The London Crimes

CHAPTER VII. THE SHADOW DECIDES

FROM Westminster to Aldgate was a ride of a dozen minutes by the Metropolitan and District Lines, the route which Delka and The Shadow took. This was the circle service of the underground; their train traveled on the “inner rail” to make its rapid journey. When they came up the steps at Aldgate, Delka pointed to a distant sign which bore the name: “Addingham Hotel.”

“That is where Lionel Selbrock is stopping,” informed the Scotland Yard man. “Justin Craybaw left the address with the chief. Come; we shall see if Selbrock is at his diggings.”

Aldgate marked the abrupt limit of the old city; with it, the beginning of the East End, where the most squalid quarters of London are located. Almost on the fringe of a dilapidated district, the Addingham Hotel occupied an unenviable site.

It was a hostelry that advertised bed, breakfast and bath for eight shillings the night, reasonable rates which were determined more by location than by furnishings. For the lobby of the Addingham, though old, proved quite pretentious when Delka and The Shadow viewed it.

At the desk, Delka inquired for Lionel Selbrock and was referred to Room 402. Ascending in the lift, the visitors walked along a well-kept hall until they reached the proper door. There Delka knocked.

Receiving no response, he turned the knob. The door opened; Delka and The Shadow stepped into an unlocked room.

Selbrock was not about, so Delka eyed the quarters. The room was comfortably furnished and quite tidy. Upon a writing desk Delka noted a portable typewriter, with a pipe and tobacco pouch beside it.

Strolling over, Delka studied the machine.

“An American typewriter,” he remarked. “Cavalier Portable, No. 4. A very popular machine nowadays. We have several at headquarters. I wonder whereabouts this chap Selbrock can be? He left his door unlocked; he cannot have traveled far.”

DELKA paused as he saw The Shadow turn toward the door. Some one was entering. The visitors saw a tall, rangy man who appeared youngish despite the gray streaks in his hair. The arrival smiled a greeting.

“Cheerio,” he said. “I was informed that I had visitors. Are you from Scotland Yard?”

“Are you Lionel Selbrock?” returned Delka, promptly.

“None other,” responded the rangy man. “Your name?”

“Eric Delka, acting inspector. This is Mr. Cranston.”

“Jove!” exclaimed Selbrock, as he shook hands. “So you two are the pair who dealt with those beggars at St. James Square, last night. I have just been breakfasting and reading the news at the same time. Congratulations.”

“It appears that we encountered a friend of yours,” remarked Delka, cagily.

“Captain Darryat?” queried Selbrock. “He was no friend of mine. I suspected that bounder of double dealing. I am not surprised to learn that he was a rogue. I suppose that you have come to question me regarding Darryat?”

“I have,” expressed Delka. “We heard of you through Justin Craybaw. He told us of your financial arrangements with Rudlow, Limited. I should like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Selbrock. Perhaps they may strike you as abrupt; nevertheless, I shall appreciate prompt answers.”

“Righto,” agreed Selbrock.

“First” — Delka looked about him — “just why have you chosen this hotel for your residence?”

“Because of its moderate rates.”

“Rather modest quarters for a man worth a quarter million—”

“Not yet, inspector.” Selbrock paused to laugh. “My present circumstances are somewhat straitened. I have not yet disposed of my options, old fellow. I am living on hopes.”

“I see. But just why do you keep your room unlocked? Have you no fear of thieves?”

“None at all. My valuable documents are already with Rudlow, Limited. They require my signature to complete the transfer of the options. He who robs me gains nothing but a second-hand typewriter and a worn-out tobacco pipe.”

Delka nodded. Then he proceeded with a question of a different sort:

“Are you acquainted with Sir Ernest Jennup?”

Selbrock paused; then slowly shook his head.

“That is a poser,” he admitted. “I am acquainted with Sir Ernest, yes; because I know him well by sight. I saw him once at his bank; twice at the offices of Rudlow, Limited. But I have never spoken with him.”

