Yat Soon’s Chinese informant had left no detail uncovered. His description of projecting shutters; his figures, with exact dimensions as to width of windows, their height above the ground – these gave The Shadow a perfect picture of the courtyard.
Laying the paper aside, The Shadow spoke words in Chinese. Yat Soon nodded solemnly.
“I share your opinion, Ying Ko,” announced the arbiter. “The upper window could well serve Ku-Nuan. From that spot he could hurl a knife, much as he did one night ago. There would be no post to protect you.
“You are correct also when you state that all will surely be dark within that courtyard. My searchers found no trace of lights. Ku-Nuan, like yourself, would require darkness. Nevertheless, Ying Ko, I fear a snare. It would be wise if my chosen men accompanied you tonight.”
The Shadow voiced a statement in Chinese. Yat Soon smiled blandly. “You have spoken wisely, Ying Ko,” commended the arbiter. “You have said that where danger lurks, one may venture what many would not dare. I shall order my men to depart at dusk. The trap will remain unwatched.
“Enemies will then be seized by doubt. Impatient, they may reveal themselves before you arrive. Unless the enemy is Ku-Nuan alone. In that case, the absence of others will prove the fact.”
The Shadow had risen. Yat Soon stood up and bowed.
“I had forgotten that you must be elsewhere,” declared Yat Soon. “We have spoken all that must be said. More words would delay your present mission.”
THE SHADOW departed through the labyrinth of passages. Reaching the darkened street that led to Chinatown, he moved away, enshrouded in gathering dusk. Beneath an elevated railway, where gloom had come early, The Shadow boarded a taxicab and spoke an order to the driver.
Cutting across Manhattan, the cab reached the water front along the Hudson River. Here, buildings no longer blocked the afterglow that came from beyond the New Jersey hills. Though lights were glimmering from cars and street lamps, there were sufficient rays of sunset to reveal the face at the rear window of the cab.
The Shadow had removed his garb of black. He was wearing the guise in which he had visited Major Rowden the quiet, pleasant features of Henry Arnaud.
The cab wheeled to a stop beside a steamship pier. The Shadow alighted and watched a liner as it warped into the dock. A gangplank dropped; passengers streamed into view, to be met by customs officers who stood beneath the pier lights.
The ship was from Bermuda. Customs formalities would be short. The Shadow watched a small group of persons whose baggage was being examined beneath a huge placard that bore the letter “F.” He saw a portly, round-faced man who was joking with a customs officer. He was the one who answered The Shadow’s pictured description of George Furbish.
Soon a hand truck came lumbering from the pier, pushed by a dock attendant. It held two suitcases and a steamer trunk. Furbish accompanied the truck; he ordered it to the baggage room. As he stood by the counter, Furbish heard a voice speak his name. He turned about, surprised; he saw the disguised features of The Shadow.
“My name is Arnaud.” The Shadow extended a hand as he spoke. Then, in an undertone, he added: “I come from Major Rowden.”
Furbish nodded, alert, quietly, The Shadow ordered:
“Leave your baggage here. Come with me.”
Trustfully, Furbish followed The Shadow to the cab. They entered; The Shadow spoke an order in Arnaud’s tone to the driver. As they rode along, The Shadow made inquiry.
“Tell me about the money. Is it available, so that you can complete your transaction tonight?”
Furbish nodded. Unsuspecting that his life had been in danger, he was quite willing to trust the emissary from Rowden. It seemed quite natural that the major should have sent some one to meet him at the pier.
“I have the money at my bank,” he stated. “It is in a safe deposit box; the vaults are available until nine o’clock. Does Major Rowden wish to make the sale tonight?”
“Possibly,” replied The Shadow. “That, however, depends upon certain circumstances. Suppose we dine together, Mr. Furbish. After that, you can obtain the funds.”
THE cab arrived at a secluded restaurant. During dinner, Furbish became more and more impressed by his new friend, Arnaud. It was when they had finished the meal that The Shadow quietly broached the matter of danger.
“Two nights ago,” he stated, quietly, “an assassin sought your life at the Royal Arms, thinking that you would have the funds there with you.”
Furbish gaped; then exclaimed: “But I was not at the Royal Arms!”
“I was there,” returned The Shadow, with a slight smile. “I thwarted the attempt. Your enemies have decided to cover the Maribar Hotel, expecting your arrival there.”
“Then if I go there tonight -”
“You will be protected. You must, however, follow instructions as I give them.”
Furbish nodded his agreement. Reflecting, he decided that if this new friend could have thwarted a killer at the Royal Arms, he could certainly provide protection at the Maribar Hotel.
“A cab waits you outside this restaurant,” explained The Shadow. “Take it. Go to your bank and obtain the quarter million dollars that you placed in safe deposit.”
The Shadow’s statement of the exact amount added to Furbish’s confidence. The Wall Street man believed that only Major Rowden could have informed The Shadow of those details. Furbish had no idea that his enemies, mentioned by The Shadow, were governed by so well-informed a man as Kenneth Malfort. Furbish, like Blessingdale and Hessup, had never heard of the master crook.
“The same cab will take you to a place near the Maribar Hotel,” resumed The Shadow. “Wait there, inside the cab, until the driver decides to go to the hotel. He will be informed if the trip is safe.
“Should the way be clear, stay no longer than fifteen minutes. Major Rowden will have your jewels ready. Take the gems; leave the money with him. Outside the Maribar Hotel, the same cab will be waiting for you.”
The Shadow arose and motioned. Furbish joined him; they left the restaurant together. Outside, they found the waiting cab. Furbish did not recognize it as the taxi that had been at the pier.
“When you see Major Rowden,” added The Shadow, “deliver him this envelope. Tell him that he can read it after you have gone.”
The Shadow opened the door of the cab and put Furbish aboard. Stepping back, he lifted a small bag that the driver had placed upon the rear bumper. The cab pulled away.
As Arnaud, The Shadow watched it turn a corner. He strolled along the street, picked a chance cab of his own. Entering, he gave the driver a destination. Opening the bag, The Shadow produced his black garments and his automatics.
Fifteen minutes was the time that The Shadow had allotted should Furbish actually visit Rowden. There was good reason for the specified time interval. From Yat Soon, The Shadow had learned the exact location of the courtyard where Ku-Nuan had last been seen. He had estimated that it was just fifteen minutes’ drive from the Maribar Hotel.
THE SHADOW’S chance cab reached its destination, less than two blocks from the courtyard that the Chinese had inspected. A five-dollar bill fluttered down beside the driver. A quiet voice ordered him to keep the change.
While the driver gulped his thanks, the rear door closed noiselessly. Looking along the street, the cabby could see no sign of his mysterious passenger. Cloaked in black, The Shadow had vanished like a ghost.
The disappearance was a logical one. This was a grimy, almost forgotten section of the East Side, where lights were few and lurking spots were many. Black against shaded, dingy walls, The Shadow was pursuing an invisible course through the night. Unseen, he neared his goal, the space between the warehouses, indicated by an arrow on two separate diagrams. Both Malfort and Yat Soon had picked one passage as the logical entrance to the courtyard.