The 'Morning Sphere' carried a sensational story of the holocaust at Clark Murdock's. Its sweeping headlines told New Yorkers of the fierce fire in which the celebrated chemist had died.
Murdock's experiments in atomic disintegration had long been a subject of news interest. It was known that he had made progress in the harnessing of the atom, and his demonstration of the preceding evening had been but one of many.
Now, by misadventure, the chemist had encountered trouble in one of his solitary experiments, and the resultant disaster had cost him his life. Shortly before midnight, there had been an explosion in his laboratory. Experts agreed that his crystal container must have burst through an overcharge of imprisoned energy.
Whether or not this had killed Clark Murdock was purely a matter of speculation. Had the crystal burst in an empty room, results might have been different. But Murdock's laboratory was stocked with dangerous chemicals. The freed atomic energy had evidently acted over a wide area, for other explosions had resulted.
When firemen arrived, the laboratory was the center of a mighty blaze. Heroic work had brought the flames under control, and in the wreckage of the place were found the mutilated remains of Clark Murdock. The body was not past recognition by those who had known the famous chemist. Among those who read the story with keen interest was a quiet-faced gentleman named Rutledge Mann. He was an investment broker who had his office in an upper story of one of Manhattan's new skyscrapers.
Secluded in his private office, Mann not only perused the account with deliberate care, but he concluded his study by clipping the story from the newspaper.
Mann opened a drawer in his desk and added the clipping to a mass of others. He sat with folded hands and stared in silence from the window. There was a rap at the door. In answer to Mann's response, a stenographer came in and placed an envelope upon her employer's desk.
When the girl had gone, Mann opened the envelope and took out a folded sheet of paper.
This proved to be a note inscribed in coded characters, which the investment broker read as easily as if it had been written in ordinary letters. He nodded as he read and when he had finished, Mann laid the paper on his desk. He picked up the telephone and gave a number.
While Mann was telephoning, the inscription on the letter began to fade. It disappeared completely, as if an invisible hand had stretched from nowhere to eradicate the writing.
Concluding a brief telephone conversation Mann picked up the blank sheet as though nothing had happened and tore the paper to fragments.
An hour later, a young man called at the office of Rutledge Mann. This was Clyde Burke, a newspaper reporter on the staff of the New York 'Classic'. He and Mann immediately engaged in a short, confidential conversation. It concerned a paragraph in the story of Clark Murdock's death
"Notice these names," said Mann quietly, pointing to the paragraph. "These men were at Murdock's home last night. They witnessed a demonstration of his atomic disintegration and then left. See what you can get me on each of them."
Burke nodded and left. Rutledge Mann turned his attention from newspaper clippings to investments. It was late in the afternoon when Clyde Burke returned. The reporter laid an envelope on Mann's desk and made an immediate departure.
Mann opened the envelope. Within he discovered typewritten sheets discussing each of the individuals who had been at Murdock's home.
The investment broker studied each sheet and laid them aside one by one until he came to a paper that bore the name of Lamont Cranston.
Mann read this page with interest. He knew Lamont Cranston by sight and by reputation.
The man was an eccentric multimillionaire, who lived on an estate in New Jersey.
He spent most of his time while in New York at his favorite clubs. But Cranston was seldom in New York. He had a habit of going on long journeys. The world was his playground.
Cranston, according to Burke's report, had financed a number of successful scientific projects, and it was likely that he had gone to Murdock's with some such plan in mind for the new process of harnessing the atom.
Cranston's sheet was laid aside and Rutledge Mann observed another page that bore the name of Doctor Gerald Savette. He had heard of this prominent physician, but until now there had been no occasion to go into his past history.
According to the report, Doctor Savette had experienced a varied medical career. At one time he had conducted a small sanitarium on Long Island. There had been a fire there nearly three years ago. Savette's heroic efforts had saved the lives of all his patients except one. Austin Bellamy, a retired manufacturer had perished in the blaze. His charred body had been recovered from the ruins. Since then, Savette had resided in New York, where he had gained considerable repute as a plastic surgeon, although this field represented but one of his many medical accomplishments. Recently, Savette had traveled occasionally from New York, but Burke had found no record of the physician's journeys. At the end of the sheets, Mann found a page which Burke had voluntarily supplied. It listed brief reports on persons indirectly concerned with those who had been at Murdock's home. Mann clipped these short paragraphs apart and pasted them to the pages where they belonged.
