Doctor Savette smiled grimly as he leaned back in his easy-chair. He was alone in his front room, reviewing the past, and thinking of the future. Attired in evening clothes, he had the pose of a gentleman of culture.
Four days had passed since Biff Towley's mob had met and fought The Shadow. The affray had caused a great stir in the newspapers. The garbled and incorrect accounts had been accepted seriously. Solemn sleuths had solved the situation — so they supposed. It was assumed that a crowd of gangsters had gone to the dock to meet rumrunners coming in from the Sound.
Another crew of mobsmen had come to muscle in. One band had been victorious.
Glade Tremont, prominent attorney had unfortunately been trapped in the fray. The victors had fled, leaving the dead and wounded. Glade Tremont had escaped with only slight injuries. Certain of the battling mobsmen had been identified with a gang leader named Biff Towley. He was not in New York. It was supposed that he had fled — perhaps before the fight — fearing that he was to be deposed as chief. Some effort was being made to find him, but the attempt was not widespread. Glade Tremont had gone away for a rest. He had been through a grueling experience. His departure from New York had been virtually unmentioned in the newspapers.
All these reports were good news to Gerald Savette. But he had still another reason to be pleased. The Shadow had completely disappeared. Unmentioned by the press — for no one had suspected The Shadow's hand in the Long Island affair — the one enemy whom Savette and Tremont feared had passed into oblivion.
Now, Savette had begun to share Tremont's theory that The Shadow had been killed.
There were good reasons for so believing.
It seemed incredible that the man could possibly have escaped. The mobster who had fired the shot at which The Shadow toppled had gazed from the end of the dock to see no one.
That was Biff Towley's assurance.
Moreover, Glade Tremont's statement about the currents in the Sound were true ones.
Searchers had discovered the body of a dead gangster wedged beneath another dock a half mile away. No body had been found that might have been The Shadow's; but there was every cause to believe that his form, too, had found its way to some obscure spot.
Most convincing of all was the fact that The Shadow had not revealed himself. There was no chance — so Savette thought — that The Shadow could know of present plans. Checkmated, his only hope — if he lived — of saving Cliff Marsland's life was to communicate and come to terms.
Savette was confident on this point. Therefore, The Shadow must be dead.
Nevertheless, the wily physician had not changed his plan of holding Cliff as a hostage.
With his agent captive, The Shadow could not dare to strike. Savette, despite his smugness, was well versed in the lore of the underworld. He knew that The Shadow would never abandon an underling to destruction. For a short while, Savette had entertained the thought that perhaps operatives of The Shadow might carry on. That, he was soon convinced, was not only illogical, but also impossible. Actually, The Shadow was a lone wolf. His special agents were merely men who obeyed orders blindly, covering places where The Shadow could not be. These leaderless operatives could not even know of Cliff Marsland's plight.
Now, with full security, Savette was contemplating another crime. Money was needed for a definite purpose. With his past record, it was only natural that the scheming physician should decide to use an evil method in the furtherance of his desire.
Reclining, with eyes half shut, the fiend made mental notations of persons whom he had in mind. Among his patients were many wealthy persons; but as he had told Tremont, there was an obstacle with each that prevented surety of action.
Savette took chances when necessary. He had not been so particular in the past, when he had first embarked upon his insidious trail of crime. Now, with his career besmirched, and his mind schooled to ease and perfection in method, he wanted to perform the coming job in the safest and best way possible. Some minds are naturally crooked. Gerald Savette did not possess the quirks and twists of the natural criminal. To him, evil was useful only as a means to a definite end. He, like his associates, had left a bloody trail behind them. But in the lesser jobs, they had let Biff Towley attend to the dirty work. Gerald Savette felt himself a criminal deluxe. He was about to make his farewell bow to his secret profession. From then on, he would be secure as a wealthy, retired physician. That was the goal he had set.
Tremont wanted action soon. So did Orlinov. Both could wait — a month if necessary.
Unless a perfect scheme presented itself, Savette would hold back to the limit before perpetrating his last evil. While he waited, he was playing his suave part of a reputable physician. He was strict ethically. He was not overdoing himself. He was enjoying social functions, extending his connections, adding to his prestige. A wary method indeed!
