Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 052 - Crime Circus

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CRIME CIRCUS
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. THE SHADOW'S SEARCH
? CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW'S AGENT
? CHAPTER III. ON THE LOT
? CHAPTER IV. THE PASSWORD
? CHAPTER V. THE RED CIRCLE
? CHAPTER VI. SPIES OF THE NIGHT
? CHAPTER VII. THE GAME BEGINS
? CHAPTER VIII. AT THE HOTEL
? CHAPTER IX. WORD TO THE SHADOW
? CHAPTER X. MOBSMEN MOVE
? CHAPTER XI. CRIME'S AFTERMATH
? CHAPTER XII. ONE MAN MISSING
? CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW'S CHANCE
? CHAPTER XIV. SAWDUST AND SHOTS
? CHAPTER XV. GATHERING CLOUDS
? CHAPTER XVI. PLANS FOR CRIME
? CHAPTER XVII. THE NIGHT BEFORE
? CHAPTER XVIII. THE SILENT SHADOW
? CHAPTER XIX. MEN ACCUSED
? CHAPTER XX. THE MOB BREAKS
CHAPTER I. THE SHADOW'S SEARCH
"SO Dombo Carlin is still in town, eh?"
The questioner was a stocky, swarthy-faced man. He was seated behind a battered desk in a small
office. Detective Joe Cardona - at present an acting inspector - was quizzing a pasty-faced, rat-eyed little
fellow who sat in front of him.
"Yeah. Dombo's in town." The little man whined the statement. "But don't let nobody wise that I told you,
Joe. They'd croak me - honest they would."
"You're safe, Dowdy," growled Cardona, impatiently. "We pulled in fifty others like you with the dragnet.
Nobody will know who talked. That is" - Cardona's gaze narrowed - "nobody will know anything if you
tell me all you know."
"I'm tellin' you, Joe," pleaded "Dowdy" earnestly. "Honest, I am. I seen Dombo Carlin aroun' at a coupla
of the joints. He was smart enough to dodge the net, that's all. He an' those three gorillas that are stickin'
wid him."
"And you think we could grab him tonight?"
"Sure. But don't use the net. He's too wise for that, Joe. But don't ask me to go with you. I ain't no
stoolie."
"You'll stay here" - Cardona eyed the little man steadily - "until after we've checked up on what you've
told me. If you've been handing us a stall, Dowdy, it won't be good for you."
"I ain't been stallin', Joe -"
The rat-faced speaker stopped suddenly. He was staring at the detective across the battered desk,
where the scratched woodwork showed the dull reflection of the ceiling light above. Into the sphere of
light had come a shade of fleeting blackness. It was like the passage of a cloud in front of a brilliant sun.
Dowdy turned nervously. A man had entered the office.
TALL, stoop-shouldered, the intruder bore a dull face as pasty as Dowdy's own. The man was clad in
old clothes. He was carrying a mop and bucket.
Dowdy stared; then turned back to Joe Cardona. The detective was chuckling.
"Who's that?" questioned Dowdy, in a hoarse tone. "What's he doin' here?"
"He's the regular janitor," returned Cardona. "Going his usual rounds." Then, to the stoop-shouldered
arrival: "Hello, Fritz. Another one of your early nights, eh?"
"Yah."
Dowdy was watching as the janitor spoke. He observed the man's expressionless stare. He saw the
fellow clank bucket on the floor and lift the mop to begin his scrubbing in the corner.
Fritz had moved from the central range of light. Yet his tall, stooped figure still caused a manifestation of
his presence. Stretching across the floor beside the bucket was a long streak of blackness that ended in a
hawkish silhouette. Dowdy failed to see the darkened splotch. He was studying the janitor's face.
"Don't mind Fritz," came Cardona's injunction. "All places are alike to him. He wouldn't know the
difference between headquarters and the morgue. Would you, Fritz?"
"Yah."
The expressionless tone curbed Dowdy's qualms. The rat-faced product of the underworld turned
toward Cardona. Eying the little man steadily, Cardona resumed his quiz.
"I'm going to get Dombo Carlin," announced the detective sternly. "I'm sending out thirty men to look for
him and his gorillas. I'll be on the job myself. It's going to mean a lot of trouble, Dowdy. If the tip you've
given me is phony -"
"It ain't phony, Joe," insisted Dowdy. "I tell you, I seen Dowdy an' I know he ain't worryin' about no
dragnet."
