The Shadow - 48 - Gray Fist by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1934-01-31T23:00:00+00:00

“In a parked sedan?” queried Harry, coming to life.

“That’s right,” answered Cliff.

“No wonder we’re here together,” stated Harry. “The same mob piled on me.”

Cliff Marsland was looking about the room. His senses restored, The Shadow’s agent was on the alert.

He knew that hidden ears might be stationed close by. He saw Harry Vincent about to speak, and held a warning finger to his lips. Harry nodded as he noticed the sign.

“I’ll tell you who got us,” declared Cliff. “It was Ruff Shefflin. He’s a mighty tough gang leader, that fellow.

I suspected he was up to something when I saw him with a sneak named Snakes Blakey. I followed them up to the street near the Mandrilla.”

“That’s where I was,” explained Harry. “I came to the apartment in a taxicab. I wanted to see a lawyer named Ruggles Preston. He was— well, he was one of a list of men whom I wanted to meet on business.

The mob grabbed me after I left the place.”

Cliff was sober. He wanted to talk, yet he knew the wisdom of keeping silent. Harry understood. Both men had a question which neither asked. Each wanted to know if the other had made a telephone call to Burbank.

Cliff Marsland was piecing bits of evidence. He knew that he had uncovered the gang leader who was responsible for whatever might have happened to Seth Cowry, the missing racketeer. Harry Vincent, too, was thinking. He realized that he had discovered the person who had been in back of Worth Varden’s disappearance.

Ruff Shefflin was the man whom Cliff had spotted. Ruggles Preston was the one whom Harry Vincent had uncovered. Cliff, in his naming of Snakes Blakey, had announced the identity of a crook who was concerned with both Ruff and Preston. Harry—like Cliff—now knew that Snakes Blakey was the go-between.

A peculiar sense of dizziness began to weaken Cliff. Hunching upward along the cot, Cliff managed to prop himself against the wall. Harry Vincent began to experience the same reaction—a hangover from the dope. He copied Cliff’s example. Drearily, the captured agents of The Shadow rested, while minutes glided by in dull monotony.

THE lock of the door clicked. Neither Cliff nor Harry became aware of the sound until the door began to open. The dull light of the room seemed hazy as a man entered and closed the door behind him. An evil chuckle caused both Cliff and Harry to stare weakly toward the entrant.

The visitor was dressed entirely in gray. To the men who looked at him, his form was a blurred outline. A long gray overcoat hung from his shoulders. A gray hat adorned his head. A thick gray muffler was wrapped about his neck and chin. His face, like his form, was blurred to those who saw it.

The chuckle continued. To Cliff and Harry, the sound was threatening. They knew that this must be the man who had ordered their capture. They realized that they were in the presence of a superfiend.

The man came closer, yet his form still retained its blurred appearance.

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