At the same time, Rupert Sayre was determined to continue his experiments with Alpha. He believed that he could gradually turn the minion’s dawning intelligence into complete obedience.
Back in his room, Cliff Marsland, too, was elated. The short conference with Doctor Sayre had given him proof that he had, at least, two more days to live. Within that space of time, The Shadow would be here!
Cliff Marsland had never lost firm confidence in The Shadow!
CHAPTER XIX. THE TRAIL BEGINS
CLIFF MARSLAND had tremendous confidence in The Shadow; that confidence was based upon the amazing feats which The Shadow had accomplished in the past. Had Cliff, however, analyzed the difficulties of his own situation, he would have held grave apprehensions regarding the fate that awaited him.
The crux of The Shadow’s effort had come with that single-handed fight which he had waged with Duke Scurley’s mob. The Shadow had wiped out the gangsters, but he had been forced to lose the great opportunity of trailing Eric Veldon’s minions to their lair.
Thus handicapped, The Shadow was playing the one trump card that remained — a close watch over the affairs of Holbrook Edkins. The millionaire had assured Lamont Cranston that word would come from Eric Veldon and that he would arrange an appointment without telling the promoter that a stranger would be present. The Shadow was staking much upon that meeting.
In the meantime, there was the chance that Veldon, calling in person on Edkins, could be trailed. Hence, when evening again came to Manhattan, a pair of keen, observant eyes were keeping close watch upon the front of the house where Holbrook Edkins lived. The Shadow, himself, was on watch.
With darkness forming a gloomy shroud, a stealthy figure moved toward the house. The Shadow reached the blackness of a side area. His tall form poised beside the wall. Reaching upward through the darkness, The Shadow gained a high bay window.
The lock yielded under silent pressure. The sash lifted. Unseen, unheard, The Shadow entered the gilded living room.
Here, The Shadow had a vantage point. The room was unlighted. Edkins was evidently upstairs. If a visitor arrived, if Edkins decided to go out, The Shadow would quickly learn the fact. As yet, there had been no indication of communication between Veldon and Edkins.
It was not The Shadow’s usual role to play a waiting part, particularly when circumstances had placed one of his agents in a precarious situation. Yet it was chance, alone, that had tricked The Shadow; and tonight, The Shadow was playing for the turn. His keen analysis of Eric Veldon’s methods had given him positive assurance that a move could be expected from the enemy.
Merle Clussig — Wycroft Dustin — Joseph Barratini — those three had held a definite association with Eric Veldon, whose name The Shadow had so recently learned. Two of those men had died; the third had disappeared. That was proof that Veldon had kept close contact with them.
It was inconceivable that Veldon would omit the precaution of keeping in touch with Holbrook Edkins, the millionaire with whom he had conducted important negotiations.
A CLOCK struck eight. Scarcely had its chimes ceased before a ringing sound came from the hall. It was the telephone. The Shadow listened. A servant answered; then went upstairs. The heavy footsteps of Holbrook Edkins sounded.
The Shadow moved through the darkness of the living room. His keen eyes peered between a hanging curtain and a doorframe. The hidden being heard each word that Holbrook Edkins uttered.
“Hello,” began the millionaire. “Ah! Veldon! I am glad to hear from you… Yes, I expected a call last night — certainly tonight… You should come to see me, yes. It is not usual for you to telephone…
“I must see you, Veldon… Tonight, positively… It concerns the financial arrangements… No, no. Do not misunderstand me. I am not impatient. I have larger ideas… New capital… Others interested…
“You disapprove?” Edkins voiced doubt. “You may have your reasons, Veldon, but do not forget that my money is concerned… No, I have made no agreement with any other person… Certainly, Veldon, I shall keep your confidence… Well, yes — I have been looking for someone else to put up additional capital—”
The Shadow’s eyes were glistening. Was Edkins about to name Lamont Cranston? It did not matter, so long as Veldon’s interest was aroused; yet the less that Edkins said from now on, the better.
“I have done nothing final,” Edkins was saying. “Nevertheless, I see complications — other inventions that may nullify the ones that you are developing… Surely, Veldon. That is fair enough… Yes, I shall remain at home this evening… Alone… Until you arrive. About ten o’clock? Earlier perhaps? Very good. Very good.”
The call was concluded. Holbrook Edkins went upstairs. The hallway was empty. Apparently, the millionaire would abide by his agreement and call no one until after Eric Veldon had arrived.
It was The Shadow’s turn for action now.
Coming from the curtain, The Shadow loomed in spectral shape as he approached the telephone and raised the receiver. His quiet tones were confined to the mouthpiece as he gave the number that he wanted. Burbank responded from the other end.
A short call followed, The Shadow’s words being no more than hollow whispers in the deserted hall.
Then the tall figure moved away and merged with the darkness beyond the curtain.
Several minutes elapsed. The telephone bell rang again. The servant answered and went upstairs to summon Edkins. The Shadow watched as the millionaire spoke into the telephone.
“What’s that?” questioned Edkins. “Mr. Cranston, you say?… Is he there?… Oh, I understand now… Coming here… Later in the evening… There must be some mistake. I did not call him at the Cobalt Club… Is there anywhere that I might reach him now? No? Very well.”
Edkins half turned as he laid the telephone aside. The Shadow’s eyes were watching him. The puzzled expression which played upon the big man’s bluff features were as plain as print on an opened page.
HOLBROOK EDKINS was pondering upon the mistake which was to bring Lamont Cranston here tonight. Evidently someone had called Cranston at the Cobalt Club; Cranston had supposed it to be Edkins inviting him to this house and had told a secretary to call up Edkins and verify the appointment he had made.
This meant complications, but they were clearing as Edkins considered them. Lamont Cranston was anxious to meet Eric Veldon. Holbrook Edkins had suggested such a meeting. It was to be arranged informally.
Circumstances now made the meeting possible. If Cranston should arrive before Veldon, Edkins could introduce Veldon to the multi-millionaire. If Veldon came first, Cranston could be introduced to the promoter.
A smile appeared upon the bluff face. Holbrook Edkins seemed pleased. He had not intended to call Cranston until after he had talked over the matter with Veldon, but with matters attending to themselves it would be quite an idea to have the two meet apparently by accident.
It was after eight o’clock. Eric Veldon might arrive any time before ten. Holbrook Edkins decided to remain downstairs. This thought struck him when he was on the fourth step. He turned toward the living room.
The Shadow, meanwhile, was gliding into darkness. His eyes, peering toward the hall, saw Edkins approach. With a soft swish of his black cloak, The Shadow swung over the window sill. His deft hand lowered the sash with a single noiseless motion.
When Edkins pressed the switch to illuminate the living room, the eyes were no longer at the window.
The Shadow had gone into the outer darkness.
Fifteen minutes passed. An invisible sentinel kept watch outside of the Edkins residence. The Shadow was deliberately delaying the visit of Lamont Cranston until Eric Veldon should arrive.