LATER THAT NIGHT
THE meeting of the Reds had been held early in the evening. Hence it was not yet midnight when the mysterious cab driver rode northward in another cab.
But now he was a totally different personage. He sat in the back of a cab; he was faultlessly attired in expensive tailored clothes; and he appeared as a young and well-groomed man — Lamont Cranston, the millionaire.
The cab stopped in front of the home of Prince Zuvor, and Lamont Cranston alighted. He rang the doorbell and Ivan admitted him. With a profound bow, the Russian servant conducted the guest to the room on the second floor.
Prince Zuvor smiled when he stepped through the curtains. He seemed greatly pleased at Cranston’s arrival, and his first words carried a question.
“What transpired the other night?” he asked. “Did any one appear to be following you?”
“Perhaps it was my imagination,” replied Cranston speculatively. “I did fancy that some one was on my trail. So I changed cabs, and finally borrowed a limousine of a friend of mine — which chanced to be parked near Forty-second Street. I left it at the Landis Club, and I had no difficulty after that.”
“I am surprised that you risked another visit here,” remarked Prince Zuvor, with a slight smile. “I told Ivan to welcome you when you came again — and I changed that remark to ‘if you came again.’ For I feared that you would be followed, and I imagined that it might discourage you.”
“Indeed not,” said the millionaire. “In fact, I merely dropped in for a few minutes, to-night.
“I have a matter which I should like to discuss with you — not now, but at some later date. When would be convenient to you?”
Prince Zuvor considered. His mind seemed to be formulating a plan, as though he was anxious to suit both Lamont Cranston and himself.
“Suppose,” he said, “we set it one week from to-night. At precisely nine o’clock! Would that be satisfactory?”
“That would be excellent,” said Lamont Cranston. “You will find that I am punctual in my engagements.”
“But let us consider to-night,” said Prince Zuvor. “It was unwise of you to come so soon after your previous visit. That is why I suggested an interval of a week before you come again. I think that to-night you should leave more secretly.”
Prince Zuvor glanced at his watch; it was nearly midnight.
“Have you an appointment anywhere?” questioned Cranston.
“Oh, no,” replied the prince quickly. “I seldom leave this house, as you know. I stay here almost all the time — I and my servant” — he corrected his last statement — “I should say servants.”
“You have more than one?”
“Yes. Ivan Shiskin; the one who admitted you. The other is a German named Fritz Bloch. He is not here at present.”
“Is it wise for him to go out?”
“There is no reason why he should not. He is simply a menial; he is not a Russian; hence he is not under surveillance of the Red agents.”
“He might be approached by them,” observed Cranston casually. “I should think you would be suspicious of him.”
“Fritz is all right,” replied Prince Zuvor carelessly. “He is reliable. I watch him a bit — so does Ivan.
“I don’t think I shall keep him much longer — not more than a month. He has very little to do, and he is out much more often than he is in.”
IT was well after one o’clock when Cranston finally arose to say good night. Zuvor, suave and courteous, reminded him of the danger that lurked outside the house.
“Would you like to try my private exit?” he asked. “It is a way that never fails. I have used it on several occasions.”
Lamont Cranston expressed immediate interest.
“You mean the way by which the man you spoke of escaped?” he questioned. “You know the one I mean. Er — er — his name slips my mind.”
“Berchik?”
“Yes. Berchik.”
“Berchik had a long way to go,” said Zuvor. “He is now en route to Australia. So I enabled him to leave New York entirely.
“I assume that you wish to remain here in the city. So I shall explain to you the route which I have used myself, and which I reserve for my special friends.”
Prince Zuvor rang a bell; Ivan Shiskin appeared. The man’s face was expressionless. Zuvor spoke to him in Russian. The import of the words was clear to Lamont Cranston, who understood the language perfectly.
The prince explained that the millionaire was a friend of the late czar. When he added that Cranston carried the token of the Seventh Star, Ivan’s face lighted up in genuine admiration.
Prince Zuvor drew Cranston aside, and explained the method of escape.
“You will enter the side door of a house in back of this one. Go up to the third floor — the house is empty. There you will find a ladder, leading to a hatch door in the roof.
“Next door to the building is a warehouse; a flight of steps will take you into the top of the warehouse — the fifth floor. There you will find the entrance to an elevator. Ride down to the first floor.
