The Green Box

CHAPTER X THE VIGIL

A NEW night had come to Southfield. The main thoroughfare of the prosperous little city was a glitter of light in which many strollers passed. Southfield drew evening crowds from the surrounding countryside.

Harry Vincent, walking quietly along the main street, approached the front of the Southfield Clothing Shop. He paused to glance into the display window. Through the opened door, he could see Slade Farrow behind the counter. With him was a peak-faced clerk.

Since Farrow had taken over the clothing shop, he had made changes in the business. The new merchant seemed anxious to gain new trade. He had dispatched the two old clerks to other towns: one to Gwynnesborough and the other to Galport. There he had opened small branch stores.

Two new hirelings had arrived. One was the man whom Farrow had wired in New York. This was David Garvell, the big, bluff-faced fellow whom The Shadow had heard Farrow address as Dave in a New York apartment.

The other was a man who had come with Dave. He was the pasty-faced chap now serving as clerk. Farrow, when he spoke to this aid, called him Louie. Harry Vincent had not learned the new clerk’s last name.

A light delivery truck reared up to the curb while Harry was standing at the show window. A big man alighted and shouldered his way past Harry. It was Dave. Farrow had bought this truck to carry goods from town to town, and Dave was the man who operated it.

Harry was turning away when a new arrival came within his field of observation. It was “Griff” Griffel. The husky head of the local athletic club was swaggering toward the clothing shop. In the offing were two other men whom Harry took to be Griff’s henchmen.

Harry had not encountered Griffel since that night at the Southfield House. Quiet and inconspicuous, The Shadow’s agent had dwelt quite comfortably in Southfield. Hence, when Griff strode by and entered the lighted store, Harry saw no danger in following. He strolled through the door and began to examine neckties on a rack. Louie, the pale-faced clerk, came over to wait on the customer.

WHILE choosing neckties, Harry was a witness to all that occurred. He saw Eric Griffel approach Slade Farrow. He noted Griff’s friends lurking on the sidewalk outside. He observed Dave standing close at hand when Griffel spoke to Farrow.

“Hello, Farrow,” greeted the husky man, in a tone that was somewhat cordial. “How are you finding business?”

“All right, Griff,” rejoined Farrow. “The way it’s going, I’ll be needing more help. I’m just waiting to see how the branch stores make out.”

“You’ve started two of them, eh?”

“Yes. One in Gwynnesborough; the other in Galport. Temporary leases. If they don’t work out, I’ll yank the old clerks back here. If they go over, I’ll hire some new clerks for this store.”

Griffel nodded. He looked about and studied the stock approvingly. Slade Farrow was obviously making an honest effort to do legitimate business. The big vigilante could find nothing to arouse his suspicions. He stared toward Dave. Farrow noted the gaze.

“Meet Dave Garvell,” introduced Farrow. “This is Griff, Dave. You ought to spend some time up at his athletic club. Maybe you could build some muscle on the exercisers.”

“I’m getting enough muscle,” laughed Dave. “Driving between here and those other towns is plenty of work for anybody.”

“You’re welcome up at the club,” announced Griff. “Drop up there any time, Garvell.”

“Thanks,” returned Dave.

Harry Vincent was completing his purchase of a few neckties. It was nine o’clock. Slade Farrow turned from the counter.

“Closing up for the night,” he remarked. “You’re not through yet though, Dave. You’ve got to run those boxes of shirts over to Gwynnesborough. Get back in time to pick up the consignment of new suits that are coming in on the Night Express.”

“All right, boss.”

“I’ll be back in the apartment. Take Louie along with you and I’ll let you in when you ring at the delivery entrance.”

Griffel was sauntering from the shop. Farrow picked up hat and coat and overtook the local husky. Together, the pair strolled along the main street toward the athletic club. Harry Vincent left while Dave and Louie were locking up. He headed for the hotel.

HARRY knew that Griffel and Farrow were enemies. He knew that neither had forgotten that episode in the hotel. At the same time, Harry realized that both had found it wise to play a game in which their bitter encounter would not be mentioned.

Griffel had gained his point in his battle with Farrow. The ex-convict had no other course than to bide his time and play the part of a reputable merchant. All the while, Griffel was on the watch. That part was obvious.

