Shadow 161 - The Voice 11-01-38, The by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street and Smith
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

GYPPER nodded in his fake sympathetic fashion. His big lips held back a grin. He was saying to himself that Marge was one doll he could figure out. His talk of gangland’s feud with The Shadow had simply been a come-on, to make Marge express the sentiments that Gypper was sure she actually felt.

There were more details to be settled. Marge reminded Gypper of the fact.

“What about The Shadow?” she queried. “How are we going to get him?”

“Through Clume’s secretary,” replied Gypper. “The dame you’ve been reading about - Irene Borion.”

Marge started to say something; Gypper stopped her.

“We ain’t hurting the dame,” He assured. “The Voice says she’s needed to collect the ransom. But first, we’ll work her as a decoy, to bring The Shadow where we want him. Get it?”

Marge “got” it. She nodded.

“And that’s where you figure,” added Gypper. “Tonight, stay at a hotel; tomorrow get yourself some flashy duds. Nobody’s going to suspect anything when you drop in to see the Borion dame. Anyway, it won’t matter if they do.”

He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, placed it in Marge’s hand.

“Read that when you get in your taxi,” he told her. “Then tear it up and throw the pieces away. You’ll know enough to do what’s needed, but not enough to put you in wrong. You’ll get the rest of it tomorrow, the way the note says.”

Gypper ushered Marge out to the elevator. Reaching the lobby door, the girl looked for a cab. One was parked at the hack stand; but another swung in front of it.

The driver of the parked cab leaned out to start an argument, but desisted when a well-dressed man stepped up to take his cab. The parked cabby preferred that fashionable passenger to the shabbily dressed girl who was taking the rival taxi.

The driver of Marge’s cab thrust a pointed face to the connecting window, as he questioned:

“Where to, lady?”

That driver was Moe Shrevnitz; but Marge displayed no recognition of the cabby who had befriended her the night before. She merely named the hotel where Gypper had told her to stop over night.

As she rode, Marge opened Gypper’s note. It was crudely typewritten; the message occupied less than half the sheet. The note was easy to read, however, by the many lights on Broadway. Marge absorbed the contents.

They had passed the well-lighted area. From her purse, Marge brought a stubby pencil. She scrawled a few words on the typewritten portion of the note, muttering as she did so. She was piecing a few items that Gypper had mentioned. Evidently, she found it easier to scrawl the thoughts as they came.

Then, remembering Gypper’s final instructions, Marge tore the note in half. She followed with more tearing. Moe, his head cocked above the wheel, could hear the sounds that came from the rear seat.

Reaching from the cab window, Marge opened her hand. Fragments of paper fluttered like confetti. A breeze scattered them wide. Looking from the rear window, Marge saw a car close behind.

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