The Shadow was playing the part that had become himself. Cloaked in blackness, shrouded in mystery, he was ready for the adventure which lay ahead. He had assumed his own identity.
He was The Shadow!
CHAPTER III. DEATH UNOBSERVED
IT was seventeen minutes past nine when Merle Clussig entered the lobby of his apartment building. The inventor had walked swiftly for a while after leaving Eric Veldon, then the pace had tired him, and he had continued at a slower gait.
This apartment house — the Starleigh — was an antiquated place, which had fallen into second-class ways.
The lobby was fitted with chairs which were cheap and uncomfortable; only one of the two elevators was in operation. All the guests who resided beneath the fourth floor preferred the stairway to the elevator.
There was a little booth in the corner, where an operator took incoming calls. The service was none too good, for the girl at the switchboard also performed secretarial duties in the apartment office, which adjoined the lobby. However, when Clussig entered, the young lady was at the switchboard.
The girl observed Clussig’s approach. Before the inventor had a chance to speak, she referred to a scrawled list of pencil marks, and offered information.
“There was a call for you, Mr. Clussig,” she said. “I rang your apartment, but there was no answer.”
“How long ago was the call?” inquired Clussig anxiously.
“It came in at seven o’clock,” replied the girl.
“Who was it?” asked the inventor.
“It was a man calling,” returned the operator, “but he left no name or message. He asked me to ring your apartment, which I did. He said he might call later.”
“Was it a newspaper reporter?” Clussig’s tone was apprehensive.
“I don’t think so,” said the girl, with a smile. “Were you expecting one?”
“One!” exclaimed Clussig. “More than one. Several, perhaps. It is very important that no reporters should see me tonight. Do you understand? None at all.”
“I’m sure that this man could not have been a newspaper reporter. Suppose he calls again. Will you be in your apartment?”
“I shall be there. But tell all reporters that I am out. If that man calls, find out who he is, and notify me. I can tell you whether or not I want to see him.”
“Mr. Clussig is out,” said the operator emphatically, as she marked the words on a slip of paper.
“So far as newspaper reporters are concerned,” added Clussig.
The inventor started up the stairs. The girl watched him. A perplexed look appeared upon her face.
In all his term of residence at the Starleigh, Merle Clussig had scarcely spoken more than a dozen words to the operator. The girl had not read the newspaper interview which Clussig had given. Hence she was at a loss to know why the man had suddenly turned to statements regarding newspaper reporters.
MERLE CLUSSIG, as he climbed the stairs, was apprehensive. The inventor had gained a peculiar state of mind. Eric Veldon’s insistence upon the maintenance of silence seemed well advised, yet there had been something in the promoter’s manner that now caused Clussig worriment.
In reviewing his engagement with Veldon, Clussig saw where he had committed certain errors. First, he should have insisted upon learning the identity of the financier with whom Veldon had opened negotiations. Second, he should have insisted upon money from Veldon when the promoter had been on the point of offering it.
Suppose something should go amiss tomorrow night! Veldon might then declare all negotiations ended.
That would mean no more money, and Clussig was dependent upon the funds which he had been receiving from Veldon.
This thought was alarming. Clussig was grumbling to himself as he reached the third floor, and paused to puff after the steep and tiring climb. Clussig turned toward the short corridor at the left. It terminated in a turn; at right angles was the long passage which led to the inventor’s apartment.
Merle Clussig gaped. He stared perplexedly through his thick-glassed spectacles.
Coming directly toward him was one of the oddest men whom he had ever seen. This individual was short and stocky; his clothes were plain, He had the heavy hands of a brute; his face was coarse, and the most conspicuous feature was a heavy, protruding jaw that bore pocklike scars.
Yet the man’s expression was more startling than his physiognomy. His eyes were dull; they were staring straight ahead. The color of his face was an unnatural white. The waxen countenance gave the man the appearance of a living corpse.
Moreover, this stranger’s stride was mechanical. His body, though erect, was leaning forward. To Clussig, the man seemed a human gorilla, with powerful hands ready to grip the throat of any who might block his path.
For a moment, the inventor was paralyzed; then, responding to an instinctive desire for flight, he turned and sidled along the corridor at the right. Glancing over his shoulder as he neared the angle in the passage, Clussig saw the apelike man enter the doorway that led to the staircase. He waited until he was sure that the intruder had descended. Then, with furtive footsteps, Clussig hurried to his own apartment.
Once he had reached his little living room, Clussig shuddered. He felt safe behind the locked door; nevertheless, the recollection of that corpselike fellow in the hall was something that troubled him.
Clussig was positive that he had never seen the man previously. Perhaps he was a new tenant who had only recently taken an apartment on this floor. The thought brought a new shudder. Clussig did not relish this proximity to such a murderous-looking brute.
The inventor went into a small room that adjoined the outer portion of his apartment. He turned on the light, and breathed a sigh of relief.
It seemed good to be back here — back in this little chamber where he could forget the outside world, and devote himself to a sincere review of his long experience in the development of electrical appliances.
THE room was by no means orderly. Its furniture consisted of a large desk, three broken-down bookcases, and a few chairs. Papers were scattered over the floor. A wastebasket was overturned beneath the desk.
Yet Clussig liked this disarray. He closed the door and bolted it. He raised the shade of the single window, stared out into the blackness of the courtyard, and smiled.
The window was barred. This was customary with all the court rooms of the Starleigh, where trouble had been experienced with tenants throwing objects into the court. The bars crisscrossed to form a sort of grating.
Clussig lowered the shade. He liked the bolted door and the barred window. They gave him the feeling of a recluse. He was ready, now, to work.
The inventor went to a small closet found a stack of notebooks, and brought them to the desk. He picked up a sheet of paper, and thrust it into the roller of an antiquated portable typewriter. He began to tick the keys intermittently, referring to a notebook as he proceeded.
MINUTES went by. Merle Clussig did not sense the passage of time. He was wrapped in the details of his present work, yet at moments he paused to consider a medley of thoughts that persisted in his brain.
Eric Veldon, suave and convincing — somehow, Clussig doubted the man’s sincerity. He felt that he would like to talk to Veldon here; yet that would be impossible, for the promoter had no headquarters where he could be reached.
Merle Clussig recalled how he had met Eric Veldon. The promoter had found him working on electrical inventions. Clussig had been trying to obtain funds to keep on with his little workshop. X-rays of great intensity, heat tubes of remarkable power; these had been the dangerous devices with which Clussig had dealt. Because of the danger involved, Clussig had developed his screening devices.