The new ruse had altered that procedure. Harry, speculating, believed that he had found the reason. Last night, The Shadow had stationed his agents; then had come alone. Matters had gone badly, however, in the Montmartre. That seemed the answer to The Shadow’s sudden shift to a different system.
Moreover, Harry could remember episodes in London. There, at times, The Shadow had worked more openly than usual. He could afford to do so, in cities where he appeared only at intervals. London and Paris were different from New York. In America, crooks were always on the lookout for The Shadow.
Harry smiled with confidence. He looked toward the profiled features of Herbert Balliol. The blue spectacles were gone; even in the gloom of the cab, that steady face added to Harry’s belief that success would be gained.
Cliff was leaning forward to toss a cigarette from the window. Turning, Cliff caught Harry’s gaze and responded with a knowing nod. He, too, was confident. Instructions from The Shadow, followed by the chief’s own arrival.
Both Harry and Cliff feared no ill, while The Shadow, himself, was with them. Yet they had but little inkling of the future. Though they did not guess it, they were due for complications. They were tackling Gaspard Zemba, one of the most powerful enemies whom The Shadow had ever encountered.
Startling surprises; grim dangers; the threat of death itself — all these would be due tonight. Dread circumstances would confront these aids of The Shadow; episodes that would require all the skill of their chief to bring them through alive.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE LAW’S MOVE
HARRY VINCENT was not the only man in Paris who had been chafing under forced restraint. At the Hotel Talleyrand, Eric Delka was also idling away slow-passing time; but he had a companion. Delka was in Robeq’s hotel room; and the detective was also present.
Ever since dusk, Robeq had been on the point of leaving. Garbed in gray coat and gloves, his hat in readiness beside him, the detective had been prepared for an immediate departure. All that he wanted was some word from Sergeant Rusanne; any wisp of information that the law might provide. But no such word had come.
Robeq had smoked innumerable cigarettes. Exhausting his supply, he remarked that he would buy more cigarettes in the tobacco shop below. Delka agreed to wait in the room, in case Rusanne called. Robeq went out. One minute after his departure, the telephone bell rang.
It was not Sergeant Rusanne. It was Monsieur Clandine, and the prefect showed excitement. He recognized Delka’s tone; finding that Robeq was out, the prefect gave the message to the Scotland Yard man.
“Five minutes ago!” exclaimed Clandine, across the wire. “A telephone call. Viola! It was Monsieur Robeq! But it did not sound like Robeq!”
“Robeq called you?” queried Delka. “Impossible! He was here until a minute ago. He just went downstairs for cigarettes.”
“Ah! A hoax!” The prefect’s voice denoted ire. “From some one who has not guessed that Robeq is so close with the law. I expected as much. You ask me why? Because the call did not come through Sergeant Rusanne.”
“Have you called Rusanne?”
“Not yet. But listen to this, Monsieur Delka. The man who did call, said that he had learned Zemba’s hiding place. Within the Palais Vraillard. Peste! How fine a place that would be. I am to send agents, to picket them about. Such was his suggestion. I must do something, even if this proves to be a hoax.”
“Of course. Wait one moment, Monsieur le Prefet.”
DELKA turned. Robeq had come back. Tersely, Delka explained what Clandine had told him. Robeq seized the telephone. He started a rapid conversation with the prefect. At first, the discourse was excited; then suddenly, Robeq stiffened.
“I have the answer!” he exclaimed, to Clandine. “It was The Shadow! Yes… He could have found Zemba’s rendezvous… What shall we do? The answer is simple. We must act!
“No, no… Neither course will do… I have the answer… A picked squad of agents… Ones already at Saint-Germain… Yes. I shall call Rusanne. He can arrange it.
“You wish to join us? Excellent!.. Certainly, there will be time… Delka and I shall be outside. I shall tell Rusanne to come here… Yes, you will arrive as soon as Rusanne…”
Hanging up, Robeq turned to Delka.
“The Shadow is in it,” informed the detective. “Clever chap! I wager that he has actually traced Zemba. He wants to work it alone; but he knows that he may need the law. That is why he called the prefect.
“Clandine wanted to spoil it all, by smashing into the Vraillard Palace. That would be a mistake. At the same time, The Shadow is taking too great a risk. I have found the way to aid him. Instead of deploying our agents half a kilometre distant, we shall close in and enter afterward.”
“Agents may prove clumsy,” objected Delka. “I heard you mention them to the prefect.”
“You are right,” agreed Robeq, “but we are prepared for this emergency. Rusanne has already chosen picked men from every commune and faubourg. We shall have a squad awaiting us at Saint-Germain. Men upon whom we can rely.”
Picking up the telephone, Robeq put in a call to the prefecture. He was connected immediately with Sergeant Rusanne. Tersely, Robeq gave the details. He emphasized the matter of the picked squad. The call ended, he turned to Delka.
“Rusanne has everything ready,” assured Robeq. “He knows his business, that fellow. All will go well tonight, unless—”
Delka raised his eyebrows in query. Robeq smiled grimly.
“Unless the whole thing is a false trail,” he said. “It may be such. Even this famous sleuth, The Shadow, may make false steps. But if he is right, tonight—”
“What then?”
“I shall concede,” smiled the detective, “that The Shadow is greater than Robeq.”
Delka duplicated the smile. He decided that no greater compliment could come from Robeq. The detective was an egotist, despite his capability.
THE prefect of police was speedy in his trip to the Hotel Talleyrand. Five minutes after Delka and Robeq had reached the street, a limousine appeared and parked near by. Robeq approached; then signaled to Delka. They joined Clandine in his car.
“Where is Rusanne?” inquired the prefect, anxiously. “I thought that he would be here before me.”
“He has been giving the orders,” replied Robeq. “It should not take him long.”
A taxi wheeled from the corner. Rusanne stepped from it, recognized the prefect’s car and boarded it. The limousine rolled toward the Seine. Rusanne, perched upon a folding seat, was explicit with his report.
“Eight agents will join us,” he declared, “at an appointed place one hundred metres distant from the Palais Vraillard. They will be stationed beside the empty Maison Jollet, where no one can observe them.
“The chauffeur can park this car in the driveway beside the old Jollet house, where there is ample space. We can then proceed to the Vraillard Palace and enter by the rear door, which opens into the Allee Mantinard.
“I learned all this from those who know the faubourg. The picked squad will be sent from Saint-Germain. We may, however, arrive before them. If so, our wait will not be long. Meanwhile, as an added precaution, reserve agents will begin to form a cordon one kilometre distant.
“The cordon will close after we have entered. That, Monsieur Robeq, is how I interpreted your instructions.”
“You have done well,” assured Monsieur Clandine.
“Except for one point,” objected Robeq. “Yet, in a sense, it is not vital.”