The girl was well-dressed and attractive. She was a pronounced brunette, of medium height. Her eyes were brown and large they opened more widely as they saw the thousand dollars that Andrew Blouchet was displaying. The Shadow saw the girl lean forward, to view the hundred-dollar bills more closely.
The clerk collected the money through the window. He wrote out a receipt and Andrew took it, grinning as he stepped away. The girl approached the window and tendered a few dollars, along with a book for recording of the interest payment.
“Account No. 1286 B,” reminded the girl in a quiet voice. “It was due two days ago—”
“That means a service charge,” interposed the clerk.
“I understand,” nodded the girl, her tone well modulated. “You will find the extra amount there with the payment.”
Andrew Blouchet had wheeled about at the moment of the girl’s reply. The words, “I understand,” had come like an echo from some amazing moment in the past.
The Shadow saw Andrew’s actions. He saw the young man stare as though the girl were a ghost.
Oblivious to Andrew’s gaze, the brunette walked from the window, tucking the account book into a purse. Andrew remained rooted until she had reached the stairs. Then, with quick stride, he followed.
Every registration upon Andrew Blouchet’s face had been an indication that his recognition of the girl was a matter of the highest importance. The Shadow, concerned in Andrew’s actions, was prompt to move toward the stairs. His task was an easy one: he knew that Andrew would not let the girl get out of sight.
Nor would the young man, thus engaged, give heed to any thoughts of other followers.
Downstairs, the trail led away from Canal Street. Close behind Andrew, The Shadow looked for Banjo Lobot, or some other of his ilk. None were in sight. The Shadow kept on his course, taking the devious turns that Andrew made, in accordance with the girl’s route.
Close behind the man whom he was trailing, The Shadow could hear the satisfied chuckles that came from Andrew’s lips.
There was a reason for Andrew Blouchet’s glee. The new owner of a hundred thousand dollars had found an opportunity to begin the solution of a mystery. He had hopes that he would soon gain an inkling to the riddle of the ebony box. A chance meeting had provided the opportunity.
For the girl whom Andrew Blouchet was tracing was the masked ballet dancer who had placed a fortune in his hands, on the night when Mardi Gras had ended!
CHAPTER VII. CROOKS PREPARE
THE girl followed a street that ran parallel to Canal. After a few blocks, she took a side street that led back toward the main thoroughfare. She did not, however, continue to Canal Street. Instead, she entered a quaint arcade that led into the heart of an old-fashioned building.
Andrew Blouchet saw the girl’s course. He paused when he reached the front of the arcade. The Shadow saw the young man smile and stroke his chin. Andrew was watching the girl as she continued.
He had guessed where she was going.
The old arcade was dilapidated and gloomy. The shops that lined its sides were dingy and unoccupied, except for a few that were located near the front. Therefore, the girl was bound for the extreme end of the arcade, where a little courtyard was bathed by daylight that trickled through a glass-paned roof.
Andrew was waiting for the girl to reach the courtyard; for there she would have but two choices. One was to the left, along a side passage that led out to another street. The other was to the right and it offered but one objective — the office of the old Luzanne Theater.
The girl turned to the right. Andrew chuckled. He waited another minute, then strolled through the arcade and reached the courtyard. Here, just to the right, was the front of the Luzanne Theater, a building within a building.
Steps led up to the big lobby doors of the theater; as Andrew had expected, the barriers were closed.
But to the right of the steps, a smaller door was open. A light was shining from the room within. That was the theater office; it was where the girl had gone.
Elation seized Andrew. His old friend, Jerry Bodwin, had taken over the management of the Luzanne. It was after five o’clock; Jerry should be in the office. Here was an opportunity to meet the girl. Andrew paced across the courtyard and entered the lighted office.
So intent was Andrew, that he never noticed a figure that had followed him through the arcade. Even had Andrew been on the alert, he probably would not have seen that gliding shape. The side walls of the arcade were gloomy; the tall trailer had taken to their depths. Like a living phantom, he had moved swiftly through the darkened passage.
At the courtyard, this shape revealed itself. It became the figure of Lamont Cranston, silent in the deserted court. With long, noiseless stride, The Shadow crossed the courtyard and reached the steps that led up into the closed theater. From this vantage point, he gained a view directly into the office.
Yet The Shadow, himself, had taken a position of obscurity. Motionless, he became scarcely noticeable upon the gloomy steps. He was away from the trickling rays of fading daylight. No passer-by would have spied him in the course of ordinary progress.
ANDREW BLOUCHET had found two persons in the office. One was Jerry Bodwin, seated behind a scarred, flat-topped desk. The other was the girl. She had removed her hat and coat, and was busy at a filing cabinet. She glanced at Andrew as he spoke to Jerry. The visitor returned her gaze. The girl, however, showed no sign of recognition. Andrew was doubly pleased.
First, he was sure that the girl did not realize that he was the man to whom she had passed the ebony box. Second, he was convinced that she had not observed him closely when he had paid the thousand dollars at the loan office. Jerry Bodwin was beginning conversation. Andrew listened to his friend.
“You’re becoming reliable, Andy,” chuckled Bodwin. “You promise me that you’ll drop in. The next day you show up, Johnny on the spot. What’s hit you, old-timer?”
“A little prosperity, I guess,” returned Andrew. “Things are breaking a bit better. Well, it looks as though you are getting ready to do business.”
“I hope so,” remarked Bodwin, seriously. “It’s a tough game, though, making a theater pay. Lots of work to do. Fortunately, I have a capable assistant.”
He turned toward the girl, who smiled. Jerry rose from his chair.
“By the way, Fanchon,” he said to the girl, “I don’t believe that you have met Andy. Allow me to introduce you. Miss Callier, this is Mr. Blouchet.”
Andrew had risen; he returned the girl’s smile with a profound bow. Fanchon again busied herself at the filing cabinet. Andrew resumed conversation with Jerry.
“So you don’t open the office until five o’clock?” inquired Andrew, casually. “How late do you work, Jerry?”
“Until ten or eleven,” replied Bodwin. “A long day for me, because I am busy until five. Fanchon, however, has no other job. She handles many of the details.”
“Do you go anywhere after eleven?” asked Andrew.
“Not if I can help it,” responded Jerry. “Unless the next day happens to be an off one. Tomorrow, for instance, will be a busy time. But the day after — well, it will be practically nothing.”
“Good,” decided Andrew. “That will leave you free tomorrow night, won’t it?”
“Yes,” nodded Jerry. “Why?”
“I’m staging a party at my apartment,” explained Andrew. “A lot of friends invited. Henry Boutonne and his wife; Fred Wendley and his fiancee, Marie Sharman. Quite a few others whom you know. Could you join us?”
“Certainly,” agreed Jerry. “It is time the old crowd held a get-together.”