mg.cyro-第3部分

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　　〃No？　Then　why　are　you　passing　up　your　cut　here？〃
　　〃Because　I　want　to　get　back　with　Cyro。　This　trip　means　expenses。　Nothing　more。　After　that；　maybe　I'll　get　something　better。　I'm　playing　for　the　future；　that's　all。〃
　　〃So　am　I。〃
　　〃All　right。　Maybe　I　can　fix　it　for　you。　Wait　until　I　get　with　Cyro。　If　I　work　well　on　this　deal　he's　pulling…whatever　it　is…I　may　have　a　chance　to　boost　you　in　with　the　outfit。〃
　　〃But　you　say　you've　never　met　Cyro。〃
　　〃I've　reported　through　to　him。　I'll　do　the　same　again。　I　won't　forget　you；　Roke。　Put　up　that　gat。　Let's　get　set　for　this　fall…guy　from　Des　Moines。〃
　　〃Get　me　straight；〃　rasped　Roke；　with　a　warning　thrust　of　the　gun；　〃I'm
　　going　to　New　Orleans！　My　proposition　stays。　No　other。〃
　　〃But　you　can't　force　me　to　it。〃
　　〃Can't　I？　I　could　drill　you　and　walk　out　of　here　without　a　person　knowing　it。　That's　what　I'll　do；　too；　unless　you　e　clean。　Take　my　terms；　and　if　I　find　you　trying　to　double…cross　me；　I'll　queer　Cyro's　game。
　　〃I　know　enough　about　it〃…Roke　delivered　an　ugly　laugh…〃enough　to　put　the　skids　under　it。　There's　the　proposition；　Tracy。　Are　you　taking　it？〃
　　〃I　guess　so；〃　replied　Lence；　wearily。　〃Put　up　the　gat；　Roke。　What　you　say　goes。　You're　in…on　your　own　terms。〃
　　Roke　lowered　his　gun。　His　suave　smile　returned。　Lence；　a　bit　dejected；　came　toward　his　panion。　Roke　watched　him　fumble　for　his　cigarette　case。
　　Lence　brought　the　object　from　his　left　coat　pocket。　He　offered　a　cigarette　to　Roke；　who　shook　his　head。　Lence　helped　himself　to　one。
　　〃Got　a　match；　Roke？〃　he　asked；　in　a　humble　tone。　〃I　think　I　used　my　last　one。〃
　　Roke　started　to　feel　in　his　left　coat　pocket。　Lence；　in　a　natural　fashion；　copied　the　action；　putting　his　right　hand　to　his　coat。　Suddenly　his　hand　came　snapping　into　view。
　　Roke；　with　a　snarl；　raised　his　revolver　to　fire。　He　was　too　late。
　　A　gun　had　flashed　in　Lence's　right　hand。　Point…blank；　Lence　loosed　a　shot　at　Rowden　from　a　range　of　three　feet。
　　Roke's　rising　gun　stopped　short。　A　pained　expression　came　over　the　man's　mustached　face。
　　With　gasped　groans；　Roke　Rowden　dropped　his　revolver。　Hunching；　he　pressed　his　hands　to　his　breast；　then；　with　a　sickly　expression；　he　subsided　to　the　floor。　He　lay　there　moaning；　unable　to　pick　up　his　gun。　The　man　was　mortally　wounded。
　　
　　〃THANKS　for　the　tip；　Roke；〃　sneered　Lence；　lighting　his　cigarette。　〃I　thought　you　were　bluffing　with　that　gat；　until　you　reminded　me　that　the　shot　would　not　be　heard。　I　forgot　that　the　near…by　apartments　were　vacant。
　　〃I'd　like　to　help　you　out　of　misery〃…Lence　paused　as　he　picked　up　the　torn　pieces　of　Cyro's　letter　and　the　translation　that　went　with　them…〃but　it　would　not　be　artistic。　You　might　pass　for　a　suicide；　the　way　you're　dying。　A　second　bullet…through　your　brain…would　be　a　give…away。〃
　　The　glass　of　water　was　standing　on　the　desk；　beside　it　lay　Lence's　handkerchief。　Lence　polished　the　sides　of　the　glass；　then　tipped　it　with　his　elbow。　The　glass　toppled　from　the　table。　It　broke　upon　the　fringe　of　a　rug　and　its　contents　trickled　along　the　floor。
　　〃Maybe　they'll　think　you　were　going　to　try　poison；　Roke；〃　suggested　Lence。
　　〃Maybe　they　won't。　It　doesn't　matter；　either　way。　They　won't　weep　over　a　con　man　gone　to　blighty。　This；　however；　is　most　important。〃
　　Lence　was　polishing　the　handle　of　his　revolver。　Stopping　by　Roke's　side；　he　grasped　the　dying　man's　sleeve　and　tugged　a　hand　into　view。　He　shoved　his　own　gun　into　Roke's　fist。　Roke's　fingers　loosened；　but　one　digit　caught　the　trigger　guard。　The　gun　remained。
　　In　case　the　police　inspected　the　murder　bullet；　the　gun　Lence　had　substituted　in　Rowden's　hand　would　be　proven　the　one　which　had　fired　the　shot。
　　Lence　was　building　up　a　suicide　theory。
　　A　bulge　showed　in　the　dying　man's　coat。　With　professional　skill；　Lence　thrust　his　hand　into　Roke's　inside　pocket　and　produced　a　bulky　wallet。　Opening　it；　Lence　drew　forth　a　wad　of　bank　notes。
　　He　looked　at　his　victim's　huddled　form　and　laughed　at　Roke's　paled　expression。　The　gun　was　dangling　neatly　from　Roke's　fingers；　as　though　the　hand　had　relaxed　without　pletely　losing　hold。　Roke's　eyes　were　closed。　His　shoulders　heaved　and　sank　as　he　breathed。
