The details were straightening in Harry’s mind; but they still formed a maze of circumstances. More bits had been added to the puzzle; and it was Harry’s duty to supply them. Only The Shadow could fit them where they belonged.
CHAPTER XIII. THE FINAL MOVES
HARRY VINCENT, in planning an emergency call, had known that he could reach The Shadow at Lester Hayd’s. The Shadow had gone to the loan president’s home; he had informed Harry that he would remain there throughout the evening.
Time had passed lazily for The Shadow. He and Hayd were together in the latter’s library. In the leisurely fashion of Lamont Cranston, The Shadow had just completed the long task of examining Hayd’s collection of old New Orleans literature.
Surrounded by shelves of massive books, The Shadow gazed approvingly as he lighted a cigar that Hayd had proffered him. Pamphlets and loose documents did not represent Hayd’s only collection. Hayd was a book fancier as well; and the many first editions in his library were proof that he had spent a small fortune on his hobby. Hayd had gone in for luxury along with his collecting of rarities. His home was a huge mansion that had been modernized some years before. He owned several automobiles and kept a personnel of well-trained servants, including chauffeurs, butlers and footmen. The Shadow had seen several of these servitors during dinner and the hours following.
“What else do you collect?” asked The Shadow.
“An interesting question,” laughed Hayd, in rumbly tone. “What made you think that I have other interests?”
“The completeness of your arrangements,” explained The Shadow. “For a collector, you are methodical; yet not deeply familiar with your hobbies. That points to a variety of interests.”
“I collect odd weapons,” stated Hayd. “Come with me, Cranston, and I shall show you the room. It is at the back of the house, in what was once the old kitchen. You will find everything from Indian arrowheads to blunderbusses.”
They went from the library, through the hall, to a door which Hayd unlocked. When the light was turned on, The Shadow saw a most extensive array of curious instruments. About the walls were swords and cutlasses; Zulu spears and European lances. One corner was filled with antique pistols; another had racks of muskets, fusils and rifles.
Glass display cases contained the smaller items — the arrowheads of which Hayd had spoken; also knives of various sorts — poniards, bolos, machetes. The Shadow walked along and observed a Malay creese among the swords. Then he examined a magnificent scimitar that had once belonged to some sultan’s guard.
“A regular arsenal,” remarked The Shadow.
“Yes,” affirmed Hayd, “and with modern weapons as well. Cranston, these trophies are something of a protection. They would serve well, in case burglars entered.”
“How so?”
“All my servants have keys to the room. Keys that will unlock any one of the three doors. They are trained for emergency. I should like to see rogues enter here, as they did at Blouchet’s last night. My men would make short work of them.”
“Blouchet?” The Shadow spoke the name as though recalling it. “Wasn’t he the young fellow who came into your office the other day? The one who had been gambling?”
“That was Blouchet,” assured Hayd. “Humph! I wonder what he has been up to. I can not understand how he raised a thousand dollars so easily. I wonder if he has been mixing into doubtful activities.”
“According to the newspapers, he had no money in the place.”
“So I understand. Yet he must have had some money, or those scoundrels would not have attacked him. We know, of course, that he did have one thousand dollars. Blouchet must have spent some considerable sums, previously.”
“He has wealthy friends?”
“A few, I believe. Let me see; what was the name of that chap who endorsed his note. I have it — Randon. Carl Randon. That chap has a fair-sized fortune, I understand. I had never heard of him until he was mentioned by Blouchet. But our investigators checked on Randon’s financial status.”
“Do you investigate all loans?”
“We have to do so. Cranston, my life is a most tiring one. I stay home every night, just because of calls that keep coming from the office. Reports on the credit of so and so. Questions to be answered about endorsements. Sometimes” — Hayd shook his head and smiled — “sometimes I wish that anything would break loose. Just so that the humdrum of life would end. Every time the telephone bell rings it means some question has perplexed the office. Three times this evening, I had to answer such calls.
“Every time a visitor arrives — that is, an uninvited visitor — it concerns the matter of a loan. Some persons are referred to me personally, you understand. Those who can offer better than ordinary credit.”
“Do you grant them loans yourself?” inquired The Shadow.
“Frequently,” replied Hayd. “That is why I have to be on guard. It is a fairly well-known fact that I keep money here in the house. I used to live in constant fear of raids by crooks. Right now, I think that I would welcome one.”
“Because you are prepared for it?”
“Yes. So well prepared that the first attempt would be the last. If those rogues had only come here instead of to Blouchet’s, I would have corralled the lot of them.”
“Blouchet didn’t do so badly.”
“That is true. Yes. I must admire the young man for a fighter, even though he is a gambler as well. You see, Cranston” — Hayd pointed across the room — “this arsenal, as you term it, can be reached from three portions of my house. From the hallway, on the front; from the wing, on the right; from my study, on the left. In case of any alarm, my servants would respond. They know which of these guns are loaded. They know how to handle firearms.”
A telephone bell dingled while Hayd was speaking. The big man uttered an annoyed grunt; then opened the front door of the room. He called to a servant who was approaching the telephone in the hall.
“Never mind, Craylon,” rumbled Hayd. “It is probably a call for me. I shall answer it in the study.”
UNLOCKING a side door of the room, Hayd stepped into a square-shaped apartment which looked like an office. A desk was in the center of the room. A huge safe occupied the far wall. The windows of the room were barred. Hayd picked up a telephone from the desk, answered the call; then handed the instrument to The Shadow, who had followed him into the study.
“For you, Cranston,” he stated. “Your hotel is calling.”
The Shadow took the telephone. He heard Harry Vincent’s voice. He spoke in leisurely fashion.
“A telegram from New York?” he questioned. “Open it, please… Yes… Read it to me… Certainly, you have my permission to open it… Yes… Yes… Proceed… So they want an answer… Very well, I shall attend to it when I reach the hotel… Yes. Hold the telegram until I arrive…” In his faked conversation, The Shadow was receiving the report from Harry. The agent had put a final question: Should he be ready at Andrew Blouchet’s? The Shadow’s statement to hold the telegram meant that Harry could expect a return call.
Hanging up the receiver, The Shadow sat down in a chair. A worried look appeared upon his disguised countenance.
“Bad news?” inquired Hayd.
“Not exactly,” replied The Shadow. “Just word that a friend of mine is coming into town. A chap named Silford. He’s coming by plane from Florida. He wired New York to learn where he could reach me here. They told him; then wired me.”
“You don’t want to see him?”
“No. He wants to borrow money. I cannot lend it to him.”