The London Crimes

CHAPTER IV. THE GAME DEEPENS

Soon after Captain Darryat’s departure, Harry Vincent went out to luncheon. He took the front door that led through the court. On his way, Harry made careful observations. From these, he was certain that Darryat had not remained in the vicinity.

When he returned, nearly an hour later, Harry again made sure that Darryat was not about. The double checkup was sufficient. Should Darryat return to find that H. B. Wadkins had gone, he would suspect nothing; for a time interval had occurred wherein Wadkins could have left through the court.

After lingering for an hour in the office, Harry proceeded to close up. He packed various papers in a suitcase; he prepared a small sign that bore the word “Closed.” Attaching this notice to the door, The Shadow’s agent made his departure. Again, no signs of Darryat. Harry’s work was finished.

About half an hour after Harry’s final exit, Captain Darryat swaggered along the street that led to Caulding Court. Peering in from the archway, The Harvester’s lieutenant eyed the door with the number H 2. He saw Harry’s sign and approached. A chuckle came from Darryat when he read the notice.

H. B. Wadkins had cleared out. That fact fitted perfectly with Darryat’s plans. After a brief inspection, the tanned man strolled from Caulding Court. Then, of a sudden, he performed a surprising action.

Forgetting his swagger, Darryat whisked about and dived into a convenient doorway. A strained, hunted look appeared upon his features; his sharp eyes narrowed as he watched a man who approached alone.

The arrival was Eric Delka.

Darryat had recognized the Scotland Yard investigator; and he had been quick enough to slide from Delka’s sight. He saw Delka enter Caulding Court; then, satisfied that the investigator was alone, Darryat became bold and stole to the archway.

Peering through, he saw Delka reading the sign on door H 2. He caught a shrug of Delka’s shoulder.

Then Darryat slid out to the street and returned to his previous hiding-place. He watched Delka reappear and walk away.

Obviously, Delka had also read the advertisement in the Times and had decided to make a visit to the office of H. B. Wadkins. The bird that Delka sought had flown; and Darryat was sure that Wadkins would not be back. Nevertheless, the chance visit of Delka had produced a definite influence upon Darryat’s plans.

Darryat had his own game to further, in the service of The Harvester. He did not intend to alter it; but he did plan to use new precautions — something that he would not have considered had he failed to catch that brief view of Delka.

SOON afterward, Darryat was walking briskly across the vast asphalt spaces of Trafalgar Square.

Reaching The Strand, he followed that important thoroughfare until it changed its name and became Fleet Street. There, Darryat sought Chancery Lane and finally located the Cheshire Legal Chambers.

Entering, he discovered a closed door that bore the name of Cyril Dobbingsworth. Darryat rapped. A querulous voice ordered him to enter.

Inside a little office, Darryat came face to face with Cyril Dobbingsworth. The solicitor was an ancient, stoop-shouldered old fellow, who was sipping tea and nibbling biscuits at a decrepit desk. Stacks of law books were all about; the walls were adorned with faded portraits of famous British jurists.

Dobbingsworth apparently fancied himself as a traditional London barrister. Darryat, however, classed him immediately as a weather-beaten fossil.

“Your name, sir?”

Dobbingsworth’s crackled query brought a smile to Darryat’s lips. The pretended captain extended his card.

While Dobbingsworth was studying it, apparently puzzled, Darryat sat down and stated his business.

“I have come, sir,” he stated, “to inform you of a hoax which has been perpetrated against a client of yours.”

“A hoax?”

“Yes. In regard to a Montana silver mine.”

Dobbingsworth blinked. Darryat could see scrawny hands shake as the tea cup jogged in the solicitor’s fingers. Dobbingsworth tried to splutter, but words failed him.

“I, too, have met H. B. Wadkins,” purred Darryat, in a voice that befitted Scotland Yard’s description of him. “He offered me the stock that remained. I wisely refrained from buying it.”

“Why so?” queried Dobbingsworth, anxiously, as he pushed back a shock of gray hair from above his withered face. “I have been assured that the Topoco Mine is a sound one. Have you evidence, sir, to the contrary?”

“None,” replied Darryat, “but I hold doubts regarding the particular stock that was in the possession of Wadkins. I scrutinized it rather closely. It appeared to be a forgery.”

The tea cup clattered as Dobbingsworth set it heavily upon the desk. The old solicitor clucked hopelessly. Darryat leaned forward.

“Wadkins has abandoned his office at Caulding Court,” he informed. “Fortunately, I learned that you had dealt with him. That is why I came promptly to these chambers.”

“This is a case for Scotland Yard!” exclaimed Dobbingsworth, in an outraged tone. “It is, indeed! I shall inform headquarters at once!”

He reached for an antiquated telephone. Darryat stopped him.

