He remained in that vicinity for a while. Later, another individual took his place, this one a hunched man with a cane. After that person had departed, a third took up the vigil. All were one and the same: The Shadow; yet in none would the rajah or Ranworthy have recognized Lamont Cranston.
Scotland Yard had ignored the rajah also; and his secretary, as well. But not The Shadow. He was keeping vigil here until the morrow, when he met again with Delka. There were threads in this skein that needed untangling. The Shadow intended to accomplish such work.
While Eric Delka still suspected a coming move from The Harvester, The Shadow was sure that such a stroke would arrive. His was the task to learn, that he might be prepared.
CHAPTER VIII. DOWN FROM LONDON
IT was three o’clock the next afternoon. Harry Vincent was seated in his room at the Addingham Hotel, hunched in front of a gas-log fire. It was a raw day in London; creeping haze was token that a fog might set in after nightfall.
The transom above Harry’s door was open; he was listening for any sounds from across the hall.
Yesterday, Harry had entered Selbrock’s room while the man was out. To-day, Selbrock had not gone out. At intervals, however, Harry had heard brief clicks from the portable typewriter. That was a sound which pleased Harry.
For yesterday, Harry had performed a definite job. He had removed the roller from Selbrock’s typewriter. In its place he had inserted a duplicate, of the exact appearance. A roller suitable for a Cavalier No. 4, yet one which had already begun to perform a required function. That substituted roller was a device of The Shadow’s recent invention.
Footsteps in the hallway. A knock. Moving to the door, Harry edged it open. He saw a round-hatted messenger tapping at the door of Selbrock’s room. Harry watched; the door opened. Selbrock, in shirtsleeves, made his appearance. He was puffing at his briar pipe.
Selbrock received the message, tipped the messenger, and ripped open the envelope. He did not move in from the doorway, hence Harry was able to watch the expression that appeared upon the man’s genial face.
Selbrock appeared to be delighted. He waved the message in his hand, then pounced back into the room. Harry saw him open a suitcase and bring out a thick, squatty book with paper covers. It was a Bradshaw, the British railway guide.
Still holding his message, Selbrock consulted the time-tables. He tossed the Bradshaw into the suitcase, donned his coat and vest, then thrust his message into his coat pocket. Harry saw him move out of sight beyond the opened door.
Then came rapid clicks of the typewriter. Soon Selbrock reappeared, sealing a message in an envelope.
He threw a few clothes into the suitcase and hurried from the room. His face still registered an expression of hearty pleasure.
SOON after Selbrock had gone, Harry produced the typewriter roller. Crossing the hall, he opened the unlocked door and went to Selbrock’s machine. He removed the duplicate roller and inserted the one that belonged to the typewriter. Returning to his own room, Harry tugged at the end of the duplicate cylinder and pulled it loose.
From within, he brought out a most ingenious device. It was a spiral coil of paper, wound about a central core, that was loosely weighted so that one portion would always keep to the bottom. The roller, itself, was the thinnest sort of metal shell; but at front and back were strips of thicker metal, attached by end projections to the weighted core. Hence these strips always held their position, despite the coiling of the paper within.
The metal strip at the front showed a slight space between itself and a taut line of carbon ribbon. The paper coiled between the ribbon and the strip of metal. Hence, in typing, Selbrock had always had his keys encounter a solid-backed portion of the roller.
Most ingenious was the fact that the paper coil started beneath the stretch of carbon; but in uncoiling, it ran above it; that is, between the carbon and the shell of the roller. Hence, once a portion of the paper had received impressions from the keys, that part of the coil no longer came under the carbon. New paper replaced it as long as the coil unwound.
Succeeding impressions naturally had to be driven through the increasing thickness of the coils; but that fact was offset by the remarkable thinness of the paper.
Hence Harry, as he unrolled the coil, discovered a complete record of everything that Selbrock had typed since yesterday. All of the man’s notes had been brief; most of them were merely to tradesmen, ordering them to hold certain goods until Selbrock had funds available. The final note, however, was more illuminating.
It was addressed to Rudlow, Limited, and stated merely that Selbrock had received a telegram from an old friend who was in England; that he was leaving London but would be back the next day. The few sentences, however, gave no clue to Selbrock’s destination.
Harry brought out his own Bradshaw and began to thumb the pages. Twenty minutes of futile effort soon convinced him that his task was hopeless. There was no way of guessing which of the many London railway depots Selbrock had chosen. Harry’s only hope was to reconnoiter.
Leaving his room, he went downstairs. Near the door of the lobby, he encountered one of the Addingham’s page boys.
“I am looking for a friend of mine,” informed Harry. “A gentleman named Selbrock, who is stopping here. Could you find out where he has gone?”
The boy volunteered to gain the information. He returned shortly to state that Selbrock had taken a motor cab, otherwise a taxi. The boy added that he had driven to Euston Station, the terminus of the London, Midland and Scottish Railway. Not an economical course, according to the boy, for his opinion was that Selbrock could have saved cab tariff and traveled much more satisfactorily by the inner rail of the Metropolitan and District Lines.
THAT was a tip to Harry. With the Bradshaw bulging from his pocket, he hurried out of the hotel and headed for the Aldgate Station of the underground. Picturing the circle service of the tube, Harry forgot himself. He fancied the trains running on the right-hand tracks, as in America; for his brief sojourn in London had not sufficed to accustom him to the British system of trains on the left.
Thus Harry took the wrong side of the underground. Boarding a train, he settled back in the comfortable seat and chuckled at the elegance of this line when compared with New York subways. He referred to Bradshaw. Concentrating upon the trains of the L. M. E., he found that there was a four o’clock Restaurant Car Express, London to Liverpool, with through carriages to Carlisle. Calculating the time from Aldgate to Euston Station, Harry believed that he would make it. Then, glancing from the window of the underground train, he recognized a station and realized his mistake.
He had taken the long route from Aldgate and was already well along the circle! Thirty-five minutes from Aldgate to Euston, by the outer rail, which Harry had taken, instead of a mere dozen which the inner rail required. A glance at his watch told Harry that he would be too late to overtake Selbrock. That quest was finished.
MEANWHILE, The Shadow had encountered an odd situation in Mayfair. He had seen Jed Ranworthy appear suddenly from the apartment hotel, spring aboard a waiting cab and ride away. The Shadow, disguised as a chance stroller, had no opportunity to follow.
The Shadow strolled away. When he returned, it was in the guise of Cranston. He entered the apartment hotel and sent his card to the Rajah of Delapore. Barkhir, the Hindu, admitted him.
A few moments later, the rajah appeared. He seemed cordial, yet puzzled by the visit. In the quiet tone of Cranston, The Shadow explained.