Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 065 - The Chinese Disks

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THE CHINESE DISKS
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. COMING EVENTS
? CHAPTER II. GREEN LIGHTS
? CHAPTER III. THE SECOND DISK
? CHAPTER IV. THE SHADOW CONNECTS
? CHAPTER V. PEOPLE OF THE PAST
? CHAPTER VI. FARROW ENTERS
? CHAPTER VII. FARROW REPORTS
? CHAPTER VIII. TWO TRAILS
? CHAPTER IX. THE DEATH TRAP
? CHAPTER X. THE TRAP SPRINGS
? CHAPTER XI. CRIME BEGINS
? CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOW MOVES
? CHAPTER XIII. FARROW'S VISITOR
? CHAPTER XIV. AIDS TO THE SHADOW
? CHAPTER XV. GENTLEMEN OF CRIME
? CHAPTER XVI. CRIME'S TRAIL
? CHAPTER XVII. HALF A MILLION
? CHAPTER XVIII. MOVES ON THE MORROW
? CHAPTER XIX. AT THE LAUNDRY
? CHAPTER XX. THE DOUBLE SLIP
? CHAPTER XXI. CRIME STRIKES
? CHAPTER XXII. THE LAW MOVES
? CHAPTER XXIII. MASTERS MEET
CHAPTER I. COMING EVENTS
"I DON'T know nothin', Joe. I ain't no stoolie -"
The speaker was a pale, rat-faced fellow. His voice, half snarl, half whine, ended with a twitch of ugly
lips. Beady eyes blinked nervously as they stared at the swarthy, firm-set visage on the opposite side of
the battered desk.
"You're a stoolie right now, Duff," rasped the swarthy man. "What's more, you're going to like it. I
brought you here so you could talk. No stall works with me. Get that?"
There was a pause as the two men faced each other beneath the light of a lamp that hung above the desk.
Silence followed while the beady eyes tried to outblink the hard-boiled gaze that met them. Twisted lips
were holding back.
The room in which these two had met was an unused office of detective headquarters. The rat-faced man
was "Duff" Corley, a small-fry mobster from the underworld of Manhattan. The swarthy-faced inquisitor
was Detective Joe Cardona, ace of the New York force.
Duff Corley was not the first of his ilk to meet Cardona in this little office. Detailed to special investigation
in the badlands, the star sleuth forced these appointments whenever he saw fit. Few crooks had the nerve
to refuse an interview when Joe Cardona demanded it. They preferred to answer the detective's
summons; then try to bluff it out.
Exactly what Duff Corley was attempting. But it didn't go with Joe Cardona. His ultimatum delivered, the
detective watched the twitch of the gangster's lips and waited. Duff's nervousness increased.
"Honest, Joe" - it was all whine, no snarl - "I don't know nothin' about what you're askin'. You say
there's been guys duckin' out an' not showin' up again. Well - I ain't one of 'em, or I wouldn't be here.
That's sensible, ain't it? There ain't nothin' I can tell you about guys that I don't know."
"Spider Mertz was one of them," put in Cardona, with a growl. "You saw him a few nights ago."
The statement jolted Duff; but the rat-faced fellow recovered quickly. Once again, he tried a whine to
cover up his bluff.
"Spider Mertz? I ain't seen him." Duff's tone became pleading. "Honest, Joe. I ain't seen Spider for a
couple of weeks. Not since -"
"Not since he ducked out of sight, eh?" demanded Joe as Duff caught himself in the midst of a damaging
statement. "That's what you were going to say, wasn't it, Duff? Well - that just proves one thing. You did
see Spider Mertz."
"Honest, Joe -"
"I'll tell you where you saw him. Down at Red Mike's. That's why I brought you here. Spider talked to
you, Duff. You're going to tell me what he said."
SILENCE. Joe Cardona smiled coldly. He had scored a point; he had the opportunity to follow it with
another stroke. The detective edged one elbow to the desk. Leaning forward, he gazed squarely at Duff
Corley.
"The dragnet's been working," informed Cardona. "Sometimes it brings in good results. This time we
hooked a couple of squealers who tried to put themselves in right. They talked. About those silk
warehouse robberies. Jobs that were pulled last month. I learned a bit about you, Duff."
