“He shows up at a radio station, every Thursday night,” continued the gangster. “They’re all set there to keep anybody from finding out who he is.
“Some crook got in there once, disguised like an electrician, but he didn’t learn a thing. Some guys say that The Shadow don’t always go to the broadcasting station. They claim there’s a telephone hook-up over long distance, so he can broadcast from anywhere. But nobody has ever got the whole dope on it.
“He’s a tough guy — The Shadow.”
“Would you know him if you saw him?” Savoli asked.
“Me know The Shadow? Of course I would. Say — let any gazebo come around me wearing a black cloak and a pulled-down hat. He’ll get his, quick, I tell you! If The Shadow is here in Chicago, I’m out to find him!”
“He is here. But say nothing.”
Monk Thurman nodded his acquiescence. Then he suddenly looked about the room.
The action was most expressive. It showed, more graphically than words, what Monk Thurman thought of The Shadow’s reputation. Here, in Nick Savoli’s headquarters, he seemed to suspect the presence of the man in black.
“You say he has made trouble in New York,” observed Nick Savoli. “But Chicago is not New York. We do not fear The Shadow here.
“I have two men who do not fear him — Anelmo and Genara. They are on the watch for him. You will be the third. It will mean ten grand if you get him.”