The Cobra by Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson

Author:Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson [Grant, Maxwell & Gibson, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Espionage, Fiction, Thrillers
ISBN: 9781596542631
Amazon: 1596542632
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1934-04-02T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XIV. CLIFF PLAYS HIS PART

ONE hour after The Shadow's departure from the Blue Crow, Cliff Marsland entered an obscure cigar store and found a telephone booth in a deserted corner. The night was yet young. Cliff, despite the fact that he had learned nothing in the underworld, was putting in a routine call.

Cliff dialed a number. He heard the ringing over the wire. Then came a click; after that, a quiet voice:

"Burbank speaking."

"Marsland," replied Cliff. "No report."

"Instructions." Burbank's tone was solemn. Cliff listened to the words that followed.

Orders from The Shadow!

As Cliff heard them come in Burbank's quiet tones, he stared in amazement. In all his career as an agent of The Shadow, he had never received instructions such as these.

As Burbank continued, Cliff's eyes brightened. He began to see the purpose behind it. His head was nodding instinctively. His jaw was set as Burbank concluded.

"Instructions received," affirmed Cliff.

Walking from the cigar store, Cliff thrust his hand in his trousers pocket and brought forth a roll of bills. He had a good supply of cash with him tonight - sufficient to command respect at the Nugget Club, where only those with bank-rolls were received.

With his other hand, Cliff reached to his hip, where he had an automatic in readiness. Shoving the bank-roll back in his pocket, he strolled along to a busy street on the fringe of the badlands. There he hailed a passing cab. The driver blinked as Cliff gave an address.

The cab pulled up beside an old garage. Cliff entered. A watcher eyed him. Cliff paid no attention to the fellow. He strolled to the rear of the garage and reached a door. He pressed a push-button. A buzz sounded; the door opened to show a flight of stairs.

Cliff went up. He reached a door where a little peephole opened. An eye surveyed him. The door opened. Cliff entered to meet a stocky, sharp-eyed fellow in tuxedo.

"You're Cliff Marsland," stated this man. "Been here before."

"Right," declared Cliff.

"Go on in," ordered the watcher.

CLIFF grinned as he entered a swanky, well-carpeted room with luxurious furnishings and hanging curtains. Despite the precautions here, this place could be easily entered if one used craft.

The Shadow, for instance, would have no trouble eluding the watcher in the garage and picking the locks on the two inner doors. Cliff's smile denoted anticipation.

Voices were coming from an archway on the right. Cliff entered to find a dozen men assembled along a long mahogany bar. Some were attired in tuxedos; others in street clothes.

Two men who recognized Cliff waved a greeting. Cliff responded. He strolled to the far end of the bar and took his position there.

The Nugget Club was a gambling joint frequented only by mobsters of class. No ordinary gorilla could wander into these preserves. The passport was money. Cliff could see the barkeeper eying him. As Cliff pulled his bank-roll from his pocket, the man turned away, satisfied.

Slot machines were in operation at the end of the room. Silver dollars were in play.

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