Tonight, Savette was keeping an appointment with a group of wealthy men. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was past eight o'clock. Nearly time to be going. He rang a bell and summoned his servant, Hughes.
"Order the car from the garage," said Savette. "By the way, Hughes, let me have that envelope with the invitation that I left on the table in the other room. Get that first." Hughes bowed and left the room. He returned, carrying the envelope; Savette opened it. He smiled as he read the contents of the letter.
This had come as a follow-up to a phone call which Savette had received from Lamont Cranston, the millionaire with whom he had formed an acquaintance.
Cranston was giving a special party to a few chosen guests. The affair was set for tonight.
Savette had accepted the verbal invitation. The letter carried instructions, telling how to reach Cranston's home in New Jersey. It also expressed pleasure in the fact that Doctor Savette would be able to attend the affair. When the car arrived from the garage, Savette set out immediately.
He headed for the Holland Tunnel, reached the Jersey side, and arrived at Lamont Cranston's home shortly after nine o'clock. Most of the guests had arrived. Savette was greeted by his host.
He was introduced to the other men, all of whom were wealthy and influential.
"I have not seen you for some time, doctor," remarked Cranston, as the two were standing side by side.
"Where was it we last met?"
"Let me think," said Savette slowly. "Ah, yes. I seem to recall it. Weren't we both at Clark Murdock's?"
"Clark Murdock." Cranston seemed puzzled. "Now it comes back to me. I had forgotten the name of that chemist chap. The one who had all the queer experiments. Very interesting. I wonder how he is progressing."
"He is dead," said Savette, in a tone of surprise. "His laboratory blew up. Didn't you know about that, Mr. Cranston?"
"I seldom read the newspapers," replied Cranston, in a laughing tone. Then his words became solemn. "I am sorry to hear the man died by accidental cause. A great loss to science. He appeared to have discovered something of value. I thought that he was still at work, trying to develop that machine of his." Another guest interrupted the conversation.
It was nearing midnight. Refreshments were served. While all were eating, Cranston made an announcement.
"This is something of a farewell party, gentlemen," he said. "The wanderlust has seized me again. I am leaving for distant regions, tomorrow."
A buzz of interest arose. Lamont Cranston had a great reputation as a globe-trotter.
Questions came. All wanted to know his plans.
"My plans?" Cranston's staid face took on a cryptic smile. "I have none, gentlemen. I go where the mood seizes me. Africa — India — South America. All are alike to me. I do not follow the beaten trail.
"Alone and unattended, I may walk into the midst of a Senegambian tribe. The chief will recognize me. Unheralded, I may appear among the ancient Indians of Peru. There, too, my presence is welcome.
"I have been to Lassa, the Holy City of Tibet. I have trekked through the South African veldt. I have explored the far reaches of the Amazon. I go to places where my very name is unknown to those who recognize me.
"All of the primitive peoples whom I meet have given me their own name. Translated, I am known as 'Child of the Moon,' 'White Chief,' 'Smoke Man' — and a host of other curious titles.
I carry weapons, but I seldom use them, except when I am tracking game. I surprise my primitive friends with conjuring tricks, tobacco smoke, simple medical preparations, and other devices which I carry with me.
"I possess an aptitude for learning any dialect almost as I hear it. In this way, I get along well — even with cannibals, who have invariably considered me of more value as a wise man than as a kettle of stew. On my prospective journey, I shall encounter old friends and make new ones."
"You must run great risks," observed someone.
"Of course," said Cranston. "Sometime, I shall not return. No one will ever hear of me again. Well, that will be an interesting way to shake off this life. I prefer the unusual — in death as well as in life."
"You will be gone long?"
"Longer than usual. I cannot tell the exact period that my trip will cover. That depends upon my varying moods. On this occasion, however, I am doing the unusual. I have arranged my affairs for two years and I am closing this establishment for the first time. The servants leave tomorrow." The bizarre notions of Lamont Cranston were highly interesting to this group. These wealthy men preferred the security of New York to the dangers of the jungle. Someone remarked to that effect. Cranston laughed in response.
