The Man from Scotland Yard

CHAPTER XI. AT THE CAPITAL

THIRTY hours had passed since The Shadow’s brief visit to the Hotel Goliath. Evening was settling above the city of Washington when The Shadow entered the lobby of a cumbersome, old-fashioned hotel known as the Barlingham.

As before, The Shadow was clad in street attire. He was wearing that same masklike countenance that had impressed Captain Hilder and the clerk at the Goliath. When he entered the Barlingham elevator and announced his destination as the sixth floor, the operator nodded to himself.

This stranger looked like a visitor to the sixth. For on that floor was the suite of Senator Ross Releston, the most distinguished resident of this old-fashioned establishment.

The Shadow knew his way when he reached the sixth floor. He had been here before. He entered a corner suite and stepped into a large lounge room. A secretary bowed in recognition.

“Good afternoon. Mr. Cranston,” The man stated. “Senator Releston is awaiting you. In his office, sir.”

The Shadow strolled leisurely through a hallway. He turned left and entered a large room that served as the senator’s office.

Releston was seated at a large desk. He arose to give hearty greeting to his visitor.

“My apologies, Cranston,” declared the senator. “It is seldom that I have been forced to keep you waiting for an appointment.”

A quiet smile appeared upon The Shadow’s thin lips. As Lamont Cranston, millionaire globe-trotter, he was always a welcome guest at Releston’s. Actually, Senator Releston had never met the real Lamont Cranston. That gentleman was usually engaged in travel. During his absence, The Shadow adopted Cranston’s personality.

“Glad to see you in Washington again,” resumed Releston, warmly. “But you certainly chose a time when I am busy. These committee activities are problems, Cranston.”

As his guest seated himself, the senator picked up a copy of a New York morning newspaper and pointed to the headlines. The Shadow took the journal and nodded as he read it. The front page contained an account of an interview that a Washington correspondent had held with Releston.

“Munitions and armaments are predominant,” stated the senator, as The Shadow turned pages to continue reading. “Too much publicity has been given to such matters. We have been fortunate, however. The manufacturers, themselves, have combined under one head.

“That enables us to watch the development of new inventions. Take the improved process for atmospheric nitrogen, as an example. It has possibility as a strictly commercial product. If it were shared by numerous concerns, it would be impossible to guide its future. But it happens to be controlled by the Super Process Corporation, now a subsidiary of Wesdren Enterprises.

“The same is true of the Galloy Aircraft Company, which has developed a form of tubular construction in metal. Likewise the Paragon Tractor Company, which has obtained the contract to build dreadnought tanks.

“All are under common supervision. Plans and models are held by the Wesdren Enterprises. Every point of manufacture will be supervised by the proper governmental authorities. We deal directly with one man. Caleb Wesdren, and he is here in Washington.”

THE SHADOW completed his perusal. His eyes, however, turned to a column on an opposite page.

There he noted a brief story of suicide the day before. An unidentified man had leaped to death at noon, from the fortieth story of the Hotel Goliath, New York.

“I suppose,” remarked The Shadow, as he folded the newspaper, “that you have insisted upon every precaution to protect the models that you have mentioned.”

“Absolutely,” said the senator. “Wesdren’s first step was to advertise for experts in vault construction. I interviewed the applicants personally. Like Wesdren, I chose Craig Jollister. The man is a genius. You should see the work that he has accomplished at Wesdren’s.”

“Like all geniuses” — Releston smiled indulgently — “Jollister is eccentric. He takes vacations when he chooses; he demands complete solitude when he works. But he does work; and he has done this job so capably that we have already placed the models in Wesdren’s strong room vaunt. They will be safe there.”

Releston spoke with a tone that indicated assurance; but as he concluded his statement, his face assumed a troubled expression.

“Offsetting our precautions,” he added, “we are faced by the fact that important inventions have been stolen. Not here, but in foreign countries, despite the close guard that has been kept over plans and models.

“In England, I have learned, the secret of a new compression gun was taken from the admiralty office. That occurred only recently. We have been warned that a criminal ring is at work.”

“With headquarters abroad?” The Shadow inquired.

“No,” returned Releston, soberly. “That is the puzzling part of it. Apparently, the master mind is here in America. His agents have operated in Europe; this country may be their next objective.”

“And specifically, I suppose, they would concentrate upon the inventions which Caleb Wesdren holds in safekeeping?”

“You are correct, Cranston. Only today, I held an important conference with persons who understand the situation — both from the American and the foreign angle. We have gained cooperation from another government. That is all I am at liberty to state.

“Although I might add” — Releston smiled dryly — “that the reason I postponed my appointment with you was because of the conference that I have mentioned.”

The Shadow leaned forward to place the newspaper upon the desk. As he did, he noted an oblong object. It was a metal cigarette case that bore the initials “E.D.” The Shadow passed the case to Releston.

“Someone must have left this here,” he remarked. “My recollection, senator, is that you smoke cigars exclusively.”

Releston looked at the cigarette case and nodded. He rang the bell for his secretary. While he was waiting, he placed the cigarette case in an envelope, which he sealed. The secretary entered.

“Take this envelope to the Skyview Plaza,” ordered Releston. “Leave it there for Mr. Jarvis Knight. Make sure that it goes in the proper box. Number 604.”

“Perhaps I should inquire for Mr. Knight?” suggested the secretary.

“He will not be there until later,” replied Releston. “Simply leave it.”

As soon as the secretary had left, The Shadow arose to end his interview with the senator. He stated that he would call again before he left Washington.

