The Shadow ignored letters that were in the drawer. He brought out the envelopes that contained the sheets of stamps. He picked the one that Salwood had last opened. He drew out the sheets.
The stamps were arranged in ordinary rows. There was nothing remarkable in their appearance. They were stamps of only moderate value. As The Shadow studied them, however, his soft laugh again whispered through the little office.
Although some of the stamps came from the same countries, there had apparently been no attempt to arrange them in any classification. Such indiscriminate placing of postage stamps was unusual on the part of a dealer. One noticeable fact was that air-mail stamps appeared at rather frequent intervals.
The Shadow placed the flashlight on the desk. Its glow showed the sheets of stamps. It also revealed a blank paper that The Shadow now brought to view.
The glove slipped from The Shadow’s right hand. With a pen, the fingers began to list the stamps in order, by names of countries, as they appeared upon the sheet. Wherever an air-mail stamp was present, The Shadow left a gap:
Tucson
Hendort
Econdor
Gangor
Ambra
Manteo
East Inca
Inca
St. Antis
Ecundor
Newand
Dangor
Esthonia
Dominica
Bulgaria
Reunion
Italy
Newfoundland
Germany
Luxembourg
Angola
Sarawak
Tasmania
Brazil
Obock
Oldenburg
Kiauchau
Tonga
Obock
Madagascar
Egypt
Afghanistan
Trinidad
Monaco
Inhambane
Denmark
Nyassa
Iceland
Gabon
Hayti
Tunis
The ink had not dried before The Shadow had completed the rapid listing. The capital letters that began each name were large and evident in The Shadow’s inscription: That was premeditated. Those capital letters formed an acrostic. They spelled a message from the postage stamps:
The game is ended. Bring last book to me at midnight.
This was the word that Compton Salwood had received from some unknown correspondent. The Shadow had discovered a code where others would have seen nothing of significance. His quick hand refolded the sheets and placed them in the envelope. At the same time, the drying ink began to take effect.
Tucson — Hendort — Econdor — the names of countries vanished one by one in order. The Shadow’s ink seemed to be governed by an uncanny spell. The last names automatically obliterated themselves just as The Shadow finished closing the drawers of Salwood’s desk.
IT was obvious to The Shadow that the stamp dealer’s name upon the envelope which contained the special sheets must be a fake one. That could be no tangible clew to the man who had sent Compton Salwood this important message.
The Shadow had a better clew — one upon which he could count. That clew was Compton Salwood himself. Unless the interior decorator had suddenly decided upon frantic flight — and his demeanor when he dined with Cranston had not indicated it — Salwood would return to this office to obtain the book that he had left.
To trail Salwood would be a simple matter for The Shadow. It was nearing eleven now. Salwood would soon be here. It was in anticipation of his arrival that The Shadow edged toward the door at the front of the decorator’s office.
There was something of the psychic in The Shadow’s maneuver. Scarcely had he reached that door before there was a click in the lock of the door on the other side of the office. With a quick glide, The Shadow slipped through the front door and closed it softly just as the rear door opened.
The flashlight was out. The door at the front was locked. On came the office lights, as some one pressed the switch. Here, in the place that The Shadow had just left, without a mark that would indicate his visit, stood Compton Salwood.
The Shadow was right. The interior decorator had returned to his office. Compton Salwood had come to prepare for the midnight appointment to which he had been summoned by a master plotter whose purposes he served.
CHAPTER XI
FORCES FROM WITHOUT
ALONE in his office, Compton Salwood showed the nervousness that he felt. He strode quickly across the room and tried the front door of the office. He was satisfied to find it looked as he had expected. He paced back to the desk, seated himself and began to mop his bald brow with a handkerchief.
Salwood’s eyes were no longer turned toward the door through which The Shadow had gone. Hence the interior decorator did not see the motion of the door as The Shadow reopened it a crack. Keen eyes, peering through a narrow space, were watching Salwood as he sat alone.
The key to crime seemed within The Shadow’s grasp. The master of the night had picked Salwood as the underling of a superplotter. He had discovered a stolen object in Salwood’s desk. He had gained a list of robbed victims. He had read a cleverly coded message from Salwood’s chief.
If Salwood chose to keep the midnight appointment, all would be well. The Shadow would learn the final facts that he required. He would be in a position to force the climax of the drama. But there was something in Salwood’s manner that made The Shadow watch for a change. The unexpected lay in the offing.
But to The Shadow, the unexpected could be turned to advantage. That was why The Shadow lingered, watching. He was ready to use any break that might occur. Salwood began to unlock his desk drawers. He changed his mind and pulled a folded newspaper from his pocket.
The Shadow saw the man study an item in the journal. Salwood was reading the account of a supposed theft at the home of Wendel Hargate. He was comparing that brief item with the thoughts that were in his troubled mind.
He opened the top drawer of the desk, brought out the envelope that The Shadow had examined and began to read the message told by the postage stamps on the sheets within.
The Shadow realized Salwood’s thoughts as plainly as if the man had spoken them. Connecting the emergency message with the newspaper report, Salwood was debating possibilities. The game was up because of the event at Wendel Hargate’s.
Salwood arose and paced the office. He came back to the desk, studied the clipping and stood with troubled air. Then, with the attitude of a man who has made a great decision, he picked up the telephone and put in a call for detective headquarters.
THE SHADOW was watching closely. He could see the beads of perspiration that glistened on Salwood’s brow. The interior decorator was trembling as he listened at the telephone receiver. He was a man impressed by fear; one who was choosing what he regarded as the lesser of two tremendous evils.
“Detective Cardona?” Salwood’s voice was quavering. “Yes?… My name is Compton Salwood… I want to talk with you regarding the Hargate theft… Yes, the Villon manuscript…”
There was a pause; then Salwood gave his address. Evidently Cardona had requested him to come to headquarters. Salwood’s hands began to tremble. Finally, in a hollow, whimpering voice, he blurted forth frenzied words.
“You’ve got to come here!” he gasped. “No… No… My life is in danger… Yes, it is a tremendous case… I can tell you all, when I see you…”
The man’s voice broke. He began to protest at a quizzing that was coming over the wire.