The Living Joss

CHAPTER XIX. THE LATE VISITOR

IT was nearly midnight when someone rang the bell of David Moultrie’s apartment. A sleepy voice responded through the lobby telephone. The visitor announced himself as Hugo Urvin. He mentioned names of mutual acquaintances. A clicking sound at the locked door enabled Urvin to enter.

Moultrie’s apartment was a small one on the third floor. The stock manipulator, attired in pajamas and dressing gown, admitted the man who had come to see him. He waved Hugo Urvin to a chair.

The apartment consisted of an entry and a living room, with one bedroom adjoining. The living room was of ample size, with an unusually high ceiling. The first objects of furniture that Irwin noted were a table in the center of the room, and a massive bookcase near the corner by the door.

“Sorry to have aroused you,” remarked Urvin. “I was afraid I wouldn’t get you in the office tomorrow morning. I have some investments to make. I was recommended to you, Mr. Moultrie—”

“Have a cigar,” offered Moultrie, with a mouthy smile.

Hugo Urvin accepted a perfecto, and settled back in his chair.

“You have any particular stock in mind?” questioned Moultrie.

“Oil, preferably,” said Urvin. “I’m willing to take a flyer to the tune of ten thousand. But I want something that has a chance of going over big.”

Moultrie retained his smile. He sat down at the table, opened a drawer, and drew out a packet of papers. He began to work upon this customer. Men who had ten thousand to invest were not frequent.

Speculative oil! To Moultrie, that was another name for a gold brick.

Hugo Urvin puffed his cigar contentedly. The young man felt a real satisfaction. He had come here, not to invest in phony stock, but to study the lay of the apartment. He was performing the same duty which he had done at Westley Hartnett’s apartment.

A message from Kwa. A little curio with hundred-dollar bills about it. A sheet of wrapping paper which had peeled apart. A message which had disappeared in a smokeless flare. Instructions to come here and prepare the way; to return to Chinatown tomorrow, at eight o’clock.

Hugo Urvin was reviewing these matters. To him, Moultrie was another unsuspecting dupe. It never occurred to Urvin that he, himself, had been watched in his own apartment; that the message from Kwa had been read by eyes other than his own.

THE sinister presence of The Shadow had trailed Hugo Urvin as before; again, that presence had been veiled. Even now, it was close at hand — yet Urvin had no knowledge of the fact.

The door from the entry had opened by inches. Burning eyes were peering through a narrow crack. They could see Urvin as he studied the bookcase beyond Moultrie’s bowed back. The Shadow observed the smile that rested upon Urvin’s sensuous face.

“Three good propositions,” declared Moultrie, bobbing up from the table drawer. “Here they are.”

He planked a wad of stock certificates on the table, and began to remove a rubber band. Hugo Urvin stopped him with a gesture.

“You say you have three good stocks?” he questioned.

Moultrie nodded.

“That’s fine,” declared Urvin. “But how am I to choose the right one?”

“Leave that to me,” grinned Moultrie. “Oil stock, Mr. Urvin” — the manipulator was speaking the truth — “is often a gamble. Remember, I am warning you in advance. I have other stocks that are less speculative. Nevertheless, oil offers wonderful opportunities. Wonderful—”

“Suppose,” interposed Urvin, “that we get together definitely tomorrow. I deal in cash, Mr. Moultrie. I intend to draw at least ten thousand from my bank. Then I can meet you—”

“At the office.”

“I can’t make it, Mr. Moultrie. You see, I am running up to Hartford — my home city — to draw out the money from the local trust company. Could I join you here, say in the evening?”

“Ten o’clock?”

“Half past would be better.”

“Very well. You can, of course, give me a note now, if you wish to hold these securities.”

“I would prefer to wait until tomorrow night,” said Urvin, picking up his cane as he arose. “I shall have the money, then. It will give you time to pick out the best shares which I require. Please outline alternative plans, Mr. Moultrie. I may desire a choice in the matter.”

David Moultrie shook hands warmly. The entry door closed gradually. A long streak of blackness slid along the floor. That projecting blotch had stretched almost to Hugo Urvin’s chair. When Moultrie opened the door to the entry, there was no sign of a living presence.

When Hugo Urvin had gone, David Moultrie rubbed his palms and indulged in a gloating chuckle. A fly had walked into the spider’s living room. Moultrie chucked the stock certificates into the drawer. He wrote down a memorandum for tomorrow evening’s appointment.

MEANWHILE, Hugo Urvin was swinging his cane jauntily as he strolled along the street. He waved his walking stick at a passing taxicab. He laughed as he entered the vehicle.

David Moultrie had fallen for his game. Tomorrow night at half past ten? Hugo Urvin knew well that he would never keep that appointment.

He had spied effectively tonight. Tomorrow evening, David Moultrie would receive an unexpected visitor instead of Hugo Urvin. Kwa’s minion was still considering the situation when he alighted from his taxicab, and went into his apartment house.

Shortly afterward, another cab rolled along the same street. Doctor Ward Zelka stepped out and paid the driver. The physician was smoking his inevitable cigarette. He entered his own apartment building, in a meditative mood.

Ward Zelka was invariably thoughtful after he had paid a belated visit to the Chinese district. He had long felt the lure of Chinatown. Mixing with quaint Orientals, listening to their language, with which he was familiar, gave Zelka the same feeling of keen interest that he had experienced during his travels in the Far East.

The side street was vaguely quiet. Darkness shrouded the fronts of the apartment buildings. A blotch of black faded as it passed the glow of a street lamp. That patch of gliding darkness was the sign of The Shadow.

David Moultrie — Hugo Urvin — Ward Zelka. Each had a part in the drama of strange crime that was following the abduction of Barton Schofield.

Much was to happen tomorrow night. The Shadow was in readiness!