Using another pen — one supplied with ordinary ink — The Shadow wrote this address:
Harry Vincent,
Metrolite Hotel,
New York City.
The hands were busy again. They were supplying a code message to another sheet of paper. The second clipping — of the Barmouth theft — was folded within the second note. Upon the envelope, The Shadow wrote:
Clyde Burke,
Evening Classic,
New York City.
Both Harry Vincent and Clyde Burke were agents of The Shadow. They were men who had served him faithfully. Now, they were to act as his investigators. With Vincent in Tilson and Burke in Barmouth, The Shadow could gain the further facts that he required in the campaign which he had now instituted.
Both envelopes went into a larger one. This, The Shadow addressed to Rutledge Mann, in the Badger Building. The task was completed with the sealing of the large envelope.
The light clicked out. The Shadow’s sanctum was in darkness. Not even the sound of breathing disturbed the silence; yet the air was charged with a strange hush that betokened the presence of the invisible being who used this weird abode.
Even the silence seemed to lull as though awaiting what was to come. Then a low, whispered laugh crept through the darkness. Its ghoulish tones crept upward to a higher pitch. They broke into a ringing peal of terrible mockery — a laugh that was chilling in its sound.
The strange mirth ended abruptly; then, from the blackened walls, came answering cries. A horde of fantastic, unseen demons might well have been concealed herein; for the returning tones were a sobbing echo that had no human note. Those weird reverberations came in rising waves; then, gradually, they died away until only ghastly silence reigned again.
A change had come throughout this room. No longer did it hold The Shadow’s presence. In the midst of his mighty laugh, the strange being of blankness had made a mysterious departure. He was gone, through some secret exit, leaving fantastic echoes to cry forth the fact that he had been here.
The Shadow was gone, to meet the challenge of unsuspected crime. His mission was to bring hidden crime to light. One man had been murdered; half a million dollars had been stolen; the crimes lay foisted upon the wrong men.
What was the answer to the riddle? How could the perfect alibis be counteracted? The Shadow’s task was to learn. When The Shadow sought crime, the schemes of superminds were wont to fail!
The hand of The Shadow was reaching out to thwart crime. Two crimes had already been done. Would The Shadow be too late to thwart others?
CHAPTER VII
A THIRD CRIME
OF all the prominent men in the city of Daltona, Georgia, Cuthbert Davenport was most influential. At one time he had controlled the manufactory which afforded employment to the greatest number of workers in the town. Now retired, Davenport still retained real-estate holdings of considerable extent, and his private fortune was estimated at more than two million dollars.
Cuthbert Davenport was a widower with two children. He had been successful in life; now, his later years were mingled with both disappointment and satisfaction.
The cause of Davenport’s discontent was the behavior of his son Perry, a ne’er-do-well, whose waywardness had scandalized the town of Daltona.
A year before, Perry Davenport had left his father’s home, but had continually refused to depart from Daltona. Perry’s vices had become excesses. He was now a hopeless drunkard, and his presence in the city emphasized that fact to his father.
To offset this misfortune, Cuthbert Davenport had gained the satisfaction of seeing his daughter happily married. Less than a year ago — shortly after Perry’s actions had passed the bounds of reason — Thomas Rodan had arrived in Daltona. An enterprising man, Rodan had entered the real-state business on a moderate scale. He had made contacts with Cuthbert Davenport, and had become a frequent visitor to the Davenport mansion.
A courtship had resulted between Rodan and Sonia Davenport, Cuthbert’s only daughter. The old man had given his consent to the marriage; the wedding had taken place after a few months; and now Tom Rodan was living, with his bride, at Cuthbert Davenport’s home.
Many persons wondered how Tom Rodan had managed to make such effective headway with the Davenport family. The man was not wealthy; and he was by no means handsome. In fact, his facial characteristics were most peculiar.
Tom Rodan’s physiognomy consisted of a somewhat flattened nose and sloping cheeks, chin, and forehead. His expression was immobile; only his lips and eyes showed his emotions. When Rodan smiled, which was seldom, the effect was ugly.
The answer to Rodan’s successful courtship was his apparent sincerity. Sonia Davenport had led an unhappy existence since her mother’s death. From Rodan, she had gained a sympathy which she had never known from her austere father.
Cuthbert Davenport liked Tom Rodan because the young man was the direct antithesis of Perry. Rodan was sober, capable, and enterprising. Those three qualifications made Cuthbert Davenport appreciate him as a son-in-law.
TONIGHT, in the Davenport home, the father, daughter, and son-in-law were gathered in the living room; and the topic of their conversation was Perry. The two menservants were upstairs. Family trouble was open for discussion.
“That son of mine!” growled Cuthbert Davenport, as he stalked up and down the room. “He is worse than ever before! He is living downtown in a squalid boarding house, constantly under the influence of liquor. Something must be done about him! I can tolerate this condition no longer!”
“It is most unfortunate,” observed Rodan. “I have met Perry on various occasions, and I should like very much to be instrumental in bringing him home. He has been very well disposed toward me; but, as you say, he is hopeless when intoxicated.”
There was a studied carefulness in Rodan’s speech. It indicated him as a man who had gone to great pains to improve his grammar. In fact, his tone had an aping touch that seemed an imitation of his father-in-law.
“I appreciate your willingness, Tom,” declared Cuthbert Davenport, “but I can only repeat what I have told you often before. A reconciliation is impossible between Perry and myself. I have disowned him absolutely. My only wish is that he would get out of my sight forever.”
“Dad is right, Tom,” added Sonia. “When Perry comes in here, it is sure to mean trouble. He was so threatening on one occasion that dad was forced to have him ejected. I really thought that he was going to attack dad. That was a good many months ago, Tom — but the town has not yet forgotten the incident.”
“Before I came here,” mused Rodan. “I have heard it mentioned by many people.”
“I have cut off Perry without a cent,” declared Cuthbert Davenport, in a decisive tone. “All my worldly goods will go to Sonia. Tom shall never receive a penny of my money. That is why I insisted that Sonia should make out her will entirely to you, Tom.”
Rodan nodded thoughtfully. The arrangement had been completed a few weeks before, after Cuthbert Davenport had first discussed the matter with Sonia and Tom.
In fact, Tom Rodan had foreseen that this would result. He had known — in his own mind — that his marriage to Sonia Davenport would put him directly in line for the Davenport estate. Nevertheless, Rodan had always expressed a regret that Perry Davenport had been disowned.
“I am sorry,” remarked Rodan, in a slow, sincere tone, “that I did not know Perry before he became uncontrolled. I would have used all my influence to have helped him. Even now, I can hardly believe that he is hopeless.”
The doorbell rang, and Tom Rodan arose. He went into the hall and opened the front door. He ushered in two men, and shook hands with them. These were friends whom Rodan had made during his sojourn in Daltona. One was Glade Fitzroy, the county attorney; the other was George Seaton, the county sheriff.