs get croaked that we know the way it looks."

  Pinkey strode across the floor, pointing here and there, picturing the future scene.

  "Suppose this is Bron's office," he declared. "There's Bugs on the floor; Bron standing over here, with the heater in his mitt. The door opens; I step in, like some guy who heard the shot from another office.

  "While I'm listening to Bron, like I was friendly and believe his story, in comes Slick. He flashes that badge of his, says he's Bill Quaine, the dick.

  Only he won't believe Bron's story. He'll talk about pinning a murder rap on the guy."

  "That's when I'll have the way to fix it. I'll tell Bron what I want done,

  and that if he'll play ball he won't have to worry about nothing. Tomorrow, he'll put his O.K. on those books over at World Oil."

  Pinkey's story was finished, and from Ondrey's delighted look, the big-shot was sure that the scheme would work. Ondrey was not the only listener who nourished that opinion.

  From his hiding place, The Shadow had heard all the details and could foresee the result, once the game reached completion.

  Obviously, Lewis Bron would realize that he was framed by the time Pinkey came to the climax; but that wouldn't help the auditor out of his dilemma. If Bron believed that he had actually shot Bugs and that Slick was really Bill Quaine, the game would work. Knowing the skill with which Pinkey and his pals worked, The Shadow was sure that they would sell Bron on the proposition, provided nothing intervened to disturb their scheme. It happened, though, that crooks would be due for a surprise; because The Shadow saw a way to provide one.

  The Shadow, too, could be witness to all that occurred. When the game came

  to its high point, he could step in with a brace of guns and corner both Pinkey

  and Slick. Bugs on the floor, would never dare a move.

  A call to police headquarters would bring Joe Cardona, Manhattan's ace police inspector. Fuming crooks would be trapped, with their whole game exposed.

  WHILE The Shadow was speculating on that pleasant prospect, Pinkey stepped

  toward the elevator. The Shadow pressed the panel tight; rolled to the top of the car.

  Pinkey slid the panel wide; The Shadow could hear him entering the elevator alone. Pinkey's words were also plain.

  "I'm going over to watch Bron's office," he told the others. "You can come

  along later, Slick - say in about forty minutes, because Bugs won't be due until

  eleven o'clock.

  "You look too much like Bill Quaine to be seen around Bron's place until you're needed. You might bump into some harness bull who knows that Quaine is away on vacation."

  The panel went shut. The elevator moved smoothly upward carrying its two passengers. It was a curious situation - Pinkey Findlen starting off on a criminal venture, taking The Shadow right along with him. Pinky hadn't the remotest idea that such a case existed.

  Nor did The Shadow disillusion him. When the car reached the top of the shaft, he waited while Pinkey went out though the door. After that, The Shadow stretched upward and opened the trap above his head, to emerge upon the roof.

  Pinkey was gone by the time The Shadow reached the street below. There wasn't any reason to trail him, for the big-shot was going to the very spot where The Shadow wanted him to be. Shifting through the darkness, The Shadow reached a waiting cab. Entering it, he whispered to the agent who was at the wheel.

  That aid was Moe Shrevnitz, the speediest hackie in Manhattan, but Moe didn't hurry on this occasion. He drove at an easy pace; while The Shadow contacted Burbank by radio. Over the short-wave set, The Shadow learned Bron's office address. It was in a small office building on Thirtieth Street.

  The Shadow instructed Burbank to send an agent, Harry Vincent, to the Bubble Club, in case of chance developments there. That done, he put away the shortwave and gave Moe the street address.

  But the cabby didn't stop when they reached the destination. Instead, he merely slackened speed near the less lighted portion of the curb.

  Dropping from the cab, The Shadow merged close to the darkness of a building wall. Blended with blackness, he looked across the street to the small

  old-fashioned building where Bron's office was located.

  The Shadow saw a lighted office at the front of the third floor. Its curtains were drawn; but he knew that the office must be Bron's.

  While he watched, The Shadow spotted another light that suddenly appeared at the window of a side office on the same floor. That window was also shaded; but The Shadow could picture the scene within as plainly as if he possessed X-ray vision.

  The side office was the waiting place chosen by Pinkey Findlen. That fact brought a whispered laugh from The Shadow. Fake murder was shaping itself as crooks intended; and with its climax would come The Shadow's triumph.

  That soft laugh would have faded, had The Shadow foreseen the change that chance was to produce. Already, events were leading to a different climax.

  Such

  matters, it happened, were unknown to Pinkey Findle
n as well as The Shadow.

  Real murder - not false - was in the cards tonight, and through it would come success to present schemes of crime!