He left the suite and departed from the Hotel Barlingham. He hailed a taxi as he reached the curb and ordered the driver to take him to the Skyview Plaza.

As the cab wheeled crisscross toward a broad avenue, The Shadow laughed softly. The initials on the cigarette case stood for Eric Delka; but the senator had ordered its delivery to Jarvis Knight. That fact, and the report of yesterday’s suicide at the Hotel Goliath, formed good reasons why The Shadow should take temporary residence at the exclusive Skyview Plaza.

IT was eight o’clock when a sharp-faced man swaggered into the lobby of the Skyview Plaza and nodded to the clerk behind the desk. The arrival looked in the pigeonholed boxes; the clerk drew forth two envelopes.

“These were delivered during your absence, Mr. Knight,” he stated. “Here is the room key, also.”

When he reached Suite 604, Knight closed the door behind him and proceeded to open the bulkier envelope. He chuckled as he recognized the cigarette case that had come from Releston’s. He tossed it into his opened suitcase.

The second envelope contained a coded message. Like the one delivered in New York, it consisted of a cryptogram in numbers. Knight walked past a corner where wardrobe trunks were standing, and entered an inner bedroom.

Here he seated himself at a writing desk and began a study of the code. Using a pencil, he checked different numbers in haphazard fashion. His brow furrowed as he worked; a scowl appeared upon his curling lips.

Intent upon the message, Knight failed to see an almost imperceptible motion that was taking place close by. This room connected with one further on. The adjoining door was opening inch by inch.

Burning eyes focused themselves upon the Englishman. They watched Knight tap the desk with his pencil.

They saw him mark new figures. The Shadow was studying every expression of the sharp face in the light from the desk lamp.

A telephone rang in the outer room. Knight opened a drawer and thrust the coded message out of sight.

He stalked out into the living room and answered the call. The Shadow could overhear his end of the conversation.

“Certainly, Marquette…” The Britisher’s tone was only slightly gruff. “A jolly thought… I agree. A bit of relaxation would be welcome… Twenty minutes… Make it a half hour… Very well…”

Knight hung up and came back into the bedroom. He strolled to the window and stared forth toward twinkling lights, as though comparing the brilliance of Washington with that of London. After a few minutes, he turned toward the writing desk; then listened intently as he heard a knock at the door of the outer room.

Something in Knight’s expression indicated that he knew that knock. Moving stealthily, Knight went through the outer room. This time, The Shadow decided to remain no longer behind the adjacent door.

He stepped into the dull light of the bedroom, a weird shape, clad in his chosen garb of black. Spectral beneath his sable-hued cloak, this silent listener crossed to the living room door.

Peering through the crack, The Shadow saw the meeting between Knight and his unexpected visitor.

THE arrival was attired in the uniform of a bell boy. His face was pointed; his grinning lips betrayed a slight twitch. Knight was staring openmouthed, as he recognized Cady.

“You — you came here to Washington?” gasped the Britisher. “My word! This is folly on your part!”

“How come?” demanded Cady. “I had to scram from the big burg, didn’t I? Joe Cardona’s still in New York, ain’t he?”

“Yes. But Marquette is here. I expect him any minute. He just called me on the telephone.”

“I’ll beat it, then. But give me the answer before I slide. You got the note from the box, didn’t you?”

“Certainly. And that was a ridiculous place to leave it! But we can’t discuss that matter. You must hurry away before Marquette arrives.”

“O.K. But what about the answer?”

“Call for it in the morning. It would be too great a risk to prepare one while I am expecting Marquette.”

“I get you. I’ll slip the word along that you’ve got the new dope. You’ve read the note, haven’t you?”

“Certainly. Tell the chief I understand. He will receive my reply in the morning.”

Knight urged Cady out into the hall and closed the door. The Shadow withdrew across the bedroom. He was past the adjoining door when Knight returned. The Britisher did not go back to the writing desk.

Instead, he made a trip to the living room, brought a tuxedo from a wardrobe trunk and proceeded to don the evening attire.

A knock announced Marquette just as Knight completed dressing. The Englishman admitted the secret service man; then the two made their departure.

Shortly afterward, The Shadow emerged from his hiding place and approached the writing desk. From the drawer he removed two coded sheets.

The Shadow studied the first message that had been delivered in New York. Producing paper of his own, he copied it number for number:

The Shadow recognized the second sheet as the one upon which Knight had been working tonight. It was in the same code as the first. The Shadow copied it:

The Shadow replaced the original messages in the drawer. He did not seem to regard Knight’s check marks as informative. The Shadow left the desk lamp burning, since Knight had forgotten to turn it out.

Then the cloaked investigator departed through the connecting door.

SHORTLY afterward, a light clicked in a darkened room. The glow of a different desk lamp showed long-fingered hands. The Shadow was in his own room at the Skyview Plaza. His hands produced the copies of the code. Eyes from the darkness above the lamp were keen in their study of the numbered lines.

A rare girasol glimmered from the third finger of the hand that held the copies spread upon the desk. This matchless fire opal was The Shadow’s emblem. Its glowing depths seemed to reflect the mystery that enshrouded the weird investigator.

The Shadow’s right hand poised a pencil. A soft laugh whispered from darkness as The Shadow marked a circle about three numbers that appeared together in the first coded message. Each of these three numbers was the figure 4.

Again a laugh crept through the darkened room as The Shadow picked three clustered numbers in the second message. Each figure in this group was a 3.

The Shadow had found a starting point. His work would continue until he had deciphered these cryptic messages that had been passed to the man called Jarvis Knight.