“Not even when you made arrangements with the directors of Rudlow, Limited?”

“Not even then. Sir Ernest was not present on those occasions. Justin Craybaw serves as managing director. He was in charge of the conferences.”

“Very well. Next, what can you tell me concerning the man who called himself Captain Darryat?”

“Only that he learned somehow of my options. He came here and asked me to open negotiations with a friend of his, the Rajah of Delapore.”

“And what was your answer?”

“That I could deal only through Rudlow, Limited.”

“What was Darryat’s response?”

“He was angry when he left. He told me to handle my transactions for myself. He dared me to open negotiations, through Rudlow, with the rajah. He claimed such friendship with the rajah that my cause would prove useless.”

“So you took up the challenge?”

“I did. I asked Rudlow, Limited, to communicate with the Rajah of Delapore. His excellency did not rebuff us. On the contrary, he acted quite in opposite to Darryat’s prediction.”

“You saw Darryat after that?”

“Never. I suppose that the chap had become quite disgruntled. It was cheek that made him hurl his defy. I met the rascal’s bluff. Yet I feel sorry for the beggar, now that he is dead.”

Selbrock’s face had saddened. Delka changed the subject. He felt no regrets for Darryat.

“About these oil interests,” remarked the Scotland Yard man. “You have credentials, I suppose?”

“They are with Rudlow, Limited.”

“Have I your permission to examine them?”

“Absolutely! You might also interview the Turkish ambassador, to authenticate the seals and signatures. All are quite in order, I assure you.”

DELKA appeared satisfied with the interview. He nodded to The Shadow and the two took their leave.

Selbrock insisted upon going with them to the lobby. The last that they saw of the man was when he waved a cheery farewell as they stepped to the street.

“A confident chap,” was Delka’s comment. “Nevertheless, I shall make close scrutiny of those documents that he brought from Istanbul. Suppose we walk over to Liverpool Street and take the Central London. It will carry us to Mayfair; the trains call at Marble Arch, which is a convenient station.”

Mayfair, due west from Aldgate, constitutes the smartest section of London’s celebrated West End.

Arrived at Marble Arch, the entrance to Hyde Park, Delka and The Shadow traced their way southward along Park Lane, then turned toward Grosvenor Square. They arrived at a palatial, marble-fronted building which proved to be an apartment hotel. Delka glanced at his watch.

“Even with the short wait at Liverpool Street,” he chuckled, “and the thirteen minutes’ trip to Marble Arch, the journey has taken us scarcely more than a half hour. Unless the Rajah of Delapore is an early riser, we shall certainly find him at his residence.”

The Rajah of Delapore was at home. Delka and The Shadow were ushered to his sumptuous second-floor apartment, to enter a living room which was thick with the atmosphere of the Orient.

Carved chairs, ornate tapestries, the perfume from silver incense burners — all formed a part of this transplanted room which seemed to have been brought intact from a native province in India.

A tall, sallow-faced man received the visitors. Long-nosed, with sleek, black hair, this fellow possessed a pair of quick beady eyes that had the peculiar faculty of enlarging themselves. The man was smooth-shaven; and the color of his skin seemed almost artificial.

“My name is Ranworthy,” said the man by way of self-introduction. “Jed Ranworthy, secretary to His Excellency, the Rajah of Delapore. His excellency has instructed me to discuss matters with you until he can join us in conference. Pray be seated, gentlemen.”

Delka decided to quiz the secretary, for a starter.

“Being from Scotland Yard,” stated Delka, “I am here to find out all that can be learned concerning Captain Richard Darryat. What can you tell us about him, Mr. Ranworthy?”

“Captain Darryat?” Ranworthy smiled sourly. “I knew the chap for a rogue the moment he introduced himself here. I did not state that opinion to the rajah. I wanted his excellency to form the conclusion for himself.”

“I see. How did Darryat happen to come here?”

