To the world at large, The Shadow was an enigma. To the police of New York, he was an unknown genius who battled crime more effectually than did the law. To the underworld — in its crime centers in every city — The Shadow was a scourge.
The Shadow's exploits in New York and Chicago had sent hundreds of gangsters scurrying to other cities. Even in their new haunts, the hand of The Shadow did not hesitate to stretch out and pluck those who had incurred his wrath.
Despite the fact that The Shadow was untraceable, the man himself was as audible to the public ear as he was invisible to searching eyes.
Once a week The Shadow's voice could be heard over the radio on a national hook-up.
His weird, uncanny laugh thrilled millions of listeners with a tremulous shudder.
The world knew the laugh of The Shadow — and gangdom understood its meaning, for every fiend of the underworld knew that sometime that laugh might ring in his own ears — and that with its sinister merriment would come his doom!
The Shadow seemed everywhere when crime was being done. Through his agents and investigators none of whom had ever met him face-to-face — he learned of gangdom's doings, and launched his organized force of co-workers, to crush the evil foe.
So constant were The Shadow's efforts in this battle against crime, that in his massive archives appeared only records of his most important conflicts. The skirmishes with minor figures of the underworld passed unnoticed.
It was impossible for anyone to determine the full scope of The Shadow's work; for seldom did his activity enter into the final reckoning. But it was said by a prominent criminologist — whose name cannot be quoted — that The Shadow was the one controlling factor who had prevented the empires of the underworld from gaining overwhelming domination over the forces of the law!
Harry Vincent had served The Shadow often and loyally. He had proved to be one of the most useful men of all the master's agents. Still, he had no idea who The Shadow might be. One night — long ago — Harry had contemplated suicide. A hand from the darkness had drawn him back from the parapet of a bridge. Instead of plunging to suicide, Harry had obeyed the weird voice of a man clad in black — had become his henchman.
Harry knew well that The Shadow was a master of disguise; that he might meet The Shadow anytime, and not know who he was. On some occasions, the man in black had appeared to aid Harry in his work. But The Shadow had always vanished like a puff of smoke, fading into the nothingness from which he had emerged.
But now, strange events were brewing. Clyde Burke, a newspaper reporter, who was also one of The Shadow's men, had gone to Paris as a correspondent for a New York newspaper.
There, Clyde had uncovered a vital fact in the killing of Herbert Brockley.
Burke had reported that Wallace Powell, an American confidence man, had held negotiations with Brockley.
Burke was the only man in Paris who had learned of Powell's departure for America.
Whether Burke had discovered it alone — or whether The Shadow had been in Paris at the time -
Harry did not know. Harry had been deputized to watch Wallace Powell, on the latter's arrival in this country, and he had done the job well.
The singular fact that impressed Harry Vincent was the matter of money. While awaiting Powell's arrival in New York, Harry had conferred with Rutledge Mann, an investment broker who also served The Shadow. Harry had been supplied with cash, and Mann had told him to buy Powell's information if necessary.
From this, Harry deduced that The Shadow was abroad, probably now returning home, and desirous of having as much as possible accomplished before his arrival. For The Shadow, had he been in New York, could easily have contrived to learn all facts from Powell without the man knowing it. Powell, cunning and wily, was supplying important information to someone who would buy it, instead of giving it to the authorities. That was Powell's type of game. He had been successful in it. Tonight, Harry was elated because he had succeeded in gaining Powell's confidence. At the same time, Harry felt a feeling of insecurity. He was alone in Baltimore, coping with this problem single-handed. Should danger threaten, this would be one time that Harry could not depend upon The Shadow's aid! It was evident that Powell had a wide acquaintance with supercrooks — blackmailers. His one telephone call in New York had been to arrange a meeting with some member of the clique. For that purpose, Powell had come to Baltimore.
Harry felt positive that whatever Brockley had given Powell — documents, probably — told certain facts pertaining to some man who could be blackmailed. A knowledge of that material would enable The Shadow to strike at the blackmail ring, particularly if the recipient of Powell's information could be traced.
Harry was eager for the adventure. Sitting in the lobby, he restrained himself from starting ahead to Powell's destination. That would be folly. He also put down the impulse to dash madly up to Powell's room and demand the man's possessions at the point of a gun. Another ridiculous idea!
No. Harry's game was to work with Powell; to go with him and observe all that could be seen; to pay the man, and have him on tap as a useful informant later on.
Powell was disturbed through mistrust of the men with whom he was dealing. Harry wondered how much cause Powell had to worry.
The large hand of the clock pointed downward. Half past ten. No sign yet of Powell.
Harry was not surprised. The man was pondering over an important decision. Acceptance of Harry's offer meant that he must double-cross those with whom he had negotiated. Still, Harry remembered the eagerness with which Powell had eyed that roll of bills. That temptation must prevail. Powell wanted money.
It was nearing quarter of eleven. Men were coming in and out of the lobby. Harry, although watching the elevators constantly, was able to notice few newcomers. There seemed to be less traveling men than usual.
Most of the chairs in the lobby were filled now, but many heads were turned so that Harry could not view the faces.
Finally, Harry saw Powell come from the elevators and approach the desk. HARRY
promptly arose and stepped close beside the man. Powell seemed more nervous than before. He spoke to the clerk as Harry stood looking in another direction.
"I'm staying another night," said Powell, "but I'm taking my bag out with me now.
Suppose I pay you in advance — "
The clerk nodded and indicated the cashier's window. As Powell passed Harry, he spoke in a low voice:
"Back in five minutes."
No one overheard the statement. It was all that Harry wanted to know. He already knew the room number.
Harry strolled back to his chair and watched Powell return to the elevator to get the bag from his room. That bag, Harry thought, must contain the required data. Several men went up on the elevator with Powell.
Powell's room was on the fifth floor — Room 516. In five minutes, he would just have time to get his belongings and return. Evidently he had decided to accept Harry's terms. The five minutes proved painfully slow. Before the end of the time lapse, Harry had left his chair and was anxiously standing near the desk, from where he could watch both elevator and stairway. He was determined to lose no time from now on; for Powell's manner had plainly told that all was set.
Five minutes were past. The clock showed that six minutes had transpired. What was keeping Powell?
Another minute. Had the man deliberately misled Harry?
At the end of eight minutes, Harry decided to wait no longer. He saw an elevator ready for its upward trip. Harry felt sure that Powell would linger a few minutes if he came into the lobby. So he entered the elevator and rode to the fifth floor. He hurried down the corridor toward 516. If Powell were gone, it would mean a quick trip back to the lobby. Failing to find the man there, Harry could assume that he had slipped away. Then it would be a race toward Herkimer, with a head start for Powell.