It was Saturday noon. Sidney Delmuth, seated at the desk in his private office, was gazing thoughtfully from the window. There was an odd expression upon his suave face. The advertising man was both puzzled and pleased.
The cause of his mingled emotions was a single fact. For three days, Delmuth had been playing a tricky game with an invisible foe. Day or night, he could not loose himself from the impression that he was being watched.
Delmuth was perplexed because he had been unable to glimpse his mysterious enemy -
the man whom he believed was The Shadow. He was pleased because he was sure that The Shadow's vigil was unending. For it was Sidney Delmuth's game to keep The Shadow occupied.
Although Delmuth was playing an important part in a game that was on the way, he had managed to arrange matters so that he had not spoken a single word that might have been informative to a concealed listener.
He had received certain telephone calls — at appointed places. He had let the people talk from the other end. These calls had always come to phones that had no extensions. Delmuth had given instructions by the simple formula of answering "yes" or "no" to the inquiries which came over the wire.
"The Shadow," murmured Delmuth softly, as he sat by the window. "He's watching me.
He knows I'm in this. But he'll find out nothing. Tonight, of all nights!"
Matthews entered the office. "Everyone has left, sir," he said. "I am ready to leave. Are there any things you want done?"
"Nothing, Matthews," replied Delmuth. "You may go. I intend to remain here a short while." A few minutes after the departure of Matthews, Delmuth arose and went into the other office. He looked all around.
He tried the closed door that led to the side corridor. He inspected the other inner office.
Satisfied that he was absolutely alone, he sat down and waited.
As minutes ticked by. Delmuth continued to have the feeling that he was being watched.
He felt sure that it must be his own imagination. It annoyed him, yet he smiled.
If his intuition should be correct, it meant that The Shadow was close at hand. That could be turned to Delmuth's purpose.
The telephone rang. Sidney Delmuth answered it. His words were simply replies to statements.
"Yes," he said. "Yes… Good…Yes… A good idea… You'll call then… Fine." Delmuth hung up the receiver. He turned suddenly and faced the door that led to the side corridor. Had that door opened softly while his back was turned? Delmuth tried the door. It was still locked.
Yet it was possible that The Shadow might have entered unseen, and the thought made Delmuth cautious. He repressed the desire to make another survey of the premises. He realized that if The Shadow had actually entered this place, there might be danger.
Delmuth, cagey as well as daring, was sure that The Shadow would not reveal himself unless compelled to do so. But should the issue be forced, the man of the dark would have to strike. In that brief telephone conversation, Sidney Delmuth had learned that Shamlin and Harmon were well on their way to Massachusetts. They were traveling a circuitous route, to mislead all followers. They had just informed Delmuth that they were on the watch, and would be prepared if they encountered interference. The telephone rang again. Once more Delmuth answered. Again, his words were simply responses to statements from another party.
But this time, a thin smile played beneath the waxed mustache. Delmuth was learning something very much to his liking.
When the call was ended, Delmuth paced the office. He was thinking deeply, and his scheme was clever.
Within ten minutes, another call was scheduled. It would have no significance whatever.
It would be from the party who had just called.
But on this occasion, Delmuth intended to make a pretense of betraying himself — all for the benefit of the man who he believed was hidden in this room.
As the ten minutes passed, Delmuth fought against his previous desire to begin a search.
There were half a dozen places where The Shadow could be hidden. Behind the typewriter desk in the corner. In one of the inner offices. On the far side of the huge filing cabinet — Delmuth's ponderings ended with the ringing of the telephone. He hurried to the switchboard and made an eager answer. Then, in a low voice, he began to talk.
"At my apartment tonight," he said. "That's when we'll close the deal. Everything depends upon it. We'll get him there, and if he don't talk — well, you know what will happen.
"No. I don't know what time. I'll be there at eight, and I'll call you after I hear from him. I may have to wait until midnight; but there's no chance of anything going wrong. You get the idea? He will come there I'm sure of it!" After the telephone call, Delmuth picked up a sheet of paper and thoughtfully prepared a message. He went directly to the filing case, took out a file, and went over the details of an advertising account. He made a correction in his message, and went back to the telephone. He called a telegraph office.
"Take a telegram," he said. "Benefacto Co., Hartford, Connecticut. Ready? Here's the message:
"Your booklet ready for printer. Must have remaining pages. Send at least twelve tonight.
Strike out all unnecessary data. Booklet must be greatly condensed to meet specifications." After giving his name and telephone number, Delmuth returned to the filing cabinet and deposited the folder pertaining to the Benefacto account. He went into the private office and obtained his hat.
He strode briskly from the place, locking the outer door behind him.
Going down in the elevator, Delmuth was congratulating himself. He had handled the situation cleverly. He had not only received important messages without the possibility of anyone having learned them, but he had also made it appear that he had an important scheme brewing for that evening — a scheme important enough to attract The Shadow.
Most of all, Delmuth was pleased at the telegram he had dispatched. Apparently a mere detail of the advertising business, it was actually a message to Jeremiah Benson!
The Benefacto Co. was the place where messages were received by Benson. This telegram would be received by a man who would not understand its full import.
Later, that man would receive a call — presumably from Delmuth's office — stating that the telegram should have gone to another account. The message would be read to him. That caller would be Benson!
There were just three words in the message that had significance. Those were the middle words of the telegram.
"Twelve tonight. Strike."
Midnight was the time set for Benson and Grady to do their work. Shamlin and Harmon were to join them near Greenhurst.
Delmuth's destination was the Cobalt Club. He was going there because he was sure that it was one spot where he had been watched by The Shadow.
