Gray Fist s-48

by Maxwell Grant

  By swift strategy; by an amazing descent through darkness, The Shadow had freed himself from waiting toils. He was starting toward a new destination—the apartment where Ruggles Preston lived.

  There The Shadow could deliver his bold counterstroke against Gray Fist!

  CHAPTER XIV. PRESTON GIVES ADVICE

  RUGGLES PRESTON was seated in the living room of his apartment. The place was not commodious, for the Mandrilla was a rather antiquated building of cramped proportions. The apartment, however, was comfortable, and gave an impression of affluence.

  The lawyer was at a small desk in the corner. Papers lay before him. At one side was a list of names. A dozen in all, they included persons who had gained success in worldly affairs. Among them was the name of Worth Varden. This had been crossed by a blue-penciled stroke.

  Preston was consulting notations that he had made. He took his notes, tore them into fragments, and applied a match to the cluster of tiny sheets. He dropped the burning papers into a metal wastebasket, and went back to his desk, where only the list remained.

  From a desk drawer, Preston produced a sheet of gray paper that spread into two portions as he pressed it between thumb and forefinger. Referring to his list of names, reverting to memory of the notations that he had just made, Preston inscribed a coded message. This completed, he moistened the edges of the gray sheets, and pressed them together so that they formed what appeared to be a single piece of paper.

  Preston folded this. He inserted it in an envelope. He drew a slide from the desk and slipped his list of names into a pair of tiny grooves that lay beneath it. The slide went back into the desk. Preston's list was effectively out of sight.

  The envelope that contained the message was another matter. Preston glanced at a clock on the desk. It registered five minutes of eight. The lawyer tucked the envelope in his pocket and strolled from his apartment. When he reached the street, he walked along until he spied a parked coupe.

  The car was empty; the window by the sidewalk was open at the top— just the fraction of an inch.

  Looking about, Preston made sure that no one was watching. He drew out his envelope and dropped it through the slit at the top of the window.

  The lawyer had delivered his letter in an odd sort of mailing box. That task done, Preston returned to the apartment building. It was several minutes before a man came strolling along the street to stop at the coupe. This individual unlocked the car, entered it, and drove away.

  A passing light showed the face of the man who had come to get Ruggles Preston's message. It was a face that belonged in the underworld, yet which had frequently been seen elsewhere. The letter collector was Snakes Blakey.

  BACK in his apartment, Ruggles Preston slouched idly in a large chair and lighted a cigar. The aroma of heavy smoke pervaded the atmosphere of the room. The attorney seemed comfortably pleased with life.

  His face took on a gleaming smile of happy satisfaction.

  Preston sobered as he heard the ring of the apartment telephone. A puzzled look appeared upon the lawyer's face. Striding to a corner of the living room, Preston picked up the telephone and lifted the receiver.

  "Hello." Preston's tone was cautious. "Yes, this is Mr. Preston... Who?... What's that?... Ah, you are downstairs... Yes, I can see you..."

  As Preston paused to listen, his face showed tenseness. This call from the lobby had given him a shock.

  He was recovering, however, and he had controlled his voice effectively. By the time it was his turn to speak again, Preston had regained his suave smile. His tone was purring as he concluded the conversation.

  "Certainly, Detective Cardona," he remarked. "I shall be pleased to talk with you... Yes, I am alone...

  Yes, come up at once."

  Preston hung up the receiver. With hands behind his back, he paced across the living room. He reached the window and drew aside a draped curtain. All was black outside. This room was at the side of the apartment building. The roofs of lower houses loomed near by.

  Turning back into the room, Preston displayed signs of craftiness. Evidently, from something that had been said over the wire, he did not expect difficulties from the surprise visit which he was receiving.

  A man who was working against the law, Preston had naturally felt visible confusion when he had heard the voice of a man from detective headquarters. At present, however, the lawyer seemed to feel himself in good fortune because he had not encountered Joe Cardona face to face.

  With the first surprise ended, Preston felt himself quite capable of dealing with the visitor. In fact, his face took on an eager glance as a knock occurred beyond the door of the living room. Preston strode forward to admit detective Joe Cardona.

