The Golden Grotto

CHAPTER IX THE NEXT LECTURE

EVENING found Lamont Cranston one of the early arrivals at the apartment of Anthony Hargreaves. The new member of the sociology group was warmly welcomed by the millionaire host. The two were talking when Professor Kirby Sheldon entered.

The old man seemed quite interested to meet Cranston again. The two engaged in a short conversation which turned to a discussion of conditions that both had seen in foreign lands. Hargreaves, beaming, listened to the talk. At last, the millionaire was forced to leave to greet other guests.

Cranston saw the professor watching the departing figure of the millionaire, and made a quiet remark.

“Fine chap, Hargreaves,” was Cranston’s comment. “An excellent host and interested in educational subjects.”

Professor Sheldon smiled wanly.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Nevertheless, our friend Hargreaves is superficial. His type is an interesting study to a sociologist. He represents one who is trying to unburden himself of the shackles of one social group in order to adjust himself into another. Scarcely a Utopian principle.”

“Right,” responded Cranston, with a slight smile. “A well-chosen point, professor. I can see your view. All of us are simply human specimens in your eyes.”

“Exactly,” returned the professor. “As I stated in my last lecture, there are two divisions of the social strata. The useful ones eliminate caste; the useless ones cater to it. The man of humble origin has his place in society, but he should seek to produce equality — not to kowtow to existing groups that are erroneous in concept.”

“Therefore, Hargreaves—”

“With all due respect to our host, he is a menace to Utopian ideals. His interest in these lectures is a sham. He is not listening to my statements; he is looking for the plaudits of those guests whom he considers to be of advantage to him.”

“A very frank statement, professor,” remarked Cranston. “It would be an excellent thought to incorporate in your lectures.”

“I have used it,” returned the professor, with a smile. “But it has fallen upon deaf ears — so far as Mr. Hargreaves is concerned. You, Mr. Cranston, are a man who appreciates the uselessness of caste. Therefore, you have a Utopian tendency. That, in my mind, is the true test of worth.”

With this remark, Professor Sheldon noted that the group was assembling; and prepared to start for the corner where the hats were placed. Lamont Cranston politely relieved the professor of his hat and cane. With smiling thanks, Professor Sheldon turned toward the rostrum.

Cranston gave the hat and cane to the attendant. In the action, Cranston’s supple fingers slipped within the inner band. They emerged carrying a folded slip of paper — the message from Harry Vincent.

WHILE the professor was making ready for his lecture, Cranston chanced to approach Anthony Hargreaves. The millionaire was talking to a man whom Cranston had seen a few nights ago — Maurice Traymer. Standing near by, Cranston overheard the conversation.

“A few less faces tonight,” Traymer was remarking. “How does that come about?”

“It is to be expected,” returned Hargreaves.

“Let me see” — Traymer was reflective — “Darwin is not here — neither is Peale. Both seemed quite interested members of the group. You have heard from them?”

“Yes,” responded Hargreaves. “Darwin dropped me a line to say that he was making an unexpected trip abroad. Peale had intended to go to the West coast; he also wrote to say that he had left sooner than anticipated.”

“Nice of them to notify you.”

Hargreaves was about to reply to Traymer’s last statement, when he spied Cranston, and immediately insisted that his guest have a seat. Traymer sat down beside Cranston. The young society man introduced Cranston to two charming young ladies who were seated close by. One was Elise Cathcart; the other, Gale Sawyer.

A few moments later, Professor Sheldon began his discourse. His theme tonight was the application of utilitarian ideas to the Utopian ideal, and as he warmed up to the subject, the old sociologist waxed eloquent.

“Utilitarianism,” he stated, “is a doctrine that the greatest happiness of the greatest number should be the end and aim of all social and political institutions. A fine theory; but in practice, it wreaks injustice.

“Consider a social group in which the minority have the real conception of worth and worthiness. That clear-thinking minority would be suppressed by the overpowering presence of a base-minded majority.

“Utilitarianism, applied to a composite population, is a delusion and a menace. Applied to the new Utopia, it would prove a blessing. For there, the basic population would be idealistic; beauty, art, and excellence would be given preference as useful possessions.

“In America, the predominance of utilitarianism is shattering our greatest benefits and ruining our finest institutions, In Utopia, utilitarianism will be a force toward the creation of finer benefits and greater institutions.”

As the professor continued, his thoughts on Utopia became more tangible. He ceased to speak of his cherished ideal as a mere conjecture; he talked of Utopia as a definite fact that was already in the making.

Lamont Cranston watched the faces of the listeners. He saw that Anthony Hargreaves was accepting the professor’s remarks only as enthusiastic theories. Maurice Traymer appeared quite indifferent and a trifle bored. Elise Cathcart and Gale Sawyer, however, were filled with admiration at every word.

WHEN the lecture ended, Cranston remained seated, and so did Traymer. Thus the two overheard the conversation that was passing between Elise Cathcart and Gale Sawyer.