"I'm taking your word for it. But it sounds like a stall."
"Why?"
"Because Dombo Carlin is too wise a mug to stick around for no good reason."
"He's got a reason, Joe!"
"He has, eh?" Cardona's gaze narrowed. "So there's more than what you've already told me? I thought
so. Come on, Dowdy. Spill it!"
"I don't want to make trouble for nobody," whined the rat-faced prisoner. "But I ain't tryin' to stall you,
neither. I thought maybe you'd know why Dombo was stickin' aroun' town, Joe. He's after Beef
Malligan."
"Beef Malligan?" Cardona laughed gruffly. "Say, Dowdy, what's this you're handing me now? Beef
Malligan cleared town a month ago - or more - along with his pal, Croaker Zinn."
"Croaker got out, Joe, but Beef didn't. He's still here in town, hidin' out somewhere."
"What's he hiding out for? I'm not looking for him - or Croaker, either. I thought the two of them had
dived for the sticks, along with those mugs that used to work with them before their bum racket busted."
"Croaker cleared out," explained Dowdy, "an' so did the muscle men. I don't know where they went,
Joe. There ain't nobody in the know. But Beef stayed aroun' - alone."
"Why?"
"To send the gorillas along to Croaker. They've been sorta slidin' out one at a time. It looks like Beef has
been hearin' from Croaker."
"And sending the old boys along the line, eh? Well, that doesn't bother me. The more that clear out, the
better. But why is Beef keeping under cover?"
"So Dombo Carlin won't find him."
"I get you now, Dowdy," nodded Cardona. "Why didn't you spill this story in the first place? Let's see" -
the detective paused thoughtfully - "first the racket goes haywire. Croaker Zinn leaves town. He finds
some happy hunting ground and Beef Malligan stays here to steer the mobsters along to join Croaker."
"That's what it looks like, Joe."
"And all the while, Beef is hiding out. He's afraid of Dombo Carlin. Now we're looking for Dombo and
his best bet is to take it on the lam. But he's sticking around a while hoping that he can take a shot at
Beef."
"That's the dope, Joe."
CARDONA arose and paced across the floor. Dowdy eyed him with an anxious gaze. All the while,
Fritz continued with his slow, methodical mopping.
"Do you think Dombo has located Beef?" queried Cardona, suddenly.
"Yeah," responded Dowdy. "That's what he's stickin' aroun' for, ain't it?"
"It looks that way, according to your story. If your dope is correct, Dowdy, Dombo is likely to come out
of some dive with three gorillas at his heels. He'll be starting on the war-path to get Beef Malligan."
The detective paused abruptly. He stalked to the door and shouted for Sergeant Markham. A burly
detective arrived in response to his call.
"Take this fellow back to a cell," ordered Cardona, indicating Dowdy. "We're giving him another night's
lodging."
"I'm gettin' out in the mornin', Joe?" pleaded Dowdy.
"Maybe," responded Cardona. "It will probably be healthier for you tomorrow, Dowdy."
"You mean -"
"That I'm following your tip. I'm leaving the joints alone. But if Dombo Carlin and his gunners start out to
get Beef Malligan, they'll find a wrecking crew tagging them."
Cardona was chuckling at his own plan while Markham was leading Dowdy away. The clatter of a
bucket handle reminded the acting inspector that he was not alone in the office. Cardona turned to see
Fritz picking up the bucket. Mop in hand, the janitor headed toward the hall.
"Good night, Fritz," remarked Cardona.
"Yah." With his dull response, the janitor departed from view.
CARDONA thought no more of Fritz. Joe had important plans that now concerned him. The capture of
Dombo Carlin was paramount.
The dragnet had failed to land the wanted crook and his three gorillas. Raids on underworld dives would
probably prove fruitless. But to intercept Dombo and trail his crew while they were seeking Beef
Malligan seemed a logical and effective course.
While Cardona was planning this procedure, Fritz was shambling along the dismal corridor. The janitor
reached a secluded spot. He opened a locker, removed his overalls and placed them on a shelf.
Hands drew black cloth from the locker. Rising arms released a garment. The folds of an inky-hued
cloak settled over stooped shoulders. Then a slouch hat topped the bowed head. The faint whisper of a
laugh sounded by the locker.
