“Maybe I ought to talk to the Chief first,” he said, “but he won’t be around until after six o’clock. It isn’t five yet. Well, here goes.”
He picked up the telephone and called the number. Briggs listened intently while the conversation followed.
“Mr. Westcott?” said Bob. “This is Robert Galvin. Yes… Nephew of Theodore Galvin… Yes, I knew you were a friend of his… Tonight? Yes… At the Cobalt Club, for dinner? Very well, I’ll be glad to join you there, sir…”
His comments ended as he listened intently. The man at the other end was speaking at considerable length. Briggs wondered what it was about.
“Well,” cut in Bob, “I’ve met very few of my uncle’s friends… Wait… How about Hiram Mallory? That’s fine… Yes, I believe I can arrange for him to join us… Seven o’clock then, at the Cobalt Club.”
Bob hung up the receiver and grinned as he faced Briggs.
“Thaddeus Westcott,” he said. “One of the three. We were figuring on him for last. Now, he’ll come second. Tonight.
“He may be just the one, Briggs. He says that he has important information for me — but that he must be sure of my identity. So I told him that I would be there with Hiram Mallory.”
The gigantic Briggs cleared his throat and looked apprehensive.
“You should have waited to hear from the Chief—”
“Not a bit of it. This is a break in the right direction. We’d figured on laying low for a few days more — it’s only three nights since Clink bumped off Harkness.
“But this lets us move without any risk, and maybe we’ll find out just what we want to know!”
Bob picked up the telephone and called a number. He asked for Hiram Mallory. He was informed that the latter would not be in until after six o’clock.
“Tell him that Mr. Galvin called,” said Bob. “Robert Galvin. I would like him to meet me at the Cobalt Club at seven o’clock. We are to dine with Mr. Westcott — Thaddeus Westcott.”
“That fixes it,” declared Bob. “I’m going upstairs to dress for dinner. You stick around here in the evening, Briggs. Keep your eye out. We don’t know what may crop up.”
“You mean The Shadow?”
“Yes!”
“I don’t figure him in on this, Bob.”
“Listen, Briggs.” Bob’s voice was serious. “We’ve got to play the game without taking any chances! I agree with you — there’s been no sign of The Shadow, so far as we’re concerned. At the same time, he’s a guy that doesn’t leave any traces. Never forget that!”
Briggs nodded.
“First,” declared Bob, “the girl saw somebody in here. That put me on the lookout. Then the Chief wised me up to something else.
“The Shadow or somebody a lot like him — had a run-in with Zull the night after the Harkness murder. Zull kept pretty mum about it, but the news got to the Chief.
“It means that The Shadow was looking in on that affair.”
“I thought he was looking in here,” admitted Briggs, “two nights ago, when Clink did that nose dive down the cellar stairs.”
“So did I,” agreed Bob. “I figured Clink imagined he saw something down there. But when I looked the place over, it was okay. No sign of anybody having been there.
“At the same time, it’s hard to figure how Clink slipped the way he did. He must have been pretty sure something was happening to miss his step and take a fall like that one.
“That’s why I say — look out!”
“What if The Shadow does prowl around here?” Briggs insisted. “He can’t find out what we found out. Only two people got the dope on this place — Clink and I. Clink’s out now, and so is the guy that talked to us. I’m not blabbing to any one!”
“We’re safe enough,” agreed Bob. “At the same time, don’t forget that four people have found this place unhealthy” — his voice became an undertone — “and only one of them is still alive!”
“It would be better if he was rubbed out, too!”
“No. The Chief may have use for him later on. By the way, Briggs, did any mail come in?”
The big man nodded. He opened a desk drawer and produced a letter which bore a South African stamp. Bob tore it open and read the contents. He put the letter back in the envelope and thrust it in his pocket.
“The Chief will want this,” he said, shortly.
He left the room, Briggs remained alone, reading the newspaper.
It was half an hour later when Bob reappeared. He was attired in a dinner jacket. Over his arm was an overcoat, and he carried a hat and cane.
“Remember, Briggs,” he said. “Keep on the lookout!”
WITH that final admonition, Bob was gone. He stepped from the front door, alone, and stood looking shrewdly up and down the street. No taxis were in sight, so he strolled leisurely along to the nearest avenue, swinging his cane as he walked.
He reached a cab stand. There, he glanced behind him. Satisfied, he entered a taxi and ordered the driver to take him to the Cobalt Club.
But with all his alertness, Bob did not observe the shadowy form that had flitted along the street behind him. He had not seen it in the obscurity of the side street; it had been invisible to his eyes even in the brighter light of the avenue.
Nor did he pause when he reached the door of the Cobalt Club. He entered that imposing edifice with an air of self-assurance.
His confidence might have disappeared had he noticed another cab rolling by as he alighted from his own.
It was several minutes after Bob had entered the club before another man walked through the portals. Like Bob, this visitor was faultlessly attired. His face was solemn and impassive. The doorman bowed.
“Good evening, Mr. Clarendon,” he said.
CHAPTER XII
THREE men were finishing dinner in a quiet corner of the grillroom at the Cobalt Club. Except for them, the room was virtually deserted.
They formed an unusual trio. Until now, their conversation had been rather trivial. But when the solemn-faced waiter had cleared the table, it was evident that the three men were prepared to take up a discussion of matters of grave importance.
The man who sat in the corner was white-haired and stoop-shouldered. He was very slow and cautious in his actions.
The others had finished their meal before him and he had ignored his dessert. Now, his companions were waiting for him to speak.
With slightly trembling fingers, the elderly man drew a pair of spectacles from their case and carefully adjusted them upon his nose. He cleared his throat and began to speak in a quavering voice.
“I have a very important matter to discuss with you,” he said. “It is important because I do not know just what it signifies. That is why I felt it necessary to ascertain that you were actually Robert Galvin.”
He looked at a younger man beside him as he spoke. The latter pointed across the table to the third member of the party.
“Mr. Mallory can answer for me,” he said.
Hiram Mallory bowed in quiet dignity and smiled in a kindly manner.
“This is Robert Galvin,” he said. “I called to see him the first day that he arrived. I have seen him several times since then. He is living at his uncle’s home. I can vouch for him, Thaddeus—”
“Ah, yes,” returned Thaddeus Westcott. “I called there this afternoon and received a call in return. Nevertheless, I felt that I must be absolutely sure of myself.
“I am sorry, Mr. Galvin, that I was not in town when you arrived. Had I been here, I would have been one of the first to welcome you.
“It seemed very strange to call up your uncle’s home and to hear a new voice there. The telephone was always answered by that servant your uncle had for so many years. Now what is his name?” Westcott concluded.