“Not a chance, Spotter. It’s going to happen out West. Forget this Shadow stuff. Look here.”
He pulled another fifty-dollar bill from his pocket, and spread it in front of Spotter’s eyes, snapping it between his hands.
“I’m giving you this, too, Spotter,” he said. “I want to meet this Birdie Crull. How soon do you think you can find him?”
Spotter stared at the bank note. His eyes seemed hypnotized.
He was apparently studying the currency, as he had done before. In reality, his mind was whirling in confusion. His gaze was fixed upon Reds Mackin’s left hand.
That hand was still. Its fingers were spread slightly. Spotter, whose eagle eyes lost nothing, had noticed Reds Mackin’s hand several times in the past. He remembered a long, ragged, permanent scar, on the side of the third finger — a scar that showed only when Reds Mackin spread his hand.
The scar was no longer there!
“What’s the matter, Spotter?” came Mackin’s sarcastic voice. “Still leery about the fifty-spots? Maybe you’d rather have my personal check?”
Spotter grasped the money mechanically, and thrust it, along with the other bills, into his pocket.
“Maybe you’re still worrying about The Shadow,” added Mackin. “Well, take my word for it, Spotter — there’s no such guy. If there is, he isn’t in on this.”