Elverton strolled along to a spot where a cab was standing. He spoke to the driver. Listening from darkness, The Shadow heard his words.
“I want to go to a town near here,” announced Silk. “A place called Hempstead — I’m stopping at the Palace Hotel there. You know the place?”
“Sure,” said the driver.
The cab rolled away. The Shadow remained in darkness. A few minutes later, a coupe pulled up. A man alighted and entered the building from which Silk had come. The new arrival was Clayton Landow.
Again, The Shadow stood upon the silent, deserted street. A soft laugh rippled from his hidden lips. Its mocking tones betokened understanding.
Clayton Landow was being made the victim of some plot. Silk Elverton, located in another town, was working with Foulkrod Kendall in New Avalon. Clearly, with Harry Vincent’s report in mind, The Shadow pieced together important details.
This could be but a side issue in a greater scheme. The contemplated crime that had brought Kendall and Elverton together was probably some gigantic swindle that was now reaching important stages of development. The Shadow could divine the truth; he could see that Clayton Landow was to be made a cat’s-paw.
The chilling tones of The Shadow’s laugh died in the night air. When Clayton Landow returned to his coupe a short while later, the street was actually deserted.
Plotters had worked tonight. The Shadow, although not in time to spy upon their secret conference, had gained an inkling of the aftermath.
The Shadow knew; and The Shadow had departed.
CHAPTER XIII
MARQUETTE SEEKS AID
DAYS had passed since the arrival of The Shadow in New Avalon. The machinery which Foulkrod Kendall had started was rolling on of its own momentum. Since his telephone call to Silk Elverton in Clayton Landow’s office, the millionaire had been playing a cagy game.
Foulkrod Kendall did not know of The Shadow’s presence. The millionaire had no idea whatever that Vic Marquette, of the secret service, was in New Avalon. It was simply a matter of policy and natural caution that had caused the millionaire to go back and forth from his office without evidencing a single trace of crooked practice.
Thus, unwittingly, Kendall had checked both The Shadow and Marquette. The Shadow, suspecting Kendall to be crooked, had become a presence at the millionaire’s mansion. His sinister form, unseen, had been there to listen in on Kendall’s telephone calls and conversations.
Besides this, The Shadow had appeared secretly in the town of Hempstead, to observe the actions of Silk Elverton. The smooth crook, laying low, had not even communicated with Foulkrod Kendall.
Vic Marquette’s trouble was his total inability to discover any trace of Cyrus Barbier and Tony Cumo. The secret-service operative had reached the point where he was ready to believe that the two had kept onward in their journey.
The Shadow, with all his deductive skill, was finding the situation a surprising one. He was out to find the link between Kendall and Elverton; that link was missing.
Vic Marquette, on the other hand, had no suspicion whatever that Foulkrod Kendall could be engaged in crime.
Thus, while two observers waited, Kendall’s brilliant counterfeiting scheme was under way. Tim Mecke, working in the factory, and riding on the armored car, helped in the engineering of the first shipment of illegitimate coin.
EVENING had descended upon New Avalon. Vic Marquette, having relieved his mind temporarily by taking in a show at the Kendall Theater, was strolling toward the New Avalon Hotel, carelessly flipping a half dollar that he had received in change at the box office.
The coin clanged as Vic’s finger nail struck it. It fell, with apparent weight, upon Vic’s palm. To Vic Marquette, a man who could quickly spot queer money, this coin was genuine. Little did he realize that it had been stamped out less than three days ago, within the limits of New Avalon!
Though usually observant, Vic Marquette did not suspect that keen eyes were watching him as he crossed the street to the hotel. The secret-service operative walked through the lobby and took the elevator to his room. Here, again, some minutes later, the fact that he was under observation escaped Vic’s notice. The door to an adjoining room, located in an obscure corner, was slightly ajar. Watching eyes and listening ears were behind that barrier.
The Shadow, other investigations completed for the night, had taken up the task of watching Vic Marquette. The master of darkness had undertaken this unique course for a definite purpose.
Crime was brewing in New Avalon. That The Shadow knew. Vic Marquette was in New Avalon. Why? The Shadow intended to learn.
There were many phases of crime which would attract Vic Marquette’s interest; any of them, to be attractive enough for so capable a worker as Marquette, would have to be important.
In the past, The Shadow had crossed Vic Marquette’s trail with startling results. Tonight, here in New Avalon, The Shadow was working on the possibility that a present link could be discovered. What The Shadow knew might be of tremendous value to Marquette; what the secret-service man was seeking might be important to The Shadow.
Vic’s actions indicated resignation. The secret-service operative was beginning to pack his bag. To all intents, he was disgusted with results in New Avalon. Vic picked up the telephone. He learned that a train was leaving for New York within the next half hour. Lifting his bag, Vic prepared to depart.
There was a motion at the obscure door. A creeping splotch of blackness stretched upon the floor. The Shadow was contemplating drastic action — a direct encounter with Vic Marquette. A crisis had arisen. It must be handled.
The tall form of a spectral being appeared at the end of the room. A figure garbed in black cloak — a garment that showed a crimson lining as it swished slightly in the air — was standing in full view. Burning eyes showed from beneath the brim of The Shadow’s slouch hat.
Vic Marquette stopped and placed his bag upon the floor. He turned toward the end of the room, but did not see The Shadow. A look of deep thought was upon Marquette’s face.
In his reverie, the secret-service man walked directly toward the weird being in black without realizing that this amazing presence had appeared. Vic’s objective was the telephone. He picked it up and called a number.
AN amazing tableau!
Vic Marquette; stolidly staring at the side wall of the room while he held the telephone in his hands; The Shadow less than two feet away, gazing directly at the secret-service operative’s swarthy countenance!
From this close range, The Shadow could tell that Vic had gained a sudden inspiration.
“Hello!” Vic’s voice, usually calm, was eager now. “Is this Detective Cady?… Fine. I want to see you… No, I can’t give you my name until I meet you… Room 418, New Avalon Hotel… You can come down? This will be worth your while… You’ll understand quick enough when I talk to you in person…”
There was a satisfied gleam in Marquette’s eyes as the operative hung up the receiver.
While Vic was acting thus, The Shadow, too, was in motion. With brilliant eyes still focused upon Vic Marquette’s profile, The Shadow moved silently and slowly back toward the door from which he had come. The tall figure became a mass of blackness. It vanished with magical effect.
When Vic Marquette chanced to glance in the direction of the door, he saw nothing but the woodwork. This time, the door was tightly shut.
Marquette paced up and down the room for some fifteen minutes. At last, he heard a rap from the outer door. He hurried forward to admit a tall, cadaverous-faced man who stared suspiciously as he entered.
“You wanted to see me?” the man asked.
“Detective Donald Cady?” inquired Marquette.