The big shot's scowl slowly disappeared; nevertheless, he made no
statement of approval. Instead, he tried questions on another tack.
"You say you didn't choose crime?" he asked. "How did you come to get into
it, then?"
"I could make a long story out of that," responded Graham, with a sour
smile, "but I can give it to you briefly, just as well. My father had a lot of
money. I landed in a jam. I had to raise dough to hush things up. I ran into
Wolf Daggert, here in New York. He tipped me off to some ways to pick up cash."
"Why didn't Wolf try them for himself?"
"I'll tell you why. He was too yellow to take on the jobs he gave me. He
collected a percentage on my work. Then I left New York and went out on my own."
"How long ago?"
"About three years."
"You hit it good?"
"For a while - yes. Then I landed back in New York and needed more money.
I heard what Wolf was doing and I worked for him again. I intended to blow
later on; then you picked me to head my own mob. Here I am."
King Furzman pondered. He could see that Graham Wellerton was one criminal
in a thousand. He knew that his lieutenant had spoken frankly. This was the
first outspoken conference that Furzman had ever held with Graham.
The big shot saw that Graham had been working for a break - for the time
when success would enable him to give his straight opinion regarding Wolf
Daggert. Graham had chosen the right time to assert himself. King Furzman,
although he did not say so, regarded this smooth-working lieutenant as a
henchman far superior to Wolf.
Furthermore, there was merit in Graham's suggestions. The big shot,
supposedly a racketeer who was coasting along on past profits, was anxious to
avoid anything that would connect him with crime. Rivalry between two
lieutenants was a bad feature.
"All right," said Furzman suddenly. "Take your mob - work on your own -
but let me know where you're going. If Wolf flops again, he's through -"
A rap at the door came as an interruption. The big shot emitted a growl.
The door opened and Gouger poked his head into the room.
"Wolf Daggert is downstairs," he informed. "Shall I tell him to come up?"
"Sure," responded the big shot.
Gouger disappeared. He was going to the anteroom by the other route -
through the apartment. It would only be a few minutes before Wolf Daggert would
arrive.
"I'm all set, then," declared Graham Wellerton.
"Yes," agreed King Furzman. "Take your mob wherever you want to go."
"We'll start out tomorrow night," said Graham quickly. "I'll have the crew
ready. I'll come here and tell you my plans. They won't know where I'm taking
them until we're on our way - maybe not until we get there."
"Good stuff," nodded the big shot. "You're all right, Wellerton. I've got
your idea now. You know how to handle a mob. Keep them guessing."
The conversation ended. Graham Wellerton resumed his chair and lighted a
cigarette. King Furzman applied a match to the cigar which he had been chewing.
While neither man was observant, the long black patch upon the floor drew slowly
toward the curtain at the archway. The Shadow, hidden listener to all that had
been said, was retiring into a darkened corner of the next room to await the