"One is as safe in the jungle as in New York," he said. "I have told you, gentlemen, that I am always prepared for a strange fate. It could overtake me here, in this house, as well as in a foreign clime. That is one of the oddities of life.
"The parachute jumper dies from a fall down a short flight of steps. The man who catches rattlesnakes, dies from the bite of a mad poodle. It has been so always. Achilles, famous warrior, was slain from an arrow shot in the heel. Pyhrrus, the great general, perished from a tile which a woman dropped upon his head."
As the conversation continued, Doctor Savette found himself taking an increased interest in Lamont Cranston's statements. The man talked impressively and many of his words were interpreted by the physician in an unusual way.
As the guests began to depart, Savette lingered. He had been hearing many chance remarks that indicated Cranston's great wealth. He was loath to leave.
At last, Savette was the only guest who remained. Reluctantly, he turned to send a servant for his hat. It was then that Cranston restrained him.
"I forgot that you arrived late, doctor," he said. "On that account, you were not here when I showed my friends my den. It will be disarranged tomorrow. Can you wait a few minutes — long enough to view it? I can assure you that you will find it interesting."
"Certainly," said Savette.
Cranston led the way to a back room on the second floor. Despite his sophistication, Savette was astonished at the sight before him.
Lamont Cranston had collected many curios. Hunting spears from the Amazon; tiger heads from India; odd tapestries from China. The den was a veritable museum; but it possessed unusual features which impressed Savette.
Every object had a history. This tapestry had hung in the imperial palace at Peking. This lota bowl was the gift of a Hindu fakir in Benares. That rifle was a present from a squat Boer who had carried it against the British in South Africa. Skins, rugs, silken ropes — all were spread about the room in abundance.
"Marvelous!" exclaimed Savette, as he listened to Cranston's brief explanations of what the objects signified.
"Marvelous, tonight — yes," declared Cranston. "Tomorrow — just so many more items in storage. That is my one regret, doctor. I hate to see these objects put away."
"I do not blame you."
Cranston detected a glow in the physician's eyes. He became thoughtful; then spoke in a quiet tone.
"Perhaps you would like to keep some of these trifles," he said. "If so, you are welcome to any of them for which you may have a place."
"I could not think of it!" exclaimed Savette.
"Why not?" asked Cranston.
"I would be responsible for their safety," rejoined the physician. "Suppose that something happened to them while—"
"What of it?" Cranston's tone was careless. "Something might happen to them in storage. Particularly the skins and rugs. I would prefer to leave them with someone like yourself. Someone who would appreciate them.
"I have had several friends in mind, but, unfortunately, all are out of town. These guests of mine tonight wealthy, but not appreciative. They buy what they want. Let them. You are the only one who has expressed real admiration for these objects."
Cranston pressed a button on the wall. His valet came to the room.
"Richards," said Cranston, "where did you leave that large empty box. The heavy one, you know—"
"In the downstairs hallway, sir," responded the valet.
"Come along," suggested Cranston to Savette. "I have the very thing we need." He led the physician to the hall below. There, at the rear of the hallway, stood a large box with a door-like front, triple-locked with padlocks. Cranston thumped it in and out to show its solidity.
"This is the very thing," he said. "I am serious, doctor. I would consider it both a favor and an honor if you would provide a comfortable home for some of my rugs and skins. Add a few of the more interesting trophies if you wish.
"I am going away for a long time. I may never come back. I attach no strings to my offer.
"When I return from my present trip, I shall have a supply of new curios that will be larger than the old collection. Larger and of more recent interest."
"You are leaving for two years?" asked Savette.
"Possibly," said Cranston. "It might interest you to know my method, doctor. Many persons have wondered how I manage my affairs while I am away. It is very simple." He leaned against the box, and pointed upward, toward the second floor.
"When I leave here," he said, "the only luggage that I carry is a large, heavy portmanteau suitcase. I do not know whether I am going to the tropics or the frozen north. I buy the articles I need — trunks and all when I reach my destination. I dispose of them before I return, so I have no more baggage returning than going.
"My suitcase contains some pet objects, of course my favorite revolver, a few books, other articles that I am sure to need, and may not be able to obtain where I am going. More important, however, are my drafts and negotiable funds. I carry a supply of gold, of course. All that refers to my traveling affairs.