The mobster began a snarl. He stopped short, realizing that talk might mean new trouble. Joe Cardona
resumed, in cold tone.
"Maybe I'm not going to use what I found out," stated the detective. "You weren't in those jobs as heavy
as you might have been. Six months over on the Island wouldn't do you much harm, Duff; but it wouldn't
do me any good. Might be a lot of trouble, pinning it on you. Sometimes squealers get closemouthed,
when the pinch hits. I figured you might be more useful where you are."
Duff winced. Cardona's tone had become mild as well as speculative; but the mobster saw the threat
beneath. Duff knew that Joe could pin the goods on him. He knew that the detective would do it, in spite
of the details involved, unless he found a reason to let the matter ride. Joe was leaving it to Duff to
provide the reason.
"You mean you'll lay off them warehouse jobs?" asked the crook, leaning forward. "You'll let the other
mugs take the rap without draggin' me into it? If I -"
"If you give me the lowdown on Spider Mertz," inserted Cardona, as Duff hesitated. "That will make you
useful enough to remain at large."
Duff looked about him in furtive fashion, almost as though suspecting the presence of spies from the
underworld. To the crook, headquarters was a place to be shunned. Even this secluded nook of an office
made him uneasy. At last, Duff glanced toward Cardona and put a final whine.
"I ain't no stoolie, Joe," was his plea. "Maybe I'd better take the rap. When a guy turns stoolie, the dicks
run him ragged. I ain't goin' to be no stoolie for -"
"Cut it, Duff," snapped Cardona. "This is a straight deal, if you deliver the goods. You'll be playing stool
pigeon, right enough, but on this one job. That's all. I won't need you after you've gone through with it."
"You mean that, Joe?"
"I said it, didn't I? Come on. Spill what you know. Tell me about Spider Mertz. What's his game?"
"I don't know, Joe," began Duff. "Wait" - he raised a scrawny hand when he saw the detective scowl - "I
can find it out for you. Honest, Joe. I saw Spider, down at Red Mike's, like you said. He'd been hidin'
out - an' he's got some mugs workin' for him."
"Who are they?"
"I don't know their names. A crew of gorillas, that's all I know. He ain't lookin' for more, neither. Layin'
low with the bunch he's got."
"Then why did he talk to you?"
"Because he knowed that I was good at spottin' the lay for a job. That's what Spider said, anyway. Told
me he knew a guy that could use me."
"Who?"
"He didn't say. I'm to meet the guy and -"
"Where?"
"I don't know yet."
CARDONA shifted. These statements seemed like an evasion. Duff saw that Cardona was suspecting
another stall. The scrawny crook made haste to correct the impression.
"There's somethin' big in back of it, Joe," whispered Duff, hoarsely. "There's a big shot hid somewhere.
Spider's workin' for him, I'm to work for him. I told Spider to count me in. All I'm waitin' for is the tip -
when I'm to meet up with the big shot an' where."
"Who'll give you the tip? Spider?"
"No. That's the part I don't know. I'm to stick around Red Mike's. See? Until some bozo shows up an'
passes me the high sign."
"Yeah?" Cardona was gruff. "Listen, Duff, this kind of talk would sound natural from a hop-head. But
from you it sounds like a stall. I'm telling you -"
"I can prove it, Joe!" broke in Duff, anxiously. "I ain't stallin'. There's some guy goin' to walk in on me at
Red Mike's. Look at this - then you'll know I'm talkin' straight."
Fumbling in his pocket, the crook produced a small, roundish object. He dropped it on the battered
table. It fell with a dull clank. Cardona picked it up. The object was a grayish disk of metal, slightly
smaller than a half dollar. Engraved upon its center was a Chinese character.
"Who gave you this?" demanded Joe. "Spider Mertz?"
"Yes," responded Duff. "Spider's got one like it. He gave me this one. The guy that's goin' to meet me at
Red Mike's will have one. That's how I'll know him."
"Did Spider tell you why they use a disk like this?"
