IT was one o’clock in the morning. Two men were sitting in the library of Wilbur Blake’s home. One was Rodney Paget; the other was the man who looked like Wilbur Blake.
Paget was deep in thought. He lacked his customary indifference. Blake’s double was eyeing him curiously. At length he spoke to Paget.
“About time we called it a night, eh, Rodney?” he asked.
Paget looked up suddenly.
“Not yet, Wilbur,” he said, speaking as though to Blake himself. “I want to think a while.”
The other man rose and leaned close to Paget.
“Listen,” came his voice. “If you’re worrying about this business, you’re wasting your time. Look at me. Who am I?”
“You look like Wilbur Blake,” replied Paget in a low voice.
“You’re right,” was the answer. “I am Wilbur Blake — so far as the world is concerned. We’ve been playing the game a week, now, and there hasn’t been a slip. It’s getting better every day.
“Look at me. I’m confident. A few days more, and we’re going to swing a sale that will bring in three million. You’re fixing the percentage to suit yourself. So why worry?”
Paget shook his head dubiously.
“Look at this.” Blake picked up a pen and scrawled a name across a sheet of paper. “Whose signature is that?”
Paget looked at the writing. A trace of admiration appeared on his face.
“It’s the duplicate of Blake’s,” he said.
“You’re right,” answered the other man. “Practice makes perfect. Remember that phony signature I had the first time you met me? Good enough to fool the average man; but this one will fool the best.”
Paget nodded.
“I’ve played square with you,” said the false Blake, in a low tone. “You hold all the trump cards. You’ve got Blake tucked away somewhere so you can bring him back if you want. I can’t make a move without your say-so.
“But I don’t object. I’m sitting pretty and I expect to get a decent cut, with all these millions to play with. You’re not worried about me, are you?”
“No.”
“Then give me the low-down. Something’s the matter. Tell me part of it, if you don’t want to spill it all. Maybe I can help you out.”
PAGET deliberated. Blake took a chair opposite and watched as the clubman gradually regained his composure. When he saw Paget produce a cigarette and the ivory holder, Blake smiled.
“I’m going to let you in on something,” said Paget quietly. “It goes back to that night — the last night before we pulled the job.
“You remember that I thought some one was looking in the window?”
Blake nodded.
“All I saw,” continued Paget, “was a shadow on the floor. It moved away when I approached. Then it disappeared. I forgot about it until a few nights ago; then I saw it — again.”
“Where?”
“On the lawn outside this house.”
“Maybe you were mistaken.”
“I thought so myself,” admitted Paget. “But I saw it afterward— two nights later.
“I had a dream that same night — a dream that something was threatening me. I woke up and thought some one was in the room. But I could find no one there.
“The next night I dreamed again. When I awoke and looked toward the window I could see nothing. It seemed as though some great, black shape was looming in front of me. Then it disappeared and was gone.
“Since then every shadow has worried me—”
Paget’s voice stopped. He stared at the window of the room as though expecting to see some monstrous shape sweep aside the shade.
“If my enemy is real,” said Paget in a tense, hoarse whisper, “I can meet him. But when I have never even seen him—”
“Listen, Rodney,” interrupted Blake. “You didn’t swing this job alone. I’m Wilbur Blake right now — but a week ago I was somebody else. You’re working with others. Perhaps they’re double-crossing you—”
Paget’s lips twitched. His companion had voiced one of his own apprehensions. Rodney Paget had falsely invaded the circle of the Silent Seven. Yet so far they had cooperated with his plans. He had done nothing that would warrant suspicion.
“Suppose that’s it,” Paget said speculatively. He was wary of the other man’s suggestion. “What would you do?”
“Have a show-down,” replied Blake promptly.
“How?”
“Put it up to your pals, whoever they are.”
“But suppose some one else is in the game — trying to break things up for us—”
Blake laughed.
“Then put your pals on his trail!”
Paget arose and began slowly to pace the floor.
“That’s more like it, Wilbur,” he said. “But there’s nothing real about this menace. Shadows and dreams; then more — shadows!” He pronounced the last word in a hollow whisper.
Blake stared hard at the wall and began to twist the point of his moustache. It was a habit he had acquired from practicing the part of the man whose place he had taken.
“Forget it — for tonight,” said Blake suddenly. “Go get some sleep and don’t worry. I’ll think this over. Maybe I can help you.”
UPSTAIRS in his room, Rodney Paget stared from the window, watching the long, swaying shadows of the trees. He began to feel the calmness of the moonlight. He went to bed and drowsed away.
Half-awakening, he fancied that he heard a noise. He overcame his alarm and became more restful. Then he awakened suddenly.
He felt a strange sensation of some one close by. It seemed as though a person had lifted the pillow upon which his head was resting.