Was Farrow trying to square himself with Griffel? Or was he plotting some cunning scheme to get back at the man who had conquered him and taken his spoils? Harry felt that the latter was the case. He realized that a stale-mate existed.

Griff Griffel could make no move against Slade Farrow so long as the new merchant kept above suspicion. Farrow, in turn, could not act against Griff without jeopardizing his own position. This was why enemies appeared as friends.

Other eyes than Harry Vincent’s were watching Farrow and Griffel as the pair strolled along the main street. In the darkness of Room 401, The Shadow was gazing keenly toward the thoroughfare below. He saw a pair of loungers who followed in the wake of Griffel and Farrow. He watched Dave and Louie enter the truck and drive away. A soft laugh came from The Shadow’s lips.

Something scraped beneath the door. The Shadow turned and crossed the darkened room. He stooped and picked up an envelope. A light clicked on; the shaded rays of a lamp showed only hands as The Shadow opened the envelope. The message was in code, inscribed in ink of vivid blue. It was Harry Vincent’s prompt report of his recent observations in Farrow’s store.

The writing vanished. The light clicked out. A period of silence followed. Then came a swishing sound. The door of Room 401 opened and a spectral figure issued forth. In his garb of black, The Shadow was starting out. The tall figure reached the fire tower. The Shadow descended. His shape merged with darkness and followed a circuitous path along a back street. Phantomlike, The Shadow could move entirely unseen so long as he avoided the glittering main street.

He turned toward that thoroughfare, however, after he had traveled some distance under cover of darkness. He had reached a spot just beyond the lighted zone. The Shadow crossed the main street unobserved; his shape no more than a passing blotch of blackness.

He reached a back street beyond and reversed his course. A few minutes later, The Shadow was nearing the delivery entrance of Farrow’s clothing shop. His figure eased against the brick wall.

TWO men were blundering through the dark. The Shadow could hear their low-toned conversation. He knew that these were other henchmen who served Griffel. At night, Farrow’s place was under observation. Griffel was evidently missing no opportunity to pin something on Farrow.

The delivery door of the clothing shop was heavily bolted. Farrow had taken pains to keep the place locked tightly. The Shadow, however, had other means of entrance. He waited until the prowling watchers had passed. He pressed close against the wall.

A squdgy sound came from the bricks. In the darkness, The Shadow’s form moved upward. With rubber suction cups on hands and feet, The Shadow was scaling the wall with ease.

A window yielded on the second floor. The Shadow’s form entered. A tiny flashlight flickered; its dollar-sized circle of light was guarded. The rays could not be seen from the back street below.

The Shadow was in Farrow’s apartment.

A careful inspection revealed nothing. The Shadow unlocked the door and descended a pair of stairs that led down into the shop. There he entered Farrow’s little office.

Telegrams lay upon a desk. These were the only documents of interest that The Shadow could find in the small room with barred windows. A soft laugh came from the lips that were covered by the folds of the cloak collar.

These messages told of incoming shipments. All were slated to arrive tonight, on the Night Express. This worked in with Harry Vincent’s report. The Shadow glided from the office.

The black-garbed investigator found the delivery door. He produced a blackened pick and probed the lock of a large door beside the closed entrance. The barrier opened to reveal a stairway to the basement. The Shadow descended.

Store rooms — windowless — were located below. There were boxes and packing cases here. The Shadow passed through the first room and opened the door to a small, inner compartment. This had a side door which led back to a passage toward the stairs.

His inspection completed, The Shadow extinguished the tiny flashlight and started for the stairs. He paused suddenly. His keen ears had detected a sound from above. A key was clicking in the lock of the door at the head of the stairs — a barrier which The Shadow had locked behind him.

As footsteps pounded on the steps, The Shadow edged back into the darkness. He reached the doorway from the passage to the little room just as the arrival came to the bottom of the steps.

The approacher walked through the passage to the large store room. He switched on a light. The glow revealed Slade Farrow. The ex-convict glanced about to assure himself that all was in order. He did not see the peering eyes that watched through the crack of the door from the little room beyond.

The Shadow had taken full provision for Slade Farrow’s return. He had left no clew that would let the man know an intruder had been here. Farrow turned and went back to the stairs, leaving the light on in the big store room.

This time The Shadow waited. Shrouded in the darkness of the little room, he was prepared to play the part of watcher in the events to follow.