The Fifth Face s-204

by Maxwell Grant

  People from the hotel were jumping in to help him, and with figures intervening,

  The Shadow was unable to aim at Melbrun's attackers.

  It was Joe Cardona who brought the real rescue. He had been chasing the thugs, and he was close enough to grab one who was shoving a revolver against Melbrun's ribs. Hotel attendants captured the other hoodlum, but Melbrun was shaky when people hauled him to his feet.

  He asked what had happened, and Cardona told him. All the while, the captured thugs were snarling at detectives who had taken charge of them. All that the thugs would mention was the name of Barney Kelm.

  "Sure, we was working for Barney," voiced one. "So what? He got away, didn't he? He was lucky and we wasn't. It wasn't Barney's fault we didn't get away."

  THE financiers were crowding about Melbrun, bewailing their ill luck.

  Commissioner Weston joined them and explained that if they had shown the same judgment as Melbrun, their money would be safe. But Melbrun shook his head, when he heard the truth about Barney Kelm.

  "I suspected trouble," he said, "but not from Kelm. I would have trusted him fully. I still have my money, commissioner, but only because the bank was closed when I arrived from Norfolk."

  Blood was trickling from Melbrun's forehead, where one of the thugs had given a glancing blow with a gun. When Weston offered to have a detective drive

  him home, Melbrun gratefully accepted the offer.

  The coupe pulled away, with Melbrun leaning back beside the driver's seat.

  Turning matters over to Cardona, the commissioner summoned his official car.

  By then, The Shadow had glided away toward a solitary taxicab parked down the street. His next destination was the Cobalt Club, where, as Cranston, he would hear Weston's version of new crime.

  But The Shadow was looking beyond this night, to a time when Five-face, no

  longer Barney Kelm, would reappear in another guise, intent on further crime.

  Despite handicaps, The Shadow had nearly ruined the robbery at the Hotel Clairmont; but he knew that Five-face, overconfident because of success, would not admit the fact. The Shadow was sure that the master crook would strike again, as boldly as ever before.

  One move more could be one too many for the intrepid criminal who had dared The Shadow's might!

  CHAPTER XV

  CRIME ON THE SIDE

  THE evanishment of Barney Kelm was no more singular than the disappearances of Jake Smarley and Flush Tygert. By this time, the public was getting used to crooks who staged one big thrust and then evaporated. Such things, criminologists said, always came in cycles.

  It was all very plausible. Nobody in the underworld had ever rated Smarley

  high. Though he fluked his robbery at Melbrun's, he had managed to hide himself

  completely away; therefore, a smarter crook, like Flush, had thought it easy to

  follow Smarley's example, with better success.

  Barney Kelm was a different sort of case. A professor was writing a book about him, using long words, like egocentrism and megalomania, to show that acclaim had gone to Barney's head and twisted his brain. Public hero or public enemy, only a hairbreadth separated them, according to the professor.

  All this was a tribute to Five-face, though neither the public nor the professor knew it. The master criminal had done far more than disguise himself facially. He had established and effaced three different personalities as widely separated as the points of a triangle.

  In fact, Five-face had his lieutenants guessing. Gathered in their shabby apartment, the three were speculating heavily as to what had become of their chief.

  "It's been three days, now," argued Grease, "and we haven't heard a thing from the guy. It's giving me the jitters!"

  "It was a week last time," reminded Banker. "So why should we worry?"

  "Because we need dough," put in Clip. "Five-face knows it. He's got dough,

  too, from the last job. Two hundred and fifty grand of it."

  Banker shook his head. Reaching for a newspaper, he pointed to a paragraph.

  "The cash is hot," he stated. "Those Wall Street guys gave Barney big bills right out of their banks. They didn't expect Barney to grab the mazuma, but they had the numbers listed, just the same."

  Clip was still in an argumentative mood.

  "We need dough," he insisted. "We've had to hire some new torpedoes, to be

  ready for the next job. What are we going to pay them with?"

  "They'll wait," returned Banker. "Take that guy Cliff Marsland, for example. We were smart, hiring him. He wants to get in a lick at The Shadow, and knows we're the fellows who can put him in line for it.

