Shadow 001 - The Living Shadow

CHAPTER II THE FIRST MESSAGE

HARRY VINCENT was annoyed as the big limousine sped along Fifth Avenue. The promise he had made to the stranger was still uppermost in his mind, and he intended fully to keep his word. But his mind was busy ferreting out the strange things that had happened since the episode on the bridge.

Alone, now, with thoughts of suicide gone, he began to wonder what coincidence had brought the stranger out of the night, and by what strange trick he had managed to disappear so completely.

He found the light switch in the automobile and turned it on to examine the rich upholstery, which bore the stain of blood. The car was an imported Supra; that, at least, was tangible evidence. It would not be difficult to learn the name of the man who owned it.

The car turned from Fifth Avenue and pulled up in front of the Metrolite, one of New York’s newest hotels. The attendant opened the door and Vincent stepped to the sidewalk. Then he opened the front door of the limousine and accosted the Negro chauffeur.

“Was this where you were told to bring me?” he asked.

“Yes, suh,” replied the chauffeur. “Whah’s de uddah man?”

“He left the car when the taxi nearly bumped us.”

The chauffeur’s eyes opened widely.

“Lawdy, sah, Ah didn’t even stop at dat time.”

Vincent looked at the man intently. He could see that the chauffeur was actually astonished. He put another question.

“Whose car is this?”

“Don’t say nuthin’, boss,” pleaded the chauffeur. “Dis am Mr. van Dyke’s cah, an’ Ah hadn’t no right to take you men along.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was dis way, boss. Ah was keepin’ the cah in town tonight an’ de man in de black hat come up to me when Ah was startin’ for de g’rage. He come up jus’ like a ghost. Yas, he did, sah.

“He says to me: ‘Boy, Ah wants a ride. It’s all right; Ah know who you is, an’ Ah knows Mr. van Dyke, an’ heah’s one hundred dollahs. Ah must find a friend o’ mine.

“So Ah drives him all ovah, an’ as we crosses the bridge, he says, ‘Stop,’ an’ the nex’ Ah knows he has you-all in de cah with him. An’ he had said befo’ dat when he gets his friend, Ah was to drive aroun’ little streets until he taps the window - den Ah was to come heah. Dat’s all Ah knows, boss, ‘deed it is.”

Vincent could see the truth in the man’s worried story, so he dismissed the car and watched the huge Supra as it moved down the foggy street. Even the license number would be no clew. He entered the hotel and strolled to the desk. Then he began to worry about identifying himself.

“Room reserved for Harry Vincent?” he asked.

He was in suspense as the clerk turned away for a moment; then came the reassuring reply:

“Fourteen-nineteen, Mr. Vincent,” said the clerk. “That was the room you wanted? Funny, we didn’t catch your name when you called up from Philadelphia this morning, but when you called again, ten minutes ago, we put everything right. Will you register, please?”

Vincent signed his name and supplied Philadelphia as his place of residence. The stranger must have called the hotel after leaving the car, he imagined.

Vincent wondered about that as he rode up in the elevator with the bell boy. The stranger must have imitated his voice; he certainly would not have talked in that weird whisper.

The room was a large one, equipped with the most modern hotel furnishings. The bell boy pointed to a valise, resting on a stand.

“That’s your bag, isn’t it, sir? It was marked for this room when it came in this evening.”

Vincent acknowledged the bag. He was curious to know what it contained. He fumbled in his pocket. His total wealth consisted of two half dollars, a nickel, and eight pennies, so he gave the bell boy one of the larger coins and waited until the door closed behind the attendant.

Then he opened the suitcase. It held a pair of pajamas, comb, and brushes, neckties, and a few other articles. Also there was a black leather wallet. Vincent removed this and opened it, to find two hundred dollars in bills of various denominations.

He studied himself in the mirror. Here, in a comfortable hotel, with good surroundings and money, and with promise of future supplies, life seemed strangely new. He studied his reflection in the mirror: tall, and well featured. Here he was, a man under thirty, who had acknowledged himself beaten and who had tried suicide. Well, things were different now.

He took a drink of ice water, and decided to retire for the night. Despite the many things that puzzled him, he was sleepy. He needed rest. He draped his clothes over the chair, donned the pajamas, and got into bed. In ten minutes he was sound asleep.

A knock at the door awakened him. It was morning. A bell boy awaited him with a large package.

“Want your breakfast sent up, sir?” asked the boy. “It’s after ten o’clock.”

Vincent followed the boy’s suggestion and phoned for the morning meal to be sent up. Then he opened the package.

It contained shirts, socks, and other apparel, with a new suit of clothes. He examined these articles and was amazed to find that all were his exact size. The stranger must have made a perfect estimate of Vincent’s proportions in the dark of the automobile!

Breakfast arrived after Vincent had dressed and shaved, using a safety razor he had found in the valise. Then he sat by the window and stared speculatively at the sky line of Manhattan. What next? Well, he would wait and learn.

A half hour passed. Then the phone bell rang. He answered it eagerly; but was disappointed when he did not recognize the voice of the stranger of the preceding night’s adventure. It was a man’s voice speaking, however, calling him by name, and talking in an easy tone.

“Mr. Vincent?” the person said. “This is the jeweler. I have a message for you.”

The word “message” made Vincent become suddenly alert. The voice was talking slowly now, and certain words came in a slight emphatic drawl.

“Your watch was sent to another man by mistake. We expect to have another in very soon; perhaps by next Tuesday. It will be delivered to your room.”

The message was forming in Vincent’s mind. He did not reply.

“Was my message clear?” came the question.

“Yes,” Vincent replied.

He hung up the receiver and repeated the stressed words slowly and softly to himself:

“Watch - man - in - next - room.”

Vincent chuckled. It was an order, and it was up to him to obey.

He had grandly ordered cigars with his breakfast, so he lighted a perfecto and smoked for a while.

Then he began to wonder about the next room, the occupant of which he was to watch.

There should be two rooms next to his - one on each side. Vincent went into the hallway. No, the message left no doubt. His own room was a corner one; the only door near his - in fact, it was right alongside - was numbered 1417.

There was no one in the hallway. Vincent listened at the door of the next room, but heard no sound. That did not change the instructions, however.

It was up to him to locate the man who had Room 1417, and to watch that person’s activities. The best thing to do was wait and listen.

He went back in his own room and left the door ajar; then stretched out on the bed and began to read the morning paper, listening for any sound that might come from the hall outside.