He folded the papers, added clippings from the newspapers and put them all in a large envelope. In order to obtain clippings, Mann had opened the desk drawer. He now began an examination of other clippings which he had assembled on various cases.
One of these caused a perplexed frown to appear upon the broad forehead of the investment broker. It pertained to the strange disappearance of Professor Pierre Rachaud, a radio technician who was considered an expert on television.
There were many supplementary reports concerning Professor Rachaud; for his loss had created a great stir in the radio industry.
But most important were the actual circumstances that surrounded the accredited death of the eminent professor. Mann studied the clipping which referred to it — a recent article which had summarized the entire case.
Professor Pierre Rachaud had departed from New York on a weekend cruise. He had made a regular hobby of such cruises and his familiar face, with its huge, bushy black beard, had been seen by passengers on the cruising ship Albania when it had sailed from New York harbor.
On the first night out, Professor Rachaud had visited the smoking room and had been observed in a secluded corner, enjoying a bottle of his favorite French wine. Shortly after he had left, a radiogram had been received for him. It was an urgent message from New York.
Professor Rachaud, being neither in his stateroom nor in the smoking room, a search was instituted for him. He was nowhere on the ship. In a period of not more than fifteen minutes, the radio technician had disappeared!
Rachaud's luggage had been discovered in his stateroom. But there was no sign of the man. He had not, of course, expected the radiogram.
The logical assumption was that the professor had gone overboard. Yet the sea was calm and there were many passengers on deck. It seemed incredible that the man could have been lost at sea under such circumstances — either through suicide or murder.
The case had developed into an international mystery. Professor Rachaud was a Frenchman, living in New York, and he had taken passage on a British ship. Dozens of eminent detectives were working on the case, with no success.
To Rutledge Mann, this strange affair was of great interest. Beside it, the death of Clark Murdock, which had been declared an accident, seemed trivial.
Nevertheless, it was Mann's duty to assemble data on the Murdock case alone. So he regretfully replaced the Rachaud clippings in the desk drawer.
Pocketing the envelope which dealt with Murdock's demise, Rutledge Mann glanced at his watch and noted that it was after five o'clock. He went into the outer office, told the girl that she could leave for the day; then descended in an elevator.
Taking the subway, he rode downtown to Twenty-third Street. There, Mann strolled along until he came to an old, squalid building that was virtually deserted. He entered and made his way upstairs to the door of a dingy office.
Upon the dirty glass panel appeared, in faded letters, the name:
B. Jonas
The investment broker dropped the envelope through the mail chute in the door. He heard it plunk behind the barrier. Then he went down the dimly lighted stairs and reached the street. He hailed a taxicab and rode to his club.
It was a strange business for an investment broker, this task of going over newspaper clippings and obtaining unprinted information through a reporter on the 'Classic'. Even more strange was the visit of Rutledge Mann to the squalid building on Twenty-third Street.
What dealings did the fastidious investment broker have with a man named Jonas, who inhabited one of the most obscure and decrepit offices in New York?
That was a fact known to a very few. Those who understood were sworn to secrecy. For Rutledge Mann and Clyde Burke were members of a small and obscure company. They were agents of the mysterious man called The Shadow — that strange figure whose name had become the terror of the underworld.
Clyde Burke had assembled material for Rutledge Mann. The investment broker had revised the data which the reporter had given him. Now the final reports were waiting in the mail chute for the man who had ordered them.
To all New York, the death of Clark Murdock might have been accepted as a misadventure. But to The Shadow, it must have a greater significance. For he had instructed Mann, through a mysterious message, to obtain information from Clyde Burke.
The calm activities of The Shadow's agents were the forerunners of approaching storm.
When The Shadow began such work, it meant doom to fiends of crime!