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Doctor Savette has left New York on several occasions within the past year, but no information of his destinations is obtainable.

Once more The Shadow's laugh resounded. Beside the sentence that told of the physician's journeys, the hand wrote a single word:

Albania.

That was the name of the ship from which Professor Pierre Rachaud had disappeared!

Now came the summary of The Shadow's findings; brief, cryptic statements, written by the hand that held the pencil.

Austin Bellamy: Body found in ruins of sanitarium.

Pierre Rachaud: Last seen on board S. S. Albania.

Clark Murdock: Body found in demolished laboratory.

The hand poised; then with one sweeping gesture, it drove a penciled line through the entire list. Again and again, it repeated the operation, until the writing was riddled with canceling marks. Then came a short, spasmodic burst of laughter; a sharp cry of mockery that stopped with amazing suddenness. The walls threw back the sound as though a host of hidden elves had answered the call of their master.

Papers and clippings were swept away. The top of the table shone uncovered. A click came from the darkness above. The spot of illumination disappeared.

Only impenetrable blackness remained — night-like gloom that murmured with the uncanny tones of a departing burst of eerie mirth.

The Shadow was gone!

Chapter VI — Two Men Plot

Doctor Gerald Savette was at home. Seated in an upstairs living room, the physician was smoking his pipe and reading the evening newspaper. His sallow face was placid, save for a slight smile that curled upon his lips. Evidently his reading was a source of pleasure.

A short, plainly dressed man stepped into the room. Doctor Savette turned toward him.

"What is it, Hughes?" he questioned.

"Mr. Tremont is here, sir."

"Very well. Ask him to come upstairs."

A few moments later, a gray-haired man entered. Savette rose to greet him. The two men were of about the same height. Tremont was the elder, but except for his grayish hair, he did not appear to be Savette's senior. Like Savette, Tremont was smiling. The two men clasped hands, then sat opposite each other. Savette picked up the newspaper and turned it so that his visitor could read the headlines.

"What do you think of it, Glade?" he asked.

"Very good, Gerald," replied Tremont approvingly. "Very, very good. Only it was pretty close."

"What of it?" queried Savette. "You were ready for it, weren't you?"

"Only because I happened to be with Orlinov," answered Glade Tremont. "As soon as he learned that Steffan had skipped, he told me about it. I sent a hurry call to Biff Towley."

"Yes," said Savette, "I received both his calls over at Murdock's. I had to alibi it by saying they were from my office. That is the advantage of the physician. Unexpected calls are unsuspected calls. The second one helped a lot, too. It gave me an excuse to say I was leaving early."

"The phony body worked well," observed Tremont.

"Of course," responded Savette. "That bum that Biff Towley picked for a subject was a lot like Murdock right from the start. It didn't take long for me to remedy the few facial defects. Plastic surgery is a quick matter with a corpse."

Tremont responded with a laugh. Savette smiled knowingly. Both men were meditative for a few minutes; then Savette asked a question.

"What about Louis Steffan?" he inquired. "Did he find out very much?"

"Too much," replied Tremont. "It was a mistake for Orlinov to have him up there. I knew that all along. Orlinov wanted him because he could speak Russian. That was unnecessary. Orlinov talks English well enough to get along with anyone, now."

"Yes," agreed Savette. "Still, he has to have someone intelligent enough to be his secretary. He can't use one of the mob. They are all right for the other jobs, but—"

He paused suddenly and stared past Tremont toward a side window of the room. The shade was drawn, but it appeared to be moving as though set in motion by a breeze from outside.

"What's the matter?" asked Tremont looking in the direction of his companion's stare.

"That window," said Savette. "It is always shut and locked. Now it appears to be open. Wait a moment."

He arose and went to the window. He raised the shade and revealed the sash open from the top. He stared at it in a puzzled manner; then raised both portions of the sash and put his head out into the dark. Satisfied with a brief inspection, he lowered the bottom sash and latched the window. He pulled down the shade, strode across the room, and pressed a buzzer.

Hughes responded half a minute later. The servant looked inquiringly at the physician.

"Did you open that window?" asked Doctor Savette.

"No, sir," replied Hughes. "It was locked when I lowered the shade."

"It was open a few minutes ago," declared Savette, in a reproving tone. "Be more careful after this, Hughes."

The servant left the room, shaking his head. He closed the door behind him. Savette looked at Tremont in a puzzled manner.

"I can't understand that," he said. "I have been in this room all evening. No one could have opened the window from in here. Someone from the outside — with the right kind of implement or—"

Glade Tremont laughed heartily.

"You want the explanation?" he asked. "I'll give it to you. Hughes lied. He forgot to close the window. That's all."

"I'm not so sure about that," declared Savette, in a thoughtful tone.

"You aren't?" queried Tremont. "Well, I am. You know who is outside, don't you?"

"Biff Towley?"

"Yes. Jake Bosch is with him. I don't take chances when I come to see you, Gerald. They are watching this house like a pair of hawks. They landed here half an hour before I came along.

"If anyone scaled that wall and opened the window, it happened some time ago, and the fellow is gone now. He couldn't get up or down without making a lot of noise about it. Biff and Jake would spot him sure."

Doctor Savette appeared reassured. He settled back in his chair, and lighted his pipe.

"Where were we?" he questioned.

"Talking about a secretary for Orlinov," replied Tremont. "I think we can handle that. Take Towley, for instance. He is smart enough to do Orlinov's work—"

"But Towley is needed here."

"Certainly, I am merely mentioning him as an example. There must be other gangsters of his mental caliber. I'll tell him what we want. He can get one, even though he may have to go outside of his own mob."

"Good idea," commended Savette. His tone changed suddenly. Once more he was staring beyond Tremont.

"That window again!" he said in a low voice. "I thought I saw the shade move!" Up on his feet, Savette strode across the room and raised the shade. The window sash was tightly locked. Savette shrugged his shoulders, and drew down the shade. He came back to his chair.

"Imagination, that time," he said. "I might as well forget it from now on. Tell me all that happened with Steffan."

"It was quite short and quite sweet," declared Tremont, with a smile. "Orlinov and I were talking yesterday afternoon. The fellow evidently overheard us. He disappeared right after dinner.

"We called in the man at the gate, and he said that Steffan had gone out in a car, saying that Orlinov had sent him to the village — something which Orlinov had done on a few occasions.

We sent a man down to the station, and he found the car parked there.

"I figured that Steffan had just had time enough to catch the express for New York. So I called Towley, and then I called you. Towley and Bosch were waiting for him."

"Where?"

"At the Weehawken Terminal. Steffan tried to call Murdock's place, but Towley beat him to it. He dialed the number from another booth."