“Who is he?” queried Clyde.
“Tyson Weed,” returned Garvey. “The most persistent lobbyist in Washington. A bird that still hopes to sell the government a carload of gold bricks.”
Weed was rising as Garvey spoke. Clyde saw the lobbyist move dejectedly from the gallery. He was about to speak to Garvey when the free lance grabbed his arm and pointed out another man who was preparing to leave.
This individual had an imposing air; his face, though somewhat flabby, showed distinction. His bearing was one of self−importance; there was something dramatic in his manner as he picked up a gray hat, a cane with a huge gold head, and a sporty overcoat that resembled a cape.
Below his full chin, the man was wearing a piccadilly collar, adorned with a flowing artist's necktie. The oddity of his attire was ludicrous; it indicated the conceited type of person who sought to attract attention.
“Montgomery Hadwil,” informed Garvey. “Think he's the greatest character actor in the profession. A swell−head, if ever there was one. Come along—we'll head him off.”
“What for?” queried Clyde, as he followed Garvey from the gallery. “Why does a ham actor rate important?”
“Because,” chuckled Garvey, as they made for a stairway, “Montgomery Hadwil is the fiancé of Miss Beatrice Rydel, who, in turn, is the daughter of Dunwood Rydel, who is a steel, coal, lumber magnate—and a dozen other things.”
“So Montgomery Hadwil is going to marry into the Rydel millions?”
“Into the Rydel family—not into the dough. Old Dunwood Rydel has promised to disinherit his only daughter the moment she becomes Mrs. Montgomery Hadwil.”
Garvey was hurrying toward a stairway to reach the rotunda.
“What's Hadwil around here for?” Clyde queried. “Will that get him in right with the old man?”
“The answer is simple,” returned Garvey. “Coyd is in the limelight, and whenever there's a glare, Montgomery Hadwil wants to bask in it, too. The fellow's a ham, I tell you. Wait until you hear me rib him!”
THEY came to the rotunda and spotted Hadwil crossing to leave by the east exit. They overtook the actor on the drizzly steps. Hadwil looked annoyed as he recognized Garvey. He did not slow his long, stalking pace.
“Statement for the press, Mr. Hadwil,” suggested Garvey. “What about your coming plans for matrimony?
Can you give me an idea when the day will be?”
Hadwil stopped at the bottom of the steps. He tilted back his head in conceited fashion, tapped the sidewalk with his cane.
“I leave for Europe, shortly,” he announced. “There I shall devote myself to further study of the drama.
Despite the envy with which my fellow Thespians regard me, I still feel that I have not yet attained perfection.
“After my return, I shall consider the plan for my marriage to Miss Rydel; all arrangements, however, will remain with her. As for my voyage—I shall be absent from America for at least six months.”
A huge limousine rolled up while Hadwil was speaking. A square−faced chauffeur opened the door; the actor entered and the car rolled away, leaving Clyde and Garvey standing in the drizzle.
“That limousine,” informed Garvey, “is one of half a dozen cars owned by Dunwood Rydel. I suppose his daughter Beatrice inveigled papa to let her sweetie ride about in it while he is in Washington. Well, Burke, let's hop a cab and go down to locate that office of yours.”
The reporters hailed a taxi; the driver took a course for Pennsylvania Avenue. Speeding along, he passed the limousine in which Hadwil was riding. Neither Clyde nor Garvey gave that car notice. The actor, however, was keen−eyed enough to spot the reporters in their cab.
Reaching for the speaking tube, Montgomery Hadwil spoke to the chauffeur. There was an odd tone in the actor's voice, a strange, venomous snarl that seemed at variance with his pose.
“Don't forget, Mullard,” Hadwil informed the chauffeur. “Tell the chief about my meeting those news hounds. So he will know that I've spilled the story.”
A nod from the chauffeur. Montgomery Hadwil's lips showed a twisted leer as the pompous actor settled back on the cushions. Up ahead, Mullard's face showed a hard, knowing grin. Both occupants of the limousine had registered deep malice.
Evil was afoot in Washington. There had been purpose in Hadwil's visits to the Capitol. Yet neither Clyde Burke nor his old pal Garvey, both on the trail of news, had suspected any motive beneath the surface of Montgomery Hadwil's self−conceit.
CHAPTER II. THIEVES THRUST.
NEARLY two weeks had elapsed since Clyde Burke's arrival in Washington. Congress had ended its session, yet tension existed at the Capitol. As Garvey had predicted, there would be news. Clyde sensed it in the air.
For Clyde Burke was in Washington with a mission. His reopened National City News Association was a blind. Actually, his purpose was to report doings at the Capitol to a hidden chief located in New York. For Clyde Burke was an agent of The Shadow.
It was common knowledge that certain interests had lost millions of ill−gotten dollars because of the alertness of a competent Congress. Personal investigations and cooperative committee work had disclosed many ills.
Other evils were soon to be corrected. If crooks could block or counteract such measures, they would surely do so. That was a fact which The Shadow recognized.
Clyde Burke, summarizing his own findings, was forced to admit that he had accomplished but little.
In two weeks Clyde had learned but little more than he had gained on his first day. Congress had closed; Coyd was busy with committee reports, to be arranged for the next session. It was obvious, to Clyde's observation, that Coyd represented the right.
There was another man in Washington who rated even more importantly than Layton Coyd. That was Senator Ross Releston, chairman of various committees in the upper legislative body. Releston was a great factor in the Senate; and Coyd was aping Releston's example. That policy had won him favor; for Releston was so greatly esteemed that any one who adhered closely to the senator's beliefs was due to gain ready followers.
But Coyd had been wise enough to act in an independent fashion. Hence he was regarded as a power in his own right, a sort of Releston in a lesser field.
Looking for opposition to these men, Clyde could see it coming from two quarters. First, the lobbyists, who were in Washington to get all they could. Chief in this ilk was Tyson Weed, whom Clyde had seen off and on since that first day at the Capitol. Second, those men who had interests to protect. Towering from this group was Dunwood Rydel, magnate of many interests. Clyde had seen Rydel twice; the man was big and portly, gruff−voiced and glowering. There had been no interview. Rydel had refused to make any statement to the press. He and his daughter lived in a large house with a group of servants and kept to themselves.
AT that point, Clyde's speculation ceased. Had it gone further, he might have made a surprising discovery.
But Clyde had eliminated as a nonentity one man whom he had actually seen and should have watched: Montgomery Hadwil, the character actor whom Rydel—so people said—did not want as a son−in−law.
On Clyde's very desk were clippings that pertained to Hadwil. The reporter was actually fingering them as he stared absentmindedly from the window. The clippings showed Hadwil's saggy features and stated that the middle−aged actor had gone abroad to gain new appreciation of the drama. They added that Hadwil's marriage to Beatrice Rydel had been postponed until after his return.
So Clyde let the clippings drop to the desk as he continued to wrinkle his brow and ponder. It was not until the door opened that Clyde's reverie ended. Swinging about, Clyde saw Garvey grinning from the opened barrier that bore the title National City News Association.