The Man From Shanghai

CHAPTER XV – THE MESSAGE AT DUSK

THE day had ended without new event. On Manhattan’s streets, newsboys were still shouting about the law’s battle with crime; but the evening newspapers provided no fresh details.

Spark Ganza had not been located; nor had the police found any other members of his band. The evening journals had simply rehashed the morning accounts. One tabloid was beginning a life story of Spark Ganza, terming the missing crook a new “public enemy,” while other newspapers were predicting a general round-up by the police. These were merely attempts to manufacture news where none existed.

Outside a tall office building, a well-dressed man had paused to scan the front pages of the final edition. After a brief glance, he shoved the newspaper into a trash can near the curb. As he turned toward the entrance to the building, this individual showed his face in the light.

The well-dressed man was The Shadow; his features bore the make-up of Henry Arnaud.

This was one of The Shadow’s favorite disguises. Fuller than the face of Cranston, the features of Arnaud completely changed his facial contour. Well-molded, they showed no traces of falsity. Nevertheless, The Shadow could divest himself of that visage in the darkness, as he had proved the night when he had left Major Rowden’s. Beneath the built-up surface of the Arnaud disguise were the features of Cranston.

There was one reason why The Shadow preferred the Arnaud disguise when roving about town. The character of Henry Arnaud was purely The Shadow’s own invention. No actual Arnaud existed. There was, however, a real Lamont Cranston. Hence, The Shadow deemed it unwise to use his countenance when visiting places where Cranston was not likely to be seen.

This office building was an example. Though a tall one, it was antiquated; and there were few offices occupied on its upper floors. The Shadow was going to the twenty-fifth, to visit an empty office. Not an unlikely trip for the supposed Henry Arnaud, who seemed to prefer out-of-the-way spots; but certainly a most unusual journey had Lamont Cranston taken it. The globetrotting millionaire liked the jungles of India and the wilds of Tibet; but never the empty floors of Manhattan office buildings.

When The Shadow was alone on the twenty-fifth floor, he tested several keys in the door of an office. One unlocked the door; The Shadow stepped into the darkened room. As he approached the window, it became apparent why he had chosen this particular office.

The window commanded a view of the Maribar Hotel, which was less than two blocks distant. It gave The Shadow sight of the penthouse that topped the Maribar’s roof.

FROM his coat pocket, The Shadow drew two objects; one was a flashlight, the other a small mirror. Tilting the mirror toward the penthouse, The Shadow focused the flashlight upon it. Pressing the button of the flashlight he delivered a series of blinks.

There was no response. The Shadow repeated his signals. This time, the flashes brought results.

More powerful blinks showed from a darkened window of the distant penthouse. Major Rowden, watching, had caught The Shadow’s signal. He was sending a message in code.

“Important…”

The word was flashed smoothly; a fact which did not surprise The Shadow. He had counted upon the major to use a desk lamp and a hand mirror; he had also foreseen that Rowden’s transmission would be rapid. These reflected blinks were simply a heliograph system.

Major Rowden, campaigning in China, had frequently employed sun-mirrors to telegraph dispatches. The really remarkable part was the skill with which the major had acquired the special code that he was using. He had seen that code for the first time last night. It had come with the message that George Furbish had delivered from The Shadow.

“Unexpected call…”

The major’s mirror was flashing again. Its dull, roundish glow was less conspicuous than the direct flashes of an electric bulb, a fact on which The Shadow had calculated when advising use of this system.

“… by telephone from Helmedge.”

The major’s signals paused. Rowden was expecting an O.K. The Shadow gave it quickly. This was news of a most important sort.

In his conference with Rowden, The Shadow had learned of Tobias Helmedge, the one man whom Rowden had credited with safety. Residing in New York, at the address which Rowden had given to The Shadow, Helmedge had been told to wait for word from Rowden. So far, he had done so; but now a complication had arisen.

“Knew I was here…” Rowden’s coded blinks were coming swiftly. “Thought I had forgotten him… Wanted to remind me… Call doubtless intercepted…

“Avoided difficulty by cutting call short… No mention of where Helmedge lives…Crooks know only that another man is in it…Helmedge gave name… May mean danger…”

A pause meant that Rowden wanted a reply. The Shadow blinked back a question:

“When did H call…”

Rowden’s response was prompt:

“Twenty minutes ago…

The Shadow blinked a final signal, assuring Rowden of prompt action. With that, he signed off.

DURING the next few minutes, The Shadow speculated upon the results that might follow the sudden entry of Tobias Helmedge as a factor in this case. Kenneth Malfort had certainly received a report regarding Helmedge. The Shadow took that into immediate consequence.

Malfort, of course, would regard Helmedge as another potential victim; one to be intercepted and shorn of wealth before he could visit Major Rowden. Malfort would prefer to deal with Helmedge as he had with Blessingdale and Hessup.

Malfort, however, had not managed to locate Furbish in time to commit an early murder. Helmedge’s position resembled Furbish. Though in New York, Helmedge lived at an address that was not listed as his residence; and he had no telephone. The Shadow had checked on those matters. He knew that Malfort – unless he gained chance information – would find it a long and tedious task to uncover Tobias Helmedge.

Because of that, The Shadow saw opportunity.

He knew Helmedge’s address. By visiting the old miser, he could persuade him to leave New York. That accomplished, The Shadow could postpone tonight’s visit to Rowden’s penthouse in the guise of Cranston. A simple telephone call would be sufficient to tell Major Rowden that the jewel sale was off.

The Shadow knew that Malfort was wary regarding Cranston. Perhaps the master crook suspected that The Shadow was playing a double role. The Shadow had hoped that Malfort might attempt a raid on Cranston’s New Jersey residence; or even at the Cobalt Club. In either event, The Shadow would be ready for him. Malfort, however, had been content to wait.

By ending his own jewel deal with Rowden, The Shadow could force Kenneth Malfort to concentrate upon Tobias Helmedge. It would not take Malfort long – particularly if facts were subtly dropped in his direction – to learn that Helmedge was a miserly old man; an easy sort of prey. That learned, Malfort would attack Helmedge to find The Shadow instead.

Quickly, The Shadow formed a plan from these possibilities. He knew that each succeeding step would depend upon the one before it. The first step, therefore, was to visit Helmedge. That could be done within the next half hour. There would still be another hour before The Shadow, as Cranston, would be due to call at Rowden’s.

That would allow time for signals with reflected mirrors, to explain why Rowden would receive a telephone call from Cranston canceling the appointment.

Quickly, The Shadow left the darkened office and hurried to the elevators. He rang for a car; when it came, he boarded it without sign of haste. When he reached the street, however, he quickened his pace. Pushing through dinner hour throngs, The Shadow came to a corner near Times Square. His taxi was waiting at its usual stand.

Entering the cab, The Shadow spoke his destination. The taxi took a northward course. Catching the through lights of an avenue, it made speedy progress. Turning west, it reached a secluded street; there, it pulled up in front of a melancholy brownstone house, where hall lights showed the number of the building upon a panel over the front door.

The Shadow had reached Tobias Helmedge’s residence. The house was serenely quiet. The Shadow opened a satchel on the floor of the cab; he dropped two articles into the bag: the flashlight and the mirror that he had used for his recent signals.

For the present mission, a short talk with Helmedge, The Shadow’s best guise was the one he already wore. As Henry Arnaud, he could introduce himself as a messenger from Major Rowden. Tobias Helmedge would be best impressed by such a visitor.

Stepping from the cab, The Shadow glanced along the street. Positive that no lurkers were in the vicinity, he strolled up the brownstone steps that led to Helmedge’s home.