By ending his own jewel deal with Rowden, The Shadow could force Kenneth Malfort to concentrate upon Tobias Helmedge. It would not take Malfort long – particularly if facts were subtly dropped in his direction – to learn that Helmedge was a miserly old man; an easy sort of prey. That learned, Malfort would attack Helmedge to find The Shadow instead.
Quickly, The Shadow formed a plan from these possibilities. He knew that each succeeding step would depend upon the one before it. The first step, therefore, was to visit Helmedge. That could be done within the next half hour. There would still be another hour before The Shadow, as Cranston, would be due to call at Rowden’s.
That would allow time for signals with reflected mirrors, to explain why Rowden would receive a telephone call from Cranston canceling the appointment.
Quickly, The Shadow left the darkened office and hurried to the elevators. He rang for a car; when it came, he boarded it without sign of haste. When he reached the street, however, he quickened his pace. Pushing through dinner hour throngs, The Shadow came to a corner near Times Square. His taxi was waiting at its usual stand.
Entering the cab, The Shadow spoke his destination. The taxi took a northward course. Catching the through lights of an avenue, it made speedy progress. Turning west, it reached a secluded street; there, it pulled up in front of a melancholy brownstone house, where hall lights showed the number of the building upon a panel over the front door.
The Shadow had reached Tobias Helmedge’s residence. The house was serenely quiet. The Shadow opened a satchel on the floor of the cab; he dropped two articles into the bag: the flashlight and the mirror that he had used for his recent signals.
For the present mission, a short talk with Helmedge, The Shadow’s best guise was the one he already wore. As Henry Arnaud, he could introduce himself as a messenger from Major Rowden. Tobias Helmedge would be best impressed by such a visitor.
Stepping from the cab, The Shadow glanced along the street. Positive that no lurkers were in the vicinity, he strolled up the brownstone steps that led to Helmedge’s home.
CHAPTER XVI – HOARDED WEALTH
A DISTANT tingle answered The Shadow’s pressure of the bell-button at Helmedge’s front door. The sound brought a smile to the lips that represented Arnaud’s. That bell was an antique – the type that was common in the nineteenth century. It bore out facts that The Shadow had gained concerning Helmedge.
Major Rowden had classed the man as a miser. The bell proved that Helmedge was a penny saver. So did the brownstone steps, with their smooth-worn edges; the door, itself, with its paint-patched cracks. Even the numbers on the glass panel were faint. It was obvious that Tobias Helmedge did not care to pay for unnecessary improvements to his home.
Faltering footsteps sounded beyond the old door. Rusted bolts were withdrawn. The door swung inward. In the vestibule, The Shadow saw an old and shaky servant, who wore a time-frayed jacket as a sort of uniform. The man’s face was weary; his eyes blinked dimly.
Beyond him, The Shadow saw the hall light waver; the glow was from a gas jet and the air had caused the flame to quiver. This was another token of Tobias Helmedge’s economy. The miser had never had the house wired for electricity.
“What is it, sir?”
The question came from the servant; he had opened the door only halfway. Apparently, he was suspicious of all visitors; for he was craning his neck to stare at the taxicab, still waiting by the curb.
The Shadow signaled with one hand; the cab glided along the street. Still the servant seemed doubtful; almost ready to close the door.
“I have come to see Mr. Helmedge,” stated The Shadow in a pleasant tone. “Is he at home?”
“No, sir,” quavered the servant. “That is, sir, he sees no visitors.”
“I come from Major Rowden.”
The Shadow gave the statement a confidential note. The servant recognized Rowden’s name and gave short, nervous nods.
“Come in, sir,” he voiced in a hoarse whisper. “I think that Mr. Helmedge will see you.”
The Shadow strolled inward, as the servant stepped aside. He waited in the hallway, noting pieces of antique furniture, while the servant closed the door and bolted it. The faltering man came toward The Shadow, with the question:
“What is your name, sir?”
Before he could reply, The Shadow sensed watching eyes from somber curtains at the side of the hall. He did not glance directly toward the curtains; instead, he merely paused instead of answering the servant’s question. At that moment, the curtains parted; The Shadow could hear the scrape of wooden rings as they slid along a rusted metal rod.
A testy voice snapped a sharp question to the servant:
“Who is it, Rennig?”
“A gentleman to see you, Mr. Helmedge,” quavered the servant. “He comes from Major Rowden.”
THE SHADOW turned as Rennig spoke. In front of the curtains, he saw a hunched-shouldered man, whose face was brown with age. Curious eyes gleamed from beneath a huge shock of whitish hair. Long, nervous hands were rubbing together, as if rinsing themselves of water.
“I called Major Rowden tonight,” snapped the old man, eyeing The Shadow closely. “He did not say that he would send some one to see me.”
“My name is Arnaud,” returned The Shadow with a bow. “I talked with Major Rowden soon after you called him. He said that he did not have a chance to tell you that I would come here. Since you have no telephone in the house, he was unable to call you himself.”
“Telephone!” snorted the old man. “Bah! I had not used one for ten years, until tonight. I went to the corner drug store to call Major Rowden. What a time I had with that new instrument they call the dial. No wonder my call was abrupt.
“Well, Mr. Arnaud, I shall accept you on your own word. After all, no one but Major Rowden could have heard my call. Tell me, sir, why did he send you here?”
“To discuss the purchase of the jewels,” replied The Shadow, in Arnaud’s easy tone. “There is a reason why it must be postponed.”
Helmedge’s lips opened to start a question; then shut in clammish fashion. Turning, the old man gestured to Rennig.
“Unbolt the door to the basement,” he ordered. “Mr. Arnaud and I will go down to my strong room. No one is to disturb us, Rennig.”
“I understand, sir.”
Rennig opened a door at the back of the hall. He found a long wax taper and lighted it. Conducting The Shadow toward the stairs, Helmedge stopped Rennig before the servant could descend the stairs.
“Give me the taper, Rennig.”
“Very well, sir.”
Helmedge took the light and beckoned to The Shadow. The old man descended in crablike fashion, with his visitor close behind him. At the bottom, Helmedge found a gas jet and lighted it. The flickering flame showed a plain basement, with stone floor and ceilings. It also threw grotesque shadows on the floor. Helmedge’s hunchy figure, with The Shadow’s long form beside it.
“This way, please.”
Helmedge used his right hand to bring a large key from his pocket. He unlocked a heavy wooden door, swung it inward and approached another gas jet, which he lighted with the remnants of the taper. This time, the illumination showed a room with wooden floor furnished with three old chairs, a battered table and a heavy, old-fashioned couch with moth-eaten upholstery.