“ONE moment, sir,” objected Darryat, smoothly. “Would it not be best to consult your client, prior to taking such a step?”

“What purpose would that serve?” demanded Dobbingsworth. “If my client has been swindled—”

“I have no proof of that,” interposed Darryat. “I have stated merely that the stock which Wadkins showed me appeared to be spurious. In order to venture a proper opinion, I should have to examine the stock that you purchased from Wadkins.”

As he spoke, Darryat eyed a large, old-fashioned safe at the rear of Dobbingsworth’s office. The solicitor was not watching Darryat at the time. Instead, Dobbingsworth was shaking his head in most dejected fashion.

“I have delivered the stock,” he affirmed. “My client was here, awaiting my return. I cannot show it to you.”

“But what of your client?” queried Darryat. “Could we not arrange an appointment with him?”

“He has gone from London for the day. To Kew Gardens, I believe.”

“Will he return this evening?”

“Yes. But I have to depart for Sheffield, to attend to a matter which concerns another client.”

“Perhaps if you gave me a letter of introduction—”

“To my client?”

Darryat nodded.

“Zounds!” exclaimed Dobbingsworth, pounding the desk with his scrawny fist. “That, indeed, is a timely suggestion! But I can do better, sir. Remain seated, while I call a messenger.”

Dobbingsworth picked up the telephone and put in a call. That completed, he took a large quill pen and began to transcribe a message. Darryat noted the long, old-fashioned penmanship that had characterized the letter that he had seen on Harry Vincent’s desk.

A boy appeared at the office door. He was attired in the uniform and round hat that symbolized the London messengers. The solicitor handed him the envelope containing the finished letter. He added the fee that was required. The boy left.

“My client’s name,” informed Dobbingsworth, “is Lamont Cranston. He is a wealthy American. He resides at the old Manor Club.”

“Near St. James Square?” queried Darryat, “close by Haymarket?”

“That is the location of the new club,” replied Dobbingsworth, with a shake of his head. “The old Manor Club is closer to Piccadilly. It is a club no longer; it has some name which I have forgotten, although I have the actual address. It is a bachelor’s apartment; very exclusive—”

“I recall the place. Known as the Moravia, is it not?”

“That is the name. Quite stupid of me to forget it. Very well, captain. I have written Mr. Cranston to receive you. You will find him there at nine o’clock this evening. I should like to have you discuss the subject of those securities with him in person. If he chooses to communicate with Scotland Yard, he may do so.”

“An excellent suggestion. My thanks to you, sir.”

“I owe the thanks, captain.”

The old solicitor shook hands and Captain Darryat departed.

WHEN Darryat had gone, Cyril Dobbingsworth sat at his desk, sipping tea, staring out toward the direction of the Temple.

There had been definite significance in the visit of Captain Darryat; points which the smooth swindler had not amplified in his discourse with the solicitor. Darryat had stated that he had visited Wadkins; he had also added that the man had closed his office. Sure proof that Darryat had not come directly to Dobbingsworth’s office.

A smile showed upon the withered features of the old solicitor. That expression proved that Dobbingsworth understood the facts. Then, from crackly lips came the soft tones of a whispered laugh — the same that H. B. Wadkins had delivered earlier in the day.

Cyril Dobbingsworth, like H. B. Wadkins, was The Shadow! From one assumed personality, he had gone to another. He had left Caulding Court ahead of Captain Darryat that he might be here at the Cheshire Legal Chambers before the swindler could possibly arrive.

Darryat had been totally deceived. He had never suspected a link between Wadkins and Dobbingsworth; much less that the two could possibly be the same. He had been suspicious of Wadkins; he had been lulled by Dobbingsworth. Believing that one had fled and that the other was going out of town, Darryat would have no qualms about calling on Lamont Cranston.

There, again, he would be due to meet The Shadow. For the personality of Lamont Cranston was one that The Shadow used frequently. To-day, he had dropped the guise of Phineas Twambley altogether.

After a brief appearance as Wadkins, then as Dobbingsworth, he would be Cranston and would keep that assumed identity. Except for one brief interval, long enough to put in a call to Scotland Yard.

With that call, The Shadow would announce himself as Phineas Twambley, in order to bring Eric Delka to the trail. This evening, he would tell the investigator that he had chanced to see a man answering the description of Dabley, alias Bildon, in the neighborhood of the Moravia Apartments, near St. James Square.

For The Shadow knew that he had hooked more than a little fish. The same bait that had caught Captain Darryat would snag another — and a larger— personage of crime. The lure of sixty thousand dollars, in sound silver securities, would bring more than a lone lieutenant.

Captain Darryat’s visit to the residence of Lamont Cranston would be but the forerunner to another arrival. The Harvester, himself, would follow. Tonight, the supercrook was destined to meet The Shadow!