The Shadow's Shadow

CHAPTER X THE SHADOW SHADOWED

SHORTLY after dusk the next evening, a new figure made its appearance opposite the old building on Twenty-third Street. Squint Freston and his watchers were on duty; yet they did not observe this stealthy person who clung close to the brick-fronted houses.

Unbeknown to the watching gangsters, a new observer had joined their forces. He was a man who sided with them; still, he did not care to let his presence be known.

Felix Zubian, the man who now styled himself The Shadow’s shadow, was making his first investigation.

As he waited, a safe distance across the street, Zubian indulged in a medley of thoughts. He realized that he had spoken boastfully last night, and that it would now be up to him to prove the claims that he had advanced; namely, his ability to succeed where others had failed.

The upshot of his deliberations had brought him back to his starting point. He was convinced that the old building across the way would be the logical place to look for The Shadow.

At the same time, Zubian was subject to an annoying uncertainty. He was positive only that The Shadow must have come to this place on at least one occasion while Squint and the others had been watching.

Was that proof that The Shadow would come here again?

No; on the contrary, it might be a very good reason why The Shadow would choose to avoid this particular spot. If the mysterious master of the night knew that peering eyes were awaiting his arrival, he might readily stay away.

So Zubian felt that he was playing a long shot. If he should see The Shadow here, well and good. If not, he would have to use other measures to trace the man he wanted.

To-night, Zubian was to meet Douglas Carleton. That young man would be impatient, expecting some results. Zubian smiled to himself. He could handle Carleton; already he had mapped out a course of conversation that would be impressive to the clubman-crook. Nevertheless, Zubian still cherished his hope that this preliminary vigil would prove a starting point.

As time drifted by, Zubian’s thoughts continued, but despite the reverie which engaged him, his keen, shrewd eyes did not relax one moment. They were watching that door across the street; watching it from an angle that was more favorable than the position which Squint Freston had chosen for his post.

Felix Zubian glanced at his watch. The luminous dial indicated nine o’clock. Zubian’s eyes returned to the door across the street. They became suddenly alert. Something had attracted their attention.

Felix Zubian gained a distinct mental impression that he had seen a momentary ray of light flickering just below the top of the door. The dwindling shaft had been so temporary that it might well have been an optical illusion; nevertheless, upon that one impression Zubian based a new hope.

That ray might hold a meaning — it might indicate that some one had opened the door to enter the old building! Zubian marveled. He could scarcely credit his senses.

Had his opportunity come and gone? Perhaps — perhaps not. All he could do was wait.

MORE minutes passed. Then, again, Zubian caught that same impression. This time he was sure of himself. The door had opened to allow the passage of a form that was invisible from this spot.

Zubian’s first observance of the trickling light had been a matter of chance; his second sight of it had been the result of shrewd, expectant watching. Thinking quickly, Zubian realized that the double phenomenon was a sure indication that some one had entered the building several minutes before and was now leaving it.

But where was the man who had opened the door? Zubian was perplexed. No human being was visible across the street. In fact, he had not glimpsed a living form.

Looking up and down the street, Zubian saw nothing. His inability vexed him. He gritted his teeth angrily as he focused his gaze upon a street lamp almost directly across the street.

The lamp cast an oval of light upon the sidewalk. It was there that Zubian watched, realizing that he had been balked. His only hope was that the unseen personage might have come in this direction; that through some chance that person would come within the sphere of light.

Again, luck favored Zubian. His eyes opened wide as they saw a patch of blackness cross the oval glare upon the sidewalk. For one short moment, Felix Zubian glimpsed the moving shadow of a living person!

He did not see the form beyond; he saw only the splotch of darkness. That was enough. To Zubian, the moving shade was sure proof of the presence of the one he was seeking. There, somewhere in the darkness, was The Shadow!

Silently, cautiously, Zubian pressed his way along the front of the house. He was staring forward, seeking the next street lamp, hoping for another glimpse of the flitting patch of black.

It came — once again, Zubian saw the object that he wanted. It was swerving now, turning, to cross the street!

