Shadow 001 - The Living Shadow

CHAPTER XVIII FELLOWS ASSEMBLES FACTS

CLAUDE FELLOWS was working in his inner office. He was seated at his personal typewriter. The door to the outer office was closed.

The insurance broker had been engaged so all morning - ever since Harry Vincent had reported at nine o’clock, only to be told to come back toward the end of the day.

It was nearly half past one, and Fellows had not gone out for lunch. Evidently he intended to complete the work that he had in hand.

He struck a few words on the typewriter, then pondered. He shifted to another line, allowing considerable space, and typed a few more words.

He was nearly at the bottom of the sheet. He stopped and drew it from the machine, dropped the piece of paper upon others that were beside him, then carried them all to his desk. There were not many papers in the pile, but Fellows seemed satisfied with what he had accomplished.

He sorted through the sheets, arranged them in order, and read the one on top. It contained simple lines of condensed information that ran down the page at intervals.

Fellows read each statement in an undertone, pausing between the phrases:

“Geoffrey Laidlow - millionaire.

“No enemies - house at Holmwood.

“Collection of gems - kept in safe.

“Family away - wife and two sons.

“People in house - secretary and servants.”

Fellows paused and considered a row of stars that ran across the typewritten page Then he read below:

“Laidlow returned home - accompanied by his secretary - went into the library - closed the door - heard a sound in the house - went to the study - discovered a man at the open safe - was shot and killed - by revolver kept in safe.”

Fellows laid the sheet of paper face down upon his desk. He scanned the next page of typewriting:

“Howard Burgess - Laidlow’s secretary - came in with Laidlow - with him in library - ready to go out - wearing coat and gloves - was with Laidlow - followed him to the study - attacked by the burglar - shot in the arm - followed the burglar - ran to front window - saw the burglar escape.”

The third sheet carried further information:

“Ezekiel Bingham - criminal lawyer - lived near Laidlow - passing the house - heard shots fired - stopped his car - saw a man cross the lawn - entered the Laidlow home - found Burgess - called the police.”

A line of stars; then this data:

“Met a man named Joyce - in his automobile at night - gave Joyce a copy of the code - original in Bingham’s safe - demanded quick translation - ordered silence - purpose of the code - unknown.”

The next sheet bore these memoranda:

“Unknown burglar - entered Laidlow home.

“Opened the safe.

“Knew the combination? Worked the dials.

“Jewels were there - he took them.

“Removed papers - scattered them on the floor.

“Nothing missing - except jewels.

“Killed Laidlow.

“Shot Burgess - dropped the revolver on the lawn.

“Seen by Bingham.

“Escaped across lawn - left no trail.”

The pages that followed were all very brief; they mentioned facts and actions concerning other persons who had arrived on the scene after the murder was committed.

Fellows read these quickly; then he looked over a report sheet which gave information concerning the careers of the various people mentioned - with the exception of the unknown burglar.

These report sheets showed that Fellows was unquestionably a capable man when it came to assembling cold information. As a matter of fact, he had handled a few insurance policies for Geoffrey Laidlow, and was in a position to obtain considerable information concerning the millionaire’s past life. He had worked through insurance sources to gain data about Ezekiel Bingham, and Howard Burgess as well; and a pile of newspaper clippings that lay in an opened desk drawer indicated that he had overlooked no source from which he might have obtained additional facts.

His reports, thorough as they were, showed nothing very unusual. Both Geoffrey Laidlow and Ezekiel Bingham were well-known persons who had often been in the news. Fellows had managed to go through the clippings in the “morgue” of one of the New York newspapers, but had gleaned very little of interest from that source.

His report on Howard Burgess corroborated all that the police had discovered; it showed that the secretary had been an old and trusted employee, related to Mrs. Laidlow. The man had known a great many of the millionaire’s affairs, and had handled many of his money matters. Yet, evidently, some important affairs were kept from Burgess, for the secretary had stated that he did not know the combination of the safe.

Fellows permitted himself the liberty of a few remarks on this point. They were the only items of original thought in the whole parcel of information, and they were on a separate page that carried question marks above and below:

“Laidlow probably kept the safe combination to himself because he had the jewels there. It is strange that he relied upon this antiquated safe, because no other valuables were there. All important papers were in safe-deposit vaults at banks. No record to show that the jewels were ever kept at a bank.”

