Half an hour passed while The Shadow watched from obscurity. The proprietor of the restaurant was a Hindu, garbed in American attire. Most of his patrons were Americans; but as The Shadow lingered, a dark-skinned individual entered and spoke to the restaurant keeper. After that, he went to a table in a corner of the place and sat down.
The Shadow glided from the unused entrance. Shortly afterward, a second Hindu entered, spied the one seated at the table, and joined him. The men waited until bowls of curried rice had been set before them.
Alone, they were about to speak, when a tall American strolled in and took his seat at a table near by. One of the Hindus glanced in his direction, then shrugged his shoulders, and started to talk to his companion.
THE Hindus were obviously men of intelligence. The fineness of their Aryan features showed that fact. Their talk was partly English, partly the native tongue familiar to them. It would have been an indecipherable jargon to the average American.
The customer near by had ordered a dish of Indian food. He seemed quite oblivious to the words which the Hindus were uttering. Nevertheless, his ears were keen, and nothing escaped him. The dialect came within his understanding.
“It can only be the one,” a Hindu was declaring. “Its color — red — is all that we need to know. It is the diamond taken from Bishenpur.”
“Would Changra of Bombay still seek it?” queried the man’s companion.
“No,” was the reply. “Once it had left London, and come to New York, the price would be too great for any offer he might make. Changra sells his gems at profit.”
“He sought the Bishenpur diamond.”
“Yes. The Nizam of Hyderabad would gladly buy it for his vast collection. The Nizam would pay a great price.”
“How much would Changra offer for the diamond?”
“One hundred and fifty thousand rupees.”
An eager hiss came from the listening Hindu.
“You are going back to India,” said the first speaker. “If you should carry with you the Bishenpur diamond, it would mean great gain for each of us.”
“Changra would ask no questions?”
“None.”
“But the diamond? How can you obtain it?”
“Tippu is watching at the American’s castle. Tippu is bold. He will do his utmost to seize it.”
The listener nodded in agreement. His dark eyes gleamed at the thought of great gain. The ensuing discussion dealt with the arrangements which he must make upon reaching Bombay.
While the Hindus were still talking, the American finished his meal and arose. He strolled leisurely from the restaurant. The plotting Hindus gave no more thought to him. They had no idea whatever that he had understood their conversation.
NOT far from the restaurant, the tall listener stopped beside a parked coupe. He stepped into the car. Blackened folds of cloth dropped over his shoulders. Black gloves and slouch hat completed his adopted garb.
The coupe moved, guided by an unseen hand. As it rolled from the vicinity where New York’s small Hindu population thronged, a soft laugh betrayed the hidden thoughts of the driver of that car.
The Shadow had learned more than Joe Cardona. He had discovered why Rutherford Casslin had regarded the detective’s telephone call as a hoax. Possessor of a rare stone which he had brought from India, the American millionaire had refused all offers which had been made for its purchase.
The Shadow had learned of a definite danger which overclouded Rutherford Casslin’s possession of the diamond. He had heard the name of a man who was watching the millionaire’s Long Island home — Tippu, a vigilant Hindu bent on crime.
The Shadow, like Joe Cardona, was bound for Rutherford Casslin’s home. Whether or not The Jackdaw was concerned in this enterprise did not matter. Crime threatened and where crime hovered, there would The Shadow be.
The clock on the dashboard of the coupe showed the hour of nine as The Shadow guided his car through the traffic of Manhattan, headed for an East River bridge.
CHAPTER III
CASSLIN’S CASTLE
THE chimes of a jeweled clock were striking nine. A fashionable throng was gathered in the spacious living room of Rutherford Casslin’s home. The group had come to this apartment following a sumptuous dinner.
Rutherford Casslin, a tall, portly man of fifty years, surveyed the group with a self-satisfied air. Most of the men present were ones who had gained prestige and wealth through commercial success. A small group, but a select one, so Casslin decided.
Most of the women were of middle age. There was one exception, Casslin noted, as he smiled beamingly. That was Yvonne Lydell, a beautiful girl in her early twenties. Garforth Lydell, Yvonne’s father, was one of Casslin’s old friends. Garforth, Casslin remembered, was away from New York at present.
Beside Yvonne was seated a young man, attired in a perfectly fitted Tuxedo. This was Bart Melken, wealthy scion of an old New York family. Melken was Yvonne Lydell’s fiance. The pair would make an excellent match, Rutherford Casslin decided.
Only one guest was not seated. Of middle height, but thin to an extreme that made him seem tall, this worthy was standing in a corner of the room. He was a man whose status as a surgeon had gained him high recognition, yet who seemed out of place in this purely social gathering.
Rutherford Casslin had considered long before inviting Doctor Lysander Dubrong to dine here tonight. There was something about the physician’s cynical demeanor that made it difficult for Casslin to understand him.
Rutherford Casslin was a domineering, boastful individual. So long as he could hold the center of conversation, he was a perfect host. His guests seemed to sense this; out of courtesy, they listened as Casslin took the floor. The millionaire was about to make an announcement which he regarded of paramount interest.
“Tonight,” declared Casslin, “I have a treat in store for you. This is Monday. I have announced that on Wednesday I shall exhibit certain rare gems which I possess. Those jewels are in a safe-deposit vault — with one exception.
“I refer to the prize of my collection — a beautiful diamond of high value. I brought the stone from India. It is here in my mansion tonight. I am ready to show it to you on this occasion.”
A murmur of surprise swept through the throng. Casslin had created the effect that he wanted. He paused to add further remarks.
“Many persons have wondered,” he stated, “how I am able to keep valuables in my home with absolutely no fear of burglary. My answer is that this house is itself as strong as any vault.
“This building, which I have called ‘Five Towers,’ is the modernized replica of a famous English castle. No feudal lord ever possessed a more formidable fortress. Each turret of this castle has walls of solid stone; and one tower, in particular, is especially provided against attack. It is there that I keep any valuables that I bring to my house; it is there that the diamond is now safeguarded.”
Casslin stared about him with a proud smile. Seeing interest on the faces of his listeners, he proceeded with a new statement.
“Some of you,” he declared, “have seen the arrangement of my stronghold. Others have not. I am going to my tower to procure the diamond. Any who wish may accompany me.”
THE invitation was promptly grasped by several of the persons present. There were exceptions, however, and chief among them was Doctor Lysander Dubrong. With a cynical smile upon his thin, dry lips, the physician advanced and extended his hand to Rutherford Casslin.
“Sorry,” he explained. “I must forgo the pleasure. I have visited your tower before.”