The Plot Master

CHAPTER XIV REPORTS RECEIVED

FIVE days had passed since Harry Vincent’s arrival in Washington. Air scouts had combed the region south of Washington. They had gained no sign of Commander Dadren’s lost amphibian. The disappearance of the former naval officer was no longer news. It was classed publicly as another tragedy of the air.

High in a Washington hotel, a calm-faced personage was seated at a table, reading a message inscribed in blue-inked code. Keen eyes studied the written lines, eyes that burned from a hawklike visage. They watched the bluish code words fade.

This was The Shadow. Registered under the name of Henry Arnaud, he was staying in Washington. The fading message was a report from Harry Vincent. Like all communications between The Shadow and his agents, it was written in ink that vanished, thanks to a formula of The Shadow’s creation.

As at Cedar Cove, Harry had found nothing amiss. He and Vic Marquette were constantly on duty, along with Stollart and the servants. They had checked on the various visitors who had come to Senator Releston’s. None had aroused their suspicions.

Harry’s report struck one sour note. That concerned the attitude of Senator Ross Releston. In his agreement with Vic Marquette’s plan, Releston had specified a temporary arrangement, dependent upon progress in the finding of Commander Dadren. Vic, counting upon a move by the enemy, had made no step in the search for the missing flier.

Hence Senator Releston had openly announced that the time limit was nearly up. Soon — whether Vic liked it or not — the senator intended to make public certain facts regarding Dadren’s invention. The result would be a nationwide man-hunt.

Harry had passed this news along to The Shadow. It brought no worriment to The Shadow’s masklike visage. Dropping the blank report sheets into a wastebasket, The Shadow laughed softly. Staring from the window, he studied the varied vista of the national capital. His eyes gleamed.

Somewhere close at hand lay the master plotter. Well did The Shadow know that the unknown enemy would not be far. Though Eric Hildrow had managed to keep his identity from The Shadow, he had failed to cover up his methods.

At Death Island, at Cedar Cove, Hildrow had utilized an excellent spy system. Traitors had aided him in his attacks upon Professor Whitburn and Commander Dadren. When he chose to open a drive on Senator Releston, new minions would be on hand to aid him. The fact that Harry Vincent had discovered no spy at Releston’s was not surprising to The Shadow. Hildrow’s men were capable hands when it came to covering up their work.

The Shadow suspected a traitor at Releston’s. Stollart, Smedley or Williston — any one of the three might be the man. It was also possible that some regular visitor — Harry had listed more than a dozen of the senator’s friends — could be the agent used by Hildrow.

But nothing could be gained by uncovering the traitor. The Shadow had learned conclusively that Hildrow kept his real identity from the men who worked for him. The unmasking of a new spy would lead to a blind ending.

The Shadow was playing a waiting game. That was why he liked Harry Vincent’s news. If Senator Releston raised a hue and cry, Hildrow’s task of gaining the plans would be toughened. The Shadow knew that Hildrow — the unknown — was probably receiving reports that matched those sent by Harry Vincent.

IN all his surmises, The Shadow was correct. On this very afternoon, Eric Hildrow, guised as himself, was standing by the window of a living room apartment. He, too, was staring out over the city of Washington.

A knock sounded at the door. Hildrow answered it to admit Marling. His chunky aid was glum. He passed a letter to his chief.

“From Stollart,” informed Marling. “Addressed to J. T. Ushwell, general delivery window at the Arlington post office—”

“I can read the address,” interposed Hildrow, testily. “You’ve read the letter; give me your opinion while I’m reading it.”

“The senator’s going to spread the news,” declared Marling. “That’s enough trouble, isn’t it? Meanwhile, Marquette and Vincent are hanging about. There’s no chance to crack that vault. If Stollart could only get the combination—”

“He never will,” put in Hildrow. “Even if he did, a raid on the Hotel Barlingham would be a mistake. Gunmen would be good hands to aid a getaway—”

“Well, if Stollart opened the vault, he’d be ready for a getaway.”

“He would be stopped before he started. No, Marling, I have been waiting solely for another purpose.”

“To trick The Shadow?”

“Yes. He is our most powerful enemy.”

There was a short pause. While Hildrow speculated, Marling grunted.

“Maybe The Shadow’s still on Death Island,” he declared. “There’s been no sign of Whitburn; and you locked The Shadow in with him. Probably they’re both dead—”

“Don’t be a fool!” snarled Hildrow, turning his pasty face toward Marling. “Do you think that was Bragg that shot up the mob in the Hotel Halcyon? What about the fellow who dropped in on the Northern Express? He got Wenshell and Hasker, didn’t he?”

