Up on the roof above the policeman's head, a shadowy shape appeared reflected in the light from Tremont's window. A dripping cloak glistened as the figure of The Shadow crept toward the edge of the roof.
Escaped from the waters of the Sound, the man of mystery had come to Tremont's home, to anticipate a visit from Doctor Gerald Savette. Outside the window, he had listened to every word that had been uttered by the two conspirators.
The Shadow reached the edge of the roof. His form became invisible. His long shape glided easily over the edge. It hung suspended amid the rain.
Had The Shadow dropped to the soft ground beneath, his fall would have attracted the attention of the policeman; but The Shadow did not resort to such an act.
He had chosen this spot with careful design. Lowering one hand, he encircled it about a pillar beneath the overhanging roof. The other arm followed. Clinging to the post, The Shadow moved downward inch by inch, until his feet touched the rail.
The officer was only a few feet away, on the other side of the post. He chanced to turn and look toward the railing of the porch. All that he saw was rain.
The Shadow's form was motionless. The projecting arms and shoulders were a black blot that to the officer's eyes were a portion of the night.
The policeman's tread sounded on the wooden porch. The man went down the steps and peered along the drive. He came back to his position, and paused to light a cigarette by the very post where The Shadow had been standing.
The blue-tipped match threw a glare as the policeman scratched it on the pillar. The sudden blaze revealed nothing. Quietly, stealthily the man of night had glided away into the darkness. He was treading the drive now, but not even the gravel gave sign of his passing. Out to the street — then the only token of his presence was a drifting silhouette that moved along the sidewalk past a blurred street lamp.
With cloak and hat saturated by Sound and rain, The Shadow traveled on without the slightest swish to indicate his presence. Invisible, he stopped beside a driveway that led to an empty house. There he turned to approach a coupe parked off the edge of the drive.
The patter of the rain on the roof of the car drowned the noise of the opening door. The Shadow reached the wheel of his own car. The starter sounded; the motor throbbed. The lights came on as the car swung clear of the drive and headed toward New York. Soon it reached a broad boulevard, and was lost in the traffic of late-bound cars returning to the big city.
When next The Shadow appeared he was in a darkened room where only the spotlight of the green-shaded lamp reflected its rays from the burnished top of a broad table. His hands alone were visible — dry hands now. Those long, slender fingers had shown their mastery with the automatic; now they were engaged in opening an envelope.
The girasol glimmered above a typed report. The Shadow was reading word from Rutledge Mann — word that included a relayed message from Harry Vincent, the agent whom The Shadow had dispatched abroad:
Shark Nice Paris Tally
The Shadow inscribed the translation of this condensed report, which conformed with a code given Vincent.
"Shark" meant Sharrock. "Nice" referred to the Mediterranean resort. "Paris" showed where Sharrock had gone. "Tally" was an abbreviation for steamship 'Talleyrand'. The Shadow wrote:
Located Sharrock at Nice. He left for Paris. Sailed on the Steamship 'Talleyrand'.
Evidently Vincent had lost the trail at Nice. Sharrock, travelling to Paris had continued from there to Cherbourg, to catch the steamer for America. The Shadow's hands were still, indicating that he was pondering over the message that lay before him.
Then the fingers found another item supplied by Rutledge Mann. It was the sailing schedule of The Franco Line. The 'Talleyrand' had left Cherbourg that day. It would not arrive in New York for a week. There was significance in the return of this man Sharrock. Savette had boasted that he and Tremont had driven him away. Why was he coming back? What would be the outcome when the plotters learned of his return?
Sharrock, stepbrother of Austin Bellamy, might prove a key to the situation that existed in Glendale. His return was evidently unknown to Savette. Would it aid or disturb The Shadow's plans?
Once again, The Shadow's prophetic list appeared. That piece of paper gave its column of words: Money — Television — Atomic Energy — Aeronautics — Money. The first four titles had the names of men attached. At the bottom of the column stood the single word: Money.
The list began with money; it ended with money. Whatever the purpose of the three statements in between, money was the dominating motive. Money was Doctor Savette's aim now. The hand of The Shadow paused beside that all-important word at the bottom of the list. It waited, lingering. Then came a laugh from the blackness of the room. It was a strange, sardonic laugh — a token of mirth that presaged the downfall of evildoers.
The hand wrote. Another name was inscribed to the list. For a brief instant the name stood plain, while the girasol on The Shadow's left hand threw forth its lustrous shafts of mystic light. Then all was darkness as the shaded lamp clicked off. From the stillness of a solid, tomblike room, The Shadow's sinister laugh flung a grim and muffled taunt.
Out of the dark, The Shadow had come tonight. Into the dark he had returned. Checked in his first attack, driven to bay by gangster hordes, The Shadow had fought against tremendous odds. His presence had been revealed. His stalwart hand was thwarted for the moment. But with uncanny cleverness, The Shadow had retired further from the light. His enemies believed he was defeated. They were almost convinced that he was dead. The one advantage he had gained tonight was obscurity.
Only through preserving the pretense of oblivion could The Shadow hope to withhold these scheming fiends. Yet how, from oblivion, could he hope to wage the combat?
In the face of this dilemma, The Shadow laughed! His brain had evolved some system whereby odds such as these could be met. What means could this hopeless situation afford?
Only The Shadow knew!
The Shadow always knows.
Chapter XVI — A Perfect Scheme
Doctor Savette smiled grimly as he leaned back in his easy-chair. He was alone in his front room, reviewing the past, and thinking of the future. Attired in evening clothes, he had the pose of a gentleman of culture.
Four days had passed since Biff Towley's mob had met and fought The Shadow. The affray had caused a great stir in the newspapers. The garbled and incorrect accounts had been accepted seriously. Solemn sleuths had solved the situation — so they supposed. It was assumed that a crowd of gangsters had gone to the dock to meet rumrunners coming in from the Sound.
Another crew of mobsmen had come to muscle in. One band had been victorious.
Glade Tremont, prominent attorney had unfortunately been trapped in the fray. The victors had fled, leaving the dead and wounded. Glade Tremont had escaped with only slight injuries. Certain of the battling mobsmen had been identified with a gang leader named Biff Towley. He was not in New York. It was supposed that he had fled — perhaps before the fight — fearing that he was to be deposed as chief. Some effort was being made to find him, but the attempt was not widespread. Glade Tremont had gone away for a rest. He had been through a grueling experience. His departure from New York had been virtually unmentioned in the newspapers.
All these reports were good news to Gerald Savette. But he had still another reason to be pleased. The Shadow had completely disappeared. Unmentioned by the press — for no one had suspected The Shadow's hand in the Long Island affair — the one enemy whom Savette and Tremont feared had passed into oblivion.