Had The Shadow traced King Furzman through Wolf? Possibly; yet Wolf, proud of his own craftiness, was looking for another explanation.
His eyes gleamed shrewdly; his lips twisted with hatred. He thought of Graham Wellerton, away on the road to Michigan.
A keen suspicion came into Wolf’s mind. The gang leader arose; his fists tightened. His thoughts changed suddenly, as Wolf spied the telephone upon the floor. At that moment, the gang leader’s schemes dwindled as the instinct of self-preservation took hold upon Wolf’s evil brain.
Had King Furzman tried to make a call for aid before encountering The Shadow? King was dead; so was Gouger. Both had been shot in some swift fray. Wolf realized that the telephone might have served as an alarm.
Quickly, the evil-faced gang leader hurried toward the anteroom. Arriving there, he peered into the empty corridor; then skulked forth toward the elevators. He heard a clang at one of the metal doors and made a quick dive for the safety of the stairway.
HE was just in time. The door of the elevator shaft opened and out stepped a swarthy individual whom Wolf recognized as Joe Cardona, ace of New York detectives. Sneaking down the stairway, Wolf thought only of making a getaway.
As he reached a lower floor, the gang leader heard men coming up. Hastily, the gangster tried apartment doors and was fortunate enough to find one that opened.
He discovered that the apartment was empty. He found a window that was some ten feet above the roof of a low, adjoining building. Wolf scrambled through this exit. He beat his way across the roof, broke open a trapdoor and dropped down into the top floor of an old-fashioned apartment building.
From then on, escape was easy.
As Wolf hurried from the vicinity of the apartment house where King Furzman had been slain, his scheming mind again began to function. Thoughts of Graham Wellerton, free and on the road to independent crime, were infuriating to Wolf.
Entering a cigar store, Wolf made a telephone call. He spoke in an eager tone to the man who answered.
“That you, Garry?” Wolf inquired. “Yeah. This is Wolf Daggert… Say - can you get hold of a good fast wagon? Good… I got somethin’ that’ll work out great… Sure - I’m scrammin’ from New York… No - the bulls ain’t on my trail… I’ll put you wise when you show up with the boat. Sure. I can meet you at the garage. Where is it?… Give me the address.”
ONE hour later, Wolf Daggert and his companion, Garry, were whirling along a New Jersey highway. Wolf, his evil face wearing an ugly smile, was pouring out his story while Garry replied with understanding chuckles.
“If we get a break,” Wolf was explaining, “we’ll catch up with them guys before they get to Grand Rapids. They’ll be goin’ straight there -“
“We may pass them on the road,” commented Garry doubtfully.
“Maybe,” agreed Wolf, “but that ain’t goin’ to matter anyway. If we get into Grand Rapids ahead of them, we can make out all right. Say - wait until I get a hold of Wellerton’s mob and spill what I’ve got to say -“
Wolf’s speech ended; the gang leader stuck his head from the side window of the speeding car and looked upward to see a huge monoplane roaring overhead.
The swift metal bird, its searchlight ablaze, was winging past the automobile at tremendous speed. Wolf settled back in the seat and turned to Garry.
“Say,” he commented, “that guy was hummin’ along. Boy - if he was bound for Grand Rapids, he’d get there plenty quick.”
The airplane’s hum was fading far ahead as Wolf Daggert completed his statement. The shrewd gang leader said nothing more. His thoughts were of the chase which he had undertaken, a pursuit that would end when he and Garry had caught up with Graham Wellerton.
Chance had intervened. By a freak of fate, Wolf Daggert had learned facts from the dying lips of King Furzman. The gang leader knew where Graham Wellerton was heading; he was ready to spoil the plans of the man whom he hated.
New territory lay ahead. Graham Wellerton had planned to invade a district where The Shadow would not trouble him. Wolf Daggert now was planning a course that would enable him to profit by Graham’s brains.
Yet in his calculations, Wolf Daggert never dreamed that King Furzman had squealed to The Shadow before the battle in the apartment. Little did Wolf suppose that Graham Wellerton was riding into a trap; that he, Wolf, in seeking Graham, was placing himself in the same predicament.