  CHAPTER XI

  BUGS SWINGS A DEAL

  VERY shortly after The Shadow's departure from the Bubble Club, two unexpected customers arrived there. One was Bugs Hopton; attired in ill-fitting

  tuxedo; the other was a stoopish, sly-faced man, similarly attired. The two took

  a table; when Claude Ondrey stopped near by, Bugs beckoned.

  Worried, Ondrey approached the table. Bugs clapped him on the back; then introduced his companion.

  "Meet Mr. Parrington," announced Bugs. "Roy Parrington - one swell guy!

  And you, Roy - shake hands with Claude Ondrey. He's regular!"

  Handshakes were exchanged; all the while, Ondrey was looking anxiously toward Bugs, wondering what twist of circumstances had brought him to the Bubble Club.

  There was a burst of music from the orchestra; a trim dancer whirled to the center of the floor, amid the applause of the patrons. Bugs nudged Parrington.

  "Get an eyeful, Roy," advised Bugs. "That kid is some looker - and can she

  dance! Here - shove your chair around for a better look."

  Parrington obliged. When his back was turned, Bugs shifted in the opposite

  direction, grabbed Ondrey's sleeve and whispered in the managers ear:

  "Is Slick in the office?"

  Ondrey nodded; then began: "But - but what -"

  "I don't ask questions," undertoned Bugs. "See this hat check? Its Parrington's. Listen - get a gat from Slick and plant it in the guys coat pocket. Leave the rest to me."

  Ondrey hurried away, still wondering what it was all about. He reached the

  office, to find Slick lounging there. He told Slick what Bugs wanted. Slick was

  mystified; but obligingly provided Ondrey with a revolver, in accordance with the request.

  Hurrying from the office, the night club owner reached the cloakroom near the street door. He spotted the garments that bore the ticket number. Getting rid of the check girl on a pretext, Ondrey fumblingly slid the revolver into Parrington's overcoat pocket.

  The task wasn't exactly easy, for Ondrey encountered a fat bundle in one pocket and had to slide the gun to another. Since Bugs hadn't mentioned the package in the overcoat, Ondrey left it where it was. Sidling from the cloakroom, Ondrey neared the table where Bugs sat with Parrington. Bugs thumbed

  the manager toward his office; then leaned forward to watch the floor show.

  "How do you like it, Roy?" he queried. While he spoke, Bugs was watching an approaching waiter. "Ain't this a classy joint, with plenty for de money? I come here a lot."

  The waiter had arrived. Bugs shifted suddenly in his chair, jolted the fellow and caused him to spill the contents of a tray. Mixed drinks poured over

  Bugs and Parrington. Both came to their feet.

  In the argument, that followed, Bugs blamed the waiter; so Parrington did the same. Bugs staged a portion of his "crazy act" in very competent fashion.

  The result was that Parrington agreed when Bugs gave loud decision:

  "Come Roy. Let's get out of this lousy dump!"

  They were still arguing with a head waiter when they put on their hats and

  coats. It was then that Bugs became more reasonable.

  "We ought to talk to Ondrey," he decided. "After all, he's a good guy.

  Come on, Roy, we'll go to his office."

  PARRINGTON agreed that the protest would be in order. They reached the office, found Slick with Ondrey. Bugs shook hands with Slick; introduced him to

  Parrington as Bill Quaine.

  "A good guy," voiced Bugs, "even if he is a dick." Then, to Ondrey: "Say

  -

  wait'll you see the way one of your cluck waiters messed us up."

  Bugs took off his coat to show his soaked tuxedo jacket. Parrington did the same; Bugs planked both overcoats upon the table. There was a clank when Parrington's pocket hit the woodwork.

  Turning at the sound, the fake dick took the cue.

  "What's that?" snapped Slick. "That your coat, Parrington? Let's see what you got in the pockets."

  Uneasily, Parrington lifted the coat, pulled out the bundle and laid it with his hat. That done, he fished out gloves and cigarettes. Finally, his fingers found the revolver. Parrington didn't realize that it was a gun, until he brought it into the light. Slick snatched the weapon from Parrington's fingers. While the man was gasping, Slick demanded:

  "What's the idea of carrying the gun? Where's your permit?"

  Parrington tried to protest. He failed.

  He said he didn't know the gun was in pocket; that was all, and it sounded

  pitifully weak. Even Bugs looked reproachful, especially when Slick cracked the

  revolver and found it loaded.

  "Better see what's in the bundle," suggested Bugs. "Maybe it will give us one on the guy."

  The bundle was filled with currency; bills totaled five thousand dollars.

  Slick wanted to know where the money had come from.

  "I'm a promoter," panted Parrington, "This was for - well, I'd arranged an

  advertising campaign, and was -"

  "And you flimflammed somebody out of the dough?"

