The Shadow 186 City of Ghosts by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1939-10-31T23:00:00+00:00

“We’re going through with it. The thing’s a setup! Clenwick lives at the old house. The only other people there are a girl and her crippled brother, except for servants, who don’t count. The flunkies are quartered in old buildings out back.”

Skate put a question: “What about the hired hands?”

“You mean the rancheros?” Enwald’s purr had returned. “They live over with the cattle, where they belong. We’ll wait until the rest of our crew shows up. I’ll tell them to go ahead; because if the mob moves in there quiet, it will be a cinch to snatch Clenwick without anybody knowing it.”

Skate and Dingbat conferred, while Enwald went back to his bottle. The sallow man wasn’t interested in the conference; he had told his story. He caught mutters, though, and understood them.

The thugs were agreed that they should kidnap Clenwick tonight, as soon as the mob arrived, and take him as a trophy to the big shot, Tony Belgo. From their comments, it was plain that Belgo was a high-powered crook who was taking up kidnapping as a new specialty.

“If the jab goes sour tonight,” remarked Skate, “we can make it look like we were after cattle. If we lam, Tony can dope out the next move.”

“That makes sense,” agreed Dingbat. “All that worries me is whether Clenwick is worth a couple of million bucks, like Enwald says.”

Enwald finished his drink and gave a nod. His purred tone became a raucous pitch.

“He’s worth plenty,” declared Enwald, “and he’ll pay up, Tony Belgo will know how to put the heat on him. I told Tony how to handle it, and I was right. But Tony won’t begin until I’m miles away—”

MILES suddenly lacked interest to Enwald. He was thinking in terms of a few feet—the distance between himself and the door. Bleary-eyed, he fancied that he had seen the door ease shut, though it was supposed to be locked.

From somewhere outside came the rumble of a car motor; its sound ended abruptly. Dingbat forgot Enwald, sprang to the window and beckoned to Skate.

“It’s the mob, all right,” informed Dingbat, in a whisper. “They knew that Enwald would be here at the hotel. This is where Tony told them to come.”

At that moment, Enwald was thinking in terms other than the mob and Tony Belgo. He had even forgotten Dingbat and Skate. Springing from beside the bureau, Enwald pounced to the door, grabbed the knob and gave it a quick turn.

He yanked. The door flew inward, sprawling the sallow man back upon the floor. Skate and Dingbat heard the noise and wheeled about, tugging guns from their hips. Their throats voice hoarse shouts.

A tall figure occupied the doorway. He was a being cloaked in black. Burning eyes peered above the gloved hand that had discarded its tiny lock-picking instrument for a more formidable object. The muzzle of a .45 automatic waggled back and forth between Skate and Dingbat, holding the two crooks motionless.

The thugs knew that this black-cloaked challenger was no ghost.

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