The Shadow 092 by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

WEED evidently took time out to make a final perusal of Quidler’s report. When he spoke again, the lobbyist was sharp in tone.

“Look at this newspaper,” he ordered. “This account says that Coyd has gone away for a trip.”

“Sure he has,” chuckled Quidler. “That fits my report, don’t it? Look what I’ve got to say about this afternoon. I went around to that apartment and did some gumshoe work. Kept looking through transoms until I spotted the place I wanted. There was Coyd, big as life, smoking a stogie and reading a newspaper. Had the light on - the shades drawn -”

“Hold on, Quidler. The newspapers have more to say about his trip. They state that he went to Virginia.”

“They’re wrong. He’s here in Washington. I saw him this afternoon.”

“But I’m sure that he was driving down through Virginia at noon. Twenty miles south of Washington.”

“Maybe he was. He could have doubled back. I’ve seen too many pictures of that guy’s mug to be mistaken.”

“That doesn’t follow, Quidler. Look at these photos.” Newspapers rustled; Weed was exhibiting the morning dailies, with their story of yesterday’s interview. “See? They’re all different.”

“They’re all funny-looking. Like Coyd, himself. Maybe the galoot does look one way when he’s swelled up and another when he’s tired or sick. But that mush of his is a giveaway. Nobody else has a mug just like it. That scar of his, those eyebrows, that shaggy hair. Don’t tell me, Mr. Weed. I know.”

“Humph.”

Another pause after Weed’s utterance. Then came an ejaculation from Quidler:

“My report! You’re burning it!”

“I am,” rejoined Weed, with an ugly chortle. “It’s dynamite, Quidler. I want to get rid of it.”

“You mean - you don’t think -”

“I’m thinking plenty. I don’t want to carry this paper; I don’t want any one else to see it.”

“I get you,” Quidler chuckled.

“Never mind, Quidler. You’ve done well. We can pass up a discussion of the details.”

“You mean you’ve got enough on Coyd to make him talk turkey. Well, I hope you remembered the address of that apartment. That’s where you’ll find the old bozo.”

“I’ve remembered it. That is where I’m going, Quidler.”

“To talk with Coyd?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’ve put two and two together, Quidler. Maybe it will make four; maybe two and two will be twenty-two. Anyway, you’ve done your part. Slide along; and stay away from that apartment.”

“You’re going there right away?”

“Not for a while. I’m waiting in case of a long-distance call from New York. But there’s no rush. The bird will still be in the nest when I look for him.”

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