That swift plane that had sped far ahead! Merely as conjecture had Wolf suggested Grand Rapids in connection with it. Actually, the gang leader would have picked the Michigan city as the least likely destination to which the monoplane might be traveling.
Had Wolf known who was riding in that ship, his thoughts would have changed from eagerness to trepidation. Realization of grim danger would have made the yellow gang leader turn back toward New York.
For the pilot of the silver-winged plane was a being who rode in darkness. His destination was the city of Grand Rapids. Hurling forward through the night, The Shadow was aiming for the place where crime would later fall.
When Graham Wellerton’s mob advanced upon its intended foray, The Shadow, enemy of crime, would be there to shatter the attack!
CHAPTER VIII
MOBSMEN CHOOSE
TWENTY-FOUR hours later, two sedans pulled up beside a filling station at the side of a lonely road. A man in a dark gray overcoat stepped from one automobile and approached the filling station, ordering gasoline for both cars.
The service man noted a frank, well-featured face beneath the visor of a cap. He also saw a dark sweater under the half-buttoned overcoat. He classed the stranger as an ordinary tourist in informal garb. He went out to fill the gas tanks.
The man with cap and overcoat was Graham Wellerton. His mobsmen were lounging in the cars, ready to proceed as soon as the tanks were filled. The squad of raiders, traveling in a pair of automobiles, was not many hours from its final destination.
As Graham Wellerton walked to the front of the first machine, he came into the glare of headlights that were arriving along the road. Brakes ground as a coupe swung in beside the sedans. The door of the coupe opened and a familiar figure stepped forth.
Graham stared as he recognized Wolf Daggert.
There was a malicious gleam in Wolf’s eye - a token which made Graham instantly understand that something was wrong. Graham, however, quickly recovered from his surprise.
“Hello, Wolf!” he exclaimed. “How did you get here?”
“I’ll tell you later, Wellerton,” returned the gang leader. “Slide one of your men into my car. I want to ride along with you.”
Graham motioned to a man in the front seat of the first sedan. The fellow clambered out to take Wolf’s place in the coupe. Graham sat behind the wheel of the sedan; Wolf dropped into the seat beside him. The sedan started forward and the other cars followed.
“What’s the gag, Wolf?” queried Graham.
“I’ll tell you when we get away a bit,” returned Wolf. “Pick a side road where we can stop. There’s trouble back in New York. I came after you to put you wise.”
GRAHAM felt ill at ease when he heard Wolf’s words. He suspected malice on the part of the yellow gang leader. He could not understand why King Furzman could have dispatched Wolf in pursuit of the secret expedition.
Nevertheless, Graham could see no possible danger from Wolf’s presence. In accordance with his companion’s suggestion, he picked a side road and brought the sedan to a stop. The other cars came up in back.
“All right, Wolf,” ordered Graham brusquely. “Let’s hear what’s on your mind.”
The mobsters in the rear seat were leaning forward to catch Wolf’s words. Other men were coming up from the sedan behind. Wolf laughed sourly, while he waited for all hands to arrive.
“Have you read the newspapers?” he queried, at last.
“No,” returned Graham shortly. “We’ve stayed away from towns during our trip. We haven’t seen any of today’s news.”
�
��Take a look at this, then,” stated Wolf, pulling a folded newspaper from his pocket. “Out here - you can read it by the headlights.”
Before Graham could object, Wolf was clambering from his seat and making for the front of the sedan. Graham’s mobsters, eager to know what was up, were following. There was nothing to do but act in accord with Wolf’s suggestion. Graham hurriedly stepped to the road.
As he reached the front of the car, Graham heard growls of astonishment coming from the men who had arrived ahead of him. Shouldering his way through the crowd, Graham seized the newspaper that was in Wolf Daggert’s hands and stared at the headlines. His gaze hardened.
Graham was reading an account of King Furzman’s mysterious death. The affray in the apartment was reported as an unexplained killing. Most potent of all was the discovery of stolen funds in a wall safe behind a panel of the big shot’s reception room.
“What do you think of that?” queried Wolf Daggert, as he watched Graham scan the headlines. “Who do you think gave King the bump?”
“The Shadow?” questioned Graham.
“You guessed it,” retorted Wolf with an evil leer. “The Shadow bumped King Furzman!”
