“It must be the arrangement of the lights,” observed Prince Zuvor, glancing about the room. “It actually startled me for a moment.”
He looked toward the floor again, then added: “It is different now, when you are sitting down.”
“A shadow,” observed Cranston, “is a very unimportant thing. It has no life; in fact, it has no existence. It is, actually, nothingness.”
“Perhaps,” returned Zuvor, “but when one has undergone the experiences that I have, even a shadow can seem very real. Often I have seen shadows that were indications of living men. A shadow may betray the person who owns it, my friend.”
HE took a chair opposite the millionaire, and looked at Cranston thoughtfully.
“I have heard,” said Zuvor, “that there is a man whom they call The Shadow. He is a being who comes and goes, in the darkness of night.”
“Interesting, if true,” remarked Cranston. “I should be pleased to meet the fellow.”
“The Shadow;” mused Prince Zuvor, “is considered a reality by men of the criminal class. They mention his name with awe. They know that he exists — yet they have never managed to trace him.
“Even his purpose in life is a mystery. Some claim that he is a detective; others, that he is an archcriminal who thwarts the schemes of other crooks, and profits through them.”
“Even more interesting,” laughed Cranston. “Where did you learn of this mysterious person?”
“Through refugees whom I have aided,” replied Prince Zuvor. “Some of the unfortunates from Russia have been forced to mingle with low associates. Whenever they appeal to me for aid, I learn all about their actions. Two or three have mentioned The Shadow.
“My knowledge of criminal activities in New York is by no means small. I could give the police important information if I chose to do so. But criminals mean nothing in my life. Thieves — robbers — burglars — I fear none of them. Those who oppose me are more than criminals. They are agents of Moscow.”
“They are watching you now?” questioned Cranston.
“They are watching me always. You have told me very little of your past life, friend Cranston; but I know that you were familiar to some extent with the espionage system of the czarist government. It was considered to be an organization of clever men; was it not?”
Lamont Cranston nodded.
“The czar’s agents,” said Zuvor, “were children compared to the men who now receive their orders from Moscow. Why? Because the Red agents can find a haven in any country.
“Here in America, they are received by communist organizations. They are protected.
“Silent, and unseen, they hide behind a perfect smoke screen. They let the American radicals blurt and fume; they remain silent, and direct the work. No man can cope with them.”
“Not even The Shadow that you mentioned?”
“The Shadow? He may be a power among criminals. Faced by the Red organization, he would be helpless. His cloak of mystery would prove a thin, ineffective disguise. Whether he works alone, or depends upon other men, he would be utterly unable to combat the agents of Moscow.”
“Who directs them?”
“Ah!” exclaimed Prince Zuvor. “That in itself is a mystery. It is said that they work in groups, and that the leaders — men of nerve and cunning — receive their instructions from one higher up, a Red Envoy, whose power is greater than that of a government ambassador.
“These are facts which I have heard; but I cannot say that they are thoroughly reliable. My own knowledge is imperfect. I only know that the Moscow government pretends to have no connection with the Red Envoy.”
“He must be more remarkable than The Shadow,” observed Lamont Cranston, with enthusiasm. “Have you ever encountered him?”
“No!” exclaimed Prince Zuvor. “May I never do so! Those who are watching me are his agents. That is why I exercise great caution.
“I do not know when they may decide to strike. My life is a defensive one. I am not afflicted by fear — if that emotion should dominate me, I would go insane. My one controlling power is caution. Constant caution.”
“Your Russian servant. Can you trust him?”
“Ivan? He is a relic of the czarist time. Faithful and honest. He obeys my commands implicitly. He would sacrifice his life if he thought for an instant that I was in danger.”
“Why do you stay here?”
“I have work to do. While I still possess sufficient freedom to aid those friends of the old regime, I shall stay.
“The invisible meshwork of the Red organization has been growing closer. Soon it will close — threatening to ensnare me. Then I shall leave — as Berchik left; by a way known only to myself.”
“In the meantime,” said Lamont Cranston thoughtfully, “you must remember that I am your friend. While it would be inadvisable for me to become entangled in the snare of which you speak, still, I may be able to help you.”
Prince Zuvor bowed in appreciation.
“Those words are welcome, sir,” he said. “Our acquaintance has been a short one; but the emblem which you carry beneath your ring is a token that I recognize. Perhaps, when we meet again, I shall propose certain plans which — “
“Very good. You can always reach me by a message to the Cobalt Club. At present I am staying away from my home; in fact, I am constantly in and out of New York during the daytime.”
LAMONT CRANSTON rose, as though about to leave. Prince Zuvor stopped him with an upraised hand.
“The danger does not lie in coming here,” he said. “The real risk is in departing. You will be watched, to-night, if you leave this house as you came in — “
“I shall assume that risk,” replied Cranston.
“I can provide a certain means of departure,” offered the Russian. “A method whereby you can escape followers — “
Cranston shook his head.
“I do not fear them,” he said. “I doubt that these men will trail me very far. It is worth the experience, at least.”
The prince rang for Ivan, and the Russian servant escorted the millionaire to the front door.
Lamont Cranston stepped forth into the darkness of the night. He walked a few paces; then observed a taxicab, and hailed it. As he rode away, the millionaire glanced up at the house of Prince Zuvor. The front of the building was totally dark.
But the curtains were no longer drawn on the second floor, although that fact was not discernible from the street.
Prince Zuvor had extinguished the light in his room. He was watching the departing cab; and as it went into motion, he saw a car move from the opposite curb, swerving outward, as though in pursuit.
Prince Zuvor closed the curtains. He turned on a light in the room. His face was grim, and his lips moved as though he was talking to himself. Ivan entered. The prince’s face assumed its accustomed calm.
“Ivan,” said Zuvor in Russian, “that man is our friend. You must receive him as a friend — when he comes here again.”
Then, as an afterthought, he added, in English:
“If he comes here again.”
CHAPTER XVIII
THOSE WHO FOLLOWED
LAMONT CRANSTON’S cab sped westward across New York. The driver had been given a destination more than a mile away. But now he received new instructions. The man in the back seat leaned forward through the window, and exhibited a ten-dollar bill.
“Turn quickly,” he said. “Left at the next corner. Double back. Go by the house which I just left.”
The cab wheeled around the corner. The driver made another quick turn to the left, down a narrow street. Realizing that his passenger had some plan afoot, the man at the wheel chose an unfrequented byway.
But before he had reached the avenue beyond, he was aware that another car was roaring down the narrow street. The cab driver mumbled to himself, as he realized that he was being followed.