Cliff smiled at the thought of Shires. Cliff was watching for the actual slayer of Tim Waldron while he, Cliff Marsland, was reputed to be the murderer by the underworld!
Only The Shadow knew why Cliff had gone to Sing Sing. The name of Cliff Marsland was falsely heralded in gangdom. He realized that he had become a talked of personage in the bad lands of New York; yet at the same time he remained a mystery. For he was virtually unknown, and no one had shown any signs of recognizing him during his residence at Larchmont Court.
Two of the gangsters who had spotted him at the Hotel Spartan were dead as a result of the gun fight. The others were in the toils of the law.
None had known Cliff Marsland prior to his career in Sing Sing. He had appeared from nowhere, had defied the police after a bold bank robbery, and had gone to prison, a self-confessed criminal.
So here he was, this evening, silently observant and virtually free from recognition, unless some freak of fate should reveal his identity.
Cliff glanced at the clock above the desk. It was not yet eight. Durgan had gone out in the afternoon, and had not returned. Probably no visitors would arrive for some time to come.
Cliff yawned and settled back in his chair. A moment later, he became alert.
A woman had entered the lobby, and had walked to the desk. Cliff had seen her before. He knew her name. Madge Benton — Killer Durgan’s moll. The clerk had pointed the girl out to Cliff three days ago. Since then, he had seen her often.
CLIFF’S eyes were keen as he watched the girl, speaking to the room clerk. She was attractive, despite her freakish mode of dress. Too many sparkling rings. Too much make-up. Her blond hair, although effective in appearance, indicated peroxide treatments.
Cliff mentally compared the girl with others whom he remembered from years ago; and the others profited by the comparison — particularly one.