"But my affairs here in New York are so arranged that I can conduct them as I choose. My resources are very large. I have an old family lawyer — a lolling, stupid fellow — who is just the man I require. He knows nothing, except how to follow directions.
"If I make out checks and mail them to New York or elsewhere, they are honored as if I were here. I, alone, know where I keep my accounts. If I notify my lawyer to deliver securities or other valuables, he does as I tell him. Thus I can watch the rise and fall of the market, no matter where I am, and act accordingly."
"Then you really rely on no one," said Savette. "That is, upon no one but yourself?"
"No, indeed," corrected Cranston. "I sometimes write to friends. For instance, I might write to you and to Bartram, my lawyer, at the same time. My letter to you would request you to obtain one hundred shares of a certain stock from Bartram, to sell them on a certain day, and to deposit the money to my account in a certain bank."
"And Bartram would give me the stocks?"
"Certainly, when you identified yourself. My letter to him would verify that. He is just an office boy. I keep him" — Cranston laughed — "chiefly to be on hand to settle my estate if I should die while I am away."
"Remarkable!" exclaimed Savette.
"Remarkable, but very simple," said Cranston. "I like to do things my own way. One time, in San Francisco, I met an old schoolmate who needed twenty-five thousand dollars. The bank would grant him the loan if he had security. So I wired Bartram to send him forty thousand dollars' worth of certain bonds. Bartram had never heard of the man. That did not matter. He sent the bonds."
"Amazing!" said Savette. "I should think that you would be beset by swindlers—"
"Never," said Cranston. "I do not speak of my affairs to crooks, doctor. In fact, you are one of the very small number of persons who know anything at all about my methods. I have a complete record of my assets in my suitcase.
"Right now" — Cranston spoke calmly — "I could raise three million dollars, through my banks and through Bartram. All on the strength of my signature, by mail."
"Have you experienced any losses through this loose system?"
"It is not a loose system. It is a tight one. I know my own affairs. I keep my own records. I lend money, I trust people. I use good judgment.
"One man failed to repay a debt of five hundred dollars. I lost other small amounts. Less than a thousand, all together. That proves my wisdom in my method.
"I could leave tonight. Walk upstairs, take my bag, and step out of this house. All right. No trouble. As a matter of fact, I shall not touch that bag until I leave, sometime tomorrow night."
"What time are you leaving?"
"I don't even know that. When I please. But let us get back to the curios. It is too late now for you to make a choice. The servants are leaving tomorrow afternoon. I shall be alone here in the evening. If you wish, come out, and you and I can pack what you want. You will have to provide the truck to carry away the box. That is all."
"Good," said Savette, with a tone of sudden decision. "A great idea, Mr. Cranston. I accept your kind offer."
Cranston called Richards. "When are you packing up the den?" he asked.
"You said day after tomorrow, sir," said Richards. "Everything else goes out tomorrow. I am to return later to—"
"That's right," observed Cranston. "I had forgotten. Tomorrow, Richards, move this box upstairs. Doctor Savette is coming. He and I will pack some of the curios, and a truck will come to take it. You pack whatever is left, and send it to that special storage house."
"Very good, sir."
"Let's see, now" — Cranston became thoughtful — "you and all the servants will be away tomorrow night—"
"All except Stanley, sir. He will be here to drive you to the station."
"I can do that, Mr. Cranston," observed Savette.
"Surely, surely," said Cranston. "Tell Stanley he can go, also, Richards. That will be a great help, doctor. Send a truck. We shall pack the box and let the men take it. Then we can put my portmanteau in your car. At that time" — he laughed as he spoke — "I shall decide what train I intend to take, what railroad it will be on, and where I am going."
This arranged, Savette noticed the lateness of the hour, and decided that he must be leaving. Cranston accompanied his visitor to the door, and warmly bade him good night.
Driving back toward Manhattan, Doctor Gerald Savette smiled in glee. A short chuckle clucked from his lean lips as he reviewed all that Lamont Cranston had settled and said. Savette had found a perfect scheme. He had waited wisely before formulating his final crime. Soon he and his companions would roll in unexpected wealth.
Not even The Shadow was a menace now!