The Shadow was rising from his chair. With the stooped shoulders and withered face of Hawthorne Crayle, he appeared as an almost pitiful figure.
“I am returning to my office,” he declared. “By taxicab” — these words were accompanied by a sour smile — “despite my dislike of such vehicles. I must go to Cincinnati. You, Mr. Vincent, will wish to stay here and discuss matters with Mr. Barliss.”
Harry Vincent caught himself on the point of volunteering to take Hawthorne Crayle downtown. Harry was still playing circumstances. He realized that this break would leave him with his new friend, Terry Barliss. It suited Harry exactly.
Hence Harry said nothing. He watched Terry Barliss go to the hallway, he saw the stooped form of Hawthorne Crayle bending beneath the overcoat. Then Terry had ushered the old visitor to the front door and was returning.
“Perhaps we can see Eli Galban tonight,” suggested Harry. “I’ll try to find out where he lives. There are several places that I can call for information.”
“Good,” returned Terry. “It seems hopeless, though. After all, the only way a genuine manuscript could be taken would have been before my uncle placed it in the safe. He might have put the false one there. I am assuming, of course, that it had been substituted for the real.”
“Which seems doubtful.”
“Except for the fact that the only way my uncle seemed to recognize that this one was not genuine was when he found the Fifth Ballad missing. He might not have examined the manuscript so closely when he placed it in the safe.”
His statement finished, Terry Barliss shook his head. He seemed to be giving up his own theory. Harry Vincent nodded to agree with him.
SOMETHING was stirring in the hallway. Neither Harry nor Terry knew that some one was there. The door had opened; the form of Hawthorne Crayle had returned to linger. The old man’s face was the same; his figure, though, was erect.
The Shadow in form; Hawthorne Crayle in countenance. The Shadow had returned long enough to catch Terry’s last words. Amid the gloomy silence that followed, The Shadow turned to the door and made a silent departure.
Stooping like Crayle, this visitor to the Barliss home hailed a taxicab and crackled a destination to the driver. In the cushions of the rear seat, his set face relaxed. A soft, whispered laugh replaced the chuckle which had been Hawthorne Crayle’s familiar affectation.
The Shadow knew that Terry Barliss had unwittingly hit the truth. The only time at which a genuine Villon manuscript could have been stolen from Shattuck Barliss was while the bound volume rested in the library.
A substitution would have done the trick. The removal of the genuine — the replacement of an imitation, without the Fifth Ballad — was a deceit that Shattuck Barliss might not have discovered, prior to the night when he had died.
Harry Vincent and Terry Barliss were to visit Eli Galban. The two were friends, through the efforts of the person whom both had taken for Hawthorne Crayle. The Shadow, however, had gained a clew which both young men had completely overlooked, even thought it had been discussed.
Because of his own knowledge, his own study of the events surrounding the death of Shattuck Barliss, The Shadow had seen significance in the visits of Compton Salwood, the interior decorator whom Terry Barliss had mentioned.
Salwood — by Terry’s statement — had made at least three trips to the old brownstone house. On one, a few months previous, he could have taken the genuine Villon manuscript. On the first visit during the illness of Shattuck Barliss, Salwood could well have learned the old man’s critical condition and the fact that Terry Barliss was being summoned to New York. On his final visit, Salwood might easily have substituted the useless capsules for the potent ones.
The Shadow had gained results. His agent was with Terry Barliss. The two were going after further information, which Harry Vincent would report to The Shadow. In the meantime, The Shadow, himself, could learn more concerning the interior decorator, Compton Salwood.
The unseen strategy was at work. Yet the laugh that reverberated softly within the confines of the taxicab was no token of success. It was a presagement of unexpected obstacles that blocked the path ahead.
The Shadow knew that he had started on the trail of crime; along that trail he foresaw complications. Lurking danger cried a sinister warning to any who might seek the source of subtle crime. Lurking danger was threatening, even to The Shadow!
CHAPTER VI
OLD ELI GALBAN
TERRY BARLISS had been somewhat disappointed by the visit of Hawthorne Crayle. He had expected to gain some tangible information from the old curio dealer. His disappointment, however, was tempered by his quick acquaintanceship with Harry Vincent.
To Terry Barliss, Harry seemed a real friend almost on sight. Terry was elated because Hawthorne Crayle’s companion had remained.
Harry Vincent lost no time in taking up the matter of Eli Galban. Harry seemed as anxious as Terry to learn all that he could regarding the Villon manuscript.
Consultations of the telephone directories brought no information regarding the residence of Eli Galban. But Harry did not stop there. He called a friend who was an investment broker; through him he learned the name of a prominent book collector who was one of the broker’s clients; and finally, from the collector, he found that Eli Galban lived in the suburban town of Houlton, New Jersey.
Inasmuch as it appeared difficult to reach Galban by telephone, Harry proposed a personal visit. He and Terry started out in the coupe. They reached the Holland Tunnel, took the highway beyond, and rolled on toward Houlton.
Harry’s only mistake was the choice of a roundabout road; detours added to this error. It was approaching dusk when the coupe neared Houlton. The place proved to be a drab suburb of a New Jersey manufacturing city.
Harry and Terry rode past rows of dingy houses that served as homes for factory workers. Many of these were empty. The answer was given when the riders reached a newer neighborhood. Completed building operations had evidently provided the workers with better and more modern homes.
Harry drew up beside a corner drug store. He found the proprietor behind the counter and inquired if the man knew where Eli Galban lived.
“Sure enough,” declared that druggist. “Go down to the street which has all those old row houses. Follow it north. You’ll see Galban’s place. A large house right at the end of town.”
Harry returned to the coupe and took the direction indicated. Rows of houses lined both sides of the street; as they neared the town limit, Terry Barliss remarked upon the fact that the final block seemed entirely deserted of occupants. The rows came to an end. Immediately afterward, Terry spied a large and gloomy mansion on the right.
HARRY slowed the speed of his car. He noted that the empty house at the end of the row was no more than forty feet from the side of Galban’s mansion. Dull lights glimmered in windows of the large building. A high picket fence stretched around the place and the windows of the big house were provided with bars.
“Shall we drop in now?” questioned Harry.
“Let’s eat first,” suggested Terry. “Maybe Galban is having dinner. It would be preferable to call early in the evening.”
Harry agreed. He turned the coupe and they rode back into Houlton, where they found a restaurant. It was after eight o’clock when the pair started forth to make their call on Eli Galban.
The mansion was now set in complete darkness. The glimmer of the windows seemed more apparent. Harry drew up in front of the gate. He and Terry alighted. The gate clanged as they opened it and took the front walk directly to the house.