The Shadow's Shadow

CHAPTER XIX NEW STRATEGY

IN his battle underground, The Shadow had scored a mighty victory. The results of his triumph became apparent during the days that followed. In one fierce thrust, The Shadow had dealt a heart blow to the forces that sought to conquer him.

No one recognized this more fully than did Felix Zubian. He, the master schemer who had dubbed himself The Shadow’s shadow, knew well that measures of violence would not suffice to overpower this unconquerable foe.

Gats Hackett’s mob was wiped out. That ended the gang leader’s value for the present. Gats, after a conference with Squint Freston, had promised to obtain new recruits. The process would not take long; already a few gunmen had come into the fold. But until a mob as formidable as the other had been assembled, it would be futile to incite The Shadow to new combat.

Where was The Shadow?

Zubian did not know. Moreover, The Shadow had followed victory with strategy. His agents — the two whom he had rescued — were gone, and no clew to their whereabouts remained. Harry Vincent was not at the Metrolite Hotel. He had left no forwarding address. Rutledge Mann’s office was closed. From now on, The Shadow was working single-handed, ready to strike from the dark. His hand was more sinister than ever before.

Douglas Carleton was frantic. He saw The Shadow as a greater menace than he had previously supposed him to be. His only comfort was the knowledge that he and Zubian had managed to remain under cover. The Shadow’s war had been with Gats Hackett.

Nevertheless, Carleton held the fear that The Shadow might learn his connection with Gats Hackett. That fear was disturbing. Douglas Carleton had come to dread The Shadow.

Only Felix Zubian retained his composure. Suave and serene in the seclusion of the Cobalt Club, he planned new strategy; for by strategy alone could The Shadow’s power be offset.

Summarizing the past, Zubian knew too well that open attack would fail. Subtlety was the only course.

Somehow, he must trap The Shadow in a snare that would be above suspicion. To do this, Zubian decided that he must resume his former role; that he must become The Shadow’s shadow once more.

In his observations of the pretended Lamont Cranston, Zubian had performed some excellent spy work. He had ascertained facts pertaining to Lamont Cranston. He had divulged only one; namely, that Cranston had made it a practice to drive home every night via the Holland Tunnel. That fact had been utilized to no avail. Now, Zubian intended to use others.

DURING the days that Zubian had shadowed him, Lamont Cranston had paid occasional visits to a little office in a building on a side street, near Times Square. This office was occupied by a curio dealer named Hawthorne Crayle, an old recluse who was something of a curio himself.

Zubian had not determined Cranston’s connection with Crayle. He was convinced, however, that it did not involve the work of The Shadow. Zubian had visited Crayle’s office himself, and felt positive that Cranston went there merely to inspect some of the rare objects that Crayle offered for sale.

It was obvious now that The Shadow had done more than merely subordinate the identity of Lamont Cranston. Considering the situation, Zubian decided that the phantom of the night must have adopted a completely new identity. After all, the personality of Lamont Cranston had been an assumed one. Probably The Shadow had new characters that he could take on!

If so, he might be anywhere even here at the Cobalt Club. It would be possible, Zubian knew, to begin a new investigation that would lead to a discovery of this new identity. But such a course might lead to disaster. The Shadow was wary now. He would soon suspect any efforts that might be made to trace him.

Thus reasoning, Zubian’s mind reverted to the subject of Hawthorne Crayle. It was probable that the new man who had replaced Lamont Cranston would still pay visits to the curio dealer’s office. There, at least, he would suspect no followers.

So, in keeping with his policy of striking at the weakest point in an opponent’s armor, Zubian decided to concentrate his efforts on watching what happened at Crayle’s.

The little office was located on the fifth floor of an old building, and it was the only occupied office on that floor. The building had been condemned, and no new tenants were taking the vacant offices.

Zubian had no difficulty whatever in stationing himself out of sight across the hall from Crayle’s. He used an empty office as his hiding place, and scratched a peephole in the white-painted glass panel that filled the upper portion of the door.

Watching from this vantage point, he could see every one who entered and left the curio dealer’s place. Beginning at nine o’clock in the morning, he maintained a constant vigil throughout the day.

On the first day of observation, Zubian noted that when Crayle left the office, he posted a little note in the corner of his door. Zubian stepped from his hiding place to observe the notice. It bore the statement:

Upon his return, Hawthorne Crayle removed the notice from the doorway.

Crayle was an old, stoop-shouldered man, whose parchment face was expressive only because of the thick-rimmed spectacles which adorned it. Through these spectacles, Crayle peered with owllike eyes and methodically tore up the paper that had announced the time of his return.

The same procedure took place on the second day that Zubian watched. When the old man returned, Zubian continued his patient vigil, and was rewarded half an hour afterward.

For the first time in these two days, an interesting visitor came to the curio office. Zubian was elated as he recognized the features of a man whom he had seen at the Cobalt Club — Henry Arnaud.

It seemed incredible that this could be the same person who had formerly assumed the features of Lamont Cranston. Yet Zubian, more convinced than ever of The Shadow’s amazing abilities, came to the immediate conclusion that Lamont Cranston and Henry Arnaud must be one and the same!