　　〃Twenty…five　grand；〃　chuckled　Lence；　as　he　counted　the　money　that　he　had　extracted。　〃I'm　glad　you　brought　it　from　the　safe…deposit　vault；　Roke。　It　would　have　been　useless　there。　You　don't　need　it　any　longer；　Roke。
　　〃A　man　doesn't　mit　suicide　while　he　still　has　a　bank…roll　the　size　of　this　one。　Let　me　see：　Ten　dollars；　twenty；　thirty…you're　a　flashy…looking　chap；　Roke。　You'd　carry　at　least　a　hundred。　I'll　raise　the　ante。〃
　　Lence　added　two　twenties　and　a　fifty　to　the　three　tens。　He　took　two　fives　and　a　one　from　his　own　pocket　and　added　them　to　make　a　total　of　one　hundred　and　thirty…one　dollars。　He　replaced　the　small　sum　in　the　wallet。
　　Carefully　avoiding　the　blood　that　stained　Roke's　shirt…front；　Lence　slipped　the　wallet　back　into　the　inside　pocket。　Edging　the　dying　man's　body　along　the　floor；　he　uncovered　the　revolver　that　Roke　had　dropped。
　　Lence　picked　up　Roke's　unused　gun。　He　eyed　the　victim　and　observed　that　Roke　was　almost　motionless。　Slow；　moaning　gasps　came　with　painful　monotony。
　　Roke　gave　no　other　sign　of　life。
　　Stepping　to　the　wastebasket；　Lence　dug　out　a　fistful　of　torn　paper。　He　began　to　examine　fragments　of　envelopes。　The　third　one　was　half　an　envelope　that　bore　a　New　Orleans　postmark。　The　next　fragment　looked　like　the　missing　half。　Lence　pared　them。　The　two　fitted。
　　There　was　no　return　address　on　the　envelope。　Lence　recalled　that　Roke　had　not　mentioned　the　book　shop　until　he　had　opened　the　letter。　Thrusting　the　torn　pieces　into　his　pocket；　the　murderous　con　man　started　toward　the　rear　of　the　apartment。
　　On　the　way；　he　stopped　and　felt　the　time…tables　in　his　pocket。　He　decided　to　keep　them。　With　a　last　look　at　Roke　Rowden's　inert　body；　Tracy　Lence　delivered　an　evil　chuckle　and　departed；　through　a　darkened　room。
　　Opening　a　window；　he　stepped　to　a　fire　escape。　Roke　Rowden　had　purposely　chosen　an　apartment　with　an　available　emergency　exit。　Closing　the　window　behind　him；　Tracy　Lence；　murderer；　stole　softly　downward　into　the　darkness　of　a　courtyard。
　　
　　　CHAPTER　III　
　　　UNEXPECTED　VISITORS　
　　SILENCE　persisted　in　that　lower　courtyard　after　the　departure　of　Tracy　Lence。　The　murderer's　stealthy　footfalls　had　been　but　slight　clicks　in　that　gloom。　Stilled　atmosphere　clung　shroudlike　in　the　court　during　the　five　minutes　that　elapsed　after　the　murderer's　exit。
　　Then　came　motion。　A　soft　swish　disturbed　the　darkness。　Noiselessly；　a　figure　had　glided　into　the　courtyard。　Unseen；　a　phantom　shape　was　moving　toward　the　fire　escape　that　Tracy　Lence　had　descended。
　　A　new　presence　had　arrived。　Some　one…a　being　in　black…was　reversing　the　course　that　Lence　had　followed。　A　hidden　shape　arrived　at　the　very　window　from　which　Lence　had　left　the　apartment。　A　soft　laugh　whispered　in　the　darkness。
　　That　sound；　scarcely　audible；　was　a　token　of　identity。　This　mysterious　prowler；　approaching　the　scene　of　crime；　was　a　personage　to　whom　such　journeys　were　monplace。　The　being　from　darkness　was　The　Shadow。
　　To　crookdom；　The　Shadow　was　a　living　foe。　Men　of　evil　knew　his　prowess。
　　Time　and　again；　plotters　of　crime　had　gained　evidence　of　The　Shadow's　uncanny　ability　in　bringing　doom　to　crime。　A　weaving　figure　cloaked　in　black；　the　author　of　a　strident　laugh　that　acpanied　the　withering　staccato　of　barking　automatics…such　was　The　Shadow。
　　And；　as　mute　testimony　of　this　master　fighter's　strength；　men　of　evil　had　found　the　silent　bodies　of　their　pals　in　crime。　Dying　mobsters　had　coughed　his　name…The　Shadow…in　gasping　their　last　breaths。　And　always；　when　The　Shadow　arrived　to　deal　vengeance　upon　foes　of　justice；　he　came　with　unexpected　stealth。
　　The　little；　like　the　big；　could　feel　The　Shadow's　wrath。　For　his　campaign　was　one　of　extermination。　The　Shadow　knew　that　men　of　smaller　schemes　would　bee　the　makers　of　large　plans。　To　The　Shadow；　crime　was　crime。　That　axiom　had　brought　him　here　tonight。
　　Somehow；　The　Shadow　had　learned　of　Roke　Rowden's　scheme。　He　knew　where　the　swindler　lived。　He　had　full　knowledge　of　the　ti