“It was a wonderful lecture,” enthused Elise. “I consider it the best that the professor has given.”

“I agree with you,” returned Gale.

“It is surprising to me,” mused Elise, “that Muriel Hastings and Joan Foxcroft should have left for Bermuda before the course was completed. They were so enthusiastic, you know.”

“Were they here for the last lecture?” questioned Gale.

“No,” said Elise, “they left just before that. I did not think that a summer cruise would entice them away while the professor’s course was still in progress.”

“There’s the professor now!” exclaimed Gale.

Both girls sprang to their feet and greeted Professor Sheldon with enthusiasm. The old sociologist was smiling. He looked at Elise Cathcart, who was a slender, graceful brunette; then at Gale Sawyer, a tall, attractive blonde.

“I am glad that you enjoyed my discourse,” said the professor.

“It was wonderful!” exclaimed Gale Sawyer. “You spoke of Utopia as though it were a reality.”

“Indeed you did,” added Elise Cathcart. “I was almost on the point of asking you where that wonderful place might be found!”

“Thank you, my dear friends,” said the professor, with a beaming smile. “Your interest is encouraging. When Utopia becomes a reality, I sincerely hope that you both may find and enjoy it.”

The old man walked away.

Lamont Cranston’s sharp eyes turned toward Maurice Traymer. He noticed that the young society man was still watching the girls who had spoken to Professor Sheldon. Elise Cathcart and Gale Sawyer were now discussing other plans.

“Why not come out to my summer house?” Elise was asking her companion. “The family is away — I am alone out there. Of course, the servants are present — several of them. The family decided to go to Maine. They packed up, disconnected the telephone, told the servants to go on vacation — then I said my piece. I was not going to miss the professor’s lectures. I talked with the servants, and they agreed to stay. I’m paying them myself. The folks can have their stupid time in Maine. I’m remaining here.”

“You are leaving right away?” questioned Gale.

“I am — very shortly,” returned Elise. “Frederick — the chauffeur — will be here to drive me home. Why don’t you come with me, Gale?”

“I believe I shall,” declared the blonde. “I’ll call home and tell them not to expect me tonight.”

LAMONT CRANSTON watched the two girls walk across the room. Then, from the corner of his eye, he noted Maurice Traymer heading toward the door. The society man stopped to say good night to Anthony Hargreaves. A moment later, he was gone.

Lamont Cranston’s thin lips tightened in a knowing smile. With leisurely pace, Cranston walked to the corner of the room and asked for his hat. The attendant, recalling Cranston from earlier in the evening, passed him Professor Sheldon’s hat and cane.

“These are not mine,” remarked Cranston quietly. “I placed my hat on the table while you were busy. You have it there — on the box in the corner.”

As Cranston pointed with his right hand, the fingers of his left disappeared beneath the inner band of the professor’s gray hat. Unobserved, they slipped a compactly folded slip of paper beneath the band.

The fingers came into view, and a strange gem glittered in varying rays upon the hand that held the hat. Receiving his own hat, Cranston passed the professor’s hat back to the attendant, and added the cane.

Downstairs, Cranston hailed his limousine and ordered Stanley to set out for home. Within the darkness of the car, the tall man opened the portfolio that lay upon the seat. A mass of black cloth and a soft slouch hat slid forth. Cranston’s hands encountered the metal of automatics.

Five minutes later, the limousine was jammed in the traffic of a side street. In the darkness, the door opened softly and an unseen figure slipped from the car. The door closed gently. Stanley drove on without a passenger.

A blotch of blackness sliding along the sidewalk was the only sign of a human presence that marked the passage of a figure that clung close to the walls of silent buildings. The blotch disappeared at the entrance of an alleyway. It reappeared not long afterward on the adjoining street.

A tall, cloaked form was vaguely visible by the side of a parked coupe. The vehicle moved forward, several seconds later. Driven by an unseen hand, it headed eastward toward one of the huge bridges that connect Manhattan with Long Island.

A low laugh sounded from lips above the wheel. Bright eyes glistened as the mysterious driver sped along the way.

Tonight, at the home of Anthony Hargreaves, a gentleman named Lamont Cranston had heard certain facts pertaining to members of the group that assembled there.

He had observed that two men were absent: Roy Darwin and Clayton Peale. He had learned that two feminine members of the group were absent for the second time: Muriel Hastings and Jean Foxcroft.

Cranston had a heard two other girls, Elise Cathcart and Gale Sawyer, discussing unusual plans for tonight, and he had seen the interest displayed by an onlooker — Maurice Traymer. To Lamont Cranston, these matters had been significant.

Thus, within half an hour after his departure from the apartment where Hargreaves lived, Lamont Cranston had changed his identity. He was speeding eastward in a swift coupe; but no one would have recognized him.

Lamont Cranston had become The Shadow, the silent being of the night — the mysterious personage whose keen intuition could scent crime, and whose unfailing might could bring woe to fiends of evil.

The Shadow, the one who knew no fear, was on his way to wage battle in behalf of right!