THE SHADOW had discovered important indications. He wanted specific facts. He was considering the way to gain them. Well did The Shadow know that hidden crime was invariably of greater consequence than that which appeared in full view.
In his ceaseless warfare against the hordes of evil, The Shadow went beneath unruffled surfaces. The discovery of one subtle crime was usually the prelude to the detection of a chain of evil circumstances. Those crude at crime belonged to the police. It was The Shadow’s self-appointed task to ferret out the wiles of superminds.
The Shadow was one who dealt in terms of powerful action, yet there were times when he played a masterful game of deliberation. He was facing a perfect crime — a theft of a valuable manuscript that could not be identified even if discovered; a murder that had required purely negative work on the part of the man who had performed it.
Somewhere behind lay the master mind. The villain’s position was impregnable. Even The Shadow could accomplish nothing at this hour. The game was in its preliminary stage. The first encounter between right and wrong lay purely in the future.
The laugh that rippled through the sanctum was a hollow burst of mockery that denoted The Shadow’s mood. It was the sign that The Shadow, alone, knew what the future might hold; that he, master though he was, realized that the only present strategy lay in lack of immediate action.
The Shadow was depending upon Terry Barliss. He knew that the disappointed heir would seek facts. He knew also that such facts would mean nothing to Terry. But the young man’s findings might prove of value to The Shadow. To make them gain their full worth, direct contact between The Shadow and Terry Barliss was essential.
Paper and pen appeared. The Shadow wrote again. This time, however, he was not inscribing mental comments. His rapid writing took the form of a coded message. When completed, The Shadow folded the sheet of paper before the drying ink had opportunity to disappear.
The message went within an envelope. With another pen, The Shadow wrote an address: the name of Rutledge Mann, the address a suite of offices in the Badger Building, New York City. The inscription on the envelope was in ordinary ink. It remained after it had dried.
A hand drew the envelope from the table. The bluish light flicked off. The sanctum was in darkness. Within enshrouding gloom, a weird laugh sounded. Echoes came as a ghoulish response. When the sounds had died, complete silence remained.
In his sanctum, The Shadow had planned the first step in his endeavor to learn the source of hidden crime. He was counting on the lapse of time to pave the way to successful combat. With his coded letter as the first step, The Shadow had departed from his sanctum.
CHAPTER IV
THE FIRST STEP
DAY had dawned in Manhattan. A young man, attired in a dressing gown, was standing by a window high in the huge Metrolite Hotel. He was a husky chap, with a firm, frank face. He seemed well contented with life as he viewed the city beneath.
A telephone bell began to ring. Reluctantly ending his study of the great metropolis, the young man turned back into the room and answered the call. A slow, methodical voice greeted his ear.
“Is this Mr. Harry Vincent?”
“Yes,” replied the young man.
“This is the Climax Chemical Corporation,” came the slow tones. “We have been waiting to discuss a new transaction with you. How soon could you keep an appointment with our man?”
“Within an hour,” returned Harry Vincent.
“Very well,” was the phoned decision.
The moment that he had ended the call, Harry Vincent became active. He dressed hurriedly, in preparation to leave the hotel. His speed indicated that he must have some important business on his mind.
This was true; yet Harry’s business did not concern either the purchase or sale of chemicals. There were two words in the morning message that had roused him to all haste. Those were the final words that had come over the wire: the words “our man.”
A simple, natural statement, but to Harry those words were a key to what lay ahead. “Our man” meant R. Mann. The enunciation was the same. R. Mann was Rutledge Mann, an investment broker in the Badger Building.
Within a half hour after he had received the call, Harry was entering the Badger Building. He knew that he was on the trail of adventure. For Harry Vincent, who posed as a gentleman of leisure at the Metrolite Hotel, was an active agent of The Shadow.
WHEN Harry was needed, The Shadow summoned him. Frequently the call came through Rutledge Mann, who served as a contact worker in The Shadow’s service. It was natural for a man of Harry’s prosperous appearance to make occasional calls to an investment broker’s office.
Suite 2121 was Harry’s objective. When he reached this office on the twenty-first floor, he opened the door and entered. A stenographer arose, recognized the visitor and tapped at the door of an inner office.
A few moments later, Harry Vincent was talking with a quiet, full-faced individual who sat lazily at a flat-topped desk. This was Rutledge Mann. A sheet of black paper lay beside the investment broker’s hand. Harry knew that Mann had received a coded message from The Shadow.
“Vincent,” began Mann, “I have an unusual appointment arranged for you. I would suggest that you keep it shortly before noon. You know where the Drury Theater is located.”
Harry nodded.
“Three buildings past the old theater,” resumed Mann, “is a small, antiquated office building. On the fourth floor, you will find the office of Hawthorne Crayle, a man who deals in curios. You are to visit Crayle.”
“For what purpose?” inquired Harry.
“That will be decided later,” stated Mann. “Simply call on Crayle, state that you are interested in curios and make friends with him. Should he request a service of you, perform it. Follow that line of action, wherever it may lead.”
Harry Vincent nodded as he arose to leave the office. He knew the location of the Drury Theater, near Times Square. He knew that he would have no difficulty finding the curio dealer’s office. He realized that he was taking up some mission for The Shadow’s service; like all such projects, this one would surely show surprising consequences.
Also, Harry realized that Rutledge Mann was probably in total ignorance of what lay ahead. Mann had received an order from The Shadow. He had passed the word to Harry. Mann’s part of the job was ended.
It was not yet ten o’clock. Harry left the Badger Building and strolled along Broadway. He was timing himself to reach Crayle’s office shortly before noon.
MEANWHILE, an event was already taking place at the old building where Crayle’s office was located. A tall, obscure figure was ascending a pair of dilapidated stairs. Arrived at the fourth floor, this shape stopped in front of a dingy door.
In the gloom of the hallway, where little daylight penetrated, it was difficult to distinguish objects. Yet there was something sinister in the visitor’s bearing — an indication which betokened his identity. The Shadow had come to the office of Hawthorne Crayle.
The figure moved away. Where it had been, a patch of yellow remained — an object the size of an envelope. The Shadow had gone from sight, hidden in a door across the way.
Twenty minutes passed. Tapping footsteps came from the stairway. An old man arrived in view. He picked his way through the gloomy hall and thrust a key into the lock of the old door. A flood of daylight reached the hallway as the door opened.
It was then that the old man noted the yellow object on the door. He removed it with shaky hands.
This man was Hawthorne Crayle. In the light of his office, the curio dealer appeared as a tall, stoop-shouldered old fellow, the very type that one would have expected to find in so dingy a surrounding. Crayle’s face was wizened, his whole bearing was that of the recluse.