Then, at the bottom of the page, appeared this entry:

“I have included facts regarding Elbert Joyce in the statements which concern Ezekiel Bingham. Let me remind you that Harry Vincent brought no evidence to link this with the Laidlow murder. Your instructions were to include these facts, and I have done so.”

It was now nearly two o’clock, the insurance broker noted as he glanced at his watch. He hurriedly folded the papers and placed them in a large, heavy envelope which he thrust in the inside pocket of his overcoat. Then he put on his hat and coat, buttoned the outer garment tightly, and opened the door to the outer room.

“I am going out to lunch,” he said to the stenographer. “I shall be back at three o’clock.”

Instead of going directly to a restaurant, Claude Fellows hailed a passing cab the moment he reached the street. He rode down Broadway and went east on Twenty-third Street. His destination was an old, time-marked office building. He dismissed the cab upon his arrival.

Fellows went up the steps to the third floor, and stopped at a door near the end of the hall. On the frosted glass appeared the name, “B. Jonas.”

Fellows drew the envelope from his pocket and pushed it through the mail chute beneath the glass.

Very little light showed through from the room within. It evidently had a single window that opened upon an airshaft, which provided very little illumination. There was dust on the glass of the door, thick dust. Apparently, no one had been in the room for weeks or months.

In this old building, the tenants paid extra for janitor service; and it appeared that Mr. Jonas frowned on such a luxury.

But all this was an old story to Claude Fellows. He had once made inquiries regarding the closed room, but since then had given the matter no attention.

Curiosity was not one of the insurance broker’s characteristics. He was a man who dealt in fact, method, and routine. Since he had become used to the duties that he performed for the man he knew as The Shadow, he had accepted them as a matter of regular business.

Fellows thought of this as he was eating lunch in a hotel near Twenty-third Street. He recalled various affairs which he had handled for the man of mystery, and his mind went back to the circumstances which had brought about the connection.

Some months ago, Fellows had been in financial straits. He had mentioned his troubles to various friends and had tried to borrow money, without success. Then he received a letter without a signature - a letter which had offered him opportunity and prosperity in return for faithful service.

He had accepted the terms of the letter - accepted them by walking along Broadway from Forty-second Street to Twenty-third, on the east side of the street, carrying a cane in his left hand!

That had been the signal. The following day he received a letter written in ink that faded to blankness after he had read the letter. This was followed by a code which simply transposed letters. He memorized the code, then destroyed it.

Since that time, Fellows had been a trusted agent of The Shadow. His work had been of a passive sort, conducted entirely from his office. He had gained information on certain subjects, and had sometimes caught an inkling of what they signified.

This matter of the Laidlow murder was the most important of them all; and it was the first case in which he had knowingly come in contact with another of The Shadow’s men.

The reports which he had deposited in the mail box of the office that bore the name of Jonas were the culmination of his routine work. What The Shadow wanted with them was more than Fellows knew; and he was not particularly concerned about the matter. He knew that his patron could have probably gained all the information himself; in fact, may have done so. But the reports presented facts in definite, condensed form, and they would at least serve as a check-up.

The insurance broker was glad that his services were needed. His own business was doing well of late, but he was always assured of a regular income from this new and unknown source. Cash came in by messenger once every month.

Fellows knew that if he required money for an emergency, a note placed in Jonas’ door would bring a prompt response. He was wise enough never to question a messenger who brought an envelope from his unknown benefactor. Fellows reasoned that the messengers, who were all uniformed delivery boys, had received the envelopes from some one on the street, and had been watched until they entered the Grandville Building. So they would know nothing of value.

In brief, the insurance broker’s whole interest concerned his own welfare. Beyond that, he scented danger, and so avoided it. His present work was finished; new instructions might not arrive for some time to come. Yet the monthly payments would keep on.

Fellows finished his coffee and smiled with satisfaction as he started back to his office. Why should he worry about The Shadow’s identity? The less he knew about it, the better.

All that he had ever written to the mysterious stranger had been inscribed with the special ink that vanished permanently; a new bottle came by mail when it was needed. The typewritten statements would not disappear; but they merely put forth facts and carried no clew as to their origin.

Whatever The Shadow’s purpose might be, Fellows could see no danger threatening himself so long as he continued discreet.