A ringing sound; then came a voice that Stollart had heard before, although he did not know the speaker. It was Marling. He spoke a key-word that Stollart understood. Lips close to the receiver, Stollart gave the news.
“All set,” he whispered hoarsely. “They fell for it… The time for the deal will be Wednesday afternoon, right after two o’clock. Vincent will be out. For an hour. Navy Department… No, nothing important… Yes, he’d probably recognize Dadren… I’ll be ready…”
Stollart dropped the receiver abruptly and moved over toward the filing cabinet. He had heard the sound of a closing door. A few moments later, Harry Vincent sauntered into the office. Harry had passed the report to Cliff. He had arrived too late, however, to catch Stollart telephoning.
It was not long before Vic Marquette returned. Senator Releston came in later. The vigil had begun. From now on, those in the know would await the promised arrival of Commander Joseph Dadren.
Harry Vincent was satisfied. He had sent word to The Shadow. His report, though brief, had missed no point.
But Harry Vincent was not the only one of the four watchers who felt that he had played an important part. Stollart, the smug secretary, had also passed the word along. Another of Eric Hildrow’s traitors, Stollart had paved the way for the master plotter’s coming stroke.
CHAPTER XVII
THE SHADOW LAUGHS
NIGHT. A light was glowing in the room of Henry Arnaud. But the occupant of that room was not in view. The light came from a table lamp that held a heavy shade. The only sphere of illumination lay beneath the lamp itself.
Hands appeared beneath the light. Long, white hands, with fingers that moved like detached creatures. Upon one finger glittered a resplendent gem: The Shadow’s girasol. That jewel was the only token of identity that The Shadow wore.
Temporarily, this Washington hotel room had become The Shadow’s sanctum. Here, The Shadow was analyzing the purpose that lay behind the letter from Commander Dadren. The Shadow had read Harry Vincent’s report in its entirety.
Pen and paper beneath the light, The Shadow was inscribing written thoughts in ink of vivid blue, that faded as soon as it had dried. This was The Shadow’s method. His keen deductions came readily from the moving pen.
Unlike Senator Releston and Vic Marquette, The Shadow was finding a catch in the terms which Commander Dadren had suggested. He knew that the letter had been dictated. He was looking for the ideas that lay behind it.
$25,000
The Shadow’s hand inscribed the sum required. A soft laugh sounded from the gloom above the lamp. The Shadow could see the reason for the sum specified. Eric Hildrow — the man whose identity was yet unknown to The Shadow — had chosen that amount with a purpose.
He had picked the highest sum at which he thought Senator Releston would not balk. It was not the money that he sought. The amount would be trivial to so masterful a plotter. Man of murder that he was, Eric Hildrow would have decided to kill Dadren rather than let him go at so low a price.
Agreement
The single word appeared from The Shadow’s pen. It told what lay behind Hildrow’s scheme. By getting Releston’s accord, by lulling the senator to a belief that Dadren might be released, the plotter had forestalled Releston’s intention to notify the press.
Informant
Again, The Shadow laughed. How had the unknown plotter discovered that Releston was about to spread the news? Why had he acted at the most crucial moment? There could be only one answer: A spy in Releston’s camp.
Stollart
The Shadow inscribed the name upon the blank space from which the preceding word had faded. Polmore had been close to Professor Whitburn. Hasker had been Commander Dadren’s most trusted mechanic. It was obvious that Stollart was the only man in a position to watch Senator Releston as closely as the master plotter required.
A pause. Then The Shadow’s hand moved again. Slowly it inscribed two words; they told in brief, the substance of Hildrow’s game. They announced the only stake that the crooked plotter could be after.
The plans
THE SHADOW’S deduction was well-calculated. He had noted an important item in Harry Vincent’s report. That was the fact that Dadren’s letter had specified that the commander would return bringing the “duplicate plans.”
A crafty statement. The plotter had used it to fool Dadren. It had deceived Vic Marquette as well. The Secret Service agent thought that the enemy had gained no inkling of the purpose which Dadren’s tracings were designed to serve.
But the Shadow, convinced that Stollart was a spy, saw clearly that Releston’s secretary must have informed the master plotter of the letter that Dadren had enclosed with the plans themselves. Stollart, like Harry and Vic, had been present when Releston had told the story of the tracings.
How did the unknown schemer intend to gain the plans from the senator’s vault? The place was too well watched. Stollart, a spy and not a fighter, could not be depended upon to gain them. Harry’s description of Releston’s strong room had satisfied The Shadow.
Strategy, not strength, would be the method by which the unknown plotter would gain those plans. Dadren’s letter had paved the way. Seeking a method by which the master crook could profit by Dadren’s message, The Shadow found the answer.
His pen moved swiftly upon the paper. The Shadow was summarizing the facts that he had learned, through various sources, about Eric Hildrow. Professor Whitburn had supplied information. Polmore, in his confession to the professor had named the master crook as Reginald Satterly.
A tall man — a red mustache — hair of the same color — a monocle—
These notations faded. Then came Whitburn’s own description of the man whom he had seen; the one whom Nuland had recognized as his chief.
Sallow — black hair — black mustache—
A dying crook had coughed out a confession in the Hotel Halcyon. His description of Eric Hildrow had begun like Whitburn’s. Then the man had added words which The Shadow now wrote:
Changed — to a beard—
That change had come after the departure from Death Island, when Hildrow was faring forth to arrange for the capture of Commander Dadren. That was the guise in which Dadren must have met him. The character of a bearded man.
Three disguises; beneath them, a face of which The Shadow had no description. In the battle aboard the Northern Express, tools of the master plotter had also been effectively disguised.
Though Hildrow’s various make-ups may have been hastily donned, there was no question but that the rogue was a master in the art of disguise. Therein lay his strongest forte. It was the weapon upon which he trusted in all his dealings.
The Shadow laughed as his hand wrote prophetic words. The inscription faded. Then an object came into the light and rested there. It was a photograph of Commander Joseph Dadren; one that Harry Vincent had sent to The Shadow weeks ago.
KEEN eyes studied the portrait. Their glare seemed to burn through the picture, as if seeking the face of the villain who was using Dadren in order to accomplish a fell purpose. Softly, The Shadow laughed.
He had noted every feature of Dadren’s face. He would not forget the details. He pressed the photograph to one side. Then he made a last notation:
Wednesday. Two o’clock.
The time that Harry Vincent was scheduled to go to the Navy Department. The beginning of a short period when Harry, who knew Dadren well, would be absent from Senator Releston’s.