It was possible, of course, that two members of the Cobalt Club might visit the same curio dealer; nevertheless, Zubian now recalled that he had never seen Arnaud at the club until after the time when Cranston had disappeared.

It was with new elation that Zubian watched through the peephole and listened for any conversation that he might hear.

Henry Arnaud remained in Crayle’s office for some twenty minutes. Then Zubian saw him come to the door, accompanied by the old curio dealer.

“You must come back to-morrow,” crackled the old man. “Come back then, Mr. Arnaud. That shipment will be here in the morning. If you come after two, I shall have some beautiful rarities to show you.”

“I shall be here,” responded Arnaud, in a calm, even voice.

LEAVING the old building, Zubian racked his brain. Here was opportunity! By strategy, he could accomplish what he had failed to do before.

What was the best course?

This building made a perfect spot for a killing. Zubian knew what Gats Hackett would recommend — a crew of gangsters lying in wait.

But Zubian decided that such a course would be too crude. The Shadow had encountered such traps before. He seemed to possess an uncanny sense of detecting the presence of lurking gunmen.

No — newer and more effective measures must be used. Guns should be there, of course, but not where The Shadow could suspect them.

Zubian, back at the Cobalt Club, was thoughtful as he smoked a cigarette in a secluded corner of the grill. At last a plan began to form itself in his scheming mind. An evil smile flitted across his suave countenance.

Walking out into the lobby, Zubian assured himself that Henry Arnaud was not present. Then he went to the telephone and called Devaux’s home. Douglas Carleton was there, and, in cryptic tones, Zubian made an appointment for the evening.

When Carleton joined Zubian at ten o’clock, the young clubman seemed peevish and disturbed. Zubian asked the reason. It developed that Carleton was troubled about affairs at Devaux’s.

“It’s that fellow Milbrook,” he explained.

“Milbrook and the girl?” questioned Zubian.

“Well — that’s annoying, too,” declared Carleton. “Virginia and I are not on good terms at all. In fact, the engagement would be ended if it were not for old Devaux. He sides with me.

“I told him that I regard Milbrook as a rival. So he is helping out. He sees to it that Milbrook and Virginia never have a chance to talk together. If they did — well, an elopement might be the result.”

“Milbrook comes there every evening?”

“Certainly. To talk about diamonds with Devaux. Milbrook wants to make a sale; but Devaux won’t look at the diamonds until he feels ready. So Milbrook is keeping them down in the safe of the diamond syndicate’s office.

“If Devaux renigs, the diamonds will go elsewhere; but so long as the old man is interested, Milbrook is holding onto the goods.”

“How long will Devaux hold out?”

“He’s a good staller,” said Carleton, with a wan smile. “He is pretending to be disinterested, to make Milbrook become anxious. He told me so, and I advised him to hold matters indefinitely. But that can’t last forever.

“Meanwhile, we’re in a bad way. If we could only get rid of The Shadow, we could raid the syndicate office and grab the diamonds — two million dollars’ worth of them. Gats Hackett could do the job; he’s got his new mob lined up. But you know what would happen. The Shadow would be there. Chances are he’s watching Gats like a hawk.”

“Is he? Hm-m-m,” observed Zubian thoughtfully. “It always comes back to The Shadow. That’s why I brought you here to-night, Carleton. I’ve traced The Shadow again.”

“What! Where? Who is he?”

“Another member of the Cobalt Club,” said Zubian softly. “He is Lamont Cranston no longer. He passes himself as a man named Henry Arnaud.”

“Then we can take another shot at him!” exclaimed Carleton. “Gats has his new mob—”

“Gats is out of this,” declared Zubian quietly. “The man that I intend to use is Squint Freston. We must get him quietly and arrange for him to obtain a few gunmen who are not too closely associated with Gats Hackett.

“Remember, The Shadow may be watching Gats. Leave this to me, Carleton. We are going to end The Shadow, and you and I will be present at the finish.”

“When?”

“To-morrow afternoon!”

“Where?”

“In an office building near Times Square.”

Zubian spoke with such assurance that Carleton could not doubt his words. Yet the statements were so cryptic that they left Carleton bewildered. Zubian saw his companion’s perplexity.

“We are using strategy, Carleton,” he said quietly. “This will be done by skill — not by clumsy gunfire. I must obtain Squint Freston’s services by midnight. The arrangements will be made before dawn.”

“Tell me about them?” requested Carleton eagerly.

In a low, calm voice, Zubian began to unfold his scheme.

As the import of his words became apparent to Carleton, the clubman smiled in elation. This was a trap that surpassed all others — a snare that could not be suspected, even by The Shadow.

“A sure plan!” exclaimed Carleton, when Zubian had concluded.

“It is only strategy,” said Zubian. “Strategy that will bring death to The Shadow!”

Henry Arnaud was seated in the lobby when Douglas Carleton left the Cobalt Club. He was still there when Felix Zubian strolled by, some minutes afterward.

The Shadow did not receive even a glance from the man who had become his shadow.