“In fact, I never connected tonight’s message with this chap who calls himself The Shadow. But now when you tell me that I was at home when I was actually here, I see the whole scheme of things. That message at the Cobalt Club was not meant for me. It was sent to this fellow who was masquerading during my absence from town.
“What a mess it has become. The cheeky fellow must have called Stanley into New York, so he could return to New Jersey after his escapade. Since I had taken the car, he did not find it at the club, so he went to my home by some other means.”
PROFESSOR JARK was still staring, totally swayed by The Shadow’s indignation. He saw his prisoner arise. He watched an impatient gesture of the black-coated arm.
“If this cad has been troubling you, professor,” declared The Shadow, “deal with him as you choose. But do not blame me for his meddling in the affairs of others. He has troubled me too much, this impostor who calls himself The Shadow. Bah! He is a nuisance. I would like to be rid of him!”
The clock on the mantel was approaching twelve. Professor Jark stroked his chin. He watched his prisoner pace back and forth. An annoyed expression showed on the firm-featured face that resembled Lamont Cranston’s.
“If you will excuse me, Mr. Cranston,” declared Professor Jark, in a mild tone, “I shall take up this matter later. The facts that you have told me are most astounding. I should like to discuss them in greater detail. Kindly make yourself at ease until I return.”
The Shadow nodded in absent-minded fashion. Preserving his role of Cranston, he was still pacing, apparently more annoyed by the facts that he related than he was by his present predicament.
There were two doors in the room. The professor went out by the one at the left, which had been standing ajar. The criminal-looking servants maintained their vigil. The Shadow, fuming to himself, seemed oblivious to their presence. It was not until he again seated himself that he again adopted the placid manner that was usual with Lamont Cranston.
Drawing a cigarette from his case, The Shadow placed it between his thin lips and lighted it methodically. His lips were straight, his eyes were meditative as he sat smoking.
But all the while, The Shadow was noting the clock on the mantel. The hour of twelve was approaching. Midnight would bring the result he wanted. For then, if all went well, Professor Jark would be fully sold on the idea that The Shadow had given him. He would have proof that the prisoner he held was the real Lamont Cranston!
CHAPTER V
THE MIDNIGHT STROKE
WHEN Professor Baldridge Jark closed the door of the next room, he turned to face two men who were awaiting him. This pair had been listening at the partly opened door. They had heard every word of the interview between Jark and The Shadow.
One man was tall, dark-complected, with bushy eyebrows and bristling hair. His face, though hard, was crafty; his jaw carried an ugly thrust that gave him a challenging expression.
The other, short and sandy-haired, was a fellow whose face had a downward droop. His countenance was pale; his lips held a half-smoked, unlighted cigarette that hung downward like the corners of his mouth.
Though more intelligent than the thugs who acted as the professor’s servants, these fellows likewise had a criminal look. They were strange companions for a man with the scientific standing of Professor Baldridge Jark.
“You heard it all?” cackled the professor. “What did you think of it, Theblaw?”
He addressed the tall man, who shrugged his shoulders. Jark wheeled to the short fellow.
“What is your opinion, Wight?” demanded the professor.
“Digger don’t know what to make of it,” interjected Theblaw, speaking for Wight. “He’s left it for me to figure out. How about it, Digger?”
“Sure thing, Matt,” acknowledged Wight.
“Since that is the case,” decided Jark, “I await your comments, Theblaw.”
Matt Theblaw sat down. This room was as poorly furnished as the other. Its only furniture consisted of three folding chairs. “Digger” Wight took a second seat, lighted his cigarette and tossed the burnt match on the bare floor. Professor Jark seated himself in the last chair.
“Well,” began Matt Theblaw, “it’s a cinch that Duncan called some guy who knew The Shadow. One of Stinger’s men was listening outside of Duncan’s door, at the hotel. He heard Duncan say something about The Shadow. That’s why Stinger called me.”
“Perhaps,” admitted Jark. “At the same time, the man appears adventurous. Does he look like The Shadow, Theblaw?”
It was Digger Wight who guffawed in reply.
“Say, prof,” scoffed the little man, “who do ya think has ever seen The Shadow, anyhow? Do you think he goes aroun’ lettin’ people spot his mug? I’d say he don’t! The Shadow’s a fox, he is!”
“So I have heard,” cackled Jark, dryly. “But tonight — if our prisoner is The Shadow — we have seen the infallible personage enter an awaiting snare.”
Digger looked puzzled by the professor’s references. Matt, however, was quick to get the point.
“I’M glad you brought that up, prof,” he asserted. “I must admit I was sort of on the fence. But The Shadow walking in here don’t quite go.”
“He had that map,” put in Digger. “He seen the way was clear. Duncan had marked it that way.”
“Yes,” admitted Matt, “but The Shadow, whether he talked with Duncan or not, could have guessed that Duncan had scrammed out of this place. That would mean that we knew Duncan was gone.”
“Which we did,” inserted Jark.
“And The Shadow should have figured that we’d trap the side entrance,” continued Matt. “You know what I told you, prof. I said put the extra apparatus on that landing. Have it ready if Duncan or anybody else tried to come back here. We needed time while we were getting the rest of the equipment away.”
Matt paused while Jark nodded. A short silence followed; then the professor spoke.
“Your comments, Theblaw,” said the old man, “make it appear quite evident that we have captured the wrong man. I am convinced that our present prisoner is the real Lamont Cranston.
“He appears to be antagonistic toward The Shadow because The Shadow has caused him trouble. Therefore, it would be to our advantage to deal well with Cranston. Release him, with an apology. I can handle that in a manner which will not excite his suspicion.”
“What’s the good of lettin’ the guy go?” demanded Digger. “Say — he’s worth dough, ain’t he? Why not hold him?”
“Can it!” snapped Matt. “We’re running no snatch racket, Digger. This guy’s a pal of Barth’s. What do you want to do — have the bulls on our trail? The prof’s got the right idea.
“The only thing is, we don’t want to make a mistake. No use in letting this bird go until we’re sure he’s not The Shadow. We can grab the other Cranston, talk to the two of them together, and find the right one that way.”
“Say, Matt,” commended Digger, “That’s a real ticket. Even if the other mug’s The Shadow, we ought to be able to snatch him, knowin’ where he is.”
“The only objection, Theblaw,” inserted the professor, “is this. If our present prisoner is really Lamont Cranston, holding him will cause me to lose his friendship. I would suggest therefore that you lose no time in seeking to capture the other man. Unless—”
“Unless what?” interposed Theblaw.
“Unless you can think of some other test,” proceeded Jark. “Some clever bit of questioning that will settle our problem rapidly. We have too great an opportunity ahead. We must not jeopardize matters by false steps.”
Theblaw paced across the room. At last he wheeled to Jark and made a definite assertion.