Grant, Maxwell - The Shadow 195 - The Spy Ring by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Detective, Mystery, Crime, Suspense, Adventure, Thriller
Publisher: Street & Smith Publications
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XII

THE MAN WHO FAILED

SETTLING dusk had covered The Shadow’s departure from the Hotel Metrolite; the same deepening darkness annoyed a pasty-faced man who was staring from a window of a little office. The fellow was gnawing at a sandwich, gulping a cup of coffee. He had reason to be worried; his name was Alfred Kellington.

Outside, the view was bleak and ominous to Kellington’s nervous eyes. Men were strolling along the silent street beside the office building that housed the Superior Engineering Corp. Watching them from four stories above, Kellington decided that they looked like Feds.

His gaze went across the street, to an eight-story warehouse. Its blank walls loomed like some gigantic sentinel. Kellington hated the sight of that warehouse; then, with a scowl, he shook off its spell.

After all, blank walls meant nothing. If any Feds were in the little cubicle atop the warehouse, they could not bother Kellington. The cubicle had windows, but it was too far away.

Far off in the distance, Kellington could see the glow of Manhattan lights. The brilliance pleased him. Kellington could look forward to some good times in the vicinity of those lights. He’d be paid off soon, and could drop his job with Superior when other draftsmen were laid off.

The telephone bell rang. Kellington stiffened, then relaxed. Answering the call, he said that he was ready. Finishing a last gulp of coffee, he stepped out into a deserted hall. A darkish man moved forward from a stairway, gripped him by the shoulder.

“All set, Kellington?”

Kellington grimaced, gave a nod. His whisper was somewhat hoarse as he responded:

“Yeah, I’m ready, Armion.”

Armion’s teeth gleamed in the gloom. They looked very sharp and white. Like Kellington, Armion was employed by Superior Engineering, but in an unimportant department. That was why Armion, a dupeur agent of the Ilsa, had managed to escape notice. Armion was of KaIva’s type - contact - but smoother.

“Take it easy,” advised Armion in a low, choppy tone. “The cloth tracing sheet is planted under your drawing paper. It picks up lines better than carbon.”

“I’ll slide it out,” promised Kellington. “I tried it, the way you showed me. It won’t crackle, so nobody will hear it. But I’m worried over one thing, Armion -”

“You’re afraid they’ll see you?”

Kellington nodded. Armion displayed a gleaming smile.

“I’ll tell you how to handle that,” he said. “This is special work you’re doing. No one is supposed to watch you, not even the other draftsmen in the room.”

“They’re supposed to watch me,” corrected Kellington, “but not the work I’m doing.”

“That’s just it,” explained Armion. “Your drawing board is by the window. The first thing for you to do is be suspicious of the others. Swing the board toward the window so they can’t see what you’re doing. And later -”

Kellington nodded, eagerly. He didn’t have to hear more. With the board turned, the swiping of the tracing cloth would be child’s play. He was starting away when Armion held him back with a final reminder.

“The stunt with the towel, Kellington.

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