THE SHADOW’S DISCOVERY
BRIGGS opened the front door of the Galvin mansion. He recognized the man who was standing on the steps. It was Harry Vincent.
“Hello,” said Harry. “Is Mr. Galvin at home?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Briggs, promptly, “but he is not feeling well, sir. Didn’t you get my master’s message at the Astorbilt?”
“No.”
Briggs feigned surprise.
“It was a little while after you left,” he said. “Mr. — er — Mr. Galvin had a sudden attack of dizziness. He called in a doctor, who told him to go to bed and rest. So he called up the Astorbilt and left word for you to — er — to call him to-morrow.”
“I didn’t receive the message,” said Harry, quietly.
He knew that Briggs was lying; at the same time, Harry was making a pretense. He was giving the impression that he had been waiting a long while at the Astorbilt.
As a matter of fact, he had been watching this very front door for the past three hours. He had returned to his post after having cleverly trailed Briggs to Brindle’s Cafe, and had remained outside the restaurant until Moose Shargin and Garry Elvers had appeared.
Harry had not recognized the gangsters. They had not known him. But a man walking close behind them had given Harry a quick signal which meant he was no longer needed.
Harry had departed, and had arrived near the old Galvin mansion before Briggs had returned. He had seen Briggs go in; but the false Bob Galvin had not come out.
So Harry had not been to the Astorbilt at all. He had phoned to a special number, and had heard Burbank answer. He had been told that the Astorbilt would be informed that Mr. Vincent would not be there if any one inquired. Burbank, Harry knew, had attended to that.
So Harry had waited, in the darkness of a parked coupe on the other side of the narrow street, ready to follow the false Bob Galvin, should the man appear.
Harry lingered hesitatingly on the front steps; then he bade Briggs good night and started to the street. The big man watched him. He stepped out from the shelter of the front door in order to keep Harry in view for a few seconds longer.
So intent was Briggs that he did not notice a vague shadowy form that crept upward beside him. Like an apparition, it slipped through the open front door. Briggs turned and reentered the house.
As the door closed behind him, Briggs felt himself seized in an overpowering grasp. His assailant worked quickly and with telling effect. A strong forearm pressed so firmly against the big man’s throat that not even a gurgle came from his lips.
Briggs crumpled upon the floor. In a few seconds, he was gagged and securely bound. A hand from the darkness reopened the front door. There was a low, indistinguishable hiss.
Two men came from a car across the street, one leaning unsteadily upon the other. They entered the darkened hallway and moved quietly across the room into gloomy light. Their faces were revealed.
One was Harry Vincent, grim and purposeful. The other was the real Bob Galvin, pale and tired-looking.
Again that hiss — a soft sibilant sound. Harry stopped beside a large comfortable chair. He placed Bob Galvin in it.
Then came a low whisper from the man in the darkness. His black, shadowy form moved into the gloom and stood close beside Harry.
“Look for Maddox,” came the soft words. “He may be in the study.”
Harry nodded. He saw the black form glide across the hallway and merge with the darkened stairs. The Shadow was gone on a search of the second floor. He had left the ground floor to Harry.
The young man drew an automatic and moved uncertainly in the direction of the study. He saw a gleam of light around a corner. He advanced and reached the study door. With revolver leveled, ready for instant use, he peered into the lighted room.
It was empty. The false Bob Galvin was not there.
Harry returned to the foot of the stairs. He then went over and sat beside Bob Galvin. There was another sibilant sound through the gloom.
“He’s not in the study,” Harry reported, in a low voice.
“Take Galvin in,” came a whisper.
Harry helped Bob Galvin into the study. Hardly had they seated themselves, before a huge form appeared in the doorway. It was Briggs, bound and gagged, being carried by invisible arms.
Lifted from the floor, the big man appeared tremendous. His body swung forward and was laid in the center of the room. Above it stood a man clad in black, his face hidden beneath the broad-brim of a dark hat, his chin obscured by the upturned collar of his sable cloak.
