The fray aboard the Northern Express had been explained to the satisfaction of the law. The train had steamed into Washington one hour late; but Harry, Cliff and the other two passengers in the lounge car had been cleared of all responsibility. More than that, they had earned the commendation of the sheriff in the town at which they had stopped.
A newspaper which lay on Harry’s writing table carried two headlined stories. One concerned the disappearance of Commander Joseph Dadren. It was believed that the former naval officer had crashed in some wooded district. The other story told of the holdup aboard the Northern Express. Neither the bandits nor their accomplices had been identified.
That was the reason for Harry’s smile. He had concealed the fact that he was in the employ of Commander Dadren. He wondered what the newspapers would say should they learn that Hasker — mechanic missing with the lost flier — was one of the bandits who had been killed in the fight aboard the train.
The public was not to know of this connection. There was one man, however, who must be informed. That was Senator Ross Releston. Arriving at the Union Station, the night before, Harry had gained a note, thrust in his hand by some one passing in the crowded train shed. A message from The Shadow, ordering him to this hotel.
Here, Harry had found a room reserved for him; a new note on the writing desk. Further orders from The Shadow. Harry was to call on Senator Releston this morning, to deliver the envelope from Commander Dadren.
Senator Releston lived at the Hotel Barlingham. Leaving his own hotel, Harry hailed a taxi and stepped aboard with his precious briefcase.
The driver started off along a diagonal avenue, sped for a dozen blocks through a network of streets that bewildered Harry. Then the cab swung two-thirds of the distance around a parklike circle and took to another avenue. It stopped in front of the Hotel Barlingham.
THE hotel, although modern, was older than most of the large establishments that Harry had seen in Washington. Conveniently situated in the Northwest District, it was close to the centers of activity. This had probably recommended the hotel to Senator Releston, together with the fact that the avenue in front of the Barlingham was less traveled and more quiet than other thoroughfares.
The lobby was ornate, but rather antiquated. At the desk, Harry learned that the senator’s apartment was on the sixth floor. As he rode up in a jerky elevator, Harry wondered why Releston had chosen so old an establishment. He learned the reason when he arrived on the sixth floor.
When he rang a bell at the door of Room 642, Harry was admitted by a plainly dressed servant. He found himself in a large lounge room, which apparently served as a waiting room, for doors led off in every wall. Glancing through one opened portal, Harry saw an inner hallway with more doors.
It was evident that the Hotel Barlingham was specially arranged with many-roomed apartments. It afforded space that the more modern hotels could not provide except at exorbitant rates.
The servant stood waiting, while Harry looked about. Then the man inquired:
“Your name, sir?”
“Mr. Vincent,” replied Harry.
“You have an appointment with Senator Releston?” asked the servant.
“Not exactly,” returned Harry. “Simply inform him that I have come from Commander Joseph Dadren.”
At that moment, a tall, stoop-shouldered man was passing through the inner hall. The fellow caught Harry’s words and stepped into the waiting room. His long, pointed face was quizzical. He spoke to the servant.
“Who is this gentleman?” inquired the newcomer. “Has he told you his business, Smedley?”
“He comes from Commander Dadren,” responded the servant.
“Then I shall talk to him, Smedley,” decided the stoop-shouldered man. “You may go.”
As soon as Smedley had departed, the lanky man turned to Harry Vincent. He introduced himself as he extended his hand.
“My name is Stollart,” he announced. “I am Senator Releston’s secretary. You are from Cedar Cove?”
“Yes.”
“And your name is—”
“Harry Vincent.”
“Wait here.” Stollart paused to glance at the briefcase under Harry’s arm. “I believe that the senator will see you.”
Harry sat down in a comfortable chair. He waited for about one minute. Then Stollart returned and requested him to follow. They went into the little hallway, turned left and came into a room that was furnished like an office.
A gray-haired man was seated behind a desk. His face was kindly in expression, yet it possessed a ruggedness that Harry noted instantly. Senator Ross Releston had steely eyes that showed him to be a man of determination. Rising to greet his visitor, he delivered a handshake that was viselike. Then the senator turned to introduce a man who was standing by the desk.
HARRY VINCENT stared as he recognized a square, firm face. Sharp eyes met his gaze, then twinkled as a slight smile appeared upon lips that were ordinarily set and sober. Harry knew this visitor in Senator Releston’s office.
“Vic Marquette!” exclaimed Harry. “You are here—”
“In behalf of the Secret Service,” returned Marquette, as Harry paused. “For the same purpose that brings you, Vincent. Matters concerning the disappearance of Commander Joseph Dadren.”
“You men have met before?” inquired Releston, in a tone of surprise.
“Yes,” returned Vic, dryly. “On several occasions. Particularly at a place called Death Island, where Vincent was the confidential secretary of Professor Arthur Whitburn.”
“Ah! Commander Dadren’s friend.”
“So I understand. Am I correct, Vincent, in assuming that you met Dadren through Whitburn?”
“Yes,” nodded Harry, in reply to Vic Marquette’s question. “Professor Whitburn recommended me to Commander Dadren. I was at Cedar Cove, serving as the commander’s secretary. I spoke to him yesterday morning, just before he took off on his flight to Washington.”
“He gave you a message for me?” inquired Releston, anxiously.
“More than that,” replied Harry. “He entrusted to me the plans for his new submarine. I have them here, in this briefcase.”
Senator Releston had seated himself behind the desk. He came to his feet when he heard Harry’s statement. He reached for the envelope that Harry withdrew from the briefcase. Eagerly, he ripped it open and drew forth pages of well-inked diagrams.
“Here they are, Marquette!” exclaimed the senator, as he went through the heavy pages. “Apparently Dadren was too wise to risk them in an airplane flight. He must have scented danger. Dadren is a clever man.”
SPREADING the plans upon the desk, the senator opened a small envelope that had come with them. He read the message that he found within. His face clouded for the moment.
Harry, Vic and Stollart watched Releston’s change of expression.
“An odd situation,” stated the senator, as he began to gather up the sheets of plans. “It would have been best if Commander Dadren had entrusted all of his diagrams to Vincent. We would then hold them in their entirety.”
“Some of the plans are missing?” inquired Marquette.
“According to the note,” replied the senator, “these plans are incomplete. We must, however, give credit to Commander Dadren for his cleverness. This diagram, for instance” — he examined a sheet and passed it to Vic — “is lacking in certain important details.”
“Why?” questioned the Secret Service operative.
“Because,” returned Releston, referring to the note, “part of the plan was done on transparent paper. Commander Dadren made only this single set; but unless the transparent sheets are placed upon the others, the plans are useless.