"To send a short-wave beam!" exclaimed Farrow. "To be picked up by direction finders!"
"You will have one here," informed The Shadow. "The other will be at Doctor Sayre's."
Again Farrow nodded. He knew Rupert Sayre, the Park Avenue physician whom The Shadow had once saved from death. With two direction-finders keyed for the expected signal, Farrow saw the prospective results.
Rising for departure, The Shadow made a final request:
"Have Tapper ready. He may be needed."
WHEN he left Farrow's, The Shadow followed an untraceable course. All his amazing skill at silent unseen travel was in use tonight. On many occasions, The Shadow risked moves that might enable persons to gain chance glimpses of him. Tonight - and on nights to come - he could not afford that policy.
The Shadow was dead; so at least, the underworld believed. The Shadow did not intend to permit any arguments to the contrary; not even the guess that some hophead might have seen The Shadow's ghost.
Stealth was doubly imperative; for The Shadow was approaching a spot where he believed that crooks might be. He reached the street where the old Melrue mansion stood - dark, forgotten, formidable.
Within those walls lay some secret important to The Shadow. By finding it, he could bait the supercrook, Marvin Bradthaw.
As The Shadow crept close to the house, he sensed that it was watched. Someone stirred in a darkened space beside the mansion.
The Shadow waited until the prowling watcher had gone past. Other times he would have chosen the simpler course of overpowering the fellow in the darkness. That was out, tonight. The Shadow intended to leave no evidence that would indicate he was still alive.
The Shadow entered the house with absolute silence after working on a cellar window. He reached the ground floor. He heard men moving about. Hurden had filched a back-door key and had sent it along to Caudrey.
The Shadow waited until he heard no more sounds. He moved to the main stairway; ascended to the second floor.
There, he saw a glimmer from a door that was ajar. He peered into the old study. He saw three toughs, playing pinochle at a table with a well-muffled light. Window shades were drawn to cut off the glow. The Shadow moved away; he edged past a wall to follow a darkened hallway.
In the gloom, The Shadow sensed something that made him return for another brief peer into the study.
He checked instantly on the fact that he had learned. The wall between the study and the hall was of more than normal thickness.
Following the rear hall, The Shadow reached the back stairs. He descended. He heard sounds in the kitchen; waited until a patrolling thug had gone to the front of the house.
The kitchen connected with a pantry and a hallway. Using a guarded flashlight that cast a tiny beam, The Shadow discovered a thickened wall between the pantry and the hall. It was directly beneath the wall that separated the study from the second-floor hall.
Stealthily, The Shadow descended to the cellar, which was unwatched. In the cellar he found the exact spot that he wanted. It was just next to a thin stone wall.
Extinguishing his flashlight, The Shadow began to pry at the ceiling boards. The jimmy that he used was muffled with a strip of cloth. Old boards yielded; their crackles were subdued.
REACHING through the space, The Shadow found a hollow within the wall between pantry and hall. He knew what it had been: the lower level of a dumb-waiter shaft between the pantry and the study just above it. Widening the space, The Shadow pulled himself up through.
Remaining boards gave him a foothold. The space was cramped; that made it all the better. Cross-beams in the forgotten shaft served The Shadow as a double ladder.
Crouched high in the shaft, The Shadow found the second-floor level stripped with boards. He probed them; met resistance except near the back wall. Patiently, he chiseled through, muffling his efforts to perfection. One board gone, The Shadow stretched his arm up into the space.
He found a metal coffer.
The object was only two feet across. Over the top, The Shadow discovered clamps and released them.
The sound was not sufficient to penetrate the wall and reach the pinochle-playing crooks. Raising the lid of the chest, The Shadow felt crisp paper that crinkled with his touch.
His arm through to its shoulder, The Shadow removed the contents by degrees. The last stacked bundles would have been difficult; but they were banded together. Confident that he had completely emptied the chest The Shadow started the lid on a downswing and caught it with one hand. He reached over and pressed the clamps.
It was a long slow task, getting those spoils down to the cellar. There, The Shadow was forced to remove his cloak to bundle stacks of bank notes and bonds that bore big figures.
Under the tiny flashlight, he calculated that this negotiable wealth totaled more than three million dollars.
The garb beneath the cloak was black. It served The Shadow well when he left the cellar window.
Timing his departure for the fading paces of a watcher, The Shadow moved away, carrying his tight-bagged cloak over his shoulder.
He found a taxi a block away and entered it; then spoke to the driver in a gruff voice that suited a chance passenger who had come along the street.
Riding to Farrow's, The Shadow dumped the bundled cloak when he opened the cab door. He used a bare hand to pay the driver. The cab pulled away; stepping from behind it, The Shadow scooped up the bundled cloak and made a quick entry into the apartment house.
Farrow's amazement was great, when be found himself the temporary holder of three million dollars. He heard the details from The Shadow, while the visitor was shrouding himself with the cloak. After The Shadow had gone, Farrow still sat pondering over the amazing methods that The Shadow used.
Farrow believed that no one could have been so astonished as he had been tonight. He was wrong. The Shadow was already on his way to deliver a more remarkable surprise.
IT came when Francine Melrue entered her apartment. The girl came in as lightly as she had that night when Harry Vincent had waited there masked. Francine's jewels had gone to a safe-deposit vault. She expected no more uninvited visitors.
She saw none tonight, until she stepped toward the bedroom. Francine was reaching for the shoulder strap of the new evening gown she wore, when she halted. Her eyes were fixed in amazement.
The camera man who had snapped Francine's picture for the society picture should have been present at that moment. There was beauty in Francine's startlement. Those sparkling eyes were brilliant; her even face and slightly tousled blond hair made a frame for them.
The light gave them a sapphire blue that matched the gems that had tumbled from Cardona's pocket; for Francine's eyes had opened wide. Before her stood the shrouded figure that Francine knew from the past. Again, she was face to face with The Shadow.
Her stare met his burning gaze. Then came that determined set of Francine's chin. It might have marred her beauty from the photographer's viewpoint. Not from The Shadow's.
That thrust out chin showed that Francine had the courage The Shadow expected.
Quietly, The Shadow spoke. His tone was a whisper; sinister, perhaps, to others; but not to Francine.
She knew The Shadow's prowess. She accepted him as a friend. That voice could mean disaster to those who plotted crime. For Francine, it carried confidence that filled her with strength of her own.
In Francine, The Shadow had found one of those rare persons who understood best when they knew all.
An absolute judge of character and courage, The Shadow chose the strongest course. He told the girl of the wealth that was rightfully hers and her brother's. He added that it was sought by dangerous criminals; that to keep it, she must earn it. Not only for herself, but for her weakling brother.