The Blue Sphinx

CHAPTER II THE SECOND LINK

ON the following morning, a rotund, chubby-faced man alighted from a taxicab near Times Square. The steady rain had ended shortly after dawn; and the freshness of the morning air brought a pleased smile to this leisurely, methodical-looking individual.

The chubby man paused outside the entrance of the mammoth Badger Building; then, with a reluctant manner, he entered the lobby and took an elevator. He alighted at one of the higher floors and strolled along a corridor until he reached a door that bore the lettering:

With a smile that denoted ownership, the chubby man entered to greet a stenographer and an office boy who had arrived before him. He walked into an inner office where he found a stack of newspapers on his desk, with a small pile of letters close by.

Opening the letters, Mann read them briefly until he came to one that was written in ink of vivid blue.

The message could not have been deciphered by an ordinary reader, for it was in code. Mann, however, perused it with ease. At the same time, he was careful to note every detail of the odd epistle. He seemed to be memorizing the letter as he read.

Mann placed the message on his desk, when he had finished. He stared meditatively from the window and began to tap his forefinger upon the desk as he recalled what he had read.

While Mann was thus engaged in thought, the writing on the letter started to fade. Words disappeared in irregular order, as though some ghostly hand had stretched forth to eradicate them. When Mann again turned toward the desk, the sheet of paper was a total blank.

The investment broker did not appear surprised. He simply crumpled the blank sheet and tossed it in the wastebasket. Then he rang for the office boy.

“Go down to the Times Square news stand, Horace,” ordered Mann. “I want you to obtain some more out-of-town newspapers.”

“Did I forget some, Mr. Mann?” questioned Horace, anxiously. “I brought all that were on your list, sir. At least I thought I did—”

“You did,” interposed Mann, quietly. “The ones that I want were not on my original list. Buy some recent journals — all that you can obtain — from the city of Latuna.”

“Yes, sir.”

After Horace had left, Mann drew a fountain pen from his pocket and began to write a message of his own. It was in the same ink of vivid blue; it was also a note in code. As soon as the ink had dried, Mann folded the sheet and sealed it in an envelope.

The message that Rutledge Mann had received was from a man named Slade Farrow, a criminologist who was ever ready to aid The Shadow. Slade Farrow was Hawkeye’s sponsor. It was Farrow who had turned the ex-crook straight.

Last night, Farrow had received Hawkeye’s information. Using special ink supplied him at The Shadow’s order, Farrow had passed on the word to Rutledge Mann. For this chubby-faced gentleman who posed as an investment broker was actually an aid of The Shadow. Mann served as contact agent between the active workers and their mysterious chief.

In writing to The Shadow, Mann had merely repeated the report as received from Hawkeye. But he had also taken on another duty. One of Mann’s functions was to go through out-of-town newspapers in search of items that might give inklings of crime. The stack of newspapers on his desk were there for that purpose. No Latuna paper was among them. So Mann had sent out for those journals.

WHEN Horace returned fifteen minutes later, he brought four newspapers. Three were copies of the Latuna Gazette, a sizable journal, while the fourth was a thinner sheet called the Latuna Enterprise.

Mann chose the Gazette for a start. He went through each issue carefully, checking on the events of three succeeding days. He found nothing of striking interest.

The Enterprise was a more sensational sheet. Its news value appeared limited, however, until Mann reached the fourth page, where he observed an editorial in large type. As he began to read the column, a smile appeared upon Mann’s lips. The editorial bore an apt title; and its language was satirical:

When he had finished reading the editorial, Mann referred to the masthead at the top of the column and learned that the owner and editor of the Latuna Enterprise was named Harrison Knode.

Still smiling, the investment broker clipped the editorial and the information above it. He sealed the clipping in another envelope. Then he placed both sealed envelopes in a larger wrapper.

Referring to copies of the Gazette, he found mention of the mayor’s name as Quirby Rush. He also learned that the police chief was named Lawrence Grewling.

After a longer search, Mann found an item which mentioned that the Latuna Museum was open from 10 A.M. until 8 P.M. The curator’s name was given as Joseph Rubal.

Mann wrote all three names upon a sheet of paper and put it in a little envelope of his own. He added this to those in the large envelope, sealed his packet and placed it in his pocket. Then he left his office.

TWENTY minutes later, Rutledge Mann arrived at an old office building on Twenty-third Street. He entered, passed through a dingy hall and ascended a flight of creaking, tilted stairs. He reached an obscure corridor and stopped in front of an office door. The grimy, cobwebbed panel was of glass. It bore the name:

Mann dropped the big envelope in a mail slot and departed. His face was quizzical when he reached the street. It was not the thought of that obscure office that made Mann seem puzzled. That office was permanently deserted, from all appearances; yet it served as The Shadow’s mail box.

Mann had given up speculation regarding how and when The Shadow entered to receive reports.

What puzzled Mann was the same problem that had troubled Hawkeye. Like the crafty spotter, the investment broker was wondering how his chief would handle Tinker Furris, yet still have a free hand when he began an investigation in the town of Latuna.

Hawkeye had supplied word that Tinker planned crime; also, that Latuna was a spot where crime impended. Mann by reference to the Latuna Gazette, had produced tangible evidence that deep waters lay ahead. Latuna must be The Shadow’s goal. Would he let Tinker Furris get away with crime in order to keep Konk Zitz lulled?

Mann decided not. Though The Shadow was a mystery, even to this contact agent, Mann, like all the other aids, knew that The Shadow allowed no spoils to evil-doers. Somehow, The Shadow would thwart Tinker’s scheme of crime, yet manage to keep from damaging his Latuna campaign.

How? Rutledge Mann was still wondering when he reached his office, and the only solution he could furnish was a head shake. Like Hawkeye, Mann had reached the conclusion that the problem was beyond all persons but The Shadow.