A transformation had taken place. No longer was Fritz, the janitor, in view. In his place stood a tall,
spectral being. Burning eyes blazed from beneath the hat brim.
Fritz had become The Shadow!
With gliding, noiseless tread the phantom figure moved from the locker. The whispered laugh was
repeated as The Shadow made his way to a side exit. A blackened shape merged with the darkness of a
street. From then on, The Shadow's course was untraceable.
HALF an hour later, a stalwart man of chiseled countenance entered an obscure store near an East Side
elevated. He stepped into a telephone booth and dialed a number. A voice came over the wire:
"Burbank speaking."
"Marsland," informed the chiseled-faced man.
"Report."
"No trace of Beef Malligan."
"Any signs of Dombo Carlin?"
"Yes. He's at the Black Ship."
"Instructions." Burbank's voice was a monotone. "Watch Dombo. He and his mob are after Beef. Learn
if they have located him."
"Instructions received."
Leaving the store, the stalwart young man wended his way through the darkness of narrow streets that
were walled with decadent buildings. Cliff Marsland, agent of The Shadow, was well acquainted with the
underworld. Cliff had a rep among mobsters. It enabled him to keep tabs on new gang movements.
Yet until tonight, Cliff had gained no lead that might enable him to locate "Beef" Malligan. Cliff knew
certain facts that Dowdy had reported to Joe Cardona, namely, that Beef was hiding out and that he was
evidently sending gorillas to "Croaker" Zinn. But the news that Beef was evading "Dombo" Carlin was
something that Cliff had learned for the first time.
Cliff reached the Black Ship. The place was a notorious dive. Cliff had left the joint earlier in the evening;
his return excited no comment, for he was known in the place. There was nothing extraordinary in the
fact that Cliff chose a table close by a corner where Dombo Carlin and three cronies were gathered.
Minutes passed while Cliff sat stolidly staring toward the wall. He could hear Dombo's growl; at times, he
glanced sidewise to observe the man's ugly, unshaven countenance. Then came a query from a gorilla that
brought Cliff to attention.
"Time we was leavin', ain't it, Dombo?"
"Not for a half hour yet," was the growled response. "It ain't far over to Clipper's."
"But we're goin' in the back -"
"Sure. That's where he is, ain't it? On the second floor? Keep your shirt on, mug. I'm running this."
"I get you, Dombo."
Cliff Marsland shoved away a bottle and glass. He arose and strolled from the Black Ship. "Clipper's," to
Cliff, meant an old hotel near The Bowery. It was called the Hotel Santiago, but mobsters called the
place "Clipper's" in honor of its hard-boiled proprietor.
Cliff had never thought of the Santiago as a potential hide-out for Beef Malligan. The crumbling hotel was
but one of many others in its vicinity. Dombo Carlin had not mentioned Beef Malligan's name, but Cliff,
with Burbank's information, was sure that he knew whom Dombo sought.
IT took Cliff seven minutes to reach a secluded telephone. In the quiet corner of a little cigar store, Cliff
called Burbank. He passed the word to the contact man; then hung up and leaned against the wall in
response to Burbank's order to wait for a reply.
Five minutes passed. Cliff lifted the telephone receiver a second after the bell began to ring. He spoke in
monosyllables to acknowledge Burbank's instructions. Sauntering out into the night, Cliff headed in the
direction of the Hotel Santiago.
The Shadow's search was ended. For two weeks, the black-garbed master had been keeping Cliff
Marsland on duty to gain some trace of Beef Malligan's whereabouts. Through Dombo Carlin, Beef's
hide-out had been learned.
Joe Cardona sought Dombo Carlin. Hence Joe would be in the game tonight, with detectives at his heels.
But The Shadow's quest concerned Beef Malligan. The Shadow was depending upon Cliff Marsland as
his lone aid.
Amid these different purposes, Dombo Carlin and his gorillas were out to get the man whom The
Shadow sought. Plans and counterplans were in the making; and the Hotel Santiago was to be their focal
point!
CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW'S AGENT
HALF an hour had elapsed since Cliff Marsland's departure from the Black Ship. During that interval,
nothing had occurred to disturb the quiet that surrounded the old Hotel Santiago.
Situated on a side street, half a block from The Bowery, the old brick-walled hotel stood away from the
rumble of traffic and the clatter of the elevated. Staring from its plate glass window was Clipper, the
hard-boiled proprietor.
