There was a rap at the door. Nipper, resuming his waiter’s pose, opened the door. Two men entered; the waiter who had accompanied them went away. Nipper closed the door and turned to see Cliff shaking hands with the newcomers.
CLIFF remembered Dave Talbot and Patsy Birch well. The men were very much alike — both hardened figures of the underworld. Like Nipper, they had been doing time since the days when mobsters worked their individual crimes.
Both were waiting for an opportunity to join up with a safe and prosperous racket. They had wisely decided to fit themselves in with the new regime of gangland.
“Give us the lay, Cliff,” said Nipper eagerly. “I’ve fixed it so I can get away tonight. I’m throwin’ this job here any time you say. What’s the dope?”
“Just this,” said Cliff quietly. “Last night, Nipper told me he could get you fellows — Dave and Patsy — when I needed you.
“I didn’t frame it last night, because Nipper and I ran into something we hadn’t expected. But I’ve been doing some figuring to-day, and I’ve talked — well” — he changed his words — “I’ve made arrangements with a fellow that’s in on this with me. Who he is — that’s my business!”
Cliff was pleased to see his listeners nod. He knew that any mention of The Shadow would be a fatal error. “All you fellows have to know is that you’re working for me. Get the idea?”
“O.K.,” said Dave. “We’re with you, Cliff!”
“All Nipper knows,” resumed Cliff, “is that I’m muscling in on a racket.
“Look at it this way. I’m out of the Big House. While I’ve been doing time, a bunch of punks have been working. I’m out now — and every time I look for an opening, they want me to do some baby work. No dough in it.”