The Shadow Laughs

CHAPTER V FELLOWS IS PERPLEXED

Fellows arose, and ushered his visitor to a chair. His mind was working with strange, confused rapidity. He stared at the man who had come into his office.

Lamont Cranston was a tall man, with rather pronounced features, who seemed to carry a very bored expression, as though life was rather tasteless.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Cranston?” he asked.

The millionaire smiled wanly.

“I haven’t come on business, Claude,” he replied. “Why be so formal? You’re an old friend. Call me Lamont.”

Fellows laughed in embarrassment.

“I don’t see you very often,” he said.

“That’s because I’m away so much,” answered the millionaire. “By the way, when did you last see me?”

Fellows hesitated.

“Don’t you remember?” urged Cranston.

“Well, er—” replied Fellows. “It was the time I came out to your house — some time ago — when you were — when you—”

“When I was injured, and sent for you?” interrupted Cranston. “Did you come out then?”

“Yes. That was the time.”

Lamont Cranston arose from his chair, and went to the window. He stood, looking over the sky line of Manhattan, tapping the glass with his knuckles. Then he turned suddenly, and faced the startled insurance broker.

“I can’t understand it, Claude!” he said. “This is a real mystery to me. I didn’t believe it until now.”

“Believe what?” gasped Fellows.

“Believe that I am crazy.”

“Why?”

“Well, here’s the story, Claude. My hobby is to do what I please. I forget the past. I live in the present. I go away when I choose, and return just as unexpectedly as I wish. You know that from your own experience with me.

“My establishment is run by Richards, my valet. He has been with me for years. He knows that I come, and go.

“A few months ago I left for California. I returned home two days ago. I expect to stay here for a month, at least.

“Yesterday, I slipped on the stairs, and fell against my shoulder. It hurt me considerably for the moment. Richards saw me, and rushed up in alarm. He asked if I had injured my wounded shoulder.

“This surprised me. My wounded shoulder! I never had such a thing. I demanded what Richards meant. The poor fellow looked as though he would liked to have bitten off his tongue.

“He said that he had made a mistake; he couldn’t explain his statement. Still, I insisted. He apologized, saying that he should not have mentioned something which I had ordered him never to discuss. That made it worse.

“I realized that Richards was in a predicament. He evidently believed that I had given him some instructions which he must obey; and that he must not discuss the subject even though I now demanded it. At last he found a way out. He passed the buck to you.

“He reminded me that you had come out to see me; that I had sent for you; and that he really knew very little about the purpose of your visit.

“So I told Richards to forget it. To-day I came in to see you. I want to know what it’s all about.”

The millionaire’s statements placed Fellows in an alarming position. Two thoughts dominated the insurance broker’s mind.

First: that Lamont Cranston was The Shadow.

Second: that the episode of The Shadow’s injury was to be forgotten.

Richards had unwittingly betrayed his knowledge. Fellows had just been coaxed into an unwise admission.

He felt that he was being tested. He resolved to meet the crucial situation.

“Perhaps your memory is at fault, Lamont,” he said complacently. “At the same time I must confess that my own recollection is not very clear.

“I came out to see you some time ago. I don’t recall whether or not you sent for me. It seemed to me that we discussed the subject of injuries — in reference to accident insurance.

“Richards was there at the time. He may have misunderstood our conversation, and thought that you had been injured, and that I was there to arrange an adjustment.”

Lamont Cranston seemed puzzled.

“You did come out to see me once,” he said. “We talked about insurance then; but it was fire insurance. Furthermore, it was considerably over a year and a half ago — before I went to South America.”

“We must have talked about accident insurance, too,” insisted Fellows.

“No,” replied the millionaire. “I have no need for such insurance. My income takes care of me.

“Furthermore, I gathered from Richards’s remarks that this last visit of yours was quite recent. It must have been just before I went to California, six months ago.”

Fellows shook his head emphatically. At the same time, he felt uneasy. His visit to Cranston’s, when the millionaire had been injured, had taken place not more than four months before.

“Well,” said the millionaire, in a doubting tone, “I guess I’m wrong about it. I’ve been away for six solid months. I picked up my affairs exactly as I left them. I don’t bother much with business details. Richards must have been dreaming.

“Still, the whole thing is very queer. But I’m not going to worry about it. I can’t see that it means anything has gone wrong. Richards is trustworthy, so I’ll let it drop.”

“How about lunch together?” suggested Fellows, taking advantage of the opportunity to change the subject.

“Sorry, Claude,” was the reply. “I have an engagement. Come out to the house some night next week. I’ll let you know the date later.”

The insurance broker agreed, and the millionaire left the office. But Fellows sat at his desk, and as the minutes moved by, his mind became more and more bewildered.

The only explanation he could give to Lamont Cranston’s visit was that the millionaire — whom he had identified with The Shadow — was anxious to have the episode of his injury forgotten.

Fellows had promised to say nothing about it, when he had answered Lamont Cranston’s summons four months ago. But what was the purpose of this strange attempt to ferret out his mind — to make him betray some recollection of the event?

Did The Shadow mistrust him? There could be no reason for that. Perhaps — the thought was impossible — he was mistaken in The Shadow’s identity! Fellows found himself leaning toward that idea.

Half an hour ago, the insurance broker had been sure that Lamont Cranston and The Shadow were one man. Now he had lost that conviction. He realized that his brains were like those of a child, when compared to the master mind of The Shadow.

The stenographer returned. Fellows still sat at his desk, staring into space. At last he collected his thoughts, glanced at his wrist watch, and removed his spectacles.

It was time for lunch.

Fellows had been sitting, wondering, for an hour and a half. Yet he was still perplexed.