  THE swarthy sleuth was sober-faced, friendly, as he stepped into the light of Preston's living room. The lawyer waved him to a chair and brought forward a box of cigars. Cardona accepted one with thanks.

  "What can I do for you?" questioned Preston, while Cardona was lighting the perfecto. "I gathered from your conversation that you believe I can give you some important information."

  "You can," returned Cardona.

  "Regarding what?" asked Preston.

  "Regarding a man named Worth Varden," stated Cardona. "He is an importer who has disappeared from New York."

  "Varden?" Preston's tone was incredulous. "Disappeared? When?"

  "Two nights ago," returned Cardona.

  "Amazing!" gasped Preston. "Are you sure of it?"

  "I have complete evidence of his disappearance," declared Cardona. "More than that, I have facts that point to crime."

  "You mean that Varden may have met with some misfortune?"

  "I mean that Varden may be involved in some mighty crooked work."

  Preston stared so incredulously that Cardona could not repress a grim smile. The detective took the lawyer's manner for bewilderment.

  "Let me give you the details," explained Cardona. "I observe that you are surprised by what I have told you. I expected that you would be."

  "I am," returned Preston, in a tone of admission.

  "Worth Varden," stated Cardona, "was hooked up with an outfit known as the San Salvador Importing Corporation.

  "I heard him mention the concern."

  "The San Salvador bunch is phony. Varden knew it. That's why he cleared out."

  Ruggles Preston sank into a chair opposite Cardona. He stared dumfoundedly at the detective. He did not seem capable of believing Cardona's statement.

  "Varden called me two nights ago," announced Cardona. "I went to his home. He was gone. I found his confession along with papers that concerned the San Salvador.

  "I have been investigating. I have found out that the company is shady. Varden had every reason to get out. I made careful inquiries at his office—not letting any one know that the police were concerned. In that way, I learned the names of certain persons whom Varden knew.

  "I found out that you were a friend of Varden's. I made a check-up of your affairs, Mr. Preston. Finding them O.K., I picked you as the man to come to see."

  "Because of Varden?" questioned Preston.

  "Exactly," returned Cardona. "The San Salvador mess is a government job. The lid will blow off within a few days. The Feds are working on it now. But I've got a job of my own that's apart from the San Salvador affair. What I'm concerned with is to Varden's advantage. That's why I picked a friend of his to talk to."

  "Varden was scarcely more than an acquaintance of mine," remarked Preston. "I was never his attorney.

  I always liked the chap. If he's in trouble, I'd like to help him out."

  "He may be in real trouble," insisted Cardona. "I'll tell you why. When Varden called me, he said something about a man named Seth Cowry. Did you ever hear of such a man?"

  "The name sounds vaguely familiar."

  "Cowry is a racketeer—and a smooth one. From what Varden said, he had dealings with Cowry. I've been looking for Cowry because I knew the fellow might be in some big game. I figure now that h
e's in back of the San Salvador mix-up."

  "I AM glad you came to see me, Cardona," decided Preston. "I can appreciate your cause for apprehension. When racketeers go in for big deals, they make real trouble."

  "Yes," returned Cardona, "and that's the time to get them. I don't want Varden. His case is a Federal job.

  But if—through Varden—I can get hold of Seth Cowry, I can pin plenty on that crook. I can turn him over to the Feds. I may be able to smear plenty of other phony deals that he's hooked up with. That's why I came to see you. I want to know if there's any way you can reach Varden—or if you have heard anything from him."

  "If I had," smiled Preston, "it would probably have been in a legal way, considering the existing circumstances. I have heard nothing from Varden. Since he is in trouble, I feel sure that any communication from him would refer to his present plight. Should he seek my services as his attorney, I would have to keep confidence regarding his whereabouts as well as his affairs."

  "Certainly," agreed Cardona. "Just the same, it would be your business to give him advice, wouldn't it?"

  "Of course."