"No. An' I've been wonderin' what the thing is. It ain't a Chinese coin - I've seen Chinese coins, an'
they've got square holes in the center of 'em. I don't know what this thing means, outside of it servin' for a
high sign."
Cardona was examining the disk. He placed it on the desk, laid a thin sheet of paper over it and took an
impression by rubbing the paper with a pencil. Lifting the paper, he tossed the disk back to Duff.
"Keep it," ordered the detective. "Go down to Red Mike's. Contact the fellow that comes there. Go
where he tells you. But tip me off, the first chance you get. Understand?"
"But Joe - maybe the big shot will get wise -"
"Leave that to me. Whoever I send around there won't be too close. But remember" - Joe was rising as
he spoke - "play on the level with me. Or -"
Cardona had no need to complete the statement. Duff was nodding as he slouched toward the door. He
waited for Cardona and watched the detective open the barrier to peer into the corridor. Joe gave a
wave of his hand. Duff scurried from the little office and headed down the corridor to a secluded side
door.
OUT on the street, Duff Corley looked about nervously. He seemed to fear the presence of skulkers in
the dark. Hands in coat pockets, the scrawny mobster was using one to grip the disk that Cardona had
returned to him. That disk was the talisman that could protect him in the underworld and with the law as
well.
A man was approaching. Duff slunk into the darkness and saw the arrival enter the side door that he had
left. He caught a glimpse of the man's face and recognized him as Clyde Burke, a newspaper reporter
who frequently visited the underworld. Relieved, Duff shambled hastily away.
Meanwhile, Clyde Burke had entered the corridor. He strolled past the office - now darkened - where
Cardona had held conference with Duff Corley. He turned into a wider passage and there stopped
before a lighted doorway. Looking in, Clyde saw Joe Cardona seated at a desk. The reporter entered.
The detective looked up hurriedly. As he did, Clyde saw a sheet of paper that Joe had been examining.
The dick turned the paper over and pushed it aside. Through it, Clyde could see the outline of a
blackened circle that looked like the impression of a coin.
"Hello, Burke," greeted Cardona, in affable fashion. "If you're looking for a story, I haven't any."
"Too bad," mused Clyde. "You're here at headquarters; yet you don't know what's going on around the
place."
"What do you mean?"
"Well - either the dragnet's working mighty good or else it's slipping. When crooks come strolling out the
side door, all alone, it looks rather unusual."
"Who did you see?"
"A fellow that looked like Duff Corley. Got a bad rep, that bird. I've run into him before. But I never
suspected to see him strolling around here."
"Lay off, Burke," growled Cardona. "I know what you're aiming at. A good story for the Classic -
crooks dropping in to see their pals, the dicks. Well, if you run it, you'll have a black eye down here -"
"Don't worry, Joe," assured Clyde. "I just mentioned what I saw for your own information. Apparently
you knew that Duff Corley was here."
"I did," returned Cardona. "I called him in here. For a little chat. That was all. But it ended nowhere, like
most first interviews. So there's no story in it. But maybe, later on -"
"Corley will drop in again?"
"Yes," promised Cardona. "And that may mean a scoop for you, Burke. But in the meantime, nobody is
to know that Duff Corley was around here. You get the idea, don't you?"
"Sure," responded Clyde. "I'll keep mum, Joe. I was only kidding when I came in. But remember, I'm in
when it breaks."
"If it breaks," corrected Cardona. "Right now it means nothing at all."
As he spoke, the detective reached for the sheet of paper. He folded it, keeping the marked side down
so that Clyde could not see the impression of the Chinese disk. The detective thrust the paper in his
pocket and arose from his chair in nonchalant fashion.
Clyde Burke strolled from the office. He showed no haste in his departure from headquarters. But his
footsteps quickened after he reached the street. Clyde stopped at a store a block away. He entered a
telephone booth and dialed a number. A quiet voice responded.
"Burbank speaking."
Briefly, Clyde made a report of his short trip to headquarters. He told of seeing Duff Corley; he
mentioned the paper that he had seen on Cardona's desk. He expressed the emphatic opinion that there
must be a connection between Duff's visit and the penciled impression of what appeared to be a coin.