Though riff-raff formed the patrons of the Hotel Santiago, the challenging proprietor was strict regarding
guests. Clipper knew many mobsters by sight. If they were wanted by the law, they were not welcome in
his hotel. Clipper had no yen for police visits.
It was because of this policy that Beef Malligan had chosen the Santiago as his place of residence.
Seated in a tawdry upstairs room, Beef was smoking a cigarette while he read the contents of a letter.
Thick-lipped and ugly-faced, Beef leered with satisfaction.
Beef was not wanted by the police; nor were the gorillas who had previously formed his racketeering
crew. Hence Beef enjoyed security and had the privilege of receiving the visitors whom he desired.
Those whom Beef did not want to see - specifically, Dombo Carlin and his crew - were in wrong with
the law. Hence Clipper, with no welcome for Dombo and his ilk, was unwittingly serving as a sentinel in
behalf of Beef Malligan.
Beef Malligan knew of the rear entrance to the Hotel Santiago. He had, however, given it but little
thought. Confident that no one had breathed the news of his whereabouts, Beef felt quite free from
intrusion.
In fact, he saw no reason to lower the torn shade that was rolled above the only window in his room. The
window opened on a low roof at the side of the building, and Beef was convinced that no prying eyes
would appear from that direction.
Blackness alone greeted Beef's gaze as the thick-lipped ruffian happened to glance toward the window.
Rising from his chair, Beef tore up the letter that he had been reading. He applied a match to the
fragments and crumpled the ashes after the flame had died. He turned to let the charred remnants fall into
a lop-sided wastebasket.
It was then that eyes appeared where blackness had been. Blazing orbs flashed from the darkness
beyond the opened window. Vaguely, the outline of blackness upon blackness manifested itself in the
form of a sinister shape that Beef Malligan did not see as he swung past the window.
The Shadow, like a specter of the night, was looking in upon Beef's hideout.
EYES vanished as Beef made a turn toward the window. The ex-racketeer saw nothing there but
blackness. Then his stare turned suddenly toward the door. The sound of a muffled footstep caused Beef
to become suddenly alert.
Beef had left the barrier unlocked. Impelled by instinctive nervousness, he stepped forward to turn the
key. He was too late. The door swung open as he reached the center of the room.
A sour twist showed on Beef's thick lips. With Beef's expression came a snarl from the door. A heavy,
unshaven intruder shouldered his way into the light. Beef Malligan was face to face with the man who
sought his life: Dombo Carlin.
"So this is your hide-out, eh?" growled Dombo. "Figured I wouldn't get by Clipper, did you? Well - you
figured wrong."
Beef had no reply. He could see other men beyond the doorway. He knew that his enemy was backed
by a squad of gorillas.
"Guess you thought I'd taken it on the lam," sneered Dombo. "Well - that's just what I'm going to do -
after I finish with you, mug. Maybe I'll run into that side-kick of yours, Croaker Zinn. If I do, I'll hand him
the same dose that I'm giving you right now."
"Lay off, Dombo," pleaded Beef, in a hunted tone. "I ain't doin' nothin' to queer your game."
"You're right, you ain't," rasped Domino. "You did enough - you and Croaker - when you muscled in on
my racket, six months ago."
"The racket went sour, Dombo. It wasn't no good to any of us."
"Yeh? Says you? I thought it was good enough. When you guys queered it for me, I had to go into the
stick-up game. That's why the bulls are on my trail. That's why I've got to head for Chi - but I'm squaring
with you before I start."
"That won't do you no good, Dombo," Beef continued though pleading seemed useless. "If you put me
on the spot, the bulls will have somethin' new on you."
"Huh?" Dombo snorted. "Listen, bimbo, you won't be the first mug that got the works from me. The bulls
didn't wise up the last two times. They won't wise this time. Three is my lucky number."
Beef stared as he saw Dombo coolly raise his gun to a steady level. For the first time, he had learned that
Dombo was a murderer. Quaking, Beef eyed the muzzle of the .38. He saw an eager finger resting on the
trigger. He stared into Dombo's sullen, evil eyes. To his amazement, Beef saw those optics bulge with
sudden alarm.
Dombo Carlin was staring past his victim. A chance shift of gaze had enabled him to see the figure that
Beef had not observed. Beyond the opened window, Dombo caught the glare of burning eyes; he saw
the outline of a sinister shape that commanded recognition.
The Shadow!
