His mind was reverting to certain incidents that had occurred before his meeting with the Silent Seven. He was thinking of the newspaper reports that had followed the death of Doctor George Lukens — how they had mentioned the presence of a suspected murderer who had eluded the police.
Ideas were forming in his mind, and he voiced them in part.
“Now that I have seen The Shadow,” Paget said, “I can deal with him. Whatever his power may be, I can command forces that are more powerful.
“You are safe here, now. If I go away, he will follow me. That will protect you and our plan. I shall leave in the morning — back to New York. The Shadow will find a trap awaiting him.”
Paget lowered the window. He pulled down the shade and turned on the light. He found his cigarette holder and a package of cigarettes. He sat in a chair and began to smoke.
The other man regarded him with approval. It was the false Wilbur Blake who showed signs of nervousness now — not Rodney Paget. For the man who had met the Silent Seven was scheming, and his plans were designed to doom The Shadow.
Neither Paget nor Blake went back to bed. They sat up until dawn, smoking and talking. When daylight came they aroused Herbert and ordered breakfast. An hour later Otto was summoned.
Rodney Paget shook hands with his friend Wilbur Blake on the side porch of the house.
“I won’t see you again for some time, Wilbur,” he said. “Send my luggage in later on. I’ll be staying at the apartment.”
He joined Otto in the speedster, and the swift car rolled down the drive.
CHAPTER XIV. THROUGH NUMBER ONE
WHEN Rodney Paget arrived in his apartment, he closed the door and looked carelessly about him.
Even when alone, he carried the bored expression which had become second nature with him.
His eyes rested upon a picture that hung at a slight angle. He approached it. He raised the lower corner of the picture the fraction of an inch from the wall, and noted a tiny pencil mark.
He carefully let the picture go back into its first position. A slight smile flickered on his lips.
He had set the picture at that angle and had marked the wall to correspond. Had any one moved it without replacing it exactly, a clew would have remained.
Paget made a similar examination of a large cigarette box. He opened the box and carefully inspected its interior. Then his attention turned to a partly filled bookrack on the table. He produced a ruler and carefully measured the distance between the end book and the end of the rack.
Table drawers were next. Each one had some trivial feature for which Paget looked. Each drawer met with his satisfaction.
If any one had searched the premises during Paget’s absence, it seemed almost a surety that some trace would have remained. Still, the clubman’s inspection did not cease.
He placed his left hand above a doorway and ran his fingers along until he encountered the projecting corner of an envelope. He drew the envelope from the crack where it was inserted and examined it carefully. The envelope was sealed and bore no signs of having been opened. Paget replaced it with his right hand.
Now, as an afterthought, Paget’s attention turned to the most obvious object in the room — a pile of folded papers in the far corner of a table. He picked up each paper and opened it.
When he reached the fourth, a tense expression came to his face. The paper had opened easily. Paget looked closely near one corner. There he saw a minute mark — so tiny that the keenest eye would not have noticed it without knowing the particular spot.
Paget’s actions became more careful. He opened the next paper with studied precision. Upon it he discovered a similar mark.
PAGET became calmly deliberate. Some one had been in the apartment during his absence. A skilled, careful searcher had gone through all his papers.
That person had shown uncanny ability. He had successfully eluded every snare that had been placed in his path with the exception of the innocent folded papers. These had been prepared for the searcher’s coming.
Paget had applied a tiny dab of glue near the corners of two papers before he had folded them. The searcher had unwittingly broken the slight adhesion.
Paget lost no time in his next inspection. His footsteps turned to the alcove. There he carefully examined the spring blind of the little window. He ran his left thumb along the rolled-up portion, and a slight smile of satisfaction was his response.
The window shade had not been touched so far as he could see. Nevertheless, he released the catch and lowered the shade. The concealed papers came into view. Paget held them there, and his practiced eye judged their exact position. It met with his approval. He raised the blind and locked it.
He was sure of two facts, now; first, that some one had entered his room; second, that that person had not examined the window shade. Paget peered through the little window. It opened on the blank interior wall of the building. No one could have seen it from the street.
Paget roamed the apartment for a few minutes, checking up to make sure that no one was concealed there. He left the place and walked to a drug store. After a cautious glance that satisfied him no one was near, he called a number which he had evidently committed to memory.
“Faithful,” said Paget in response to the answer from the other end of the wire.
“Fifty,” came the reply.
“Silence.”
“The Seven.”
“Five,” said Paget, softly but emphatically.
“Request,” came the answering word.
“Through Number One.” Paget’s words were scarcely more than a whisper. The receiver clicked at the other end of the line.
Paget left the drug store and took a cab to the Merrimac Club. Despite his apparent calm, he was inwardly excited.
He had made the first step in a new adventure. He was testing the most subtle secret of the Silent Seven.
IT was not until two o’clock in the afternoon that Paget learned what his next step was to be. The latest edition of the Morning Monitor was placed upon the table in the reading room of the Merrimac Club.
With no expression of great interest, Paget picked up the tabloid and began to glance through its lurid pages with a disdainful air.
He dropped the paper once and started to walk away from the table. This gave him an opportunity to observe that no one was in the room. As though inspired by an afterthought, Paget went back to the newspaper and turned to the meager want-ad column. He quickly discovered the item which he sought.
It was at the top of the column.
Advertising agency requires man of long experience. Only those with actual qualifications should reply.
Report for interview in office to-morrow morning. Applicants not considered by letter or telephone.
Acme Advertising Agency, Site 590, Tacoma Building.
The advertisement was an answer to Paget’s request. Its identifying clews were that each sentence contained exactly seven words; and that there were five sentences.
Paget observed these facts; he also noted the address given in the advertisement. But he chose to ignore the stipulation that applicants should appear the next day. He left the club immediately, and in a short while arrived at the Tacoma Building.
He was the only person who left the elevator at the fifth floor. He found suite 590, and after a leisurely glance down the hallway, he entered the reception room. A stenographer was seated there. The girl looked inquiringly at the visitor.
“I came in answer to your advertisement,” said Paget.
“To-morrow,” replied the girl, turning back to her typewriter.
“I would like to have an interview this afternoon,” insisted Paget.
The girl stopped her work and pointed to a door at the right.