Report given, Clyde Burke strolled forth and headed in the direction of the Classic office. His mission,
brief though it was, had been accomplished. For Clyde Burke was a secret agent of The Shadow.
Through Burbank, contact man who reached The Shadow, Clyde had reported his chance discovery.
Coming events were in the making. The future smacked of crime. Mysterious doings in the underworld
included Duff Corley among those concerned. The Shadow, mysterious battler of crime, had been
furnished with a clue. Coming events would concern The Shadow also!
CHAPTER II. GREEN LIGHTS
THRONGED mobsters crowded Red Mike's. This dive was one of the most popular in the underworld.
It had changed location on various occasions, chiefly after police raids. But the name had traveled with it.
This was in deference to the brawny, red-haired proprietor who managed the improvised bar in the
corner of the main room. Red Mike was a fixture in the Tenderloin.
One characteristic seemed to be the sole qualification that gained admission to Red Mike's. That was
toughness. Sluggers, dock wallopers, gorillas - these were the types that formed the habitues of the joint.
Red Mike's was a meeting place for the hardest characters in slumland.
The aristocrats of the underworld avoided this dive. So did the weaklings. Petty thieves, hop-heads and
other small fry were not wanted. Stool pigeons stayed away from Red Mike's. That was a source of
comfort to Duff Corley when he slouched into the underground den.
For although Duff was playing the part of a stoolie, he had no fear. Among the mobsmen assembled were
a dozen whom he knew well. He grinned in twisted fashion as he pictured what would happen if any one
challenged him as a stool. Pals would rally to his side. The accuser would be mobbed.
Duff knew that Cardona had evidence that he and "Spider" Mertz had met at Red Mike's. That was
proof that one of the detective's stoolies must have been around. But as Duff recalled it, he and Spider
had met outside the joint. That was where the stoolie must have spotted them.
It was inside that they had transacted their business. Over in the far corner, by the door that formed an
emergency exit from the dive. Duff chuckled as he took a seat at the very table where Spider had given
him the Chinese disk. It was far from the outer door. No wonder no stoolie had viewed the conference
of the other night.
This table was Duff's accustomed spot when he visited Red Mike's. It was the logical place where the
emissary would look for him. As he slouched at the table, Duff thrust a hand into his pocket. His
clenched fist gripped the Chinese disk.
THOUGH as tough in appearance as any gorilla in the place, Duff was yellow at heart. The viciousness
of his evil features offset the flimsiness of his frame; that was why he passed as a hard customer. But Duff
knew his own limitations. He was a greenhorn with a gat. His punch lacked wallop.
So Duff relied on his face to get him into places like Red Mike's. He used his cunning to gain an equal
rating with his associates. When he worked with crooks, Duff supplied ideas; and usually managed to get
himself appointed to some duty that would allow a quick getaway when the cops showed up.
Spider Mertz thought that Duff was foxy. That was why Spider had named him for a post with the
unknown big shot. But Joe Cardona had called the turn. He had spotted Duff for a yellow rat. Duff had
caved when Joe had began to question him. Right now, in his usual fashion, Duff was trying to keep on
both sides of the fence. In so doing, he was acting in the very fashion that Cardona had hoped.
Here in his own bailiwick, Duff possessed a cunning grin; nothing like the sickly twitch that had adorned
his face at headquarters. He intended to play the fox, so far as Spider was concerned. He would horn in
with the big shot and pick up some easy mazuma. But at the same time, Duff intended to play straight
with Joe Cardona. That, he figured would be the only way to save his yellow hide.
A newcomer strolled into Red Mike's. Duff knew the fellow. Cliff Marsland. Here was a bird who rated
a gang lieutenancy any day in the week. Yet he preferred the company of ordinary gorillas. The
explanation - as Duff and others knew it - was that Cliff chose to play a lone wolf game in his dealings
with the underworld.
Cliff Marsland was not of the gorilla type. Duff noted that as the arrival took a seat not far away. There
was nothing uncouth or sordid about Cliff's appearance. But his chiseled profile marked him a man of
action. Tough guys edged away from Cliff Marsland. His manner meant business.