Crouching in the darkness, Zubian waited; then took up the pursuit of this invisible being. Peering through the gloom, he sought a glimpse of some person, but he failed to gain it. The Shadow was totally invisible. Nearing a corner, Zubian realized that his task was futile. How could he hope to trail a being who was part of the night itself?

The Shadow might be far ahead; he might be hiding somewhere, ready to spring upon the man who was following him. The situation seemed hopeless, yet Zubian never yielded. He still kept close to the dusky walls that lined the inner edge of the sidewalk. He stopped, a few scant yards from the corner.

Then, on the fringe of a light that came from the window of a corner store, he saw the same splotch of black. It was close to the corner; it was unmoving.

To Zubian, it was the sure indication of the presence of a human being, for that splotch formed the long, sinister shape of a living person.

Thin and gaunt, it terminated in what appeared to be the silhouette of a man. Topped by the shape of a broad-brimmed hat, the blotched blackness proved to Zubian that The Shadow — and no other — must be standing on the verge of the blackness beyond the illumination.

Fascinated, Zubian did not dare to move. He watched while the long shape slid gradually across the sidewalk and disappeared.

Like a pointing finger, it moved toward a taxicab that was standing at the curb. Zubian waited; a few moments later, the cab rolled down the avenue.

Hesitating no longer, Zubian sprang forward, passed the corner and reached the curb. He saw another cab approaching. He hailed it and leaped into the back seat.

“Follow that cab ahead,” he growled to the driver. “See it — up by the red light at the next corner? Not too close — but don’t lose it.”

“Leave it to me, boss,” returned the driver, with a gruff laugh. “I’ll tail him.”

THE course was a threading one. Leaning through the opening to the front seat, Zubian watched with the same alertness that the driver displayed.

The man at the wheel shrewdly kept a full block in the rear. At last came a long stretch between avenues. The car ahead was gaining. It swerved the corner. When Zubian’s cab reached the spot and turned, it came upon the other cab, stopped some fifty feet ahead.

Zubian’s driver swung by and pulled up at a lighted entrance. It was a clever trick, as it allowed Zubian to alight as though he had reached a definite destination.

“Wait here,” said Zubian in a low voice.

The cab driver nodded.

A doorman was opening the door of the taxi. Zubian stepped out and strolled back along the street.

The driver of the cab which he had followed was standing on the sidewalk. He was holding the rear door open, staring into his vehicle in wonderment. Hearing the sound of Zubian’s footfalls, the man turned and spoke as one would speak to a casual passer.

“Say” — the man seemed bewildered — “am I loony? Here’s a guy tells me to stop, and when I stop, he ain’t in the cab no more!”

“Did he pay you?” questioned Zubian, with friendly interest.

“Sure,” nodded the driver. “Gave me a bill and didn’t ask for no change; but this beats me.”

Zubian had seen the interior of the cab. It was empty. Swinging his heavy-headed cane, he went back toward his own car, fuming inwardly. That short lead gained by the first cab had enabled The Shadow to leave his car and slide away into the night.

Reaching his own cab, Zubian prepared to enter. He spoke to the driver from the sidewalk.

“Drive me to the Cobalt Club,” he said.

“Beg pardon, sir” it was the voice of the doorman, interrupting — “but you’re at the Cobalt Club now.”

Zubian turned swiftly. For the first time, he realized where he was. Until now, he had been too interested in that other cab to notice his location. Here he was — at the very place where he had planned to meet Douglas Carleton!

“Thank you,” said Zubian suavely. “You are right. I am a trifle absentminded, that is all.”

He paid the driver and watched the cab roll away. Standing by the door of the Cobalt Club, Felix Zubian pondered. The Shadow must be a man of miracles, he thought, to bring him here. Had The Shadow learned of his plans? Had he suspected Zubian’s purpose?

Zubian’s brow furrowed. He tapped the point of his cane angrily upon the sidewalk. Then a sudden expression of enlightenment appeared upon his face. He felt convinced that The Shadow had not suspected his presence. With that conviction came a theory. If it were correct — that theory — to-night’s operations might prove exceedingly fortunate.

With a smile, Felix Zubian glanced at his watch. It was after ten o’clock. Swinging his cane, The Shadow’s shadow entered the Cobalt Club to keep his appointment with Douglas Carleton!