Ranworthy shrugged his shoulders before replying.

“Like any one else,” he declared, “the man could have learned that a Hindu potentate was residing in Mayfair. There was no deep secret surrounding the presence of the Rajah of Delapore in London.”

A turbaned Hindu servant entered the living room while Ranworthy was speaking. Delka watched the fellow stalk quietly across the room and leave by another door. The Shadow, meanwhile, eyed Ranworthy. The secretary paid no attention to the servant’s brief visit.

“His excellency has been here for nearly two months,” continued Ranworthy. “Captain Darryat first appeared during the past fortnight — no, perhaps it was earlier than two weeks ago. Darryat told us about Lionel Selbrock and the Mesopotamian oil holdings.”

“Did he suggest terms for their acquisition?”

“No. On the contrary, he acted as a disinterested party. He claimed that he merely wished to be of service to the rajah. Darryat tried to make us believe that he had once served as an officer in the Bengal Lancers. That was when the rajah began to doubt him.”

“I see. And after that?”

“We heard from Rudlow, Limited. His excellency went to their offices. He arranged to purchase the monopolies.”

“And did Darryat come here again?”

“Yes. The rajah chided him for misrepresenting facts. He told Darryat to render a bill for services.”

“Did Darryat do so?”

“No. On the contrary, he acted nastily and departed in a huff. We could not understand his actions, unless—”

“Unless what?”

Delka’s question came sharply when Ranworthy paused. The secretary resumed his statement abruptly.

“Unless Captain Darryat was after bigger game and chose therefore to sulk, once his moves were countered. That was the opinion which I shared with his excellency, the rajah.

Ranworthy’s tone had become a convincing pur, a smooth manner of talking that matched the persuasive language of the late Captain Darryat. The Shadow alone noted this fact. Delka had never talked personally with the swindler who had died the night before. Ranworthy’s tone was paradoxical; it showed that the secretary himself might be a smooth worker, contrarily it lacked his statement that he had been keen enough to see through Darryat.

“By the way,” questioned Delka. “Did you ever meet up with Sir Ernest Jennup?”

“The man who was impersonated last night?” queried Ranworthy. “Yes. I met him several times at his banking house on Lombard Street. In connection with money matters that concerned the rajah.”

“Was his excellency with you on those occasions?”

“Twice, I believe. Yes, twice. That is correct.”

BEFORE Delka could put another question, curtains parted at the end of the long living room and a tall, imposing man stepped into view. It was the Rajah of Delapore, in person. The Hindu nabob was garbed in native costume.

The rajah’s attire was a masterpiece of barbaric tailoring. His waist was encircled with a jeweled sash, from which hung a short sword, in golden scabbard. His coat was bedecked with semiprecious stones, garnets and turquoises, with an occasional topaz. His turban, too, was fronted with gems, a large ruby forming the exact center of a cluster.

The rajah’s face was a true Caucasian type, with perfectly formed features. The dusky hue of his skin actually added to his handsome appearance; for it formed a relief to the glitter of his attire. The hand that the rajah thrust forward was long and shapely; but the grip that he gave to the visitors was firm.

“Welcome, friends.” The Rajah of Delapore spoke in a musical tone. “I have chanced to overhear your conversation; therefore I understand your purpose here. I have read about last night’s episode. My congratulations to you, Inspector Delka; and to you, Mr. Cranston.”

Delka and The Shadow bowed. The rajah turned to Ranworthy.

“You may leave,” he told the secretary. “Inform Barkhir that I wish to speak with him.”

Ranworthy bowed and departed. The rajah looked toward Delka with a quizzical gaze, as if inviting questions. The Scotland Yard man had one.

“This secretary of yours,” he asked, in an undertone. “How long has he been in your employ, your excellency?”

“Ranworthy joined me in Calcutta,” returned the rajah musingly. “I needed a secretary who knew London. Ranworthy had good references. I employed him.”

“You came directly to London?”

“No. We stopped for a while in Paris.”