  "And you could give me any information that both Varden and yourself decided would be all right?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, then, if you hear from Varden, tell him what I want. Let him know the lid is off. There's going to be trouble from the San Salvador layout, and nobody will be able to cover it. It won't do him or his friends any good to cover up Seth Cowry. The man is a crook, and a bad one. If I can get him, I'll pin so much on him that he will look mighty bad, Cowry will. That ought to help Varden and the others in the San Salvador company."

  "Probably," agreed Preston. "I appreciate your frankness, Cardona. Perhaps you have an idea that I have already heard from Varden. Candidly, I wish I had. I should like to be able to inform you that I had been appointed to handle his legal affairs in this matter.

  "Unfortunately, I have not heard from him. At the same time, it is possible that I shall hear from him. Rest assured that I shall notify you at once if Varden communicates with me. Varden is, I believe, an honest man at heart. It is terrible to realize that a racketeer like this Seth Cowry may have ruined his affairs.

  "Sometimes honest men protect crooks because they fear them. I hope that I shall hear from Varden; because then I can be able to advise him that the force of the law is on his side, so far as Cowry is concerned."

  "That's right," nodded Cardona. "I've got a hunch, Mr. Preston, that there are other men in the same boat as Varden. If I could find out some of the others that Cowry was after, I could put a lot of mean work on the fritz."

  "I understand that," declared Preston. "My only regret is that I know nothing. Cowry is evidently a dangerous crook."

  "With some bigger crook in back of him," asserted Cardona. "Believe me, Mr. Preston. Somewhere there's a list of other dupes like Varden— men that Seth Cowry has gone after. I'd like to get that list, wherever it is. Varden may think he's the only one in the pickle. There are others. Believe me."

  The detective was rising as he spoke. He shook hands with the lawyer. Together, they went to the door of the living room. Preston was assuring Cardona of his cooperation. At the same time, the lawyer could express no definite hope.

  "I wish you luck," was Preston's final statement. "I knew Varden well enough to realize that he was an honest man. There must be others in the same predicament. I trust that you will gain traces of Seth Cowry and uncover the names of those whom the racketeer has held as victims."

  As the door closed behind Cardona, Ruggles Preston strode back to the center of the living room. His eyes looked toward the desk. A smile appeared upon the lawyer's lips. His teeth showed maliciously.

  PRESTON'S visitor had proven tame. The lawyer had handled Joe Cardona like a child. Not for an instant had the detective suspected that Preston might be implicated in the disappearance of Worth Varden.

  Ruggles Preston was thinking of the list that Cardona had guessed was in existence. That very list was hidden beneath the slide of Preston's desk—the list which Seth Cowry had compiled!

  The victims, however, were no longer under the surveillance of Seth Cowry. The racketeer was dead—by Gray Fist's order. It was Ruggles Preston who now served the evil purpose of the superfiend!

  Cardona had intimated that there must be some one higher up than Cowry. But the detective had no inkling regarding such a personage as Gray Fist. Ruggles Preston chuckled as he turned toward the window.

  Mirth died upon the lawyer's cackling lips. Stark terror was the expression which dominated Preston's face. With bulging eyes, the attorney stared directly at a new visitor who had entered the living room silently and unseen.

  Just within the opened window stood the shape of a being in black. A tall, spectral personage, garbed with flowing cloak; a creature of the night, whose face was masked by upturned collar, and whose features were lost beneath the shade of a broad-brimmed hat.

  The muzzle of a huge automatic was turned toward Preston. Blazing eyes showed from the spot where the face was invisible. A whining plaint came sobbing from the lips of Ruggles Preston. The lawyer who had fooled Joe Cardona knew that he now faced a being whom he could not deceive.

  Trembling, the dishonest lawyer backed pitifully away from the fearful menace of The Shadow!

  CHAPTER XV. GRAY FIST'S ANSWER

  A SIBILANT sound whispered through the living room. Ruggles Preston cowered as he heard The Shadow's laugh. Mere moments had transformed the crooked lawyer from a suave, persuasive gentleman into a shaking wretch.

  The nonchalance that had served Preston well during his conversation with Cardona was a lacking factor since The Shadow had arrived. This menace from the dark—a being who had entered from the wall outside the window—was one with which Preston could not cope.