  "No, no! - well, this was a commission - I -"

  "In cash? Sounds phony to me, Parrington." Slick shoved the money to the far, side of the desk, along with the gun. "Tell us some more about the dough."

  Parrington confessed that the cash was tainted. It was a cut that he had received for swinging a national advertiser to a wildcat agency. Becoming bolder, he suddenly declared:

  "But you can't prove anything because of that!"

  "We can prove plenty with this gun," interposed Slick. "Enough to put you in the cooler for a long stretch. Come along! We're going down to headquarters."

  Parrington wilted. His head in his hands, he was moaning incoherently when

  Bugs motioned to Slick, signaling that the bluff had gone far enough.

  Slick was mightily relieved when Bugs took over the burden; for even yet, the fake detective hadn't decided what Bugs was going to do next.

  "Why don't you give the guy a break?" demanded Bugs. "His overcoat was out

  in the cloakroom; maybe somebody planted the rod in his pocket. Go on out there,

  Quaine, and ask the cloakroom doll about it."

  Slick agreed that he would do so. He started to pick up the planted gun, remarking that it was evidence.

  "Leave it here," suggested Bugs. "Let Ondrey lock it in that desk drawer.

  We'll look out for Parrington while you're gone."

  THE REVOLVER was put away; Slick left the office but he didn't go to the cloakroom, because that would be of no use. Slick knew well enough how the gun had come into Parrington's pocket.

  What Slick didn't know was what he escaped by staying away from the cloakroom. At that very moment; a young man was checking hat and coat there.

  He

  was Harry Vincent, one of the keenest of The Shadow's agents.

  If Harry had seen Slick come to the cloakroom, he would have promptly sensed that something was up. But Slick didn't even leave the passage outside of Ondrey's office.

  Meanwhile, in the office itself, Claude Ondrey was sweating more than ever. Of all the screwy games he'd ever met with, this one was the worst. What did Bugs mean by passing the buck right back to him? Of course, Slick wouldn't come back with evidence that Ondrey had planted the gun; but Ondrey was beginning to believe that Bugs might be crazy enough to shout that out, himself.

  Maybe Bugs was really as goofy as he sometimes looked.

  In the midst of Ondrey's quandary, Bugs suddenly provided the reason behind his stunt.

  "Listen Parrington," spoke Bugs quickly. "I'm for you - see? I got a way to snatch you out of this mess. Ondrey, here, is a good guy. He'll help."

  Parrington looked up, weakly hopeful.
<
br />   "Unlock the desk drawer," Bugs told Ondrey. "Make it fast, before Quaine gets back here."

  Ondrey obeyed. He was in a mood for anything that would end this crazy set-up. As soon as the drawer was open, Bugs grabbed the revolver that lay within. Pocketing it, he picked up Parrington's five thousand dollars and planked the money in the drawer.

  "Quaine won't find the gun when he looks for it," stated Bugs, with a grin. "He'll find the dough, instead. I'll look dumb, and so will Ondrey, here.

  How about it, Ondrey?"

  Ondrey nodded. He didn't like the looks of things, but he couldn't find his voice.

  "So Quaine will forget the gun," added Bugs, "and take the mazuma instead.

  That's fair enough, ain't it? You can make up that five grand easy, Roy, but you

  can't laugh off a stretch in the big house."

  Parrington's eyes narrowed. He was becoming suspicious; but he was still worried enough so to be handled. Bugs nudged to the wall panel.

  "Bring down the elevator," ordered Ondrey. "Get Roy out of here before Quaine comes back."

  ONDREY obeyed reluctantly. Bugs told Parrington how to make his exit through the house next door. Sight of the open elevator made Parrington suddenly eager for flight. Half a minute later, he was on his way.

  Bugs gave a raucous chuckle after the panel had closed; but Ondrey didn't join with him.

  The harsh mirth was heard by Slick, in the passage. Slick came back into the office, looked about, perplexed, when he failed to see Parrington. Bugs yanked open the desk drawer, told Slick to take a look.

  "How's that for a neat shakedown, Slick?" he asked. "Say - you should have

  seen the sap fall for the finish of it!" Then, to Ondrey, Bugs added:

  "Stick that five grand in the safe, along with the dough you're keeping for Pinkey. It's five thousand more in the pot."

  There was an incredulous snarl from Slick.

  "So that was your racket!" uttered Slick. "You're not smart, Bugs; you're dumb!"

  "Me dumb?" rejoined Bugs. "When I picked up five grand that easy?"

  "I said you're dumb," repeated Slick. "You've wasted time here, when you're supposed to head for Bron's office. What about that letter you were to get from Parrington?"