“And since your arrival here, have you been busy?”

“Indeed not. Neither myself nor Ranworthy. I require his services only in the mornings. At other times, he is entirely free.”

A sudden light showed upon Delka’s features. The rajah did not appear to notice it; but The Shadow did.

A moment later, a tall, native-garbed Hindu entered the living room. He was not the servant who had gone through previously. This was Barkhir, whom Ranworthy had been told to summon.

The rajah gave an order in Hindustani. Barkhir departed, to return with a tray-load of refreshments. The rajah invited his guests to join in the repast. While they ate with him, he made final remarks.

“Ranworthy has told you all that we know about Darryat,” he stated. “My opinion is simply that the scoundrel was after my many gems. I have brought them to London, for sale.”

“And you keep them here,” added Delka. “Such, at least, is the understanding at the Yard.”

“The jewels are in this room,” smiled the rajah. “Yet they are quite safe. Only I know their hiding-place.”

“Not Ranworthy?”

“Not even Ranworthy. I would defy him to discover them. That is why I had no fear of Darryat, even after I believed that the man was a rogue. My secrets are my own.”

“But Ranworthy is close to you. He might learn facts, your excellency.”

The rajah’s eyes blazed suddenly; then softened.

“Ranworthy,” he stated quietly, “is honest. Such, at least, is my opinion. When I form such conclusions, I am never wrong.”

“I meant no offense,” apologized Delka. “It is simply my business to check up on every detail.”

“I understand,” nodded the rajah. “Well, inspector, I can assure you that the jewels will soon be sold. No danger will remain here. I shall return to India with the oil options in their place.”

THE interview ended. Ranworthy appeared; the rajah retired and the secretary ushered the visitors from the apartment. When they reached the street, Delka was in a musing mood.

“There is much to be learned,” he told The Shadow. “Somewhere amid this mess is a link with Captain Darryat. Do you agree with me, Mr. Cranston?”

“I do,” assured The Shadow, quietly. His gaze was upward, toward the rajah’s apartment. “Yes, I agree.”

As The Shadow spoke, he caught a quick glimpse of a face that drew back from the curtained window of the living room. A brief flash only, but sufficient to identify its owner. The watching man was Ranworthy, whom The Shadow and Delka had left alone in the living room.

“We are near your diggings,” remarked Delka, as they turned southward on Berkley Street. “There is Piccadilly, just ahead of us. St. James Square is on the other side.”

“I shall drop off there,” decided The Shadow. “When shall I see you again, inspector?”

“Tomorrow morning,” declared Delka. “No — tomorrow afternoon would be better. At the offices of Rudlow, Limited. By that time, I shall have checked upon all details.”

They parted. The Shadow went directly to his own apartment. There he made a telephone call. It was Harry Vincent who responded. The Shadow gave instructions.

On hour later, Harry Vincent checked in at the Addingham Hotel in Aldgate. He obtained a room almost across the hall from the one occupied by Lionel Selbrock. The man from Mesopotamia, though unwatched by Scotland Yard, was to be covered by The Shadow.

Later that same day, an old-fashioned taxicab rolled past the marble-fronted hotel in Mayfair, where the Rajah of Delapore resided. Keen eyes stared from the interior. The cab stopped further on; a keen-eyed personage with a cane alighted and strolled back along the street.

He remained in that vicinity for a while. Later, another individual took his place, this one a hunched man with a cane. After that person had departed, a third took up the vigil. All were one and the same: The Shadow; yet in none would the rajah or Ranworthy have recognized Lamont Cranston.

Scotland Yard had ignored the rajah also; and his secretary, as well. But not The Shadow. He was keeping vigil here until the morrow, when he met again with Delka. There were threads in this skein that needed untangling. The Shadow intended to accomplish such work.

While Eric Delka still suspected a coming move from The Harvester, The Shadow was sure that such a stroke would arrive. His was the task to learn, that he might be prepared.