  The blazing eyes, the soft, taunting laugh—these were the proofs that The Shadow knew the truth of Preston's game. Where Joe Cardona had considered the lawyer as one who might aid the way of justice, The Shadow knew Preston for what he really was—a minion of Gray Fist.

  Preston, despite his pretense to respectability, was well acquainted with the ways of the underworld. He knew the power of The Shadow. He had congratulated himself that he would probably never encounter this formidable foe. The arrival of The Shadow had reduced him to a state of terror.

  The pause that followed the dying echoes of The Shadow's laugh was as impressive as the sardonic mockery. Then came a new manifestation of this stalwart being's power. With even, whispered tones, The Shadow brought the accusation that Ruggles Preston expected.

  "I am here," declared The Shadow, in a scoffing sneer, "to learn the facts that you know. I have come to hear of your dealings with Gray Fist."

  The final words were hissed. Preston crouched back against the wall beside the desk, and raised his hands to shut off sight of the weird avenger who stood before him. The effort was futile. Preston's hands trembled. His eyes stared into the hidden space below the brim of the black hat. The blazing eyes of The Shadow shone like luminous orbs. They held Preston captive with their spell.

  "Speak."

  The single word was sufficient as it hissed from The Shadow's lips. Preston could not withstand the dominating power of this master. He gasped forth his confession.

  "I—I'll tell you everything." The lawyer licked his parched lips. "It—it was Seth Cowry who made me work for Gray Fist. Seth Cowry, the racketeer. He's dead -"

  The Shadow laughed as Preston paused. The lawyer realized that The Shadow knew Cowry had died.

  That realization prompted Preston to new haste in his confession.

  "Cowry could have made trouble for me," he pleaded. "He—he offered me safety—and money—if I would serve Gray Fist. My work was to watch the men whom Gray Fist had forced to serve him. Worth Varden was one."

  "Go on," ordered The Shadow.

  THE words indicated that The Shadow knew all that Preston had said. The lawyer was still stimulated to continue with
the truth.

  "I went to see Varden," he confessed. "I brought in gangsters who pretended they were detectives. They lured Varden away. I—I think they must have killed him. I do not know. They took his papers. I planted a forged statement.

  "It—it was Snakes Blakey who did it. He's the one who sees Gray Fist. Cowry used to be the go-between. He knew too much. Snakes had him killed by mobsters. I get orders from Snakes. I give my reports to him. He sees Gray Fist."

  "Who is Gray Fist?"

  The Shadow's sibilant question was timed at the moment of Preston's greatest weakness. It brought a pitiful, truthful gasp from the cornered lawyer.

  "I don't know!" pleaded Preston. "I don't know!"

  "You are watching others," announced The Shadow. "They, like Varden, are dupes of Gray Fist. I want their names."

  For the first time, Preston hesitated. The Shadow followed with another order.

  "Give me the list," he commanded. "It is in your desk."

  Preston gasped. He did not realize that he had been talking of such a list when Cardona had left; that he had glanced toward the desk immediately after the detective's departure. The Shadow had heard; The Shadow had seen. The Shadow knew.

  With a hopeless effort, Preston clutched the side of the desk. He had a wild desire to try to conceal the actual spot where the list was hidden.

  The thought faded as Preston viewed The Shadow's burning eyes. With hands that shook so he could scarcely control them, Preston slid back the slide and pulled the list from its hiding place. He held the paper toward The Shadow. A gloved hand plucked it from the lawyer's grasp.

  As Preston stared, he could see the burning eyes focused straight above the sheet of paper. The Shadow was watching while he read. There was no chance for Preston to make a break. Instinctively, however, the lawyer cowered along the wall, hoping that The Shadow's vigil might release.

  A dozen names appeared upon the list that The Shadow scanned. They were the names of prominent men, arranged in alphabetical order. The name of Worth Varden was at the bottom of the list. It, alone, had been blue-penciled. That was significant. It brought a soft, chuckling laugh from the throat of The Shadow.