LIKE other hardened rogues of scumland, Dombo knew the menace of The Shadow. He had heard
gasped utterances of rats who had tried to combat this superfighter. He had listened to coughed stories
from dying lips - tales of an avenger clad in black who had struck down those who deserved to die.
With a snarl from his ugly lips, Dombo Carlin raised his gun. His aim was shifting from Beef Malligan to
that figure at the window. Dombo's finger yanked the trigger. The .38 crackled its prompt message. A
bullet, whistling past Beef's ear, found its resting place deep in the battered woodwork of the window
frame.
Dombo's shot had come from a moving gun. The crook had fired before the muzzle was squarely toward
the window. With a quick snap of his recoiling wrist, Dombo sought to despatch another bullet, less than
a second after he had delivered that first wide shot.
The action was too late. The Shadow, dealing in split seconds, sent his answer within the brief interval.
An automatic roared from the darkness of the window. Dombo faltered. His revolver fell from his hand.
His convulsive finger snapped at emptiness. No trigger remained for it to pull.
Three gorillas were springing in to their leader's aid. While Dombo Carlin staggered, half slipping toward
the floor, flashing revolvers showed in the hands of ugly-faced mobsmen who had seen The Shadow at
the window.
Revolvers barked quick, wild shots. Like Dombo, these minions were shooting while they aimed. But
The Shadow's response was perfect in both timing and precision. The staccato bursts of his automatics
sounded a knell to evil foemen.
One mobster staggered back toward the door. A second slumped to the floor. The third was marked for
doom when Beef Malligan, leaping desperately forward, locked in conflict and tried to wrench the
gorilla's revolver from his grasp.
An arm swung. Beef rolled away as the gun glanced from his head. Dropping behind Beef's slumping
form, the gorilla snarled an oath as he aimed for The Shadow.
An automatic spoke from the window. The gorilla sprawled to the floor. In aiming, he had peered from
beside Beef Malligan's shoulder. He had received The Shadow's bullet through his brain.
The first mobster, wounded in the left shoulder, had jumped for the hall under cover of the struggle
between Beef and the third gorilla. Out of The Shadow's range, this mobsman raised his gun to fire at the
stairs, where a newcomer had put in a sudden appearance.
It was Cliff Marsland, armed with an automatic. Cliff's arm came up with the speed of the gorilla's.
Revolver and automatic echoed simultaneously.
Either because of haste, or weakened by the wound that he had received from The Shadow, the gorilla
fired wide. Cliff's shot, however, was well placed. The last of Dombo Carlin's crew rolled on the floor.
Cliff reached the door of Beef's room. He saw Dombo Carlin and two gorillas lying motionless. Beef
Malligan, on hands and knees, was trying to rise from the floor. He was groggy from the blow that he had
received.
Then came the blare of a whistle. Shouts from outside. Pounding squads at the rear door of the old hotel.
Cliff knew the answer. Police, trailing Dombo Carlin and his crew, had heard the gunfire. Bluecoats and
detectives were already on the stairs.
A HISS came from the window. Cliff stared. He saw the figure of The Shadow. A pointing finger,
projecting into the room, was directed at Beef Malligan's form. With a nod, Cliff grabbed the
ex-racketeer under the arms and hoisted Beef's body up to the window.
The Shadow gripped the burden. With a quick sweep, he whipped Beef's body through to the darkness
of the roof. Cliff scrambled after. He could see The Shadow's shape, silhouetted against a dull glow from
the front street. Across the blackened shoulders was the form of Beef Malligan. The Shadow was
carrying Beef like a bag of hay.
Following, Cliff reached an opened window in an old house at the other side of the low roof. He dived
through the opening. The window sash came down with a dull thud. The Shadow's hand drew Cliff away
from the window.
The action was timely. Already, police had reached Beef's room in the Hotel Santiago. Flashlights were
sending sweeping gleams across the roof. A glare focused through the window of the old house and
made a luminous circle on the further wall; but it revealed none of those who had arrived there. The beam
moved away.
"Come."
In response to The Shadow's whisper, Cliff groped his way through a door and down a flight of stairs. A
door swished open; Cliff found himself stumbling across the cracked cement of an abandoned court; then
through the door of another old dwelling.
Another path through darkness. Then came a hand that stopped Cliff. The Shadow's agent heard Beef
Malligan slump groaning to the floor.