Every Saturday afternoon, certain of Sherwood Mayo's business acquaintances appeared at the Cobalt Club. Delmuth wanted to speak to one of them. He wanted to be overheard when he spoke. His plan worked while he was lunching in the grill room. He waved in greeting to George Masters, one of the men who was associated with Mayo in the Purple Blossom enterprise.
Masters smiled sourly, but he stopped at Delmuth's table. Knowing Mayo's antagonism toward Delmuth, Masters wanted to avoid lengthy conversation.
"Your boss in town?" quizzed Delmuth.
"Yes," replied Masters. "He came in at noon. He's going back to the country this evening."
"Ah! A quick business trip."
"No. He just brought a couple of friends down with him. They're going back for the week-end. There wasn't any reason for Mayo being here."
"Glad to know that," said Delmuth testily. "Give him my regards when you see him."
There were many club members in the grill room when Delmuth spoke. He talked loud enough to be overheard, and hoped that the right party had listened to his words.
What Masters had said was not news to Delmuth. He knew where Sherwood Mayo was -
he had learned it with the second call that he had received in the office.
But he felt sure he knew more about Mayo's intended plans than did Masters — in fact, more about them than anyone, with the single exception of Mayo himself.
Delmuth kept looking about him as he ate. He wanted to spot any member of the club who might be a possible agent of The Shadow, or The Shadow himself. There were none who excited Delmuth's suspicions.
Rutledge Mann was there, but, of all persons, the leisurely investment broker was the last one to be considered as in league with such an individual as The Shadow.
Rutledge Mann had a reputation for being an indifferent worker. It was surprising, then, that he should decide to leave the comfortable club later in the afternoon, and wend his way to the Badger Building. He ascended to the ninth floor, and went to his office — Suite 909. There, Mann waited with the air of a person who expected a visitor. The clock on a neighboring building showed half past three.
There was a sealed envelope on Mann's desk. He opened it and read a paper that was inside. Five minutes later, a man entered the outer office. Rutledge Mann heard the noise of the door. He appeared and viewed the visitor.
"Are you Mr. Mann?" came the inquiry.
"Yes.
"I am Stuart Bruxton."
"Good! I was waiting for you."
Mann led the way into the inner office, and closed the door. He faced Stuart across the desk.
"Mr. Vincent informed me that you were coming to town with Sherwood Mayo," said Mann. "He said that you would be here today."
Yes," replied Stuart. "I came in Mayo's plane. I received Vincent's letter, telling me to stop in to see you, this afternoon."
"You are going back with Mayo?"
"At eight o'clock tonight."
"Bruxton," said Mann, in a confiding tone, "I know all about this affair that concerns you and Vincent. Like Vincent, I get my orders from a higher source, which I am not free to mention at this time.
"I can only tell you that the trouble which you encountered at Mayo's one night" — Stuart's eyes opened at the statement — "was turned to your advantage by — by this person for whom Vincent and I are working." Mann's words served as an explanation to Stuart Bruxton, even though details were lacking. He understood, now, that the man in black had been at Mayo's for the definite purpose of watching developments in Greenhurst.
"I have received instructions," continued Mann, "and they concern you, Bruxton.
Something is due to happen in Greenhurst — tonight."
"Shortly before midnight, four men will appear at Hawthorne's cottage. Two of them will be men whom you have encountered before — Jeremiah Benson and his man, Grady."
Stuart's eyes flashed at the mention of the fiends who had sought to kill him, that night in Maryland. Mann noted his expression and smiled slightly.
"Vincent will be in Greenhurst, also," he said. "He is following the other two men — who, we feel certain, will join Benson and Grady. At any event, Vincent will arrange to reach the Greenhurst Inn shortly after eleven o'clock."
"Therefore, you will terminate your stay at Mayo's lodge at eleven o'clock, so you can meet Vincent. Leaving New York at eight, you will reach Greenhurst — when?"
"Before ten."
"Excellent. Stay at Mayo's until eleven. You will receive a message at that hour — coming in an announcement from station WNX. It will tell you whether to go to the Inn — as we have planned — or to stay with Mayo, at the lodge. You can arrange that?"
"Easily," replied Stuart. "But if Mayo is in danger — "
"Do not worry about that," said Mann emphatically. "Vincent will explain all to you."
"But there may be trouble at Mayo's lodge — "
"Nothing will happen there while you are with Vincent," declared Mann cryptically.
Stuart Bruxton departed. Rutledge Mann waited. Four o'clock arrived. The telephone rang.
"Hello," said Mann. "Oh, yes, Vincent. All well?"
There was a brief response. Mann appeared satisfied. He hung up the receiver and waited again. Fifteen minutes passed. The telephone rang once more.
Mann's eyes gleamed as he responded.
"Bruxton leaving at eight with Mayo," he said. "Vincent reports that he is following. The others have stopped to eat a late lunch. Vincent will continue. They are near Springfield." A low voice came over the wire. Rutledge Mann had given his report. He was receiving instructions from The Shadow. The words that he heard surprised him; but the phlegmatic investment broker gave no visible sign.
"Instructions understood," was his brief comment.
Mann hung up the telephone and performed the same action that Sidney Delmuth had, a few hours before.
Instead of writing on a blank sheet of paper, however, Mann used a telegraph blank. He turned a knob on the wall, and waited until a messenger appeared.
"Thirty-five cents to Philadelphia," said the boy.
Rutledge Mann paid the bill, and the boy departed with the telegram. The investment broker stroked his chin thoughtfully. Although he had written the telegram, he could not understand The Shadow's purpose. He was wondering why The Shadow had sent a telegram to Denby Chadwick — a telegram signed with the name of Sidney Delmuth!