Quickly Paget thrust his hand under the pillow. He gripped a small object. It was the scarab ring which he always kept with him. Then his fingers touched the handle of his automatic.
Holding the weapon, he sat bolt upright.
A soft tapping came from the door.
“Who’s there?” exclaimed Paget in a hoarse whisper.
“Wilbur,” came the reply.
“Come in,” said Paget.
The form of Wilbur Blake appeared. The man closed the door behind him. In the light from the window his face bore a pallor that startled Paget.
“I’ve seen — him,” whispered Blake in a gasping voice.
“Who?” questioned Paget.
“The Shadow!”
“The Shadow?” Paget’s words expressed bewilderment. Blake sat on the side of the bed.
“The Shadow,” he said. “Rodney, we’re up against something. You tipped me off tonight without knowing it. You remember how you talked of shadows?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ve heard of a shadow — The Shadow, they call him. He’s a power in the underworld. No one knows who he is or what his game may be.
“Maybe he’s a crook — maybe he’s a detective — or perhaps a government man. But he’s put a crimp in more than one big shot, I’ll tell you that!”
The speaker paused and looked cautiously about him.
“I never knew why they called him The Shadow,” he continued. “I thought it was just a name. But you startled me tonight, the way you said that word ‘shadow.’
“I’ve been waiting in the hall, by that little window that looks out on the yard. I saw some shadows moving in the moonlight; but I thought nothing of them. Then I turned and saw — The Shadow!”
“Where?” demanded Paget.
“By the door of your room. There was a light burning at the end of the hall — away from me. There he was — a man in black, standing as still as a statue. He had a cloak around his shoulders, and a big hat hid his face.
“I had my gun in my pocket, with my hand on the butt. That didn’t matter. When I saw him, I couldn’t budge.”
“Where did he go? What did he do?”
“He stood there. I just couldn’t believe that he was real, or alive. Then suddenly he moved. He didn’t seem to walk. He glided, moving along the wall of the hallway like a shadow.
“I clutched my gun; and he was gone. He must have turned the corner and slipped down the stairs.”
“Why didn’t you follow him?”
“I was worried about you. He came from here. Didn’t you see any one in the room?”
Paget shook his head.
“Wilbur,” he said, “maybe you’re the one that’s seeing things. I never heard of The Shadow before.
“I thought some one was here in the room; but I decided it was my imagination. If he came in, it must have been by the window—”
Paget broke off his sentence. He left the bed and looked from the window. His eye roved across the expanse of lawn toward a bed of large shrubs. Blake had come over beside him. Suddenly Paget seized the other man’s arm.
“Look!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “Look! Over there!”
ON the other side of the lawn stood a motionless figure garbed in black. It fitted exactly with the description of the man whom Blake had seen in the hallway. Tall, slender and erect, the black-clad form seemed to be watching the house.
With a short oath, Blake drew his automatic. Before he could level his weapon, the figure turned suddenly and disappeared behind the shrubs. Paget gripped his companion’s wrist.
“Don’t fire!” he exclaimed. “You couldn’t get him now. We’ll have to wait.”
Blake pocketed the automatic.
“He’s after you, that’s certain,” Blake said. “I wouldn’t have run into him if I hadn’t been watching. It’s The Shadow, right enough.”
Paget did not reply.
“If he’s on your trail, he means business,” added Blake. “It’s just as bad for me as it is for you — because we’re in the same game.”
“Perhaps,” replied Paget speculatively.
His mind was reverting to certain incidents that had occurred before his meeting with the Silent Seven. He was thinking of the newspaper reports that had followed the death of Doctor George Lukens — how they had mentioned the presence of a suspected murderer who had eluded the police.
Ideas were forming in his mind, and he voiced them in part.
“Now that I have seen The Shadow,” Paget said, “I can deal with him. Whatever his power may be, I can command forces that are more powerful.
“You are safe here, now. If I go away, he will follow me. That will protect you and our plan. I shall leave in the morning — back to New York. The Shadow will find a trap awaiting him.”
Paget lowered the window. He pulled down the shade and turned on the light. He found his cigarette holder and a package of cigarettes. He sat in a chair and began to smoke.
The other man regarded him with approval. It was the false Wilbur Blake who showed signs of nervousness now — not Rodney Paget. For the man who had met the Silent Seven was scheming, and his plans were designed to doom The Shadow.
Neither Paget nor Blake went back to bed. They sat up until dawn, smoking and talking. When daylight came they aroused Herbert and ordered breakfast. An hour later Otto was summoned.
Rodney Paget shook hands with his friend Wilbur Blake on the side porch of the house.
“I won’t see you again for some time, Wilbur,” he said. “Send my luggage in later on. I’ll be staying at the apartment.”
He joined Otto in the speedster, and the swift car rolled down the drive.