  "The little guy, Hawkeye, is another good bet. Dough doesn't worry him.

  He

  gets lonely unless he's trailing somebody, and we've promised him a lot of work,

  which is what he wants. Say - I'll bet Hawkeye could even pick up The Shadow's trail and keep it!"

  "You'd better put him on the trail of some hamburgers," snapped Clip. "We won't be eating after tonight, unless we hear from Five-face."

  "Hamburgers sound good," spoke up Grease, "with onions on the side."

  Banker was looking at the newspaper. His eyes, narrowing, showed a gleam, as he heard what Grease said.

  "Something on the side," remarked Banker. "Say - that isn't a bad idea.

  While Five-face is going after hamburgers, we can try onions."

  The others thought that Banker was trying to be funny, but he wasn't. He showed the newspaper and said:

  "Take a gander at that guy, Clip."

  "Which one?"

  Clip chuckled as he put the question. He was looking at a row of three photographs, showing Smarley, Flush and Barney, with the caption: "Three Wanted

  Men."

  "I don't mean those photos of Five-face," said Banker. "Over here, Clip, on the other page. This glamour boy with the fancy moniker: Count Raoul Fondelac."

  THE picture showed a man with a foreign face, high aristocratic nose, thin

  lips that had a bored droop at the corners. Count Fondelac fitted his name; he looked like a nobleman. His age was problematical. He could have been called a young man who looked oldish, or an old man who looked youngish.

  "His nibs is stopping at the Hotel Bayonne," declared Banker, "a very exclusive place. You couldn't walk through the lobby without a dress suit, but I'll bet it would be easy to sneak in the back way."

  "To rob the guy?" demanded Clip. "Counts and such don't have a dime; not the sort that hang around New York. They're big-time panhandlers, that's all they are!"

  "Count Fondelac is engaged to Albertina Adquin," continued Banker, referring to the newspaper. "You've heard of that dame, Clip. She's had three husbands, worth about ten million bucks apiece. Now she's buying a fourth one."

  "Yeah. So what?"

  "I'm just wondering," said Banker, "Why she shouldn't buy him from us."

  Clip brightened instantly, and Grease showed sudden interest. It was Clip who queried:

  "You mean, why don't we snatch the guy?"

  "That's it!"

  The three men scanned the newspaper eagerly. They learned that Count Fondelac was to be the guest at a reception in the Adquin mansion at ten o'clock in the evening. It was only half past seven, which gave them plenty of time to operate.

  Leaving the apartment, they contacted men across the street, told them to follow in another car. Among the small group of hirelings were Cliff and Hawkeye, who had worked themselves into the service of the gang lieutenants, at

  The Shadow's suggestion.

  It wasn't until they stopped near the Hotel Bayonne that The Shadow's agents learned what the game was to be. Banker Dreeb had taken charge; he posted Cliff and others near the rear of the hotel, and sent Hawkeye ahead to reconnoiter a route to Fondelac's hotel suite. During that trip, Hawkeye performed a double job.

  Not only did he find a service entrance that connected with a rear stairway; he crawl
ed out through a window and took a passage to the front street, where he sneaked up to a taxicab that had parked in the hack stand.

  Moe Shrevnitz was the driver of that cab; he had trailed the cars after they left the old apartment.

  Small, hunch-shouldered in manner, Hawkeye poked a wizened face in through

  the cab window and gave the facts to Moe. By the time Hawkeye was sneaking back

  to join Banker and his companions, Moe was driving away to put in a call to Burbank. The way matters were fixed at present, such a call would bring The Shadow in rapid order.

  Hawkeye made a lengthy report that stalled the expedition for several minutes. Having finally impressed the details on Banker, Hawkeye joined the cordon, taking the next post to Cliff's. Both agents watched Banker enter the service door of the hotel, followed by Grease and Clip.

  The waiting period seemed long, though it was a very few minutes. There came a whisper from the darkness, one that drew Cliff and Hawkeye close together. They couldn't see The Shadow in the gloom, but they could sense his presence. Hawkeye gave the necessary details; a cloaked figure glided forward.

