The Shadow was on his way to Hartford, the city where he had decided that danger lay!
CHAPTER VI
THE FALSE EMISSARY
THE City of Hartford is noted for its exclusive suburbs. Large, spacious mansions, surrounded by ample lawns and secluded by ancient shade trees, are by no means uncommon within the limits of the Connecticut capital.
Such a house was the residence of Winston Collister, a man well known in insurance circles both for his integrity and his wealth. Collister’s home was a fine old structure, set far back from the avenue; and its large colonial pillars made it easily recognizable.
The interior of the Collister mansion was magnificent. The rooms were spacious and handsomely furnished. Prompt and efficient servants were on duty. When the Collisters entertained, they did so lavishly; but, as a rule, Winston Collister preferred quiet evenings, and avoided ostentation.
Tonight, with midnight close at hand, Winston Collister was seated alone in his library. A tall man of athletic build, the youthfulness of his face belied the age that his gray hair indicated.
Midnight was an unusually late hour for the insurance man. He usually retired before eleven o’clock, except when social affairs were in progress.
Several members of the family had already retired; both of Collister’s sons, however, were still downtown. Two of the servants — Ducroe, the butler, and Ogden, the footman — were still on duty. It was Ogden who appeared at the door of the library to inform Winston Collister that a gentleman had called to see him.
“Ah, yes, Ogden,” said Collister quietly. “Did the gentleman say that he has an appointment with me tonight?”
“He sent in his card, sir.”
The millionaire insurance man received the slip of pasteboard. It bore the name:
HUGO VON TOLLSBURG
“I shall see the visitor, Ogden,” declared Collister. “Show him into my study. I shall join him there.”
The study was some distance from the library; it was a small room located in the wing of the mansion.
Winston Collister stood up after Ogden had gone, and thoughtfully paced back and forth, while he allowed his visitor time to reach the room where the interview was to take place. Then, dignified and erect, the gray-haired man went to meet his guest.
STEPPING into the study, Collister faced a man of medium height, whose firm-set face gave him an appearance of importance. The man did not represent the typical German; but his trim, pointed mustache gave him a foreign air. Collister made a detailed study of the man before him.
He was particularly impressed by the visitor’s eyes. Dark, steady in gaze, those optics centered themselves upon the millionaire. They were the eyes of a shrewd man; at the same time they possessed an impressive firmness.
“You are Mr. von Tollsburg?” questioned Collister.
“Baron Hugo von Tollsburg,” responded the visitor, with a stiff bow. “At your service, Herr Collister.”
There was a guttural accent to the speaker’s voice, and it offset the slight doubt that Collister had entertained as to the man’s actual nationality.
Winston Collister extended his hand. The visitor accepted it, and, after the shake, took the chair that the millionaire indicated.
Collister offered cigars. The guest produced a cigarette instead. The millionaire lighted his own perfecto, and sat down. In an indifferent tone, he made a passing remark.
“It is an excellent evening,” said Collister.
“An evening which one might long expect,” returned the man who called himself Von Tollsburg.
“With the world in turmoil—” Collister cut off his remark and looked directly at his visitor. The suave-faced man responded with the rest of the sentence: “—it is our duty to right it.”
Winston Collister settled back in his chair as he heard the completion of the sentence. There was no need for further formality. With frankness, Collister spoke to his guest.
“I am glad that you have come,” he said. “I have been rather anxious during the last few days. Tell me: have you seen Monsieur Ponjeau lately?”
“Just before my departure from Europe,” was the response. “As his special emissary, it was necessary for me to confer with him.”
“Of course. You saw him at Lausanne?”
“Yes.”
“A wonderful man, Ponjeau,” spoke Collister, in a low, reflective tone. “When he visited me here, Von Tollsburg, I recognized his sincerity the moment that he began to speak. I am pleased to cooperate in the great work that he has begun. He is a natural leader in international affairs.”
“Monsieur Ponjeau is a Frenchman,” replied the visitor. “I am a German. Less than fifteen years ago, we were enemies. Now we are friends. We are citizens of the world, Monsieur Ponjeau and I. You are the same, Herr Collister.”
The seriousness of the man’s tone brought a nod from the millionaire. Winston Collister arose and faced his visitor with dignity.
“It had been my hope,” he declared, “to give my contribution to Monsieur Ponjeau in person. I have long since realized that such would be unwise. I am, therefore, willing to place full trust in an emissary of his choosing. Of course, baron, you have the proper credentials—”
The visitor smiled and bowed. He drew a folded paper from his pocket, and extended it to Collister. The Hartford millionaire examined the document with care. He particularly noted the ornate signature of Aristide Ponjeau, which appeared at the bottom of the sheet. He returned the paper to his visitor and received another document. This, like the first, also bore the signature of Ponjeau. With it was the written name of Hugo von Tollsburg, the signature scored with needle-pointed impressions, so that it could not possibly be altered.
Collister laid this document upon the table. With no further delay, he went to the wall and slid back a panel which concealed a small, strong safe. Opening the metal door, Winston Collister brought forth a packet.
“Here is the money,” he said. “My willing contribution to Aristide Ponjeau’s great plan — the World Court of Industry. It is my hope, Von Tollsburg, that the success for which we hope will soon be obtained.”
“It is my hope also,” responded the visitor.
“I fully appreciate,” continued Collister, “that success depends upon proper establishment. Adequately equipped with funds, the World Court can gain recognition from the day of its announcement. Here, baron, is my share — the sum of two million dollars.”
COLLISTER opened the packet as he spoke. The action revealed a stack of United States currency — bills of a thousand-dollar denomination. Collister made a gesture toward the heap. The man who called himself Von Tollsburg shook his head.
“A count is not necessary,” he said, in a friendly tone. “Your word that all is there will be sufficient for me.”
The millionaire bowed and rearranged the packet. He gave it to the visitor, who carefully placed it in his coat pocket. Collister, watching, remarked further.
“I have preserved absolute secrecy,” he announced. “No one, besides yourself, baron, knows that I have raised this money and brought it to my home. Monsieur Ponjeau, of course, has received my promise; but you have witnessed its consummation.”
The visitor arose and extended his hand. There was the effect of sincerity in his grasp. As the men stepped apart, the visitor turned slowly toward the door. Winston Collister stopped him as though by afterthought, as he saw his guest’s hand reaching for the document on the table.
“The signature,” stated the millionaire.
“Of course,” returned the guest. The shrewd dark eyes watched Winston Collister draw forth a pen and paper. The objects were laid upon the desk. Collister motioned to a chair. The visitor seated himself and picked up the pen. With sweeping, well-timed stroke, he wrote the signature: