Moving into the bedroom of the deserted suite, this personage who looked like Lamont Cranston, opened a briefcase and brought out blackened garments. In quick, efficient moves, The Shadow donned cloak and hat. Gloves slipped over hands; a key glimmered suddenly in The Shadow’s fingers.
Approaching a door of the bedroom, The Shadow unlocked it with silent precision. He opened the barrier cautiously; then glided into a bedroom beyond. This room was gloomy; for it had but one window that caught little of the dull afternoon light. But there was a brighter room beyond it; one in which someone had added the illumination of a desk lamp to aid the fading light of day.
The Shadow glided to the door of the lighted room. There he paused, peering through the crack of the opened door. He observed Montague Verne seated at a desk with paper and pencil.
The Shadow had returned to Verne’s suite. He had previously gained access to the suite that adjoined it; one that had an entrance from another corridor. Thus there had been purpose in The Shadow’s mild departure.
Rather than overplay the part of Cranston, he had chosen to come back as The Shadow, to see exactly what Verne intended to do, now that his surprise interview had been completed.
VERNE was apparently writing an ad for the personal column of the Classic. He was going through with his statement to The Shadow. Yet Verne appeared troubled as he worked. He tore up one scrawled sheet of paper; then began another.
A pause. Verne arose from his chair and stared at the big wardrobe trunk. It was closed, with a formidable lock; one that Verne evidently thought was pick proof. For the man, when he drew a key from his pocket, ended his worriment with a shrug of his shoulders. He went back to the desk.
There the dapper man busied himself with his item for the Classic. He tore up a second sheet of hotel stationery; then began on a third. This time he seemed satisfied. He folded the sheet and sealed it in an envelope.
Lifting a telephone from the desk, Verne called for a bell boy. That done, he lighted a cigarette, puffed nervously, then arose and approached the wardrobe trunk. He was just starting to unlock it when there was a rap at the door.
Verne admitted the bell boy, handed him the envelope, then dug in his pocket and produced a ten-dollar bill. He tendered the money with the envelope.
“Do you go off duty soon?” he asked.
“About six-thirty,” replied the bell hop.
“Soon enough,” decided. Verne. “As soon as you finish your shift, jog down to the office of the New York Classic. Take the envelope with you; give it to the want-ad department.”
“What’s in the envelope? An ad?”
“Yes. For the personal column. Don’t forget that fact. Pay for the advertisement with this ten-dollar note and keep the change for yourself. Good enough?”
“Plenty good,” grinned the bell boy.
Verne chuckled. He waited until the bell hop had gone. Then he returned to the trunk. Slow at first, he showed haste — almost eagerness — as he unlocked the big wardrobe. He yanked open a drawer and brought out a stack of envelopes.
Watching from a six-foot distance, The Shadow saw Verne draw one envelope from the packet. A smile showed on Verne’s face. Then the man drew a folded folio from the envelope and opened it.
Ragged paper — a frayed and withered parchment. Yet as Verne unfolded it, The Shadow could see the huge letters of an antiquated penmanship. Near enough to actually observe embellished words, The Shadow observed all that he required.
The paper that Verne had taken from the trunk was the missing Cellini manuscript!
A SATISFIED chuckle from the lips of Montague Verne. The Shadow was fading across the bedroom as the dapper man replaced the folio in its envelope and put it back into the trunk.
A drawer slammed shut. Then came the closing of the trunk itself.
Verne stepped into the bedroom and turned on the light. He was too late to discover The Shadow. The weird observer had glided through the door into the next suite. Already, his key was noiselessly turning the lock.
Montague Verne had played a game of bluff. This man who had identified himself as Signet had proven to be a cagey customer, despite his assumed frankness. Verne had believed that he had fooled the visitor whom he had found in his room. He had not.
The Shadow had seen through the game; for The Shadow had come here in the belief that Verne actually had the manuscript. That was a point that figured in the new theory which, as yet, had occurred to no one save The Shadow.
Others — even the participants in the Signet medley — were misconstruing facts. But The Shadow had placed everything in its proper position. He had fitted the puzzle together. Only one piece had remained; and The Shadow had seen where it belonged.
Verne had the manuscript, That was the cap-stone to The Shadow’s well-built structure. The Shadow had remained watching Verne merely to gain this absolute proof that his theory was correct.
In the suite next to Verne’s, The Shadow doffed his black garb. He placed the garments in the bag that had contained them. He thrust the bag itself upon a closet shelf. Again guised as Lamont Cranston, The Shadow strolled out into the corridor.
His work was not finished. The Shadow walked along in the direction of Verne’s room. He was confident that the man would not be coming out. Verne’s room opened in the middle of a long hall. The Shadow went to the nearer end. He used a pick to open the lock of a door.
He stepped into an unoccupied room. Unlatching the door, The Shadow stepped back into the hall, closing the barrier behind him. He went to the far end of the hall, walking softly as he passed Verne’s door. There The Shadow found another empty room, which he left with door unlatched.
After that, The Shadow strolled to a stairway, descended a few floors and took an elevator. His lips — the lips of Cranston — retained their fixed smile. The Hotel Goliath was well-suited to The Shadow’s coming purpose. Scarcely more than half the rooms were occupied at this season; hence The Shadow had discovered empty ones where he wanted them.
A young man was seated in the lobby when The Shadow arrived there. It was Harry Vincent, reading an evening newspaper in the chair beside the pillar.
With the easy stroll of Cranston, The Shadow passed the spot where Harry sat. His hand came from his pocket; an envelope skimmed a four-foot course and plopped against the front of Harry’s newspaper.
Harry opened the missive. He read a coded statement that faded as he completed his perusal. Folding the newspaper, Harry went aboard an elevator and rode up to the fourteenth floor. He took a corridor, and finally entered an unlocked door. Harry had arrived in the suite that adjoined Verne’s. This was to be his post until he received new word.
TEN minutes later, a tall stroller entered the lobby of the Doswind Apartments. The Shadow drew a key from his pocket, unlocked a barring door and took an elevator to the third floor. Still guised as Lament Cranston, he entered Apartment 3 G, which Harry Vincent had formerly occupied.
The Shadow had changed places with his agent. Leaving Harry to watch Verne’s suite at the Goliath, The Shadow intended to keep tabs on Tully Kelk, in 3 F. Coming in through the lower door. The Shadow had seen Moe Shrevnitz’s cab parked, waiting. That was proof that Kelk had not gone out.
Until tonight, this post would serve as a temporary sanctum; wherein The Shadow would receive reports from Burbank. Then would come the time to move. The Shadow would be ready.
For The Shadow’s plans, loosely formed at first, were tightening. His location of the Cellini manuscript in the possession of Montague Verne, had placed The Shadow in sight of his final goal.