"A coupe in the alley." The Shadow's whisper was close to Cliff's ear. "Take him to your place. Await
instructions while you talk to him."
"Order received," responded Cliff, in a low tone.
A slight swish as The Shadow moved away. Groping, Cliff found a door. He threw his arm around Beef's
body. As he raised the ex-racketeer, he heard Beef grumble incoherently. Then, with Beef stumbling
beside him, Cliff moved through the door into the quiet of a little alleyway.
The coupe was standing beside the door. With an effort, Cliff hoisted Beef into the seat. He slammed the
door of the car, hurried around, and gained the wheel. The motor purred as Cliff presser the starter. The
car moved forward and shot out into the traffic of The Bowery.
"Hey, you -"
Cliff jammed the accelerator as he heard the call. A police whistle blared two seconds later. But Cliff had
already picked his spot. Negotiating a swift left turn, he cut across the path of a looming truck and sped
to safety as the driver jammed his air-brakes.
IT was a quick get-away and Cliff followed it with a tortuous course that he knew would baffle any
pursuers. He turned corners, doubled on his course and threaded a speedy way among the East Side
streets that he knew so well.
At last he reached the quiet of an isolated street and brought the coupe to a stop. He nudged Beef
Malligan.
"Who - who are you?" blurted the racketeer, rubbing his head.
"Never mind," responded Cliff. "You'll be safe if you come along."
He shoved Beef from the coupe, grabbed the man before he fell and dragged him through a secluded
stairway; then up a flight of stairs to a room on the second floor. This was Cliff's lodging in the
underworld.
Beef slumped in a chair as Cliff guided him to it, but when Cliff turned on the light, Beef seemed very
much alive. He stared at the man who had brought him here. His eyes widened with recognition.
"Cliff Marsland!" he exclaimed.
"The same," responded Cliff, calmly.
"Say" - a gleam showed on Beef's face - "you're the bird that plugged Dombo Carlin. Ain't you?"
Cliff nodded. He was standing by the door. Beyond Beef, who was facing the door, was a window that
led to a low roof above a rear porch.
"He was goin' to croak me, Dombo was," announced Beef. "Only you come in an' handed him curtains.
Him an' his mob. Say, Cliff - you're a regular."
"Never mind the thanks, Beef. I had it in for that false alarm. I wasn't going to see him hand you a final
ticket. Getting Dombo wasn't the tough part, though. I had more trouble pulling you out before the bulls
arrived."
"Say" - Beef's expression showed alarm - "do you think they trailed us?"
"Not much chance. But Joe Cardona was with them. I heard his voice. He'll be looking for me."
"Why for you?"
"Because I came through the front." Cliff made this statement so emphatic that Beef nodded in belief.
"Clipper saw me. That was while Dombo and his gang were coming through the back."
"That don't matter, Cliff. We can use this joint as a hide-out, can't we?"
"You can, Beef. You were hiding out at the Santiago anyway, weren't you?"
"Yeah."
"Well, keep this place then. You'll be safe here. But two of us - well, that would be taking too big a
chance. I'd rather scram, Beef. New York's getting too hot for me anyway."
Beef rubbed his bruised head. He smiled. He preferred to hide out alone; the offer was to his liking. He
saw a double advantage in acquiring this unexpected friend.
"Listen, Cliff" - Beef's tone was inquiring - "where do you figure on heading?"
"No place in particular," responded Cliff. "Just out of New York, that's all."
"Croaker Zinn knows you, don't he?"
"He ought to. I saw him at a lot of places while you and he were working together."
"That makes it jake. Have you got any dough, Cliff?"
"Enough to clear town."
"Great. How would you like somethin' soft at the end of your trip?"
"I wouldn't mind it. What's the lay?"
BEEF MALLIGAN motioned to a chair by the door. Cliff Marsland sat down to listen. Beef leaned
forward and spoke in a confiding tone.
摘要：

CRIMECIRCUSMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.THESHADOW'SSEARCH?CHAPTERII.THESHADOW'SAGENT?CHAPTERIII.ONTHELOT?CHAPTERIV.THEPASSWORD?CHAPTERV.THEREDCIRCLE?CHAPTERVI.SPIESOFTHENIGHT?CHAPTERVII.THEGAMEBEGINS?CHAPTERVIII.ATTHEHOTEL?CHAPTERIX.WORDTOTHESHA...

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