So did his rep. Cliff was known as a killer. Once he had gone gunning for The Shadow. The fact that The
Shadow was still at large was no damaging factor to Cliff's underworld reputation. In fact, it only made
Cliff a figure of greater prominence. To Duff Corley, it meant that Cliff had the edge on The Shadow.
For The Shadow had a way of eliminating those who declared themselves his enemies. Yet Cliff had the
temerity to roam the underworld at will. He, the avowed enemy of The Shadow. Among mobsters, Cliff
was unique.
Little did Duff Corley realize that Cliff Marsland, like himself, was playing a dual part. Duff, recognized
by gangsters, had become the secret informant of Detective Joe Cardona. His new role had begun
to-night. Cliff Marsland, on the contrary, had been playing his part for a long while. Cliff Marsland was a
secret agent of The Shadow.
More than that, he was here on a mission for The Shadow. He, too, had communicated with Burbank.
Clyde Burke's information had gone to The Shadow. It had come back, in the form of orders, to Cliff
Marsland. His task, here at Red Mike's, was to watch Duff Corley.
EXPERIENCED at this game, Cliff kept his gaze away from the scrawny mobster. Sitting at his own
table, The Shadow's agent stared toward the clustered groups between him and the outer door. But
every now and then he managed a sidelong glance that Duff did not observe. Those glances enabled Cliff
to watch the mobster.
Bottles and glasses were clicking throughout the smoke-filled room. Ribald mobsters were loud with
oaths and jests. Cliff was watching the crowd for the moment; so was Duff. Neither noticed the husky
mobster who stepped in through the little-used rear door.
The fellow moved close to Duff and nudged the scrawny crook. Duff started to turn; a growl warned him
to give no sign. Glancing downward, Duff saw a grimy fist by the level of the table edge. The fingers
opened. In the palm, Duff observed a disk that was identical with the one he carried.
Fumbling, Duff pulled his hand from the pocket of his ragged coat. He showed the token which he
carried. He saw the other fist close and move away. Duff thrust his own hand back into his pocket. He
nodded as he heard gruff orders, coming in a tone just higher than a whisper.
This was the emissary of the big shot; the messenger whom Spider Mertz had promised. Head lowered,
voice muffled, the arrival was passing the word while Duff Corley still stared straight ahead. Both thought
they were unobserved. They were not.
Cliff Marsland was watching. He, alone, had noted the situation. But he could get no view of the new
mobster's face. He knew that the fellow was merely some underling; but he figured the meeting of
consequence because of the signs that were exchanged.
The husky mobster was turned almost toward the door. The back of his right hand was toward Cliff. The
Shadow's agent caught no sign of the disk that the man displayed; but he did gain a trifling glimpse of the
one in Duff's hand. From where Cliff was sitting, the disk looked like an old half-dollar.
The newcomer turned. He chose the simplest action to go back through the rear door; hence his turn was
away from Cliff's direction. The only impression that Cliff gained was that of a big rowdy wearing a heavy
sweater and a cap pulled down over his eyes.
That mattered little. Though Cliff would have liked to keep the messenger in mind for future reference,
Duff was the man whom he intended to follow. The best plan of following, Cliff decided, was to go out
ahead. One minute after Duff's visitor had left, Cliff arose and strolled through the crowd until he reached
the main entrance of Red Mike's. He stepped up a short flight of stone steps and gained the street.
Duff would come out this way. Cliff felt sure of that. The other fellow had ducked in and out by the rear;
Duff, who had come through the front, would naturally take the same mode of exit. Crossing the narrow
street in front of Red Mike's, Cliff lingered by the front of a battered, crumbling building.
Five minutes later, Duff appeared. With a quick look up and down the street, the scrawny mobster
shambled away. Cliff followed. It was his job to learn Duff's destination. He was hoping for a lucky
break. One came.
DUFF ducked into an alleyway and cut through to an avenue. Here he entered an old cigar store. Cliff
reached the front; peering through the grimy window, he spied a door that was closing. He figured that
there was a telephone beyond. Cliff entered.
The proprietor was arguing with a panhandler who wanted him to crack a pack of cigarettes and sell him
six for a nickel. Cliff strolled beyond until he reached the end of the counter. Listening, he caught the
sound of Duff's voice. A poor telephone connection was forcing the crook to talk loud.
