“He is at home, your highness.”
Barkhir had opened the front of a boxlike stand that was near the outer door. From this teakwood container he removed a telephone and handed it to the rajah. The latter raised the receiver and put in a call.
The Shadow listened intently. He had recognized the name of Canonby.
Among the jewelers situated in Old Bond Street, none was better known than Dawson Canonby. The fact that the rajah had dealings with a man of such repute was a significant point indeed. Whatever the game of the man from India, The Shadow was about to gain an inkling of it.
Harry Vincent, groping through the fog, had been delayed with his signal. That delay had served The Shadow for the present. Though his hiding-place was precarious, he had gained an opportunity to learn the final details that he sought.
CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOW DEPARTS
THE Rajah of Delapore received a prompt answer across the wire. Scarcely had he dialed before he began his conversation. Dawson Canonby had evidently been waiting close to his home telephone. The Shadow could hear the sound of a voice across the wire. Then the rajah spoke.
“Good evening, Mr. Canonby.” The tone was musical. “Yes, this is the Rajah of Delapore… Yes, of course… The final arrangements… Tomorrow…
“At some time in the afternoon… I shall call you when I am ready… Yes, be prepared to bring the money… Of course… Be sure that you are well guarded…
“The armored lorry?… Does it carry the name of your jewelry house?… Excellent!.. Use that vehicle when you come to Rudlow’s… Yes. I shall have the false stones with me…
“Do not be perturbed, Mr. Canonby. There is no reason. This transaction lies between us… No, no. It will be unnecessary for you to express an opinion regarding the false stones. You can indicate that you have seen them previously…
“Certainly… The very fact that you accept them will prove sufficient… Let the witnesses form their own conclusions… Come, Mr. Canonby! This is no time to have qualms… Ah! You will carry through as I desire?… Excellent!.. Yes, of course it is purely a protective measure… You understand the circumstances…”
While the rajah was talking, The Shadow had moved back further between the door curtains. Barkhir’s assurance that Sanghar was asleep gave indication that no danger lay from within the apartment. The Shadow expected the rajah and Barkhir to come through the doorway. That would leave the living room empty, with opportunity for prompt departure.
The Shadow had already formed a possible theory regarding the rajah’s possession of the false gems.
The telephone call to Canonby had been a final enlightenment. The Shadow had come to a full conclusion regarding the motives that actuated the Rajah of Delapore.
The main problem had become departure. The only hazard that appeared imminent was a possible inspection by Barkhir. Should the servant part the thick curtains by the window, he would discover that the sash was open. That might cause a search about the living room.
In anticipation of such a possibility, The Shadow was ready to glide back into the inner rooms the moment that Barkhir made a move toward the window. He felt confident that he could find some quick means of exit before being discovered.
“Lock up, Barkhir,” ordered the rajah. “Then summon Sanghar and tell him to relieve you. It is wise that some one should be up and about during the entire night.”
Barkhir moved toward the window. It was The Shadow’s cue. He knew that Harry Vincent, stationed below, would draw back into the fog if he heard sounds from above. The Shadow’s immediate task was to find a new exit. He glided from beyond the curtains, moving backward in the dim inner hall.
A sudden sound warned The Shadow. Quickly, he wheeled toward the rear of the little hall. His move was timely. A lunging, white-clad form had launched itself in his direction. Brown hands were driving for his throat, above them a vicious face beneath a turban.
Sanghar had awakened. The servant had come to relieve Barkhir. He had spotted The Shadow!
GLOVED fists were quick enough to catch Sanghar’s wrists. The servant’s drive, however, was sufficient to fling The Shadow hard against the wall. Sanghar wrenched one hand free. From his sash he whisked a knife and drove the blade hard for his adversary’s body.
The Shadow twisted; Sanghar’s knife skimmed the folds of his cloak and pinned a portion of it to a paneled wall. The knife drove halfway to the hilt when it struck the woodwork.
The Shadow bounded sidewise. His cloak ripped by his left shoulder, where Sanghar’s thrust had pinned the cloth. With a sudden turnabout, The Shadow gripped the Hindu and hurled him, spinning, clear across the hall. Sanghar sprawled. The Shadow wheeled directly toward the curtained doorway to the front room.
Again, he was just in time. The rajah had heard the commotion, and so had Barkhir. The latter had drawn a knife; he was driving through to aid Sanghar.
Had The Shadow hesitated, the second Hindu would have been upon him. But instead of pausing, The Shadow plunged straight against Barkhir, to meet the servant’s drive.
Smashing forms collided at the doorway. The Shadow’s ramlike shoulder sped under Barkhir’s thrust.
Clamping hands caught the servant’s waist. With the fury of his plunge, The Shadow drove Barkhir clear back into the living room and sent him rolling, tumbling across the floor.
One more adversary — the rajah, himself. He was across the room, almost by the telephone. He had paused there to gain a revolver from the teakwood box. The rajah started to take aim; he barked a command to halt. The Shadow, whirling toward the window, came to a momentary pause.
He had guessed that the rajah would hesitate if he stopped. The rajah’s desire was to trap the intruder; by feigning a willingness to parley, The Shadow saw a chance to outguess him. But the rajah’s action changed suddenly into a ruse, when he saw a new opportunity.
Both, Sanghar and Barkhir had recovered themselves, despite the vehemence of the flings that The Shadow had given them. Sanghar, knife regained, was bobbing in from the curtained doorway; Barkhir, still clutching his blade, was coming up from the floor.
The Shadow was trapped — the rajah straight before him, Sanghar at one side and Barkhir at the other.
The servants had paused, seeing that the rajah held their adversary covered. Then came the rajah’s command in rapid Hindustani — words that The Shadow understood.
The order was for the vassals to spring in and capture their cloaked antagonist.
The Hindus lunged with surprising swiftness, their knives ready for fierce strokes if The Shadow struggled. But The Shadow had a counter move. An instant before the men came upon him, he wheeled toward the curtained window, a few feet behind him.
With harsh cries, Barkhir and Sanghar converged to pounce after their quarry. Their white-clad forms came between the rajah and The Shadow, forming a temporary screen. The rajah could not fire for the moment; glowering, he waited until his servants gripped their foe. That moment never came.
Hard upon his whirl toward the window curtains, The Shadow gave a mammoth bound toward the sill.
Launching himself headlong, he dived squarely into the heavy draperies, half spreading his arms as he flung his full weight forward.
Like a living arrow, The Shadow’s form sped clear of wild knife thrusts delivered by the Hindu servants.
With a rip, the velvet curtains snapped loose from flimsy fastenings. A diver enveloped in a curtained shroud, The Shadow plunged out into space, carrying the velvet draperies with him.
Harry Vincent saw the plunge from below. Looking straight up, he saw a zooming form shoot out into the fog, a figure that formed a huge, spreading mass of indefinable shape. The Shadow’s dive was one of great proportions. It carried him — curtains and all — clear of the narrow space between the building and the terrace.