  There was dim light near the service entrance. It had shown the gang lieutenants plainly when they entered. But The Shadow passed that hazard, observed only by his own agents. To others, posted by Banker, the blackness that glided beneath the light was nothing more than a flicker of the light itself.

  THE SHADOW quickly made up the few minutes that he had lost. When he reached Fondelac's floor, he saw a valet come out from the suite, and knew from

  the man's manner that nothing could have happened yet.

  Choosing the next door, The Shadow picked its lock with a tool that resembled a tiny pair of tweezers. He stepped into a bedroom of Fondelac's suite.

  From there, The Shadow looked into a lavish living room. He saw the count standing in front of a mirror, admiring his evening clothes. From a vase of flowers, Fondelac tried to choose one which suited his present mood. Had he continued to look into the mirror, he would have noticed something that The Shadow saw.

  The window in another room was opening. Into the darkness of the room came

  three men, one by one. Despite the gloom, The Shadow could see the glitter of their drawn revolvers.

  Coolly, The Shadow drew an automatic from beneath his cloak. His doorway had a perfect background of almost solid blackness. Since crime was in the wind, The Shadow was quite willing to abolish a few of Five-face's lieutenants,

  if occasion demanded.

  Still, he was hoping that things might work out. These crooks would be satisfied with carry-over money; perhaps a robbery would suit them, instead of a kidnapping.

  Provided that Fondelac had any money. That was the real problem.

  As the crooks moved in on the unsuspecting count, The Shadow's hopes were dwindling, for he could see eagerness in the eyes of the men who planned the abduction. As Fondelac happened to glance into the mirror, The Shadow's hand was tightening on its gun.

  Then, with a sweep, The Shadow slid the weapon beneath his cloak and eased

  back into the darkness!

  Whatever happened, The Shadow was willing to be a mere witness to the affair. Count Fondelac had seen the mobsters in the mirror, and his face had registered an expression that was sufficient for The Shadow.

  This was to be crime with a most curious twist, that promised the very results The Shadow wanted!

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE FOURTH FACE

  HIS fingers placing a flower in his buttonhole, Count Fondelac let his sleek hands turn palm forward. They were not only empty, they were practically raised, when he happened to turn in the direction of the invaders.

  Seeing the three crooks, Fondelac gave a gasp to denote surprise and let his hands move slowly apart. He stood quite helpless, and made no effort to change his predicament. Except for the trifling gasp, the count remained silent.

  Banker moved forward, as spokesman for the three.

  "Just take it easy, count," he said. "We want you to come along with us."

  "Why so, m'sieu'?" queried Fondelac, in a rather mild tone. "I already have an engagement."

  "Yes, and you can keep it," declared Banker, "provided that you can make the future countess listen, when you call her on the phone. We're going to hold

  you until she coughs over some big dough, pretty boy!"

  "Dough?" Fondelac looked puzzled. "Ah, oui." He nodded. "You mean money.

  What is it we shall do - play that game with the cards, that you call poker?"

  "That's it," put in Clip, giving Banker a nudge. "We want to deal you in on a poker game, over at our place. If you lose, you can call up your girl friend and tell her to send over what you owe us."

  Grease was grinning from the background. He was beginning to see how this kidnapping job could be managed without Fondelac ever realizing what it was.

  Apparently, the count thought that poker parties were something like a fraternity initiation.

  "I shall go," decided Fondelac. "But there is one thing which I must remind you. I have played this game of poker" - he gestured toward a table and a pack of cards upon it - "and I have found one thing strange."

  Fondelac was reaching for the cards. Guns nudged close to him, in case he reached for one of his own. But the visiting crooks weren't expecting trouble from the count. They simply thought it best to humor him, to help their own game along.

  "There is a hand like this," said Fondelac. He counted four clubs face upward on the table. "But it is not enough. You must have five, I am told. So

  -"

  Laying the pack aside with his left hand, he swept his right over the four

  clubs. The bunched cards spread apart; in their midst was a fifth club. In perfect fashion, Count Fondelac had executed the stunt that Flush Tygert had made famous!

