PUFFING at his cigarette, the gloater stalked to the door of an adjoining room, which formed his private quarters. Then, to the three who remained in the studio of the mythical artist Lesboscombes, Zemba’s harsh voice came with a tone of warning.
“Remember. The friends of Gaspard Zemba are those who serve him. His enemies are those who do not. Perform your mission. Learn what you can. Discover if those whom I have trusted have talked too much. Accomplish that and you are my friends. Fail, and I shall class you as my enemies.”
The door closed behind the glowering speaker as he stepped into the next room. The three Apaches nodded as they sat in silence. Their hearts were filled with something that resembled dread. They had learned to fear the whip-lashing power of Gaspard Zemba.
They were contemptuous in their thoughts of The Shadow; derisive when they considered the fame of Etienne Robeq. Compared with Gaspard Zemba, those two were helpless puppets.
Such was the opinion of Georges, Bantoire and Jacques.
CHAPTER XII
HARRY MAKES A CAPTURE
IT was late the next afternoon. Drizzly weather had brought an early dusk to Paris. Harry and Cliff were seated in their hotel room, gloomily discussing past events.
“Something is wrong,” asserted Harry. “If ever there was a needle in a haystack, it is this fellow Zemba.”
“A needle without a thread,” added Cliff, “and Paris is a mighty big haystack.”
“Every one knows about him. Every one knows he is here. Did you hear those Frenchmen laugh, up at the Moulin Rouge, when the girl sang the song about Zemba.”
“An old song,” recalled Cliff. “It was written about some other criminal, years ago: ‘Is he fair or bronzed? Small or square? Fat or thin? Ah! Who will picture Zemba?’ That was the translation, wasn’t it?”
“Part of it. Then there was a gag about the police receiving a mysterious package. All they found in it was Zemba’s missing finger.”
“I never could get the French idea of humor.”
“Nor I. But this Zemba business is too serious to be funny.”
Harry was standing by the window. He turned about and put the situation squarely to Cliff.
“The Shadow doesn’t have a lead!” he exclaimed. “You know how we usually work, Cliff. Some special duty for each of us. Here, in Paris, the chief could be using twenty men instead of two, if he ever had matters on the go. But that’s the trouble. You and I are useless; and there is just one answer. Not a thing has broken.”
“When it does,” remarked Cliff, “it will be plenty hot.”
“But so far, it is cold. Time is getting short, too.”
“You’re right about that, Harry. Somehow — well, maybe I’m not expressing it just right — somehow, I’ve lost confidence.”
“In The Shadow?”
“No. Just in circumstances. It’s different with you, Harry. You’ve been in on plenty of cases where the going was slow for a while. But with me, it’s always been a bang-up proposition.
“Well,” decided Harry, “we won’t get anywhere in this mood. It’s time for dinner; but we’d better take turns in the dining room, in case the chief calls us. We haven’t heard from him since noon.”
Drawing a silver ten-franc piece from his pocket, Harry flipped it. Cliff called “Heads” and the coin came with that side upward. Harry grinned and nudged toward the door. It was Cliff’s first turn to eat.
WHEN Cliff strolled from the suite, he was thinking of The Shadow. On that account, he gave a slight glance toward a doorway near the elevators. That door — number 504 — was the entrance to the suite that Herbert Balliol occupied.
Catching a glimpse of the barrier from the corner of his eye, Cliff spotted a motion. The door was closing slowly. As it shut, Cliff gained a sudden impression of a face that had peered from within.
Cliff was about to hesitate; he overcame the impulse and continued his walk along the hall. By the time he had reached the elevator, he had done some quick thinking. Cliff knew that an intruder was in 504 and that the proper step was to trap the man. It could not have been The Shadow peering from the doorway. The pretended Herbert Balliol was unquestionably absent from the hotel.
Strategy was also wise. Hence Cliff curbed himself and rang for the elevator. The lift arrived and carried him down to the lobby. There Cliff made promptly for a telephone and rang up Harry. Tersely, Cliff told what he had seen. Harry responded with a query:
“Did the fellow lock the door after he closed it?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Cliff. “I was too far away to notice any click.”
“Come up again,” suggested Harry. “Try the door from the outside. If it’s unlocked, go into the room.”
“And if it’s locked?”
“I’ll let you in later. You can count on me to be inside.”
“But how—”
“Leave that to me, Cliff.”
Upstairs, Harry dropped the receiver as he made that final statement. He knew that Cliff would follow his instructions; and there was no time to go into details. For Harry, thinking quickly, had gained an idea.
OUTSIDE the window of this suite was a balcony. Similar projections existed all along the level of the fifth floor. Cliff, like Harry, had noticed them; but Harry had observed a point that had escaped Cliff. The balconies, though wide apart, were all supported by a broad cornice that ran the full length. That offered Harry a prompt route to Room 504.
Extinguishing the light, Harry climbed out to the balcony. Cold, driving drizzle swept against his face. The hotel wall was dark; but the cornice, being of marble, showed grimy whiteness in the gloom. It was a wide pathway; but a dangerous one, for the stone was slippery. Nevertheless, Harry felt that he could manage it.
Detaching his stout belt, he girded it about a thin iron post midway in the side rail of the balcony; then thrust the free end of the belt through the buckle.
Climbing over the rail, he gripped the loose end of the belt with one hand and clutched the brick wall of the building with the other. Carefully, he edged along to the next balcony.
All the way, Harry was prepared for a slip. He was backing away from his own balcony, ready for a quick scramble to safety should he loose a foothold. The belt, he believed, would serve him in the pinch; but the test never came. As he reached the end of his life line, Harry slid his other hand along the wall and encountered the rail of the next balcony.
Harry would have regained the belt for further use, if possible; but he saw no way to obtain it except by a return journey. However, he had gained complete confidence through this first foray. He let the belt slide down and rest upon the cornice. Scrambling over the rail of the new balcony, he reached the other side and began a beltless trip for the balcony beyond it.
Reaching his goal, he made another similar trip and this time arrived upon the balcony that was outside of Room 504. Crouching in the darkness, Harry tried the window. It was open a few inches at the bottom. Beyond it were curtains. Counting upon them for cover, Harry moved the sash upward.
Though there had been no orders from The Shadow concerning the protection of Room 504, Harry felt that he was acting in accord with his chief’s interests. Those in The Shadow’s service were expected to use their own initiative when occasion demanded.
This was an unusual case; one that puzzled Harry. He could not remember any time when an unknown intruder had so boldly penetrated to The Shadow’s own abode. That fact, however, made Harry’s action seem all the more necessary.
Huddled in the darkness of the window sill, Harry could hear a creeping sound within the room. At the same time, he caught a very slight noise from the door. Cliff had arrived and was trying the knob. Apparently, the door was latched. The prowler had heard it and was taking some action.