"Yeah..." Cliff heard the tone. "This is Duff... Yeah, the guy showed up... Told me where to go... You
know the block past Sobo's hock shop... Yeah... Well, it's in that block... House with green lights... No,
he didn't say which house, except that it had green lights... Yeah, I'm goin' there... But listen, Joe. If you
show up, it may queer the lay... All right... Yeah, I get you..."
Cliff swung away from the door. He was looking out through the front window when Duff passed. As
Duff reached the street, Cliff turned back and approached the counter. The panhandler slouched out.
Cliff bought some cigarettes. He started to the street; a quick glance told him that Duff was gone. Cliff
reentered the store and headed for the room where the phone was located.
Cliff put in a quick call to Burbank. He was told to await a reply. Hanging up the receiver, Cliff remained
in the back room. In the minutes that followed, he sized the situation. The game was panning out as he
had anticipated. Orders from The Shadow had indicated what might happen.
Clyde Burke had reported contact between Joe Cardona and Duff Corley. Cliff had been set to watch
Duff; he had found him at Red Mike's. Duff had contacted with a mobster; orders received, he had taken
time out to call Joe Cardona.
Playing the part of a stool, Duff had pleaded with Joe to stay away. Evidently the detective had agreed
not to approach too close. Duff had left in satisfied fashion. His destination - unquestionably the one
ordered - was a house with green lights.
The bell of the pay telephone commenced to ring while Cliff was engaged in reverie. The Shadow's agent
seized the receiver. He heard terse instructions from Burbank. Cliff was to pick up Duff's trail.
That was easy. Sobo's pawn shop was only half a dozen blocks away. Leaving the cigar store, Cliff
moved rapidly along the intervening thoroughfares. He was in the heart of the badlands, the district where
danger lurked, despite the occasional presence of a bluecoat.
But Cliff knew this terrain. More than that, he was versed in the ways of the underworld. His pace
slackened as he neared the block he wanted. Cliff lounged along as he passed Sobo's corner hock shop.
He paused to roll a cigarette as he passed beneath a lamp light. Cliff was playing a part of a chance
passer; but he kept his face turned downward. He lighted the fag as he moved along; as he flicked the
burnt match to the gutter, Cliff stared shrewdly through the darkness.
Houses here were dilapidated structures. There were alleyways and openings between them. All looked
alike as Cliff approached; then one - across the street - displayed the distinctive difference that he
wanted.
The front of the house was black. But there were dull lights shining from gloomy windows at the sides. A
chance observer would scarcely have noted those rays; for they were barely visible from the opening of a
narrow alleyway. To Cliff, they were a signal; the same beacon that had drawn Duff Corley.
The lights in the windows were green. Heavily shaded, they gave no idea regarding the interior of the
house. There was something ominous in that fact. The dweller in the house had lights showing; but the
lights revealed nothing. Open, yet secret. That was the impression that Cliff gained.
In idling fashion, Cliff crossed the street. He chucked his cigarette as he reached the curb. Pausing in his
slouching gait, Cliff swung into the alleyway beside the house. Above him, more than head high, he could
see the glow from the dim green lights.
Then Cliff stopped short. Crouching against the moldy brick wall, he dug hand in pocket and drew an
automatic. Tensely, he waited, unwilling to make another move. Somewhere ahead, deep in the darkness
of the alleyway, some unseen enemy had made a false move.
A slight footstep - just enough to reach Cliff's ears. That had been the warning. Instinctively, Cliff knew
that his approach had been spotted. Danger was impending by the house with the green lights.
CHAPTER III. THE SECOND DISK
CLIFF MARSLAND had encountered many dangers in the service of The Shadow. He was not the
man to fear new threats. Nevertheless, Cliff had learned that discretion could be a good ninety per cent
of valor.
This was a time to be discreet. With Cliff, it was not simply the risk of an encounter in the dark. He had
come to this house with the definite purpose of serving The Shadow. Whatever might occur, it would be
his part to strive for the continuance of that duty.