“Turn left, and the passage will lead you to a garage beyond the warehouse. There are taxicabs in the garage. You will have no difficulty in obtaining one. They go in and out, all hours of the night.
“Those who watch this house have no suspicion of my secret means of exit. The elevator is so designed that it cannot be brought up to the fifth floor by any one who is in it.
“It is an automatic elevator; and the button marked ‘5’ is useless. But you can bring up the elevator by pressing the button on the fifth floor; and you can take it down with no difficulty whatever.”
“How do you return?” asked Cranston. “You cannot ride up in the elevator.”
“I have usually returned by another route,” replied Zuvor. “But should I desire to return through the warehouse; or to bring any one here by that method, Ivan can be on hand at the appointed time, to operate from the fifth floor.”
“Your plan is a good one,” said the millionaire. “You are sure that the Red agents do not suspect it?”
Prince Zuvor shrugged his shoulders.
“That is possible,” he said. “Yet so far, up until a few weeks ago, I am sure that they knew nothing. That is why I have reserved this plan for leaving, only. It would be unwise to come back the same way.
“Now, I suggest that you go with Ivan. He will conduct you — in fact, he will disguise you so that you cannot be recognized, if seen.”
Cranston looked at the Russian servant.
“Ivan was connected with the Imperial Theater, in Petrograd,” explained Zuvor. “He is exceedingly clever at make-up. I should advise you to test his skill.”
“Very well.”
Cranston bowed to the prince; then he followed Ivan Shiskin. The servant led him downstairs to the basement. In a back room, Ivan brought out some make-up boxes.
“Just a mustache,” said Cranston, in fluent Russian. “Place it here, with a twist on the ends.”
Ivan was expressionless as he followed the instructions. Then he bowed, and pointed to the door. Cranston stepped into the alleyway; he followed it to the side door of the house in back. He entered the house, and closed the door behind him.
The millionaire moved cautiously up the stairs. His footsteps were quiet, and careful. He reached the third floor, and found the ladder to the roof.
He crouched low, after he had emerged; he replaced the hatchway, and moved toward the warehouse. His coat was drawn closely about him; his hat was held tightly on his head. He suddenly became almost invisible in the darkness.
The steps to the warehouse were painted white. They went up the outside of the building, which connected with the adjoining house.
Cranston reached the top, and opened the door. He found himself in a large room, which had large windows. It was fairly luminous because of lights that shone from the avenue beyond.
The millionaire pressed the button beside the entrance to the elevator. It was a small elevator, evidently used by those who had business in the warehouse.
Cranston listened intently, as he heard the elevator ascend. His ear was pressed to the door; the sound of the mechanism seemed to have a meaning to him.
The elevator reached the fifth floor, and stopped with a jolt, followed by a slight click. Lamont Cranston did not open the door. Instead, he moved across the floor to another door, that appeared to be an entrance.
Lamont Cranston had become The Shadow. His evolution had begun as he had entered the house in back of Zuvor’s residence.
A small steel tool entered the keyhole of the locked door. It probed the interior, and turned the lock. The door seemed to open of its own accord. It led to a stairway, down into the warehouse.
The being that descended the steps was totally invisible. The Shadow had closed and locked the door behind him; now he was bound for the first floor, using the stairway instead of the elevator.
His form arrived at the elevator door on the ground floor — the car did not appear there.
An invisible hand came from the darkness. The Shadow pressed the control button that would bring the elevator down from the fifth floor.
A snapping sound resulted — far above. With a grinding whir, the elevator carriage dropped from its lofty height.
A terrific burst of air came through the wide crack of the door on the first floor; then the falling elevator whizzed past, and crashed at the bottom of the shaft, below the basement.
Some one had fixed the mechanism. The Red agents had planned a certain death for whoever might leave Prince Zuvor’s house by this secret route. When the elevator had arrived at the unused fifth floor, it had set the mechanism automatically.
A few minutes later, a man appeared in the garage adjoining the warehouse. He appeared to have come in from the street, along with a few others who had heard the muffled crash of the falling elevator. This man was well dressed; his face was adorned with a turned-up mustache.
After a short survey of his surroundings, the man stepped into the street, and entered a taxi that was standing outside the garage. The driver had intended to put his car away; but this opportunity for a late passenger was too good to miss.
“Times Square,” said the man in back.
Once again, The Shadow had foiled those who had sought his life!