“You are The Shadow?”
Balliol’s smile broadened.
“Perhaps,” he remarked dryly. “Ah, M’sieu’, you have brought others with you.”
“This is Sergeant Rusanne.” The bearded prefect indicated the bantamweight beside him. “He is my trusted aid. But there are others also. I shall summon them, with your leave.”
A bow of Balliol’s head. The prefect turned and motioned at the door. Promptly, Delka and Robeq appeared. Then came the agents, clustering in the hall. Rusanne gave the latter orders; they clumped to stationary positions inside the room, with their sergeant and another blocking the door.
Delka and Robeq had entered ahead of the agent. The prefect was introducing them to Herbert Balliol. Delka smiled when Clandine referred to Balliol as The Shadow. Delka had met The Shadow in the past and regarded him as a friend, no matter what his guise might be.
“And this,” announced the prefect, with a profound bow, “is Etienne Robeq, most celebrated of all the detectives in France.”
PRISONERS stood scowling as they observed the introductions. The Shadow, quiet, in the guise of Balliol; Robeq, stiffened and alert, like a soldier of the Foreign Legion. Four trapped men were hopeless in the presence of the two whom they most feared.
Two strategists had met within a room where the law held control. Backed by five others, with eight agents besides, this double victory stood complete. All told, there were fifteen armed invaders, against a pitiful quartet of prisoners whose revolvers had been wrested from them.
Such was the present situation; and Monsieur Clandine wore a smile. The bearded prefect felt that anything could be accomplished now that Etienne Robeq and The Shadow had come together. This was a meeting that Clandine had long desired.
But had the prefect glanced toward the curtains at the far left corner of the room, his delight would have become momentary dismay. Another was present at this meeting; one whose presence was unsuspected; an enemy whom Monsieur Clandine would fear so long as that foeman lived.
Peering from beyond the draperies was a triumphant, gloating face. A countenance that the prefect would have classified at sight. The visage of Gaspard Zemba!
CHAPTER XXI
TWISTS TURN THE GAME
“AH, Monsieur L’Ombre, you have done exceeding well. Pay no further attention to that safe. We shall dynamite it, later. That duty belongs to the police.”
It was Clandine who was speaking. Having delivered his polite announcement, the prefect turned and indicated the prisoners.
“As for these four,” he added, “I shall ask your permission to take them with me. They shall be delivered to Monsieur Brezanne, the Minister of Foreign Affairs. Their own governments have sought their capture.”
Then, facing the tall form of Herbert Balliol, the prefect again queried:
“Have I your leave, Monsieur L’Ombre?”
“You have my leave,” replied Balliol. “But you have asked permission of The Shadow.”
“And you are The Shadow!”
A shake of Balliol’s head. A pleasant smile.
“There stands The Shadow!”
CIandine gaped. Balliol was pointing directly toward the famous detective, Etienne Robeq.
“Impossible!” gasped the prefect. “What! Robeq is The Shadow? Then who are you, Monsieur Balliol?”
“I?” The query came with a laugh. “I am Etienne Robeq!”
CLANDINE stood stupefied, glancing from one to the other. Eric Delka was completely bewildered. As for The Shadow’s agents, a light was dawning upon them. Harry Vincent had remarked upon the oddness of The Shadow’s actions. Cliff remembered Harry’s comments. They were gaining an explanation at last.
“I shall make the case plain,” declared Herbert Balliol. “As I have just said, I am Etienne Robeq. I came to Paris to seek the notorious Gaspard Zemba. I learned that my presence here was known. I stayed away from the prefecture. I knew that word was leaking somewhere.
“A strange rumor had reached the underworld. Talk of The Shadow — a belief that he might be in Paris. I learned later that tension, alone, had begun that rumor. But it chanced to be correct. In my search for Zemba, I happened, one night, to glimpse The Shadow. He was cloaked in black. I saw him in an alleyway not far from the Boul’ Mich’.
“I supposed that The Shadow had found some trace of Zemba. The next night, I watched the same spot. That was the night when Zemba arrived in Paris after his murder of Boris Danyar. A taxicab arrived, with Zemba aboard. Another came, carrying The Shadow.
“I was sole witness to the fight that followed. I joined it to aid The Shadow. Gaspard Zemba escaped us. Both The Shadow and I departed. Again, I saw his taxicab.”
The real Etienne Robeq paused. He looked toward the supposed Robeq, who smiled his approval of the statements. Both had relaxed. The former Herbert Balliol, in particular, had dropped his part of an Englishman.
“Apaches saw The Shadow that night,” resumed the real Robeq. “But I, alone, noted his taxi. I traced it. The driver talked. He told me that his passenger went to the Hotel Moderne. Going there, I learned that a guest named Herbert Balliol had checked out hurriedly, to take the midnight train to Brussels.
“Viola! He could have been The Shadow. I went to other hotels. There was no Herbert Balliol. An idea inspired me. I went to the Hotel Princesse. I registered there as Herbert Balliol.”
Harry and Cliff exchanged understanding glances. They expected what was coming.
“The doorman at the Hotel Moderne aided me,” laughed Robeq. “He promised to send all inquirers for Balliol to the Hotel Princesse. The next day, these two arrived. They joined me.”
Smiling, Robeq indicated The Shadow’s agents. Then, with a shrug of his tuxedoed shoulders, he resumed:
“You ask why I became The Shadow? I shall tell you. I thought that perhaps Zemba would trail him also. I wanted to meet Zemba. I knew that my action would not harm The Shadow. Instead, it gave me a way of covering up the fact that I was Robeq.
“Seeking The Shadow, Zemba would find Robeq! But instead of men from the underworld, my visitors proved to be friends of The Shadow. Men who would have gone their own way had they not found Herbert Balliol. Knowing that they must take me for The Shadow, I kept up the pretense.
“My position was strengthened. I had two men who would obey my commands. So I went to the Cafe Poisson and sent a note to the proprietor. He thought it was from Zemba. It told him to have me followed. Thus did Zemba learn of Herbert Balliol, the man whom he thought was The Shadow.
“Zemba laid a trap in the Allee des Bijoux. We captured a prowler who was sent to give the word away. Zemba was afraid to visit The Shadow; he wanted The Shadow to come to him. It was I, Robeq, who went, with The Shadow’s men to aid me. I believed that we could nullify the trap.
“Zemba was there; but the conflict proved to be a draw. The cause seemed hopeless until tonight. I still played the part of The Shadow, but I had learned nothing. Then, tonight, these two men received a message from the real Shadow!”
TRIUMPHANTLY, Robeq pointed to Harry and Cliff. The final truth had come to that pair. They knew at last why The Shadow had called; then had appeared and changed his plans. The Shadow had called first; then Robeq had come, in the guise of Balliol.
“I understood everything!” cried Robeq. “The Shadow had learned Zemba’s true hiding place. He wanted his agents here. Good! But I, Robeq, could not stay out. That is why I called you, Monsieur le Prefet. I wanted the police to be about.
“And all the while” — Robeq’s smile was broad — “I had begun to realize how clever The Shadow was. He, too, had been forced to change his plans. So he became Etienne Robeq! Why? Because he knew that I, the real Robeq, had made it a policy to keep away from the prefecture.