“Unfair as well as unexpected?”
“I would not say that. Business men have a right to protect their interests. Those three have reached their high estate through years of effort. They have chosen not to overstress their wideness of activity purely as a matter of policy.”
“I see.”
“My father,” resumed Granger, in a reflective tone, “was closely associated with their rise. I have often felt that he used his influence to curb their policy. His sudden death was unfortunate.
“All three were inclined to grasping tactics. Those became more pronounced after my father was gone. Perhaps Southfield has benefited by the domination of three men. It is difficult to decide just what is strictly ethical in business.
“I feel that Rowling, Blogg and Marker are inclined to oppose the intrusion of outside interests. They are the rulers of this bailiwick. To be fair to them, I think that they might ordinarily warn a stranger to keep out.
“That, however, might be a bad move. Hence their disposition is always a friendly one; and newcomers to Southfield have been unfortunate in business. That, Mr. Cranston, is all that I have to say.”
Norton Granger extended his hand as Lamont Cranston alighted from the car. He received a firm grasp. He caught a pair of keen eyes that seemed to stare through him. Then Cranston turned toward the hotel.
Norton Granger drove away. He felt a strange recollection of those eyes that had met his. Somehow, the personality of Lamont Cranston, despite its quietude, had gained a domination over the young lawyer’s thoughts.
IN the darkness of Room 401, Lamont Cranston stood looking from the window along the main street where late lights still glowed. Shrouded in darkness, he had become The Shadow. A piece of paper crinkled in hidden hands. It was Harry Vincent’s report which The Shadow had just read — the coded statement regarding Slade Farrow’s telegram.
The clothing shop down the street; the Southfield Athletic Club; these were buildings which The Shadow noticed. His keen gaze terminated, however, upon a white, marble-faced building with bronze-barred windows that glistened from a site across the way.
This was the Southfield Bank, owned by Townsend Rowling, biggest of the three. It stood like a citadel — an impregnable stronghold in the city.
A soft laugh rippled through the room. Shuddering echoes answered, then died with ghoulish throbs. Southfield, despite its placidity, was a town where strange events were due.
The Shadow knew!
CHAPTER X
THE VIGIL
A NEW night had come to Southfield. The main thoroughfare of the prosperous little city was a glitter of light in which many strollers passed. Southfield drew evening crowds from the surrounding countryside.
Harry Vincent, walking quietly along the main street, approached the front of the Southfield Clothing Shop. He paused to glance into the display window. Through the opened door, he could see Slade Farrow behind the counter. With him was a peak-faced clerk.
Since Farrow had taken over the clothing shop, he had made changes in the business. The new merchant seemed anxious to gain new trade. He had dispatched the two old clerks to other towns: one to Gwynnesborough and the other to Galport. There he had opened small branch stores.
Two new hirelings had arrived. One was the man whom Farrow had wired in New York. This was David Garvell, the big, bluff-faced fellow whom The Shadow had heard Farrow address as Dave in a New York apartment.
The other was a man who had come with Dave. He was the pasty-faced chap now serving as clerk. Farrow, when he spoke to this aid, called him Louie. Harry Vincent had not learned the new clerk’s last name.
A light delivery truck reared up to the curb while Harry was standing at the show window. A big man alighted and shouldered his way past Harry. It was Dave. Farrow had bought this truck to carry goods from town to town, and Dave was the man who operated it.
Harry was turning away when a new arrival came within his field of observation. It was “Griff” Griffel. The husky head of the local athletic club was swaggering toward the clothing shop. In the offing were two other men whom Harry took to be Griff’s henchmen.
Harry had not encountered Griffel since that night at the Southfield House. Quiet and inconspicuous, The Shadow’s agent had dwelt quite comfortably in Southfield. Hence, when Griff strode by and entered the lighted store, Harry saw no danger in following. He strolled through the door and began to examine neckties on a rack. Louie, the pale-faced clerk, came over to wait on the customer.
WHILE choosing neckties, Harry was a witness to all that occurred. He saw Eric Griffel approach Slade Farrow. He noted Griff’s friends lurking on the sidewalk outside. He observed Dave standing close at hand when Griffel spoke to Farrow.
“Hello, Farrow,” greeted the husky man, in a tone that was somewhat cordial. “How are you finding business?”
“All right, Griff,” rejoined Farrow. “The way it’s going, I’ll be needing more help. I’m just waiting to see how the branch stores make out.”
“You’ve started two of them, eh?”
“Yes. One in Gwynnesborough; the other in Galport. Temporary leases. If they don’t work out, I’ll yank the old clerks back here. If they go over, I’ll hire some new clerks for this store.”
Griffel nodded. He looked about and studied the stock approvingly. Slade Farrow was obviously making an honest effort to do legitimate business. The big vigilante could find nothing to arouse his suspicions. He stared toward Dave. Farrow noted the gaze.
“Meet Dave Garvell,” introduced Farrow. “This is Griff, Dave. You ought to spend some time up at his athletic club. Maybe you could build some muscle on the exercisers.”
“I’m getting enough muscle,” laughed Dave. “Driving between here and those other towns is plenty of work for anybody.”
“You’re welcome up at the club,” announced Griff. “Drop up there any time, Garvell.”
“Thanks,” returned Dave.
Harry Vincent was completing his purchase of a few neckties. It was nine o’clock. Slade Farrow turned from the counter.
“Closing up for the night,” he remarked. “You’re not through yet though, Dave. You’ve got to run those boxes of shirts over to Gwynnesborough. Get back in time to pick up the consignment of new suits that are coming in on the Night Express.”
“All right, boss.”
“I’ll be back in the apartment. Take Louie along with you and I’ll let you in when you ring at the delivery entrance.”
Griffel was sauntering from the shop. Farrow picked up hat and coat and overtook the local husky. Together, the pair strolled along the main street toward the athletic club. Harry Vincent left while Dave and Louie were locking up. He headed for the hotel.
HARRY knew that Griffel and Farrow were enemies. He knew that neither had forgotten that episode in the hotel. At the same time, Harry realized that both had found it wise to play a game in which their bitter encounter would not be mentioned.
Griffel had gained his point in his battle with Farrow. The ex-convict had no other course than to bide his time and play the part of a reputable merchant. All the while, Griffel was on the watch. That part was obvious.
Was Farrow trying to square himself with Griffel? Or was he plotting some cunning scheme to get back at the man who had conquered him and taken his spoils? Harry felt that the latter was the case. He realized that a stale-mate existed.
Griff Griffel could make no move against Slade Farrow so long as the new merchant kept above suspicion. Farrow, in turn, could not act against Griff without jeopardizing his own position. This was why enemies appeared as friends.