Yet it was possible that The Shadow might have entered unseen, and the thought made Delmuth cautious. He repressed the desire to make another survey of the premises. He realized that if The Shadow had actually entered this place, there might be danger.
Delmuth, cagey as well as daring, was sure that The Shadow would not reveal himself unless compelled to do so. But should the issue be forced, the man of the dark would have to strike. In that brief telephone conversation, Sidney Delmuth had learned that Shamlin and Harmon were well on their way to Massachusetts. They were traveling a circuitous route, to mislead all followers. They had just informed Delmuth that they were on the watch, and would be prepared if they encountered interference. The telephone rang again. Once more Delmuth answered. Again, his words were simply responses to statements from another party.
But this time, a thin smile played beneath the waxed mustache. Delmuth was learning something very much to his liking.
When the call was ended, Delmuth paced the office. He was thinking deeply, and his scheme was clever.
Within ten minutes, another call was scheduled. It would have no significance whatever.
It would be from the party who had just called.
But on this occasion, Delmuth intended to make a pretense of betraying himself — all for the benefit of the man who he believed was hidden in this room.
As the ten minutes passed, Delmuth fought against his previous desire to begin a search.
There were half a dozen places where The Shadow could be hidden. Behind the typewriter desk in the corner. In one of the inner offices. On the far side of the huge filing cabinet — Delmuth's ponderings ended with the ringing of the telephone. He hurried to the switchboard and made an eager answer. Then, in a low voice, he began to talk.
"At my apartment tonight," he said. "That's when we'll close the deal. Everything depends upon it. We'll get him there, and if he don't talk — well, you know what will happen.
"No. I don't know what time. I'll be there at eight, and I'll call you after I hear from him. I may have to wait until midnight; but there's no chance of anything going wrong. You get the idea? He will come there I'm sure of it!" After the telephone call, Delmuth picked up a sheet of paper and thoughtfully prepared a message. He went directly to the filing case, took out a file, and went over the details of an advertising account. He made a correction in his message, and went back to the telephone. He called a telegraph office.
"Take a telegram," he said. "Benefacto Co., Hartford, Connecticut. Ready? Here's the message:
"Your booklet ready for printer. Must have remaining pages. Send at least twelve tonight.
Strike out all unnecessary data. Booklet must be greatly condensed to meet specifications." After giving his name and telephone number, Delmuth returned to the filing cabinet and deposited the folder pertaining to the Benefacto account. He went into the private office and obtained his hat.
He strode briskly from the place, locking the outer door behind him.
Going down in the elevator, Delmuth was congratulating himself. He had handled the situation cleverly. He had not only received important messages without the possibility of anyone having learned them, but he had also made it appear that he had an important scheme brewing for that evening — a scheme important enough to attract The Shadow.
Most of all, Delmuth was pleased at the telegram he had dispatched. Apparently a mere detail of the advertising business, it was actually a message to Jeremiah Benson!
The Benefacto Co. was the place where messages were received by Benson. This telegram would be received by a man who would not understand its full import.
Later, that man would receive a call — presumably from Delmuth's office — stating that the telegram should have gone to another account. The message would be read to him. That caller would be Benson!
There were just three words in the message that had significance. Those were the middle words of the telegram.
"Twelve tonight. Strike."
Midnight was the time set for Benson and Grady to do their work. Shamlin and Harmon were to join them near Greenhurst.
Delmuth's destination was the Cobalt Club. He was going there because he was sure that it was one spot where he had been watched by The Shadow.
Every Saturday afternoon, certain of Sherwood Mayo's business acquaintances appeared at the Cobalt Club. Delmuth wanted to speak to one of them. He wanted to be overheard when he spoke. His plan worked while he was lunching in the grill room. He waved in greeting to George Masters, one of the men who was associated with Mayo in the Purple Blossom enterprise.
Masters smiled sourly, but he stopped at Delmuth's table. Knowing Mayo's antagonism toward Delmuth, Masters wanted to avoid lengthy conversation.
"Your boss in town?" quizzed Delmuth.
"Yes," replied Masters. "He came in at noon. He's going back to the country this evening."
"Ah! A quick business trip."
"No. He just brought a couple of friends down with him. They're going back for the week-end. There wasn't any reason for Mayo being here."
"Glad to know that," said Delmuth testily. "Give him my regards when you see him."
There were many club members in the grill room when Delmuth spoke. He talked loud enough to be overheard, and hoped that the right party had listened to his words.
What Masters had said was not news to Delmuth. He knew where Sherwood Mayo was -
he had learned it with the second call that he had received in the office.
But he felt sure he knew more about Mayo's intended plans than did Masters — in fact, more about them than anyone, with the single exception of Mayo himself.
Delmuth kept looking about him as he ate. He wanted to spot any member of the club who might be a possible agent of The Shadow, or The Shadow himself. There were none who excited Delmuth's suspicions.
Rutledge Mann was there, but, of all persons, the leisurely investment broker was the last one to be considered as in league with such an individual as The Shadow.
Rutledge Mann had a reputation for being an indifferent worker. It was surprising, then, that he should decide to leave the comfortable club later in the afternoon, and wend his way to the Badger Building. He ascended to the ninth floor, and went to his office — Suite 909. There, Mann waited with the air of a person who expected a visitor. The clock on a neighboring building showed half past three.
There was a sealed envelope on Mann's desk. He opened it and read a paper that was inside. Five minutes later, a man entered the outer office. Rutledge Mann heard the noise of the door. He appeared and viewed the visitor.
"Are you Mr. Mann?" came the inquiry.
"Yes.
"I am Stuart Bruxton."
"Good! I was waiting for you."
Mann led the way into the inner office, and closed the door. He faced Stuart across the desk.
"Mr. Vincent informed me that you were coming to town with Sherwood Mayo," said Mann. "He said that you would be here today."
Yes," replied Stuart. "I came in Mayo's plane. I received Vincent's letter, telling me to stop in to see you, this afternoon."
"You are going back with Mayo?"
"At eight o'clock tonight."
"Bruxton," said Mann, in a confiding tone, "I know all about this affair that concerns you and Vincent. Like Vincent, I get my orders from a higher source, which I am not free to mention at this time.
"I can only tell you that the trouble which you encountered at Mayo's one night" — Stuart's eyes opened at the statement — "was turned to your advantage by — by this person for whom Vincent and I are working." Mann's words served as an explanation to Stuart Bruxton, even though details were lacking. He understood, now, that the man in black had been at Mayo's for the definite purpose of watching developments in Greenhurst.