At nine o'clock, Wednesday morning, Richards was awakened by the ringing of a bell in the kitchen.
The valet had spent a sleepless night, wondering what had become of his master. He was dozing when the bell rang, and he leaped from his chair when he heard it.
"Mr. Cranston is ringing!" he exclaimed. Then, realizing that the millionaire was missing, he added: "Some one must be in his room."
He hurried upstairs and stood in amazement at the door of Cranston's room. The millionaire was lying in bed, with his head propped wearily against the pillows.
"Mr. Cranston, sir!" exclaimed the astonished valet.
"Yes," was the reproving reply. "What kind of care have you been giving me, Richards?"
"What — what, sir?" stammered the valet. "Where have you been, sir?"
"A short while ago I found myself in the wireless room upstairs. I was dressed, and I felt very tired. So I came down and went to bed."
"So you were up there!" exclaimed Richards. "We wondered where you had gone, sir. Did you go up there yesterday afternoon?"
"Yesterday afternoon, Richards? I don't recall it. I imagined that I had been there only a short while."
"You were missing from your room, sir, and we could not find you."
"Did you look upstairs?" The millionaire asked the question wearily.
"We tried the door, sir, but it was locked. Your key was downstairs, so we didn't suppose you could be there, sir."
"Burbank must have left his key in the lock. I recall going in the room — I'm not exactly sure of the time I entered — and it seems to me the key was in the door."
The valet hurried to the phone and called Doctor Wells. Richards reported the return of Lamont Cranston, and the doctor hurried over immediately. He listened to Richards's story and decided that Cranston must have become delirious during the previous afternoon.
"That wireless room was preying on your mind," the physician said to the millionaire. "You must have gone upstairs and fallen asleep. I can't understand how you managed to get that far. Oddly, your condition seems to be improved despite the exertion."
"Perhaps I am capable of greater exertion than climbing stairs," said Cranston with a slight smile.
"Possibly," replied the physician. "I believe now that your condition was somewhat better than I supposed."
"Mr. Fellows has arrived," announced Richards.
"Hello, Fellows," said Lamont Cranston as the chubby-faced insurance man appeared. "What brings you here?"
"Richards called me at the office. I was there before eight o'clock to-day. He said you were missing."
"I appear to have been in the wireless room upstairs."
"I thought Burbank was attending to that."
"He went away yesterday."
"Mr. Cranston's interest in Burbank's work appeared to be taxing his strength," explained Doctor Wells.
"When I mentioned that fact, we agreed that Burbank should go."
"I can't keep my mind off the sending station," said Cranston. "Perhaps you had better let me go up there today."
"No, no," exclaimed the physician.
"Then we'll have to send for Burbank."
"Very well. I suppose that would be best under the existing circumstances."
* * *
Fellows undertook to call the wireless operator by telephone. When he had completed his mission, he had received Burbank's promise to come immediately.
"I am glad you are here, Fellows," said Cranston. "There is something I wish you would do for me. I am anxious to learn what has become of a friend of mine — an Englishman whom I met last year at Palm Beach. His name is Hubert Weston. He was an officer in the British army during the war — a major, I believe. I have intended to write Weston, but have lost his address. You have many unusual connections in New York. Perhaps you could find out something about him."
"I might be able to do that," said Fellows thoughtfully. "Do you merely want his address?"
"It would be better if I could obtain additional information — other facts — a picture of him would be excellent. I want to be quite sure that I am writing to the right man — not to some one of the same name."
"I'll do what I can," promised the insurance broker. "Perhaps I can learn something about Weston through the British consulate. You will hear from me as soon as possible."
The matter had been discussed in an indifferent manner; there seemed no further topic of conversation.
Fellows went back to New York. Doctor Wells also left after deciding that his patient could sit up in a chair by the window.
"Wonderful improvement," he had said. "Your visit to your wireless room seems to have done you good. Don't overdo yourself. I may have you completely well within a week."
When Burbank arrived, he was sent to Cranston's room. The millionaire gave the wireless operator a code message which he had written.
"Send this quickly," he said. "I answered a call this morning. Told them to wait for two hours. This will explain a lot of questions that will be asked. Bring me the reply."
Burbank made occasional visits to Cranston's room during the course of the afternoon. At five o'clock a messenger arrived with a large envelope from Fellows. The packet was brought to the millionaire's room.
The Shadow smiled with satisfaction as he drew out several pages of data along with the photograph of a man in the uniform of a British officer.
"Very quick work," he said musingly. "Now to get Weston to look into the box. That will be easy."
He took pencil and paper and wrote a careful message in longhand:
The box which was installed last night is an improved device to aid transmission. We are ready to test it. Open the front of the box, press the button on the side, and look in. You will see intermittent lights. Make sure that they change regularly. When you use the key, have some one else look in the box while you are operating, to make sure that the lights are regular. Since Duncan is asleep, you may intrust that simple duty to Major Weston. Your previous messages have been difficult to receive because of static. The new device, if it functions correctly, will over come that difficulty. Explain the matter to Major Weston.
The Shadow rapidly translated the writing into code. He rang the bell for Richards and dispatched the valet to the wireless room with the message.
Five minutes later the door of Lamont Cranston's room opened softly. Richards was standing in the hall, but he heard nothing. He did not even see the form that slipped silently up the stairs to the sending station in the tower — a form attired in a dark dressing gown.
Burbank was seated at a table on which stood a small screen. The room was dark. The wireless operator looked up as some one touched his shoulder. It was Lamont Cranston.
"In a minute," said Burbank quietly.
A slight buzzing began. The small white screen was illuminated. The face of Harry Vincent appeared there, flickering like a motion picture.
The face disappeared; another took its place. It was the face of a square-jawed man — a man with a short mustache and close-cropped hair.
Lamont Cranston focused a small light on a picture which he held in his hand. He compared it with the image on the screen while Burbank looked on with interest.
"Identical," whispered the millionaire.
"Excellent television," replied Burbank.
The Shadow's fingers sought the sending key. They tapped a slow message.
"I am sending an O.K. to Vincent. Do not make any more complaints about static, Burbank. Let them think that it has been eliminated by the new device. I am greatly pleased by the clearness of the images. The television apparatus has proven quite satisfactory. We may have occasion to utilize it further, Burbank."
The image of Major Hubert Weston had disappeared. Burbank turned off the light, and the little screen was dark.
When Richards entered his master's room a short time later he found Lamont Cranston sound asleep in his chair by the window.