“Yes. It looked very much like The Shadow—”

“It was The Shadow! He’s here in Washington. He knows that I’ve got to make another move. I’ve been outwaiting him, that’s all. But only because I did not want to press matters. Never be too quick with any scheme, Marling, no matter how effective it may seem. Sometimes, a change of the wind may bring a new idea.”

“Well, the wind’s changed, chief.”

“Hardly. This action of Releston’s was to be expected. It merely means that I must utilize the plan that I have been holding for such an emergency.”

“You’re going to Releston’s yourself?”

Hildrow chuckled.

“I have been there, Marling,” he declared, “as myself. Simply to talk about international trade relations. To emphasize the personality of Eric Hildrow. I am going to pay further visits to our friend the senator.

“But when I go to get the plans, it will be in another guise. One that Releston — or any one else — will never suspect. That, however, will come later, Marling. The immediate job is to forestall the senator’s present intention. He must be weaned from his idea of starting a search for Commander Dadren.”

“How can you stop him from doing that?” inquired Marling.

“Through Dadren,” chuckled Hildrow. “Marling, bring me that set of diagram tracings.”

“The photostatic copies that you made?”

“No. The originals. I am going out with them. Remain here until I return.”

WHILE Marling was obtaining the plans, Hildrow donned the disguise that he used on the day of Dadren’s capture. The black beard obscured his pallid features when he strolled from the little apartment.

Ten minutes later, Hildrow walked into a drug store. He made a telephone call from a booth; then left and strolled in the direction of the Mall. Reaching Pennsylvania Avenue, he hailed a taxi and ordered the driver to take him to an address on the Northwest outskirts of the capital.

The cabby took Hildrow for some foreign diplomat. Reaching the Naval Observatory, he threaded his way along Wisconsin Avenue, then turned to another street, still wondering from what embassy his passenger had come.

Hildrow left the cab at the street corner that he had designated. He showed no haste as he strolled along for a space of about fifteen minutes. At last he reached a small vacant lot that automobiles used as a free parking space. Spying a dull green coupe, he approached and opened the door.

A rough-faced fellow was behind the wheel. The man nodded when he saw Hildrow’s black beard. A member of Korsch’s crew, the waiting driver had recognized the disguise that the plotter was wearing.

Hildrow gave no order. He simply took his seat in the coupe and sat silent while the driver started the car.

The fellow was picking a route that avoided traveled highways. Most of the roads that he chose were well-paved, but only for a short stretch did he follow a course where traffic thickened. That was along a highway that led by the bank of the Potomac. Shortly afterward, the driver veered off to the right.

Several miles further on, the coupe turned southward, heading directly toward the river. Coming through a woods, the driver chose a road where jagged rocks jutted up from muddy ruts. Then came a bend of the river. They had reached an isolated spot above the Great Falls of the Potomac.

The river was wide at this point. The coupe had arrived close to the lower end of a thick-treed island that caused the spreading of the stream. Picking a grassy road that was scarcely more than wheel tracks, the driver swung the coupe toward the river bank. There a short bridge led over to the island.

Lost in the bend of the river, spanning the narrowest section of the stream, this bridge looked frail and forgotten. No chance motorist would have attempted to test the wavering structure. It took sharp eyes to see that the underpinning had been reinforced with new beams that made passage possible.

Rolling across the bridge, the coupe came almost to a stop as it reached the end. It jolted downward. Then it cut through a roadless clearing and stopped beneath a clump of trees. Ordering the driver to remain, Hildrow alighted.

WITH a small portfolio under his arm, the master plotter took a path that ended suddenly beside the walls of a small frame house. Some one spied him from the porch. It was Korsch.

The hatchet-faced man nodded his welcome and opened the door for his chief. Hildrow went into a roughly furnished room that looked like an office. He sat down at a desk; Korsch entered and closed the door.

“How is the prisoner?” quizzed Hildrow, in the sarcastic voice that he used with this disguise. “Has he shown any inclination to talk?”

“No,” growled Korsch. “Say, chief, if you’d let me put the clamps on the guy—”

“He would still refuse to speak,” interposed Hildrow. “No, Korsch, such tactics are useless” — he paused dryly, then added — “for the present.”

“Do you want to talk to him, chief?”

“That is why I telephoned to the road house, to order your man to come for me.”

“All right, chief. Up in his room or down here?”

“Here. A change of environment may please him.”

Korsch nodded. He turned and went out through the door. Eric Hildrow smiled through his black beard as he placed the portfolio upon the desk. The master plotter had completed his scheme.

Here, within the portfolio, were the tracings that he had taken from Commander Joseph Dadren. Those stolen plans were the bait with which Eric Hildrow intended to trick his prisoner.