Cliff Marsland knew what The Shadow wanted. Like Joe Cardona, The Shadow had learned of sinister
movements in the underworld. Some big shot had been gathering cohorts. Slowly, secretly, but with
positive results.
Duff Corley had suddenly become the link. Joe Cardona had been lucky enough to spot him. The
Shadow wanted to profit by the discovery. He had decided to keep close on Duff's trail. Cliff had been
appointed to the task.
Why?
Because he had been close to the ground. Cliff recognized that fact. He had known it the moment that
Burbank had given the instructions. If The Shadow had been close at hand, he would have taken up the
trail in Cliff's stead.
Where was The Shadow?
On his way here, Cliff supposed. Instructions from Burbank had been to trail Duff until further orders.
New orders would probably come from The Shadow in person. Hence Cliff, for the time, was acting in
The Shadow's place. He tried to picture matters as The Shadow would see them.
First: Duff Corley was certainly inside that house. The scrawny crook had shambled away with a good
head start. He had probably entered by the front door. Some countersign - perhaps the same one that he
had exchanged with the big mobsman at Red Mike's - so Cliff pictured it.
Then why was some one lurking in this alleyway?
Cliff caught the answer as he waited. It was obvious. The man in the dark was a watcher, posted to
make sure that no one was on Duff's trail. The alleyway was an ambush. Cliff, like a dub, had walked
into it.
He had probably been heard. Just as he had later heard the movement of the lurking guard. Cliff's teeth
gritted grimly. He knew that he should have waited across the street. That was too late now. He was in
the mess.
Silence from the alleyway. Cliff sensed that his enemy was waiting for him to make a move. Cliff listened;
he heard nothing, yet he fancied that his foe might be moving forward. More than that, Cliff began to
consider a new menace - the entrance of the alley.
Had some one been posted outside? Perhaps. If so, Cliff might have been spotted back at the middle of
the block. Others could be closing in. The spot was a bad one. Cliff resolved upon stealthy measures. He
crouched low and began to edge toward the front of the house.
The plan was working. Each time he paused, Cliff heard no sound from the rear of the alley. Little by
little, he was gaining the front corner. Six feet more - five feet - then came the unexpected.
CLIFF'S right heel kicked against a half brick that had been laid on the ledge of a cellar window. The
object clattered to the cracked cement of the alleyway. Its click seemed magnified in the darkness. Cliff
dropped. He was wise.
Tongues of flame stabbed the darkness; with them, the fierce bark of a revolver. The flashes came from
the deep end of the alley. Leaden slugs nicked chunks from the brick wall a foot above Cliff's head.
Swinging across the alleyway, Cliff returned the fire with the automatic. His target was the blackness from
which the spurts had come; the region wherein the echoes of the shots still quivered.
New bursts replied; and Cliff delivered in like fashion. His enemy was on the move. So was Cliff. Pot
shots failed in the dark; but the whine and spatter of bullets meant business. Cliff reached the sidewalk.
He had not forgotten the chance of enemies in the street. Safe beyond the front of the house, Cliff went
hurtling for the opposite side of the narrow thoroughfare, where a blackened house front offered
temporary security. He gained his goal; wheeling, he crouched by darkened steps and faced back toward
the house with the green lights. He expected his enemy to appear. The man evidently preferred the
security of the alleyway.
A shrill whistle cleaved the night. It was a block away; past Sobo's pawn shop. An answer came from
the opposite direction. Gazing quickly along the street; one way, then the other, Cliff saw figures
approaching on the run.
Cardona's men. The shots had drawn them. Cliff was in a tight spot. Thinking quickly, he remembered
the man across the way. The fellow had an alleyway through which he could escape. Would he take a
look at the street before he took to flight?
摘要：

THECHINESEDISKSMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.COMINGEVENTS?CHAPTERII.GREENLIGHTS?CHAPTERIII.THESECONDDISK?CHAPTERIV.THESHADOWCONNECTS?CHAPTERV.PEOPLEOFTHEPAST?CHAPTERVI.FARROWENTERS?CHAPTERVII.FARROWREPORTS?CHAPTERVIII.TWOTRAILS?CHAPTERIX.THEDEATH...

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