STANLEY and Richards exchanged astonished glances as their master disappeared through the door. The chauffeur scratched his head. It was beyond him.
“I can’t understand it,” asserted the chauffeur. “The master, coming in at four o’clock, all ragged. Why should he have strolled up from the station?”
“He was very taciturn,” recalled Richards. “And very tired, Stanley. Exhausted, Stanley.”
“He didn’t tell us where he had been. But the air was not delightful, Richards. It was drizzling. Indeed it was.”
“As if I didn’t know it, Stanley. Why, the master’s evening clothes were drenched and bedraggled. It astonishes me! Here Mr. Cranston has slept but four hours; and look at him, as vigorous as ever.”
“He showed surprising agility, Richards, when he sped after those ruffians last night. Well, we did right not to inform the authorities. I was sure that the master would return.”
The servants separated, shaking their heads. They knew their master for an eccentric person; but on this occasion, he had shown activity that seemed almost incredible. Stanley, recalling other perplexities, turned about to make another statement.
“Last evening,” declared the chauffeur, “I had the limousine in town at the club. Mr. Cranston rendered aid to an unfortunate man; then I returned to the club and received word to come back here—”
“But Mr. Cranston had already notified me to expect him,” put in Richards, “and he was here before you arrived—”
“Only to go out again, as if he had not been to New York at all—”
“And then to return to be trapped by those abductors. He was helpless when they seized him, Stanley.”
“But he was free from them, Richards, before they reached the gate! There he was — I saw him with my own eyes — driving after them in the limousine—”
“And walking in at four o’clock, only to arise at half past seven. Strike me, Stanley, I have never known the like of it!”
UPSTAIRS, the tall arrival had reached the door of a front room. Opening it softly, he peered into a chamber where blinds were lowered. A man was sleeping in the bed. The visitor approached, after closing the door, and turned on a reading lamp.
The glare troubled the sleeper. A hand shook his shoulder. Mumbling, the man in the bed sat up, while the other took his seat at the foot. The two were face to face — the man in bed blinking, his visitor smiling. It was a strange scene; for the visages of these two seemed absolutely alike. Double was facing double.
“Good morning, Cranston,” came a quiet tone from the foot of the bed.
“Good morning, yourself,” returned Cranston, rubbing his eyes without noticing the visitor.
“You should say: Good morning, myself,” chuckled The Shadow, dryly.
Cranston was pulling down the sleeves of his pajama jacket. He sat bolt upright, staring. Then a slow smile showed on his lips; one that was almost a replica of The Shadow’s.
“So it’s you,” remarked Cranston, sleepily. “Well, I knew that last night. It was about time we crossed paths again. Well, old man, you landed me in for plenty this trip.”
“I expected that they would release you,” stated The Shadow, “They didn’t want me when I made them think that I was you. So it was logical that they would not hold you after they learned you were yourself.”
“They didn’t,” admitted Cranston, “but they were so anxious to elude you that they did not stop for a dozen miles. Then they ditched me most unceremoniously in the middle of a country road. I walked back through fog and drizzle, across fields and meadows, cursing the bounders all the journey.”
“And arrived here at four o’clock.”
“Who told you?”
“Stanley and Richards.”
Cranston leaned back and chuckled. The Shadow watched him with a smile. It was but another test that showed how closely The Shadow had learned to copy Cranston’s gestures.
“I said nothing to the servants,” remarked Cranston. “I merely told them that I intended to sleep. I supposed that by morning I might hear something from you. But I had not expected a personal visit. How did you deceive Stanley and Richards?”
“I told them,” declared The Shadow, “that I had left the limousine in New York, to come back to the station garage in the coupe. Desiring a pleasant walk, I came up from the station at four o’clock. Rising early, I went down there again a half hour ago, to bring the coupe.”
“And all the while, you actually stayed in New York? Leaving the limousine there and bringing the coupe this morning?”
“That is correct.”
CRANSTON shoved bedclothes aside and perched on the edge of the bed. He found cigarettes on the telephone table; The Shadow supplied a flame from a lighter before Cranston could ignite a match. The millionaire noted that The Shadow’s lighter bore the initials “L. C.”
“You handle every detail, don’t you?” questioned Cranston in admiration. “Jove! I remember the first time I met you. [1] In this very room. You dropped cloak and hat and left me looking at my own face as plainly as if I had seen it in a mirror. Just as it is today.”
“And I advised you,” recalled The Shadow, in Cranston’s own tone, “to take a trip abroad, while I used your identity. You were a bit exasperated at first.”
“I must admit that I was. I threatened to have you arrested, as an impostor, until you proved that you knew more about my affairs than I did. Jove! I really believe that if it had come to a showdown, I would have been proven the impostor and you the genuine Lamont Cranston. Jove!”
“Jove,” repeated The Shadow, quietly, “You have acquired that expression recently, Cranston. I shall remember it for future reference. You have a penchant for acquiring anglicisms during your sojourns in British colonies. Jove!”
“Bounder and blighter,” laughed Cranston. “Don’t forget those. I still use them occasionally.”
“I worked those words last night,” recalled The Shadow. “Cranston, you have my confidence to some degree. Naturally, you do not know my identity. You appreciate that I am a capable disguise artist, inasmuch as I can play your part as well as yourself. Outside of that, you know only that my life purpose is one of counteracting crime.”
“And criminals,” smiled Cranston. “Like our enemy who called himself the Black Falcon. [2] Jove! That blighter did kidnap me proper. He thought he had you — like those rogues did last night.”
“The Black Falcon was a different sort,” reminded The Shadow. “At present, I am campaigning against criminals who play a much deeper game. One so involved that I do not as yet know its hidden significance.
“Last night, I fell into the hands of the foe. I expected danger; I went on my adventure in your guise. After I was captured, I tricked my inquisitor — I had contact with only one important man — and made him believe that I was you.
“I backed my bluff by having one of my agents attack the house, wearing my familiar black. My captors decided to release me. I was sure that they did not want Lamont Cranston. Therefore, I had no qualms when I learned that they intended to exchange me for you.
“Indeed, I actually offered them suggestions along that line. I showed them the way, so that they would bring me here. I intended to prevent the exchange altogether; but, unfortunately, you arrived too early for my plan.
“So you were seized. I nullified your abduction by means of a prompt pursuit, which left no further doubt as to who was actually Lamont Cranston. As I expected, your captors released you.”
Cranston nodded as The Shadow paused.