Audible responses came from the mobsters. This piece of information was startling. All turned to Wolf for further news. The gang leader showed his ugly teeth. His lips twisted as he prepared to loose the scheme that was in his mind.
“Kind of funny, ain’t it?” he quizzed. “The way you named The Shadow the minute I asked you who you thought bumped King. You seemed to know a lot about it, Welterton.”
“I warned King Furzman,” retorted Graham. “I told him The Shadow had been trailing me -“
“Yeah?” queried Wolf. “Did you tell these fellows about it, too?”
“No.” Graham faced his mobsmen. “I ducked The Shadow, boys. That’s why I kept mum about it. I knew The Shadow would still be in New York and -“
“I’ll tell you about The Shadow.” Wolf’s snarl was an interruption. “It was The Shadow who queered my mob when we tried to hold up the Parkerside Trust. That’s news, ain’t it?
“Kind of funny, wasn’t it, that The Shadow picked on me? Kind of funny that Wellerton here was hitting the Terminal National, right at the same time? Well, The Shadow may be tough but he can’t be two places at the same time.
“Then Wellerton starts out for Grand Rapids. What does The Shadow do? He comes in an’ bumps King Furzman. He kills the big shot, boys - an’ gets the dough that Furzman has -“
“Lay off that stuff!” challenged Graham. “You’re looking for trouble, Wolf. I get what you’re driving at.”
“It’s time you got it,” was the retort. “I know your game, Wellerton. Making me a sucker - making King a sucker - so The Shadow would be busy takin’ care of us. I know who tipped off The Shadow -“
Graham Wellerton leaped forward. He was ready to beat Wolf Daggert to a pulp. His spring, however, stopped abruptly. Wolf had anticipated it. The leering gang leader had whipped out a revolver.
With the muzzle of a gun covering him, Graham had no chance. He subsided, but his jaw was set as he eyed Wolf Daggert firmly.
ANGRY murmurs came from the mobsmen. Trouble was in the balance. Wolf Daggert’s insinuations had reached receptive ears. While Wolf held his gun, while Graham glared in return, a feeling of unrest and dissatisfaction stirred the brutal minds of the assembled mobsmen.
“King Furzman told me how to reach you,” declared Wolf. “I got there while he was dying. I didn’t have time to look for any dough. I scrammed just before Joe Cardona showed up with a flock of dicks -“
“And so you trailed me,” interrupted Graham. “Came along to queer a good lay - to make trouble - to muscle in on my job -“
“That’s it,” jeered Wolf. “There’s the give-away. Your job, you say. You ain’t workin’ for King Furzman no more. Ditched him, didn’t you - left him to The Shadow -“
“Gag that guy,” growled Graham, appealing to the mobsmen, as he indicated Wolf with a nudging thumb.
Grunts of doubt were the response. Not a mobsman stirred. Wolf’s accusations had already proven fruitful. Graham Wellerton had played his high card. Wolf Daggert trumped it with an evil laugh.
“Come on, gang,” suggested Wolf. “Grab me - put me on the spot. You know me - like you know Wellerton here. He’s your boss. Grab me - before I can tell you the rest of it.”
Yellow in face of fire, Wolf Daggert was the opposite when he dealt with mobsmen. These were men of his ilk; he understood them. His sarcastic request that Graham’s command be followed was a stroke of cleverness on his part.
“All right, men,” interposed Graham calmly. “Take your pick - between Wolf and myself. Listen to what this yellow guy has to say -“
“I’m yellow, eh?” snarled Wolf. “You call this yellow - comin’ to tip off some real guys to the game you’re playin’? Think you’re smart, you silk-hat gorilla. That’s all you are, Wellerton. You worked for me once; you got in right with King Furzman an’ he gave you a mob of your own. Then you queered my lay so you’d look good an’ I’d look punk. Then you double-crossed King -“
“Double-crossed him?” queried Graham. “Say - my cut from the Terminal National job was there with the dough the cops grabbed. What do you think of that?”
“You didn’t collect what was comin’ to you?” Wolf’s tone was a hoarse laugh. “Say - do you think we’re a lot of punks? Tryin’ to hand us boloney like that? Listen to him, gang. Then listen to me.
