The Shadow was opening a large manila envelope that he had received that day. From it, he extracted a batch of photographs. They were aerial views, taken from high altitude. The Shadow arranged these prints upon the table and studied the panorama that they formed.
The photographic map represented the terrain about the town of Paulington. Differing shades indicated that the ground was hilly. Patches of woodland contrasted with open stretches of farmland.
A winding line indicated the railroad that passed through Paulington. There were twisting roads besides; most of these hubbed to a cluster of buildings that were the town of Paulington. Tracing from that point, The Shadow moved his finger toward a thickly wooded hillside.
A good road led in that direction. A few miles from town, it split; the more traveled portion curved through wooded area, then cut straight across toward a town a dozen miles away. The point that interested The Shadow, however, was a clearing on the hillside near the good road. This lay a few miles beyond the fork.
A building stood in the center of the clearing. Though tiny in the picture, it bore the appearance of an estate. A thin-lined rectangle surrounding the place showed that the property was fenced off. Its area could be estimated approximately a dozen acres.
This secluded place was doubtless Mountview Lodge. On the hillside, it stood back from the traveled road and could be reached only by a narrow private road of its own. The distance from the traveled road measured about half a mile.
Tracing again from Paulington, The Shadow moved his finger to the fork; then studied the less traveled road, which branched to the left. This skirted the base of a hill; then split and rejoined.
The split indicated that there had once been a choice of a lower road and an upper. A stream ran along the lower road; probably, in flood time, horses and wagons had preferred the upper road. The aerial view, however, showed the upper stretch as no more than a wide path; this indicated that the road had been abandoned.
At one place on the abandoned road was the beginning of a tiny path that showed among trees. It led to a cabin, nearly a mile from the road. The view showed wreckage beside the cabin; also tiny splotches in the roof.
Using a microscope, The Shadow studied the building. His enlarged view showed it to be no more than a tumble-down shack. The junk beside the cabin was the remains of a porch. The splotches were breaks in the cabin roof.
Further up the hillside was a flat whiteness among the trees. This appeared to be a rocky ledge.
HIS examination finished, The Shadow laid the photographs aside; then produced topographical maps of the same district.
These were government surveys, not recently revised. They showed the contours of the broad, wooded hill and indicated the roads that The Shadow had studied. Buildings were marked in the locality of Mountview Lodge. The cabin on the other side of the hill was also shown.
The flat ledge high up on the hill bore the legend “Table Rock.” The contour lines showed that the slope was steep from the abandoned road, up past the old cabin, to Table Rock itself.
The map showed isolated buildings away from the hill. These were farmhouses that corresponded with those on the aerial photographs. Very little new construction had taken place in the vicinity, although it was plain that property about Mountview Lodge had been improved.
Another set of maps were produced by The Shadow’s hands. These were local charts, older and less accurate than the government surveys. They were useful, however, because they listed the various properties of the vicinity.
Where The Shadow had located Mountview Lodge, this map showed a much larger outline of property that bore the name “R. Silson;” then, in parenthesis, the word “Mountview;” but no mention of the title “Lodge.”
The old cabin was not marked; but its location was on the fringe of the extensive Silson property. R. Silson, apparently, had once owned most of the hillside.
Along the road that skirted the left of the broad hill, following the stream, The Shadow found various farm properties. J. Barton, T. Lucas, M. Smith and others were listed as the owners.
Mountview at the east of the hill; Table Rock almost center; the cabin a bit to the west — these were the important points. Nevertheless, The Shadow listed the other names also. To the names of farm owners he added a name that he noted off beyond the north of the hill. This name was H. Zegler; after it, in parenthesis, appeared the word “Mill.”
Naturally enough, the Zegler property was on a stream that came in from the northern edge of the map, traveled westward, crossed the road and joined another branch stream. This branch was the one that followed the road; it cut west past Paulington and was joined by other branches that came in from various sectors of the countryside.
In fact, the whole district hereabouts was well-cut by tiny rills and brooks. Paulington was in a watershed area, and this feature was one to be expected.
Contour maps and aerial photographs were in duplicate. The Shadow took the extra set, put his notations with the maps and placed them in an envelope which he addressed to Rutledge Mann, Badger Building, New York City. That done, he clicked off the bluish lamp and departed from the sanctum.
IT was late afternoon outside. Traffic was heavy outside the old Albion Hotel when a taxicab wedged in front of the building. The passenger who stepped out was a tall, calm-faced individual who carried a large briefcase.
Entering the hotel lobby, the arrival inquired for Mr. Clark Copley. The clerk made a call, then inquired:
“Are you Mr. Henry Arnaud?”
The arrival nodded. The clerk passed the information over the telephone, then instructed:
“Go up to Room 406. Mr. Copley is expecting you.”
A few minutes later the tall personage stepped into Room 406, to shake hands with a smiling, red-faced man whose manner was brisk and pleasant. Clark Copley pointed his visitor to a chair beside a large table. Room 406 was a small display room.
“Mighty glad to meet you, Mr. Arnaud,” assured Copley, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. “It’s not often I run in from Cincinnati, just on the chance of making a sale. Particularly when I’ve never seen the customer before.
“But that telephone call of yours sounded like business. That’s why I came on East. I figured that if you were going to buy, like you said you were over the phone, I’d be the man to sell you.
“Why? Because I’ve got the one line that can’t be beat. Wait until you see these beauties. Just look at this layout” — Copley was opening boxes as he placed them on the table — “and tell me if you’ve ever spied the like of them.”
Keen eyes sparkled from the visage of Henry Arnaud as the visitor viewed lines of pearls. These were of all sizes and shapes; their lustre was apparent despite the poor lighting of the room.
Those eyes of Henry Arnaud were the eyes of The Shadow. In temporary guise, The Shadow had come to view the wares that Clark Copley offered. The pearl seller, however, did not observe the sparkle that showed momentarily as The Shadow viewed the display. Copley was opening new boxes.
“To use the old vernacular, Mr. Arnaud” — Copley leaned back and removed a half-smoked cigar from the corner of his mouth — “we’d say that these pearls of mine would pass as the real McCoy. Great stuff, aren’t they?”
The Shadow nodded. He was examining pearls between his long finger tips.
“Some of them are real,” went on Copley. “That is, they’re fresh-water pearls. River pearls, from mussels instead of oysters. Then there’s some Japanese culture pearls. Smart fellows, those Japs. They’ve been catching oysters for years, putting sand in them and making them raise pearls. Right in captivity. That means real pearls cheaper.”