With a sudden burst of new vigor, The Shadow clutched the envelope. It was already stamped; it needed mailing only. The Shadow opened the door to the corridor. He spied a mail box by the door to the lobby. He gained that spot and dropped the letter into the chute. He staggered back to Doctor Sayre’s apartment.
Closing the door, The Shadow reached the couch. He managed to kick his discarded garments underneath the low couch, the automatics along with them. He turned toward the telephone table.
It was then that the iron nerve gave. Swaying, this bold battler, who now appeared as Cranston, began to topple. He sprawled upon the low couch and rolled upon his side. He did not move from that position.
Minutes ticked slowly. A key sounded in the lock. The door opened. A keen-faced young man, professional in air, hurried into the living room and closed the door. He stopped short as he saw the figure on the couch.
Doctor Rupert Sayre had arrived in response to the call that The Shadow had made. His hesitation was but momentary. He hastened forward to the couch to give emergency aid to this unexpected stranger who lay unconscious.
The Shadow had gained the objective of his forced flight. Helpless but unbeaten, he had reached a place of safety.
CHAPTER XVIII
HARRY’S TURN
MORNING found Harry Vincent in his room at the Metrolite Hotel. The Shadow’s agent was troubled. Last night had brought no word from Terry Barliss, nor had Harry received any instructions from The Shadow.
Harry had called Burbank once, to make sure that there had been no obstruction on the line. He had also called Terry’s home and the servant had stated that he did not know when Mr. Barliss intended to return there.
His service under The Shadow had taught Harry Vincent the uselessness of worry. Frequently, Harry had been caught in hopeless situations and had been rescued through a seemingly miraculous turn. In this case, however, the strangeness of the whole matter made it puzzling. On the surface, all was well. What lay beneath?
Harry did not know. He could not guess. It seemed incredible that both Terry Barliss and The Shadow should have encountered serious trouble at the home of Wendel Hargate. Although he acknowledged Terry’s theory regarding the millionaire collector, Harry could not picture Hargate taking drastic action at this time.
There was no use to call Burbank; nor was there any value in visiting Rutledge Mann. Harry had told all he knew regarding Terry Barliss and the young man’s theory on Wendel Hargate. It was Harry’s duty to wait. Instructions would be forthcoming from either Burbank or Mann, should The Shadow choose to give them.
Yet even the cold light of morning could not squelch Harry’s qualms. In all the time that he had been in The Shadow’s service — from that first night, long ago, when The Shadow had saved him from self-destruction and had sworn him in as an agent — Harry Vincent had not known a situation which troubled him so oddly as did this tense one. Gazing from the window of his room, Harry sought to puzzle out the riddle. The cold gray monoliths of Manhattan seemed like challenging structures. Somewhere in New York — there could Terry Barliss be found. There, also, dwelt The Shadow. But where?
A knock at the door startled Harry from his reverie. The Shadow’s agent answered. He found a bell boy with a letter. Harry took the envelope. Back at the writing table, he studied it. The inscription puzzled him.
THE letter was addressed to Harry Vincent, Metrolite Hotel, New York. The sender, however, had inscribed the address in a singular fashion. The first word, though a trifle cramped, had been written with apparent firmness. Each succeeding word showed less care. The final portion of the address was a barely legible scrawl that ended in a ragged droop.
Harry opened the envelope. The letter was crumpled within. Harry unfolded it. He stared in astonishment at the blue-inked message. This was in The Shadow’s code — a letter from The Shadow!
Keep watch at home of Eli Galban. Danger threatens there. Look out for Wendel Hargate. Report all findings. Await instructions.
There was no signature. It was not needed. Harry knew that the message was from The Shadow. He watched the blue ink fade as the air invoked its disappearing qualities.
There was something about the vanishing of the writing that perplexed Harry. The Shadow’s message usually disappeared in progressive stages. This time, the words were irregular in their evanishment. Harry did not know the reason; yet it was simple.
That coded letter had been written under a stress that had caused The Shadow to press heavily upon the pen at certain spots. Words that had been well blobbed with ink had taken more time to dry than had the others.
Harry tossed the blank paper into the wastebasket. He tore up the envelope and threw its fragments from the window. He knew from the message that something unforeseen had occurred. It was not The Shadow’s plan to deal directly with Harry except in emergencies. Trouble had certainly arisen.
Yet Harry Vincent could see but one course. The Shadow’s word was final. The fact that this letter had been mailed was proof that The Shadow must be in some place of security. Harry realized that Terry Barliss, in visiting Wendel Hargate, had probably thrown a hitch into The Shadow’s preparations.
There was no need to call Rutledge Mann or Burbank. This bona fide instruction had come from the one highest up: The Shadow. The ways of The Shadow were his own. He, the master, would make his own contact with Burbank or Mann when he so chose.
Harry’s task was evident. He must go to the town of Houlton and there keep watch on events at Eli Galban’s mansion. It was plain that Wendel Hargate intended to make some foray there. Harry Vincent recollected the statements that Terry Barliss had volunteered. Harry also recalled the fort-like aspect of Galban’s place.
Danger surely threatened. An attack was looming. If Galban’s home was to be the object of a raid, it was up to Harry Vincent to learn all that he could, so that The Shadow might be posted and aided when he arrived upon the chosen spot.
With Harry, instructions from The Shadow required immediate action unless otherwise stated. There was one course only for Harry to take. That was to drive to Houlton at once. Hurriedly, Harry left his room. He went from the hotel to the garage and drove from there in his coupe.
HARRY reached Houlton before noon. He drove along the dismal avenue with its rows of deserted houses. He passed Eli Galban’s big mansion and noted that the place was gray and forbidding. The day had become dreary; heavy clouds foretold impending rain. The weather added to the gloomy aspect.
After lunching at a Houlton restaurant, Harry adopted the policy of driving past Galban’s place at infrequent intervals. He did this wisely, confident that his inconspicuous coupe would not be noticed. The afternoon passed without incident. Night fell early, with a drizzle accompanying it.
With darkness forming an advantage, Harry Vincent resolved upon a more definite course. He drove his coupe to a Houlton garage and left it there. On foot, he walked along the old avenue, covering a mile before he neared the Galban mansion.
Whistling wind, rain that was cold and biting; these were the elements that mingled with the night. The gloomy, deserted houses seemed like haunted places. Harry felt their looming influence as he reached the last house in the row.
Beyond lay Eli Galban’s. The house seemed weird amid the darkness. Bars showed dimly at pale-lit windows. Harry felt a distinct caution at approaching the place. He thought of Corry Fawkes, the uncouth guardian who asked no questions.
Later, perhaps, Harry could visit Eli Galban personally. Despite the fact that the old man was prepared for danger, he might not know that it actually threatened. For the present, however, it was Harry’s job to look for traces of that danger. Whatever menace might be waiting, Harry knew that it must lie without. The problem was to find it.