A clipping appeared among the other notations. It was pasted to a large sheet of paper. The Shadow scanned its lines. It told of a new experiment at the State prison. This consisted of a shop in which privileged inmates were allowed a restricted amount of freedom, as a reward for good behavior.
In that shop, their numbers were forgotten. They went by their names and worked at tables, lined up in alphabetical order. According to the clipping, the experiment was proving a success. To The Shadow, the presence of this clipping in Farwell’s file meant something more. It indicated that Diamond Bert was working in the privileged shop.
Papers went back into the portfolio. Also the little envelope. One object alone remained, held between The Shadow’s fingers. That was the disk of Wang Foo, the token that linked past and present. Years ago, this disk with its significant character had been the amulet carried by all who served Diamond Bert Farwell.
As Wang Foo, Diamond Bert had gained many connections. Some in Chinatown; others in the realm of crookdom. Did the reappearance of this disk mean that some one had stolen a leaf from Diamond Bert’s notebook? Or did it mean that Diamond Bert was coming back to crime?
The Shadow’s soft laugh gave the answer. Had the disks bobbed up a few years ago, the theory that new crooks were copying Diamond Bert’s ways would have been tenable. But disks had not appeared until the present. Moreover, those who carried them were keeping under cover. Thus The Shadow took the second theory.
Diamond Bert was coming in again. Somehow, his henchmen were gathering. New recruits were being added to a hidden gang. Cardona had been right about the death of Duff Corley. The scrawny mobster had been bumped because he had double-crossed the gang.
All was to be kept under cover until the word for crime was passed. That would come in the near future, when Diamond Bert emerged from the big house.
The disk disappeared from the light. The Shadow was pocketing it beneath his coat. It would be useful should he encounter members of the hidden band. But The Shadow lingered by the table; his silence told that he was seeking a plan of action.
TO deal with Diamond Bert’s scattered minions would be an up-hill task. It offered problems which The Shadow had confronted in the past. The real game was to reach the brain himself. Once freed from prison walls, Diamond Bert would be a slippery customer. The Shadow wanted to weave a web before the arch-crook gained his liberty.
That mesh required crafty spinning. It must be done so cunningly that the suspicions of the arch-crook would not be aroused. For if The Shadow entangled Diamond Bert too promptly, his minions — carriers of the disks — would be alarmed. Scurrying for cover, they would still remain a powerful band.
A group without a leader. The Shadow had encountered such organizations in the past. He knew what happened in cases of that sort. Bands of crooks did not disintegrate when the big shot was eliminated.
Invariably, some new head stepped into the picture and took up where the other had left off.
This was a situation that The Shadow wished to avoid. His one course was to deal with Diamond Bert.
Enmesh the big shot; then strike down upon the unsuspecting minions. Here was a plan worthy of The Shadow’s craft. Yet it presented problems.
The Shadow needed an agent. One who could pass by prison walls. One who could watch Diamond Bert during the coming weeks. One who could perform his task reliably and well. Long minutes passed; then, of a sudden, The Shadow’s laugh arose in sinister whisper.
Sweeping up the folder that lay upon the table, The Shadow crossed the sanctum. He reached the filing cabinet and stopped by the opened drawer. Folders were separated at the spot from which The Shadow had removed the Farwell file.
There, by remarkable coincidence, rested the answer to The Shadow’s problem. As The Shadow replaced the folder that bore the name of Farwell, he lifted the portfolio that was next in line. This one bore the name of Farrow. Farrow — Farwell — the two names were right together in their natural alphabetical arrangement.
The Shadow carried the Farrow file back to the table. He opened it and let the papers slide forth. Then, in methodical fashion, he began to read the reports that concerned a man named Slade Farrow.
Oddly, The Shadow’s observations of Slade Farrow had begun within prison walls. The coincidence was remarkable. Slade Farrow had been “in stir” some time ago; but crime had not put him within the confines of a cell. Slade Farrow had gone to prison to right a wrong.
Released from the penitentiary, Slade Farrow had visited the town of Southfield. Aided by crooks who had gone straight, Farrow had made astonishing revelations concerning big men in Southfield. He had waged war against them. He had exposed them as crooks. He had done his part for justice. Yet he would have failed but for The Shadow’s hidden aid. It was The Shadow who had finally brought doom to the men of evil whom Farrow had brought to light. [2]
Slade Farrow owed a big debt to The Shadow. He was the type of man who would repay the obligation, once given the chance to do so. Here was the opportunity. The Shadow laughed softly as he found a paper that bore Slade Farrow’s present address.
The folder closed. The Shadow took it back to the filing cabinet and replaced it just beyond the Farwell file. He turned out the light and went back to the table. Producing pen and paper, The Shadow inscribed a note in ink of vivid blue.
As soon as the fluid had dried, The Shadow folded the sheet and thrust it in an envelope. Using another pen, he wrote Slade Farrow’s name and address in ink of a darker hue. That done, the envelope disappeared beneath The Shadow’s cloak.
The light clicked out. A whispered laugh echoed through the sanctum; its rising tones broke with a quavering mockery. Echoes lisped their answer from the pitch-black walls. Then came silence. Amid the reverberations of his uncanny laugh, The Shadow had departed from his hidden abode.
CHAPTER VI. FARROW ENTERS
IT was the next afternoon. A sedan was rolling along a high road that overlooked the Hudson River.
Seated at the wheel was a big, bluff-faced driver who was keeping the car at a steady speed.
Beside him was a middle-aged man whose features were hard and whose keen eyes carried a shrewd gaze. This passenger was deep in thought. At times, his lips tightened and his head gave a trifling nod.
That was a habit with Slade Farrow.
One might have picked Slade Farrow as a crook. His hard face would have supported that impression.
Actually, Farrow was a sociologist who had done much in the elimination of crime. He possessed one faculty, that had aided him in his work.
Farrow knew how to make crooks go straight. In his time, he had encountered hundreds of hopeless cases, which he had promptly rejected. But whenever he found a man who was on the borderline, Farrow brought the fellow back on the side of right.
The driver of the car was an example. Dave Garvell had gone crooked. He had served time. He would have remained a crook but for Farrow. The sociologist had met Dave and had put him on the right path.
Since then, Dave had been one of Farrow’s trusted workers.
In fact, the fellow had displayed amazing fidelity to the man who had done so much for him. Right at present, Dave was giving evidence of his concern for Farrow’s welfare. Driving to an unknown destination, Dave had figured where they were going. The thought had rendered him uneasy.
“Listen, boss.” Dave spoke warily as he squinted along the highway. “I’ve begun to get the jitters. Ever since you opened that letter this morning, you’ve been playing mum. What’s up, boss?”
“Nothing that concerns you, Dave.”