Briggs opened his frightened eyes and stared at the grim form above him. The Shadow leaned forward and slipped the gag from the man’s mouth.
“Where is Maddox?” came the sibilant question.
“I don’t know,” replied Briggs, weakly. He could see two glaring eyes staring into his face.
“When did he leave here?” was the next question.
“While I was out.”
“While you were at Brindle’s?”
“Yes.”
THE SHADOW knew that Briggs was speaking the truth. Whatever mission Bob Maddox had gone upon tonight, Briggs was in ignorance of it. The man gained his tongue and tried to explain, for he feared The Shadow.
“Bob must have got a call while I was out,” he said. “He was figuring on something — that’s all I know. He’s gone. Where — I don’t know.”
The gag was replaced. The Shadow carried Briggs from the room. When he returned, he spoke to Harry Vincent, while Bob Galvin, weak and wondering, looked on and listened.
“Briggs is in the side vestibule,” spoke The Shadow. “Knocked out. Do not worry about him. He is yellow. Stay here with Galvin.
“Call in Perkins, the chauffeur. Tell him enough to let him know that there is danger. Burke will come here later.
“Keep on watch. Surprise Maddox if he returns — but — he may not return.”
There was a significant emphasis in The Shadow’s final words. Harry understood. He knew that this man of the night intended to find the man who had posed as Bob Galvin, and he knew that the pretender would not fare well in the encounter.
“Take him upstairs,” continued The Shadow, indicating Bob Galvin with a sweep of his black-gloved hand.
Harry arose and helped Bob from the room. The rescued man was regaining his steadiness now. His confinement in Wing Toy’s dungeon had been only temporarily weakening.
After the two were gone, The Shadow seated himself before the flat-topped desk. He made two phone calls. One was to Burbank, comfortably ensconced in a room across the street from Hiram Mallory’s home. The other was to Clyde Burke.
After receiving short reports, The Shadow sat in deep thought. For a few minutes, there was no motion of his black-clad form. Then came a low, soft laugh.
THE SHADOW stepped back from the desk. Quickly, he began to search its contents, looking for some clew that might be of value to him.
He had searched here before but that had been some time ago. The Shadow laid a few articles upon the desk, among them the old address book used by Theodore Galvin.
A black glove slipped away from a long white hand. Off came the other glove. The fire-opal gleamed upon its slender, tapered finger — a finger that combined shapeliness with strength.
The hands began to write, inscribing short, terse statements.
They do not yet know the purpose of the paper which they have found.
The hands carefully traced the eight mysterious symbols. A soft laugh came from the man in black as he wrote again:
They have sought to learn of it through friends of Theodore Galvin. There have been two interviews. Tonight — a third—
There was a pause. Then the hand wrote two names:
Harkness. Westcott.
A laugh followed instantly. Then the hand inscribed one name above the eight cryptic characters, and another name below. The top name was Harkness, the bottom name Westcott.
The Shadow laughed mirthlessly. Here was evidence of the plotters’ efforts to decipher the cryptic symbols.
They had figured that a name was indicated. They had gone over the list of Theodore Galvin’s friends. They had found two whose names were spelled with eight letters, ending in a double letter.
The white hands were now running through the pages of the address book. Keen eyes were scanning the names registered there.
After one quick search, the hands turned back the pages to the letter M. Under that letter appeared the only other name that fitted with the idea upon which the plotters had been working. The name was Mitchell — Zachary Mitchell.
The address book was cast aside. The Shadow had the telephone book. He found the name of Zachary Mitchell. It was listed twice as attorney, Bridgeton Building; residence, an address on One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street.
The Shadow spoke into the telephone. He was calling Burbank. He gave quick, short instructions.
Then he arose, whirled toward the door and left the room. A low laugh sounded as the man in black strode toward the front door.
It was not a laugh of pleasure. It was a laugh of grim determination.