“When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Who is he?”
“I shall tell you then. There is, however, one proviso. You must work with me to create the impression that I wish to give the financier with whom we shall deal. There must be no false step between now and tomorrow night.”
“I understand.”
“You must understand in full,” asserted Veldon. “You must follow my instructions to the letter. First, I want you to prepare a complete outline of your past activities.”
“I can do that tonight.”
“Exactly. At the same time, I want you to avoid all communication with newspaper reporters.”
“That will be easy.”
“I can count upon you for such actions?” questioned Veldon, in a serious tone.
“Absolutely,” Clussig assured. “I shall go directly to my apartment when I leave here. There, in my little study, I shall prepare a complete and accurate account of all my previous experience.”
“And if reporters call?”
“I shall be out. I promise you that, Veldon. It is easily arranged at my apartment house. I shall leave word downstairs that I am out.”
“Very good,” approved Veldon. “I am relying upon you, Clussig, for everything is now at stake. I intend to visit our financier this evening, and to arrange tomorrow night’s interview. But I warn you, he is a keen man; if he should gain any notion that you were talkative, he would shy away from the investment. Secrecy, Clussig! It is essential!”
Clussig nodded wisely as he peered through his thick lenses. He was finishing his meal, and he arose to leave, apparently impressed by Veldon’s plea for careful action and restraint. Veldon stopped Clussig’s departure with a wave of his hand.
Glancing idly at his watch, the promoter began to speak in an easy, genial tone. He talked with the air of a suave salesman. His purring words brought a glimmer of enthusiasm to Clussig’s dull eyes.
VELDON was painting a picture of wealth and fame — a brilliant rainbow which lay just beyond the horizon. To Clussig, the portrayal was fascinating. During his months of dealing with Veldon, Clussig had constantly been swayed by promises, backed with small advances of cash. Never before, however, had Veldon been so convincing.
Once again, the promoter glanced at his watch. The timepiece registered a few minutes before nine.
Pocketing the watch, Veldon arose and extended his hand to Clussig.
“Tomorrow night,” he remarked, “I shall meet you here at seven o’clock. You will have the complete outline of your past creations ready for me?”
“Certainly,” returned the inventor. “I shall go directly to my apartment and work upon it there.”
“As for money,” purred Veldon, “if you need some now” — the inventor paused as he drew forth a roll of bills, then replaced the cash in his pocket — “ah, well, why should we worry about that until tomorrow? The deal will be settled then. Wealth will be yours — with whatever advance you may require. Let us postpone negotiations until that time.”
“Gladly,” exclaimed Clussig.
The two men walked from the grill room. Clussig, shoulders stooped, but head erect, displayed an eagerness which was uncurbed. Veldon, speaking softly, still talked suavely of the immediate future.
At the portals of the hotel Garonne, the two men parted. Clussig, after another handshake, scuffled along the avenue, his footsteps turned toward the side street, which led to his apartment house, nearly a mile away. Veldon, alone, watched the departing inventor.
It was then that the evil smile again displayed itself upon the promoter’s lips. A sneering chuckle came from Eric Veldon’s lips. Turning, the sallow-faced man went back into the hotel, and entered an obscure telephone booth.
Veldon’s watch was dangling from his fingers. The hands upon the dial now denoted the hour of nine. A low chuckle ended as Veldon raised the telephone receiver; but the promoter’s smile still remained.
Despite the expressions of friendliness which he had given, Eric Veldon, now unobserved, showed plainly that enmity was the dominating factor in his mind. The malice which was evident in his expression foreboded no good for Merle Clussig.
Indeed, Eric Veldon had all the semblance of an evil plotter, who possessed complete confidence in his ability to complete the vile scheme which dominated his brain.
CHAPTER II. A TRAVELER RETURNS
NINE o’clock — the same evening, but the scene was a mansion in New Jersey.
The chimes of an antique clock were ringing forth the hour from the mantelpiece above the fireplace, in a sumptuous living room. As the clear tones ceased, the doorbell rang. A uniformed servant leaped to his feet and hurried to answer it.
Opening the front door, the servant stepped back to admit an expected visitor. Into the light stepped a tall man, whose face was momentarily obscured until he had removed his hat and handed it to the waiting servant.
“Good evening, Mr. Cranston,” said the uniformed man, making a bow.
“Good evening, Richards,” replied the arrival. “Has everything gone well during my absence?”
“Yes, sir,” said the servant. “It will be much better, though, now that you have returned, sir.”
“I am glad to hear you express that thought, Richards. Here is Stanley. Help him with the luggage.”
The servant stepped forward to assist a uniformed chauffeur who was entering with a pair of heavy bags.
As each man started upstairs, Cranston strolled across the hallway, entered the living room, and seated himself in a comfortable chair. He smiled as he heard the distant tones that were passing between Richards and Stanley. He knew that they were talking about this homecoming.
Whenever Lamont Cranston returned to his New Jersey mansion, his arrival constituted an important event in the affairs of the large household. Lamont Cranston, multi-millionaire and globetrotter, always maintained his pretentious establishment even during his absence.
His departures and returns were invariably unexpected. Tonight had been no exception. A telegram received by Richards, the valet, had caused Stanley, the chauffeur, to set out for the Newark airport with just time enough to meet the millionaire traveler with the limousine.
LAMONT CRANSTON, in appearance, was quite as remarkable a character as his habits would indicate. He was tall and well proportioned. His hands, though slender and supple, possessed a latent strength in their long, well-formed fingers.
The most remarkable phase of the millionaire’s appearance, however, was the distinctive countenance which Lamont Cranston possessed. His face was immobile; its features, as though molded by a sculptor’s skill, held a firm, unchanging expression that rendered them almost masklike.
The dominating characteristic was an aquiline nose below a strong, high forehead. From the sides of this hawklike beak peered eyes that were stern and unflinching. Lamont Cranston’s countenance was more than impassive; it was inflexible.
While Cranston sat motionless, enjoying the environment of his luxurious living room, Richards appeared from upstairs, bringing a large envelope. The valet approached the millionaire and placed the letter in Cranston’s waiting hand. The valet bowed and retired.
While the clock on the mantel ticked away its minutes, Lamont Cranston opened the envelope. From it, he drew forth folded sheets of paper. These bore blue-inked notes in what appeared to be a code.
Cranston read them rapidly; when he had finished each note, the writing disappeared from the paper word by word.
With the notes was a newspaper clipping. This was the same item that Eric Veldon had discussed with Merle Clussig in the Hotel Garonne. It referred to the inventor’s interview concerning the dawning era of electrical wizardry.