“Run out and hail a taxi. Make it fast.”
The boy came to life. By the time Tony had finished tying up heavy packages in the windowless workroom, the youth had returned. With Cyrus Barbier and the boy helping, Tony engineered the transportation of the loads.
“We’ll stop at my place,” he growled to Barbier. “Just long enough for me to grab a few things.”
Turning to the boy, Tony spoke in a louder tone.
“I’m taking Mr. Barbier for a trip,” he announced. “He needs a vacation. Doctor says he isn’t well. Old Cleghorn is your new boss while we’re gone.”
The taxi whisked away, leaving the youth gaping at the door of the brass shop. The youth went back into the shop, sat down in a chair, and began to yawn. In ten minutes, he was half asleep.
HIS awakening came when he felt some one shaking him by the shoulder. He looked up to observe a stocky, stern-faced man, probably a customer.
“I want to see Mr. Barbier,” the man said.
“He’s out,” returned the boy sleepily.
“Yes?” It was Vic Marquette who quizzed the youth. “Where did he go?”
“He’s gone away. For a trip. A fellow named Tony Cumo went with him—”
Vic Marquette turned to the door and gave a signal. Two plain-clothes men entered. The secret-service operative strode to the rear door. He opened it and entered the workshop.
He saw the door beyond. He went into the little room. He turned on the single light.
In a few moments, Vic understood. He could see the signs that betokened a hasty departure.
He called to the men who had come with him. They entered. Vic began a methodical study of the equipment.
It was obvious that articles had been removed. Vic’s practiced eye observed the set-up. Camouflaged as machinery for stamping brass, this equipment could well have served the purpose of punching out counterfeit coins.
“We’ll search the place,” announced the secret-service operative. “Meanwhile, get a couple of men out to locate Tony Cumo.”
While Vic Marquette was still in possession of the brass shop, a detective arrived to state that Tony Cumo had disappeared. The boy had told Marquette that Barbier and Cumo had left by taxi. The check-up proved that the cab had stopped long enough for Tony to enter and leave the house where he lived.
While detectives followed the usual routine of notifying headquarters regarding the fugitives, Vic Marquette quizzed the boy who tended the brass shop.
He soon discovered that the young fellow knew nothing about what had been going on here. The brass shop was simply a blind to cover up the counterfeiting activities; the boy had been kept in his proper place.
The cross-examination, however, brought forth one fact. Tony Cumo had told the boy that Cleghorn was to be his new boss. Marquette learned the location of Cleghorn’s brass shop, and headed there. The proprietor was absent, but Marquette saw enough of the place to decide that it must be a legitimate business.
Back at Barbier’s, Marquette found that the detectives were working on the inference that Barbier and Cumo had ducked to some hide-out in Manhattan.
There was sufficient charge against them to warrant their prompt arrest if the police should discover them. Marquette remained alone at the brass shop. At times, he strolled down to Cleghorn’s to learn if the proprietor of that place had returned.
IT was late afternoon when Cleghorn arrived. The brass man was a quiet-faced old fellow who showed signs of worry when Vic Marquette began to question him. It did not take the secret-service operative long to learn that Cleghorn had merely executed a business transaction with Cyrus Barbier.
“He came to see me just as I was going out,” Cleghorn explained. “I had offered him money for his brass business. He had refused my price. He told me that he wanted to go away, that he would take the offer after all. So I paid him, in cash.”
“Did he tell you anything else?”
“Yes. I couldn’t understand why he intended to leave so suddenly. I began to withdraw my offer, fearing that something was wrong. Then he pleaded with me. Barbier said that he must visit his daughter — I knew he had one — because she was ill. I asked him where he was going.”
“What did he say?”
“He mentioned a place called New Avalon. He said that his daughter lived in a town near there. He convinced me that the business deal was a fair one. I didn’t even go down to the shop with him. I went uptown instead, to look over the merchandise of an importer who had failed.”
“All right,” decided Vic Marquette. “I guess that’s all you can tell me. If Barbier comes back, or if you hear from him, notify detective headquarters. Understand?”
Cleghorn nodded.
Marquette walked away, a grim expression on his stolid face. He doubted that Cyrus Barbier or Tony Cumo would return. If they did, the police could step in to get them. Vic Marquette was convinced that Cyrus Barbier had let Cleghorn know his actual destination, in anxiety to complete the sale of the brass stock.
A rare bird had flown — with him, another — Tony Cumo. But Vic Marquette was not disgruntled. The secret-service man was sure that he had learned the final stopping place.
Vic Marquette was going to New Avalon!
Silk Elverton had gone to New Avalon. So had Tony Cumo and Cyrus Barbier. Foulkrod Kendall was there.
And The Shadow knew!
CHAPTER IX
AT NEW AVALON
A YOUNG man alighted from a limited train that had stopped in the New Avalon station. He tendered two valises and a briefcase to a waiting red-cap, and followed the porter through the spacious terminal.
The man who had arrived in New Avalon walked with a brisk stride, and was keenly observant as he passed through the station. When he reached the cab stand, he glanced along the lighted streets to gain a first perspective view of the city.
“New Avalon Hotel,” he ordered, as he stepped into the cab and lounged back on the seat.
Riding through the main streets of New Avalon, the stranger continued to eye the sights. He noted the name of Kendall above a large store; the same name appeared in lights over a theater marquee.
The New Avalon Hotel was a modern structure with a good-sized lobby. The young man entered and approached the desk. He wrote the name of Harry Vincent upon the register. The clerk called the bell boy to take the guest to a room.
Upstairs in the hotel, Harry Vincent stared from the window. His eyes again rested upon the electric sign which bore the title, “Kendall Theater.”
The name Kendall was of real importance to Harry Vincent. This young man had come to New Avalon for the definite purpose of finding all that he could learn about Foulkrod Kendall. As an agent of The Shadow, Harry Vincent possessed marked ability in such investigation work.
Already, Harry Vincent had encountered surprises. He had expected to find New Avalon a thriving city. The place had exceeded his impressions; it bore the semblance of a metropolis. Harry had known that he would find the name of Kendall in prominence; he was amazed at its domination of the entire city.
The Kendall Silverware Corporation, recognized as the chief industry in New Avalon, had evidently gained such importance that all other enterprises were dependent upon it. At one time, Harry decided, the silverware manufactory must have been all that the town possessed.
Off above some lower buildings, Harry caught the flash of another electric sign which blazoned forth the name:
HOTEL KENDALL
Harry Vincent smiled. Kendall and New Avalon were practically synonymous. It was almost strange that the city itself did not bear the name of its most prominent resident. Locating Foulkrod Kendall would not be difficult here; the one problem was to gain close contact with the millionaire.