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A turbaned Hindu servant entered the living room while Ranworthy was speaking. Delka watched the fellow stalk quietly across the room and leave by another door. The Shadow, meanwhile, eyed Ranworthy. The secretary paid no attention to the servant’s brief visit.

“His excellency has been here for nearly two months,” continued Ranworthy. “Captain Darryat first appeared during the past fortnight — no, perhaps it was earlier than two weeks ago. Darryat told us about Lionel Selbrock and the Mesopotamian oil holdings.”

“Did he suggest terms for their acquisition?”

“No. On the contrary, he acted as a disinterested party. He claimed that he merely wished to be of service to the rajah. Darryat tried to make us believe that he had once served as an officer in the Bengal Lancers. That was when the rajah began to doubt him.”

“I see. And after that?”

“We heard from Rudlow, Limited. His excellency went to their offices. He arranged to purchase the monopolies.”

“And did Darryat come here again?”

“Yes. The rajah chided him for misrepresenting facts. He told Darryat to render a bill for services.”

“Did Darryat do so?”

“No. On the contrary, he acted nastily and departed in a huff. We could not understand his actions, unless—”

“Unless what?”

Delka’s question came sharply when Ranworthy paused. The secretary resumed his statement abruptly.

“Unless Captain Darryat was after bigger game and chose therefore to sulk, once his moves were countered. That was the opinion which I shared with his excellency, the rajah.

Ranworthy’s tone had become a convincing pur, a smooth manner of talking that matched the persuasive language of the late Captain Darryat. The Shadow alone noted this fact. Delka had never talked personally with the swindler who had died the night before. Ranworthy’s tone was paradoxical; it showed that the secretary himself might be a smooth worker, contrarily it lacked his statement that he had been keen enough to see through Darryat.

“By the way,” questioned Delka. “Did you ever meet up with Sir Ernest Jennup?”

“The man who was impersonated last night?” queried Ranworthy. “Yes. I met him several times at his banking house on Lombard Street. In connection with money matters that concerned the rajah.”

“Was his excellency with you on those occasions?”

“Twice, I believe. Yes, twice. That is correct.”

BEFORE Delka could put another question, curtains parted at the end of the long living room and a tall, imposing man stepped into view. It was the Rajah of Delapore, in person. The Hindu nabob was garbed in native costume.

The rajah’s attire was a masterpiece of barbaric tailoring. His waist was encircled with a jeweled sash, from which hung a short sword, in golden scabbard. His coat was bedecked with semiprecious stones, garnets and turquoises, with an occasional topaz. His turban, too, was fronted with gems, a large ruby forming the exact center of a cluster.

The rajah’s face was a true Caucasian type, with perfectly formed features. The dusky hue of his skin actually added to his handsome appearance; for it formed a relief to the glitter of his attire. The hand that the rajah thrust forward was long and shapely; but the grip that he gave to the visitors was firm.

“Welcome, friends.” The Rajah of Delapore spoke in a musical tone. “I have chanced to overhear your conversation; therefore I understand your purpose here. I have read about last night’s episode. My congratulations to you, Inspector Delka; and to you, Mr. Cranston.”

Delka and The Shadow bowed. The rajah turned to Ranworthy.

“You may leave,” he told the secretary. “Inform Barkhir that I wish to speak with him.”

Ranworthy bowed and departed. The rajah looked toward Delka with a quizzical gaze, as if inviting questions. The Scotland Yard man had one.

“This secretary of yours,” he asked, in an undertone. “How long has he been in your employ, your excellency?”

“Ranworthy joined me in Calcutta,” returned the rajah musingly. “I needed a secretary who knew London. Ranworthy had good references. I employed him.”

“You came directly to London?”

“No. We stopped for a while in Paris.”

“And since your arrival here, have you been busy?”

“Indeed not. Neither myself nor Ranworthy. I require his services only in the mornings. At other times, he is entirely free.”

A sudden light showed upon Delka’s features. The rajah did not appear to notice it; but The Shadow did.

A moment later, a tall, native-garbed Hindu entered the living room. He was not the servant who had gone through previously. This was Barkhir, whom Ranworthy had been told to summon.

The rajah gave an order in Hindustani. Barkhir departed, to return with a tray-load of refreshments. The rajah invited his guests to join in the repast. While they ate with him, he made final remarks.

“Ranworthy has told you all that we know about Darryat,” he stated. “My opinion is simply that the scoundrel was after my many gems. I have brought them to London, for sale.”

“And you keep them here,” added Delka. “Such, at least, is the understanding at the Yard.”

“The jewels are in this room,” smiled the rajah. “Yet they are quite safe. Only I know their hiding-place.”

“Not Ranworthy?”

“Not even Ranworthy. I would defy him to discover them. That is why I had no fear of Darryat, even after I believed that the man was a rogue. My secrets are my own.”

“But Ranworthy is close to you. He might learn facts, your excellency.”

The rajah’s eyes blazed suddenly; then softened.

“Ranworthy,” he stated quietly, “is honest. Such, at least, is my opinion. When I form such conclusions, I am never wrong.”

“I meant no offense,” apologized Delka. “It is simply my business to check up on every detail.”

“I understand,” nodded the rajah. “Well, inspector, I can assure you that the jewels will soon be sold. No danger will remain here. I shall return to India with the oil options in their place.”

THE interview ended. Ranworthy appeared; the rajah retired and the secretary ushered the visitors from the apartment. When they reached the street, Delka was in a musing mood.

“There is much to be learned,” he told The Shadow. “Somewhere amid this mess is a link with Captain Darryat. Do you agree with me, Mr. Cranston?”

“I do,” assured The Shadow, quietly. His gaze was upward, toward the rajah’s apartment. “Yes, I agree.”

As The Shadow spoke, he caught a quick glimpse of a face that drew back from the curtained window of the living room. A brief flash only, but sufficient to identify its owner. The watching man was Ranworthy, whom The Shadow and Delka had left alone in the living room.

“We are near your diggings,” remarked Delka, as they turned southward on Berkley Street. “There is Piccadilly, just ahead of us. St. James Square is on the other side.”

“I shall drop off there,” decided The Shadow. “When shall I see you again, inspector?”

“Tomorrow morning,” declared Delka. “No — tomorrow afternoon would be better. At the offices of Rudlow, Limited. By that time, I shall have checked upon all details.”

They parted. The Shadow went directly to his own apartment. There he made a telephone call. It was Harry Vincent who responded. The Shadow gave instructions.

On hour later, Harry Vincent checked in at the Addingham Hotel in Aldgate. He obtained a room almost across the hall from the one occupied by Lionel Selbrock. The man from Mesopotamia, though unwatched by Scotland Yard, was to be covered by The Shadow.

Later that same day, an old-fashioned taxicab rolled past the marble-fronted hotel in Mayfair, where the Rajah of Delapore resided. Keen eyes stared from the interior. The cab stopped further on; a keen-eyed personage with a cane alighted and strolled back along the street.