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Harry had no inkling. He had been instructed to stay close to Carter Boswick, particularly after the end of the journey had been reached. That was exactly what Harry intended to do now. His only qualms concerned the fact that he had let Carter get out of sight during the travel from Green Bay to Junction City.

Harry Vincent had long been an agent of The Shadow. He had encountered many adventures while working in behalf of his mysterious master. In every instance, Harry had been free to act upon his own judgment when occasions arose. This had proven to be one of those cases.

Harry had changed from train to automobile for two definite reasons. First, because he feared that Carter Boswick might become aware of his presence during the final stage of the trip; second, because he knew that a car might come in handy at Junction City. The opportunity to obtain one at Green Bay had been too good to miss.

In all his episodes in The Shadow’s service, Harry had encountered mystery. He had never gained an inkling as to the identity of his unknown employer.

Instructions came through only two sources — Rutledge Mann, a chubby-faced insurance broker in the Badger Building in New York City; and over the telephone, from a hidden agent named Burbank.

Through contact with one or the other, Harry received all routine information; but in times of emergency, he frequently received mysterious orders from The Shadow himself. Harry anticipated some such occurrences during this new adventure; for he was now far away from the usual base of operations.

THOUGHTS of the unfolding mission, coupled with anxiety for Carter Boswick’s present safety, spurred Harry unto a final burst of speed which ceased only when his headlights revealed a welcoming sign on the outskirts of Junction City. Here, Harry slackened the speed of the car and rolled easily through the lighted streets of a small town.

The sight of a signal light down a side street showed Harry that he was near the railroad, and he guided his car to a bumpy road that ran alongside the tracks. He finally came to a stop close beside a dilapidated railroad station.

Harry parked and waited. With lights extinguished, he could see the station platform beneath the dim glow of lamps from the overhanging roof. Leaning back in the seat, Harry took account of other surroundings. Down the street was an old building which bore the weather-beaten sign: “Junction House.”

That, in all probability, would be Carter Boswick’s stopping place.

A tenseness came over Harry Vincent as he began to review all that had happened since he had watched Carter Boswick at the information booth in the Grand Central Station in New York.

It was evident that Carter Boswick, although he had come directly to Junction City, had not made the best possible use of his time. Harry was already here ahead of him; and other persons could easily have achieved the same result. Therefore, trouble, if brewing. could begin tonight.

Harry glanced anxiously toward the station. His eyes became suddenly intent as he noted a peculiar phenomenon. One of the overhanging lights twinkled, as though something had passed between it and Harry. Then came a second twinkle from the next light; a third from the one farther on.

The whole effect was ghostly. Apparently, the solid form of a living being had moved along that platform; yet Harry had seen no more than an instantaneous blinking of each light.

It was happening again! This time from the opposite direction. Harry gripped the steering wheel. He knew that this could not be due to a peculiarity of the electric current that supplied the lights. No — some one had certainly passed along that platform!

In moments such as these, Harry Vincent regarded all signs as matters of consequence to himself. At first, his thought was one of hidden enemies. Then, puzzling the matter over, he gained a more hopeful thought.

Perhaps that curious manifestation signified the presence of The Shadow! Harry drew a breath of relief. It was possible that The Shadow, himself, might have come to Junction City. A fast hop by air — the slow progress of trains and attendant connections would be bettered by many hours.

While Harry still watched the lights, wondering if they would blink again, he heard the distant whistle of a locomotive. The sound was repeated with increasing loudness.

At last, the bright headlight of the engine bathed the station with brilliance. Harry still gazed at the platform. He saw no one lurking there.

The train came to a stop. Harry saw a young man alight, and recognized the figure of Carter Boswick. He saw Carter pick up a pair of heavy suitcases and start diagonally across the street. He was obviously going to the Junction House.

But Harry, yielding to a hunch, still waited. He saw another man get off the train, with a valise in hand. Harry stared in sudden recognition. He was sure that he had seen the man before — on the limited between New York and Chicago!

HARRY was correct. This man was Stacks Lodi, still on Carter Boswick’s trail. Harry saw Stacks light a cigarette, then leisurely follow the course that Carter had taken.

As soon as the second man had entered the hotel, Harry started the motor of his coupe, drove a short way up the street, turned, and pulled up at the door of the Junction House.

Harry carried his own suitcase into the hotel. No bell boy came to receive it. Harry guessed the reason. The place would not have more than two attendants; both were at present employed in showing the previous guests to rooms.

Signing the register, Harry noted two names inscribed there. One was Carter Boswick, in Room 208; the other was Antonio Lodi, in Room 215.

The slouching clerk read Harry’s name; then wrote 222 after it. He rang a bell, but nothing occurred for several minutes. Then an unkempt bell boy came shambling down the stairs. The clerk tossed him the key.

After establishing himself in Room 222, Harry donned a pair of soft-soled slippers, and went out into the hallway. He noted a light beneath the door of Room 215, which was near the head of the stairs. He went on to the front of the hall, and spied Room 208. No light showed there. Evidently Carter Boswick had retired.

Starting back, Harry heard a click. He slid to the stairway that led toward the third floor, just as Stacks Lodi came out of Room 215. The man was fully dressed. Harry saw him go downstairs.

Listening at the top, Harry could hear him talking with the clerk. The discussion seemed to concern a good brand of cigar for a discriminating smoker.

The clink of coins indicated that the purchase had been made. Harry heard a remark concerning the coolness of the night. Stacks was praising the fine air of the vicinity. The slam of the front door meant that some one had gone outside.

Harry stole to the front of the hall. He opened a window above a small porch that projected over the sidewalk. This portion of the hall was almost totally dark. Harry slipped noiselessly to the porch and lay flat, peering over the edge.

He could see Stacks Lodi just beneath. The man was holding a cigar in his hand. He raised it to his lips as Harry watched, and drew two long puffs. The cigar gleamed twice. The hand dropped with the cigar; then came up for another puff. Down again, it returned, and this time the smoker puffed five times.

The meaning of those short, bright glows suddenly dawned upon Harry. Stacks Lodi was flashing the number of his own room — a signal to hidden eyes in the outer darkness — across the street, where total blackness reigned!

After a brief pause, a second signal was given. Again, the cigar glowed twice. Down; then up; but this time, there was no increase of the light. On the third trip to the signaler’s mouth, the tiny gleam occurred eight times— another slow procession of sustained puffs.

The first signal had been 2-1-5—the number of Stacks Lodi’s room; the second had been 2-0-8—the number of Carter Boswick’s room. Harry saw Stacks turn and walk back into the lobby. Waiting no longer, Harry crept into the hall and crouched there, expecting Stacks to come up the steps.