Running through the code with great rapidity, The Shadow found the symbols that he wanted. He did this, by looking for two words, each with nine letters that were side by side. He inscribed one above the other.
That done, The Shadow broke the symbols in his own fashion. He wrote them in revised form; in the spaces between each proper pair, he wrote the letters that he knew they must represent. His finished task appeared.
The game was won! The letter S, appearing twice in the upper word coincided with the final symbol of the lower S. The letter I in ‘Steamship’ was properly duplicated in ‘Mauritius’. T and U proved themselves to be the correct letters. The letter A was right.
With this start on the alphabet, The Shadow had passed the final obstacle. His hands, moving with amazing swiftness, seized a fresh sheet of paper; the pencil inscribed the photostatic message in broken form.
WHEN he had completed this, The Shadow was prompt in his deciphering of the message. On a new piece of paper, his hand wrote out the final solution:
THE REPRESENTATIVE OF A BRITISH SYNDICATE IS RETURNING TO LONDON ON THE STEAMSHIP MAURITIUS WITH RARE PAINTINGS VALUED AT ONE MILLION DOLLARS I AM GOING BACK TO EUROPE BY THE SAME SHIP THE MAN WE SEEK WILL HAVE THE PAINTINGS IN HIS CABIN UNGUARDED INFORM ME HOW TO PASS HIS NAME TO THOSE WHO WILL BE READY
The Shadow laughed. He could see the workings of a hidden chain. This message had been sent to Professor Langwood Devine, who in turn had sent it along to some one else. The request must have reached some person who could aid. A reply would therefore have come back along the line.
Yet no coded letters had been delivered to Professor Devine’s empty box at the Hotel Salamanca. The Shadow, in two nights that had followed his visit to Joe Cardona, had made cleverly-faked long distance calls from Chicago, pretending to be Mynheer Hansel Vaart. Cardona, assured of the Hollander’s sincere interest in solving the troublesome code, would certainly have mentioned it if new messages had been gained.
The Shadow realized that the chain of crime-workers had closed. The gap made by Devine’s death had been bridged. The Shadow also saw that crooks would not be intimidated because of Devine’s elimination. The message had gone through. Cardona had suppressed the news regarding his finding of the codes.
Some hidden crook had make a fatal mistake by referring to himself as “I” in the message that he had forwarded through the band. That was not all. He had left a clue to his identity in this genuine message.
I am going back to Europe-
That signified that the crook had come from Europe. He had not come from England; for he refereed to a potential victim who was returning to that land. The Shadow divined that the author of the plot to steal the valued paintings must be a foreigner; while the man whom he intended to point out would be an Englishman.
The Shadow’s hand began a methodical inscription. It was tabulating the alphabet. Letters J, Q, X and Z were missing in the translated message; noting a formula, The Shadow promptly supplied the first three and added a possible Z; finally, the symbol that signified a space.
A weird laugh broke through the sanctum as the bluish light went out. Paper rustled in the darkness. Strident echoes shivered back their response to The Shadow’s burst of mirthful triumph.
The Shadow’s task was ended. He had gained the cipher that he needed. He had solved one of the most unique methods of cryptic writing that had ever been devised.
Spaces, not the solid symbols between them, had told the final story. Through long hours of ceaseless activity, The Shadow had discovered the secret method of writing originally devised by Barton Talbor — the system which the crafty old crook believed to be invulnerable.
Stillness reigned in The Shadow’s sanctum. Hollow, soundless blackness announced the departure of the master who inhabited this strange abode. The Shadow had departed to deal with crime. With him, ready for future use, he was carrying the deciphered code of Crime Incorporated!
Dusk lay over Manhattan, as a gliding figure of blackness moved westward along a narrow street. Evening was approaching, bringing a night that was to prove eventful. For at ten o’clock this evening, the Steamship Mauritius was scheduled to sail from its North River pier.
Criminals — potential murderers — would be aboard that liner. Their sole purpose would be to rob and kill a helpless victim. But crooks, alone, would not be on the scene.
The Shadow, master of vengeance would be aboard the Steamship Mauritius, ready to thwart the evil scheme of which he, too, had learned!
CHAPTER XVIII
OUTSIDE THE HARBOR
IT was nearing midnight. The Steamship Mauritius had passed the lower harbor, outward bound. The liner was ploughing at a slow but steady pace as it pushed through the calm sea near the seven-mile limit.
The Mauritius was an antiquated tub that had led the ways back in the late nineties. A fine ship in its day, the old boat had stood the test of time. Renovated and equipped with new motors, it still plied between New York and Liverpool.
Most of the passengers were men. The total list was less than two hundred. The low rates offered on this slow liner were attractive to persons who valued money more than time. The Mauritius was a one-class ship; the logical meeting place for its male passengers was the smoking salon.
A young man was seated in this remodeled section of the ship. He was one of a few dozen who had chosen not to remain on deck. As he read a book, this clean-cut chap occasionally surveyed the occupants of the salon, by directing well-gauged glances over the top of his book.
This passenger was Harry Vincent. An agent of The Shadow, Harry Vincent had received new instructions through Rutledge Mann. These had included ticket and stateroom reservation on the Mauritius.
Harry knew that The Shadow was also aboard. His chief was engaged in an important search. It was Harry’s task to aid. Here, in the smoking room, the agent had opportunity for observing various passengers.
Mann had come to the boat to see Harry off. He had passed the agent an envelope which Mann had received at his club, shortly before sailing time. This had given Harry new information. He was to watch all foreigners other than Englishmen.
This was not a difficult task. Harry had already noted that the majority of the passengers in the smoking salon were either English or American. He saw two men whom he took for Swedes or Norwegians; he observed another who might be a Frenchman.
The latter had caught Harry’s final attention. The man was puffing at a cigarette; it was the third that he had lighted in ten minutes. He had paid one visit to the bar; at present, he was seated at a card table in the corner, playing solitaire.
As Harry continued his intermittent vigil, he saw the Frenchman pack the cards in their case. Thrusting the case into a space between the table and the wall of the salon, the man walked over and introduced himself to three Americans who were looking for a fourth player in a game of bridge.
Harry heard the man introduce himself as Raoul Darchonne. The Americans clapped him on the back and congratulated him upon his remarkable moniker. They called him “Monsieur” and the Frenchman smiled beneath his pointed mustache. Harry observed at once that the man spoke perfect English and understood the American conception of a joke.
The bridge game began. Harry watched it occasionally, but he also kept looking toward the door of the smoking salon. He saw an American enter. The man was a heavy, bluff-faced fellow who had the build of a football coach. This man looked about the salon in a casual way. He finally strolled over to the table where the Frenchman had been playing solitaire.