“I was goin’ great until this bozo began to chisel. He’s the guy that let The Shadow get wise to what I was doin’. Some of you fellows worked for me when Wellerton was takin’ my orders. Was The Shadow mixin’ in it then?”
As Wolf turned his head from side to side, he momentarily forgot Graham Wellerton. With a savage cry, the young man precipitated himself upon the leering gang leader. He gripped Wolf’s gun wrist; the two men locked themselves in a furious struggle.
“Get him!” gurgled Wolf, as Graham’s hand gripped his throat. “Get the double-crosser!”
Garry, the man who had come with Wolf, was the one who ended the indecision. Mingled with Graham Wellerton’s mobsmen, he echoed Wolf’s cry. “Get the double-crosser!”
Two mobsmen responded. They leaped upon Graham Wellerton and dragged their denounced leader away from Wolf Daggert. Had Graham used discretion, he might have saved his cause; instead, he furiously swung against the men who had seized him. That brought the entire mob.
In the fray, Graham’s overcoat was ripped from his body. He went down under force of numbers.
Wolf Daggert was snarling imprecations. He had won over the entire squad of mobsters. Two men had pinioned Graham Wellerton’s arms behind him. They were dragging the young man into the back seat of the first sedan.
“We’re goin’ ahead with the Grand Rapids job,” Wolf decided. “But this bird’s goin’ to be out of it - the dirty double-crosser. Come on - move along an’ we’ll put him on the spot.”
“How about finishin’ him right here?” growled a mobsman.
“Farther along,” rejoined Wolf. “Too near the main road here. We’ll cut over through the country. Leave it to me - I’ll give him the bump.”
Men leaped back into the cars. The caravan started. Graham Wellerton, pinned by two men, was huddled in the back seat of the first sedan. Wolf Daggert, his revolver threatening, crouched on the floor directly in front of the prisoner.
As the cars rolled along, Graham began to realize his predicament. He knew that his only hope for life lay in turning the men against Wolf Daggert. With an opportunity to talk, he might be able to swing the tide the other way. But Wolf’s revolver made him wary. If Graham began to argue, Wolf would shoot. That was obvious.
“Keep lookin’ for a good spot,” growled Wolf, to the man at the wheel. “Somewhere that’ll do to dump this double-crosser after I plug him.”
“Here’s the place,” rejoined the driver. “Right ahead.”
/> A snarling laugh came from Wolf Daggert’s lips as the gang leader peered over the front seat. The lights of the sedan showed a twisting, slanting road, an embankment on the left; a ravine on the right.
“Ease up,” ordered Wolf. “Here’s where he goes out.”
As the driver applied the brakes, Graham Wellerton did the unexpected. The mobsmen on his right was opening the side door of the sedan. With a sudden leap, Graham broke free from his captors and dived in that direction.
Hands clutched furiously as Graham hurled himself against the door. The car was traveling at less than thirty miles an hour when the barrier burst open and Graham Wellerton paused momentarily upon the brink, while the man closest to him made a wild grab to stop his escape.
Turning his body, Graham delivered a swift punch squarely in his captor’s face. At the same instant, Wolf Daggert swung to aim his revolver at the maddened prisoner. Momentarily freed, Graham lost his balance. With a startled shout, he launched from the car, just as Wolf fired two rapid shots.
IT was impossible for Wolf to tell whether or not his bullets had gone home. Graham’s hurtling form had struck the turf at the top of the embankment. From the car, stopped within a dozen yards, Wolf could see the flying form traveling in long bounds down the side of the rough ravine. The other cars had halted.
Mobster eyes were watching the body of Graham Wellerton as swift momentum carried it to the bottom of the gulch. The form of the ex-gang leader crashed into a thick clump of brush. As it disappeared, saplings wavered in the moonlight, indicative of the force with which the body had struck.
“Looks like you got him, Wolf,” laughed a mobster.
“Yeah,” agreed the gang leader. “I fired close enough, but he was on his way. Maybe one of you guys had better go down there an’ make sure.”
There were no volunteers. At spots, the sides of the sloping ravine were precipitous. Both descent and return would be difficult. Graham’s body had ended its wild trip more than one hundred feet away.
The Road Of Crime s-39 Page 5
