“You’re talking something different,” decided Kerr, in a mollified tone. “That’s an arrangement that ought to work. There’s only one question. If we have to wait to build up the force, what about the salaries of these deputies? You can’t get men for nothing.”
“I shall defray all expenses,” announced Rowling, seriously. “Kerr, these crooks are out to grab all they can. There’s only one big spot left in Southfield. That’s my bank.”
“I know it.”
“I need armed guards there. Twenty men at least. Five times that number in the vicinity. I’ll pay for it, at present. But I need the authority of the law.”
“You’ll use the deputies?”
“Yes. Your force has other duties. You are a busy man. Griff and his men will have one objective. I can always count on the armed guards that I need.”
“You’re going at it big,” said Kerr, with a shake of his head. “It’s agreeable to me, though. It will be some time before the city council will authorize the fifty men that I require. Since you promise them — and I’ve been working to get them for two years — I’ll go along the way you want.”
Townsend Rowling arose with a satisfied air. He turned to Norton Granger, to give the young lawyer definite instructions.
“Arrange this promptly,” ordered Rowling. “I want those men on duty before tonight. Properly deputized, you understand. Swear in Griff and his three lieutenants for a starter; give them the power of control that they require.”
THREE men accompanied Rowling from the city hall. They were Rutherford Blogg, Hiram Marker and Lamont Cranston. Blogg and Marker had come to use their influence with Rowling’s. As victims of the crime raids, they were ready to cooperate in stopping crime. Cranston, sole witness of the robbery at Marker’s, had been invited to the conference.
It was the afternoon following the robbery at Marker’s. Rowling and his two friends started for the Crucible Club. Rutherford Blogg showed signs of long worry. His dejection was shared by Hiram Marker. It was Townsend Rowling who now invited Lamont Cranston to accompany them. The New Yorker declined, stating that he had work to do at the hotel.
From the window of Room 401, The Shadow, as Lamont Cranston, gazed upon the main street of Southfield. Rowling’s bank was shining in the late afternoon sun. It was a mark for crooks to shoot at.
Impregnable though the bank appeared, Rowling was not satisfied. He wanted guards about the building. He had passed the stage of taking chances.
Why? A smile showed on the thin lips of Cranston’s countenance. The keen brain of The Shadow had long since divined that there must be fierce method behind the measures that Slade Farrow was using.
Rutherford Blogg and Hiram Marker had been pushovers for the trio of cunning crooks who served Slade Farrow. Blogg and Marker were men of wealth. They were small, however, compared with Townsend Rowling.
Rowling knew this. He was a keen man — this real estate owner who dominated Southfield. A man of lesser keenness might have felt secure by convincing himself that Blogg and Marker had been victims because of their comparative weakness.
Townsend Rowling had reasoned differently. Somehow, he knew that the robberies at Blogg’s and Marker’s had been launched as forerunners to more daring crime. He was prepared to combat a crew of crooks who had not yet showed their full capability.
The Shadow, in turn, was watching. That was the way he dealt with men of crime who proved elusive. He let them reach their zenith. Slade Farrow’s greatest quest was still to be gained.
Here, in the center of the city, Farrow must find a way to enter a virtual fortress, guarded by armed deputies on all sides. Like Rowling, The Shadow knew that Slade Farrow would attempt the impossible. The Shadow was waiting.
A truck rolled along the street. It was Farrow’s delivery wagon. It had not appeared in Southfield since last night. Presumably, it had gone to the town of Galport to deliver its load, and it had remained there over night.
Dave and Louie began to unload. Packing boxes went in the front door of the clothing shop. Slade Farrow, standing on the sidewalk, watched the work. Passing men — potential deputies by tonight — stopped to let the truck men carry in their burdens.
THE SHADOW laughed softly. Three crooks and their swag were going into Farrow’s! Here, in broad daylight, the finishing touches were being given to last night’s crime. The unloading was completed. Louie entered the store with Farrow, while Dave drove away.
Farrow had played his cards again. Last night, he had kept within view of the vigilantes. He had worked differently, bringing in the spoils on the day following. Such was the ex-convict’s genius.
The Shadow’s laugh was prophetic. He understood the caliber of Slade Farrow. The Shadow knew that this stranger in Southfield was ready for any hazard. He had been defeated once — in his early encounter with Eric Griffel. Since then, Farrow had left the leader of the vigilantes stupefied.
The final episode was brewing. Recognized deputies would go on guard tonight. Slade Farrow would have a scheme to counteract their presence. Meanwhile, The Shadow watched.
The conniving brain of a genius was at work. Slade Farrow, posing as a peaceful merchant seeking trade in a new city, had left his greatest exploit to the last.
The Shadow knew the mechanism of Slade Farrow’s methods. His presence unknown to the men who had twice stirred Southfield with unexpected crime, The Shadow held a vantage which all others lacked.
Forewarned, acquainted with the details of Slade Farrow’s deeds, The Shadow stood more formidable than Griff and his two hundred deputies, together with the slim police force that patrolled Southfield under Alexis Kerr.
The Shadow, alone, held the key. His presence here would solve the chain of mystery that had begun with Slade Farrow’s finding of the green box hidden by Ferris Legrand!
CHAPTER XVII
AGENTS WATCH
THE next evening. Southfield had become an armed camp. Townsend Rowling’s demand for deputies had been fully granted. Griff’s vigilantes were patrolling the main street.
The Southfield Bank was the center point. The deputies stationed there were armed with rifles. Passing citizens were divided in opinion. Some were disconcerted by these preparations; others were approving.
The consensus, however, voiced the thought that crime must be stopped at any cost. Efforts to apprehend the successful robbers had failed. The best plan was to prevent a recurrence of crime.
Slade Farrow, busy behind the counter of his store, looked up to see two persons enter. One was Norton Granger; with the young lawyer was Mildred Legrand. Slade Farrow bowed. His face — a countenance that could register many expressions — was typical of the courtly gentleman.
“Good evening,” greeted the ex-convict.
“Good evening, Mr. Farrow,” said Mildred Legrand. “I have come to thank you for your generosity. Norton has persuaded me that I should take the additional thousand dollars as purchase money.”
Farrow looked toward Granger. He saw at once that the young attorney had not taken the credit which Farrow had suggested. Suavely, Farrow expressed the thought himself.
“It was not my generosity, Miss Legrand,” he declared. “Thank Mr. Granger for his good business sense. When he and I discussed the value of the purchase, I found myself agreeing with him that the original price had been too low.”
Mildred Legrand looked toward Norton Granger. The lawyer’s accustomed poise failed him. Confused, Granger could only stammer. His manner indicated that Farrow’s statement had been one of fact.
“This business is a good one.” Farrow, still suave, spoke again to prevent Granger from talking out of turn. “I have found everything as represented. Well established, it has given me great possibilities for expansion.”