  Guns lowered in the hands that gripped them, as though the sheer weight of

  the weapons had carried them down. Three astounded thugs had lost their muscular

  control, though one of them, Grease Rickel, still had vocal cords that functioned. He blurted:

  "Five-face!"

  COUNT FONDELAC gave a grin that was anything but aristocratic. It was the grin that belonged to Barney Kelm. When he spoke again, he used a drawl that was reminiscent of Flush Tygert, though there was something of Jake Smarley in his voice, as well.

  "I was going to call you tonight," said Five-face, "after I got away from this shindig that Albertina Adquin is throwing for me. It's kind of tough, being Count Fondelac. I have to stick around Park Avenue. It would look funny if I barged into your place."

  He gestured for his lieutenants to sit down. Then, stroking his chin, Five-face remarked slowly:

  "A cute idea, trying to kidnap me. Only, it wouldn't work. That fool Albertina would call up all the lawyers in town, and hire a special train to bring the F.B.I. in from Washington. No, I'd better go through with the next job the way I planned it."

  "What's that to be?" asked Clip. "Are you going to marry the dame?"

  "Not a chance," returned Five-face. "All she'd ever hand me would be allowance money. I started this Fondelac racket one time when I was abroad.

  There was a real Count Fondelac, and he faked it for me to be his successor.

  "I paid him, of course, and he did what I expected. Finished himself off by drinking absinthe as fast as he could buy it. So I became Fondelac - when I wanted to be - and it was worth the price. You see" - he gave a broad smile -

  "Fondelac and Flush often traveled on the same boat. A good out, in case of trouble."

  Banker put a query:

  "How did the Adquin dame get hold of you?"

  "By accident," replied the fake count. "I thought it was a good break, but

  it didn't turn out that way. I've got to get rid of her, and the only way is to

  get rid of Fondelac."

  "Like you did the other faces," nodded Banker. "What's the next job - to trim the dame out of a lot of dough?"


  "It won't work," replied Five-face. "No, the racket is this: I rate high as Fondelac, and a lot of people think I already have nicked the dame for plenty. Tonight, I'm going to put the clamps on some guy with plenty of dough, and hook him. I'll sell him fake bonds, telling him that Albertina gave them to

  me."

  "Good enough," agreed Banker, "but how do we come into it?"

  "The same as usual. If the guy gets wise, I'll have to lam like I did before. It means a cover-up, because if the victim won't hand over the cash, I'll take it from him."

  Lieutenants showed their approval of the scheme. While they were nodding, Fondelac drew some money from a wallet and distributed a few hundred dollars to

  each man.

  "That will carry you over until tomorrow night," he said. "I don't know who the dub is going to be yet, but I'll pick one out at the reception. I'll add the take to the rest of the loot, and we'll split afterward.

  "I couldn't keep the stuff around here, not with the snoopy valet that I hired. Don't worry, though. I've got it stowed away, and I know how to freeze the hot stuff. So let's have a drink before I start to the reception."

  Five-face folded back a screen, to display a miniature barroom, with an array of bottles and glasses on shelves behind the mahogany counter.

  WHILE Count Fondelac was mixing drinks for his uninvited friends, The Shadow left the suite by his own route. Descending the stairway, he reached the

  ground floor.

  There, instead of leaving through the service entrance, The Shadow peered into the hotel lobby. He saw the porter's room, empty and dark as he expected.

  In hotels like the Bayonne, the porter was seldom in his quarters. Usually, the

  clerk summoned a porter when guests called for one.

  Crossing the dim lobby of the Bayonne was easy for anyone inside the place, since only the doorman kept tabs on unlikely strangers.

  Reaching the porter's room, The Shadow used his tiny flashlight and found exactly what he wanted: a cardboard box of the size used by florists. Removing his cloak, hat, and other accouterments, he packed them in the box and wrapped it.

  He was Lamont Cranston when he stepped from the porter's room, the box beneath his arm; but the clerk did not notice his arrival until he was almost at the desk. Seeing a gentleman in evening clothes, the clerk supposed that he had entered by the main door.