"Have you heard from the men you sent to the Green Mill?" he asked.
"No," answered Shamlin. "They were coming back to Gorky's place, if anything happened. That's my regular hangout, you know. I told Gorky I was going to be up here."
"You shouldn't have said anything about it," Delmuth reprimanded him.
"Gorky's O.K."
As the cab disappeared down the street, Benson and Grady came from the entrance of the little restaurant. The old man and his companion walked toward the corner.
As they proceeded on their path, a figure emerged from the darkness on the other side of the street. Neither man saw it. They did not notice that strange shape which kept pace with them, moving like a living shadow.
The two men reached Grady's car. The figure flitted toward them and merged with the wall of a building, not more than a dozen feet away.
"Let's go, Grady," said the old man. "We have a long ride ahead of us — to Massachusetts." Grady grunted in response. The men entered the car. The vehicle moved along the street. Then, from the darkness beside the building, came a soft, taunting laugh.
Plans had been made. One plotter and his underling were on the way. The plans had been unheard. But the plotters were not leaving unseen.
The Shadow, man of swift action, had returned to New York from his rescue. With Shamlin as his clue, he had gone to Gorky's, and had learned the gangster's station. There, in the dark, he stood watching two murderous men depart.