“So you got him, Steve!” whispered Spotter.
The other man nodded. Spotter stared at his stocky form and impassive face with admiration.
“Listen, Spotter.” The stocky man’s voice was harsh, and low. “I knew the lay the minute you told me. It was worth the five hundred in phony bills you gave me, wasn’t it?”
“It was worth that in real cash.”
“Well, this fake mazuma is just as good. They’ll take it quick enough, where I’m going. I hadn’t any right to be back in New York, anyway, but I couldn’t stay away.”
“How did you guess” — Spotter looked around him apprehensively — “that it was The Shadow?”
“How? When you told me this afternoon that you’d make it worth my while to help out Maloney’s gang, I knew it wasn’t Reds Mackin you were after. He could have been put out easy. But I know something about The Shadow.
“He was on my trail, once, Spotter. You wanted a man up there, in that room, for emergency. Who was this fellow that was going to slide through the machine-gun fire, and three men waiting inside?”
“The Shadow,” admitted Spotter.
“You’re right. I told you I knew who you were after, didn’t I? Told you when you put the proposition up to me, this afternoon.