“I gotta be goin’!” he exclaimed. “No” — he paused to reflect, and nodded stupidly — “it’s too late. Got a phone in this joint?”
THE proprietor pointed to another room. Dip rose and staggered in that direction. He was too dazed to think of closing the door behind him. He did not realize that Cliff Marsland was capable of hearing every word he uttered. Dip dialed a number and received an immediate reply.
He spoke to Flash Donegan.
“Hello, Flash,” were Dip’s words. “Listen. I’m too late to get that guy… Yeah, this is Dip. I got knocked cold, Flash. I’m still groggy.”
There was a pause, during which Dip evidently heard condemning words from the other end of the wire.
“You know where he’s goin’, Flash,” Dip protested. “Why don’t you get up there an’ nick him?… I getcha now! Marty an’ Lance are goin’ to take him for a ride. You’re stickin’ where you are. They’re callin’ you before they give him the works, eh?”
Dip hung up the receiver. Tottering, he made his way back into the outer room. He sat on the bench alone. Cliff Marsland was no longer there.
Cliff had slipped into the barroom the moment that Dip’s conversation had ended. He was thinking — grimly. His work was to watch Dip Riker, so Harry Vincent could go his way unmolested. Another enemy — Flash Donegan, was being covered by The Shadow himself.
But from Dip’s conversation, Cliff divined that Flash was laying low tonight — that Harry Vincent’s real menace consisted of two unknown hoodlums — men to whom Dip had referred as Marty and Lance!
There was no time to lose. Cliff had double work to do. He must put Dip Riker out of the picture; he must send a warning to The Shadow, so that Harry could be saved.