Only a thin streak of light showed between heavy somber curtains at the front of the room. Blinking a flashlight, The Shadow kept its rays against the wall. He found a picture frame, set like a panel. He pressed it with gloved fingers.
At first, the frame refused to budge. Then The Shadow found the combination. Down; up; down again; then to the left. A hidden hinge delivered a click. The frame swung wide. The flashlight showed the combination of a wall safe.
BLINKING ended. In total darkness, with muffled silence, The Shadow handled the knob, listening for every betraying sound. Minutes lingered slowly while he worked. Then the combination yielded. The safe door, small but thick, swung open at The Shadow’s bidding.
The flashlight blinked upon the surface of a silver casket. The Shadow raised the lid; pearls shimmered from velvet setting. With one hand, The Shadow plucked the globules. His final touch was the removal of one that had stood out from the rest.
The genuine Blue Pearl. The Shadow was in Michael Walpin’s living room. He had found the collector’s safe, worked its combination; now Walpin’s pearls were in his possession. A slight click sounded as The Shadow let the pearls trickle into a small chamois bag.
Gloved fingers opened a box that The Shadow drew from his cloak. This was the package that he had mentioned at the Cobalt Club. From it, The Shadow, produced the imitation Blue Pearl; also the others that he had selected from Clark Copley’s first display.
Carefully, The Shadow put these replacements in the velvet setting. The false Blue Pearl stood out as finely as had the original. The others, however, differed somewhat from Walpin’s valued prizes. But as The Shadow drew away and blinked the flashlight, he noted that the effect was similar.
Any eye — no matter whose — would have recognized the Blue Pearl and with it forgotten the remainder of the lot. The Shadow laughed softly as he put the chamois bag in the box. He closed the safe, then the paneled picture.
The substitution of false for genuine had taken longer perhaps than necessary; for The Shadow had shown no haste. But it was close to nine o’clock, and as The Shadow stepped across the room, he heard the ring of a doorbell; then footsteps beyond the curtained entry.
Moving with swift glide, The Shadow gained the window; he moved out to the balcony and closed the sash behind him. Again the thin strip of metal worked to close the catch.
Just as The Shadow completed his task, the light came on in the room that he had left.
Staring from the edge of the balcony, The Shadow saw two men enter. One was Michael Walpin, a squatly, dark-haired individual. The other was a tall, bald-headed man who wore a pair of pince-nez spectacles. This was Acting Commissioner Wainwright Barth.
Lost in the outside darkness, The Shadow dropped from the balcony. Once below, he surveyed the rear of Walpin’s apartment. The view was to his liking, as indicated by a softly whispered laugh.
Walpin preferred well-shaded lights. The glow from the room was soft; it did not offer outsiders an opportunity to notice happenings within. Moreover, the rear of the apartment was isolated; the projecting balcony helped to obscure the rear windows.
The Shadow reached the parked limousine. He entered silently. His cloak swished as he removed it.
Packing it in the bag, he added his slouch hat; then included the box that contained Walpin’s pearls. He locked the bag and donned overcoat and silk hat.
“Stanley!” Lamont Cranston spoke quietly but emphatically through the tube. “Come, Stanley. Open the door.”
The chauffeur alighted; he looked puzzled as he reached the curb and opened the rear door of the limousine. This was unusual; Lamont Cranston seldom gave the order.
“I was dozing, Stanley,” remarked The Shadow, quietly, as he stepped to the sidewalk. “I did not realize that we had reached our destination. You can go back to New Jersey, Stanley.”
“You are not coming home tonight, sir?”
“I shall bring the coupe. By the way, Stanley” — The Shadow pointed through the opened door — “give this bag to Richards, as soon as you arrive home. Have him place it in my room.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And keep it on the seat beside you when you drive. I do not wish to run the risk of having it stolen.”
WHILE Stanley was obeying, The Shadow strolled away. He rounded a corner, came to the front of the apartment building and rang a bell that bore Michael Walpin’s name. The doorknob clicked. The Shadow entered.
Michael Walpin was waiting at the door of his apartment when The Shadow arrived. With the host was Wainwright Barth. Both gave greeting as they saw the face of Lamont Cranston. Walpin led the way to the rear room.
“You know, commissioner,” he said to Barth, with a genial chuckle, “I was highly pleased when my friend Cranston called me this afternoon and suggested a get-together. We have met at rare intervals in the past; his call today was a most propitious one.”
“Walpin seemed quite anxious for me to come tonight,” explained The Shadow, also to Barth. “When I told him that I expected friends to meet me at the club, he suggested that I bring them along. But I limited the invitation to you, commissioner.”
“You see, commissioner,” explained Walpin, “I have long known that Cranston was a connoisseur; his judgment of rare objects is notable. As chance had it” — the collector paused to chuckle — “tonight offered me the opportunity to learn his estimate of some valuable pearls that have long been in my possession.”
“Pearls?” quizzed The Shadow, his quiet tone well-feigned. “I did not know that they were your specialty, Walpin.”
“Few persons do,” smiled Walpin. “When I purchased my pearls, some years ago, I kept the matter secret. It was known abroad that I was the new owner of the collection that had belonged to the Duke of Chambrelle; but the news had never been told in this country.
“Yesterday, commissioner” — Walpin turned to Barth — “I received a telephone call from the secretary of Lord Blossington, who is at present in New York. I learned that Lord Blossington was one of the few who knew that I owned the famous Blue Pearl that once belong to the Duke of Chambrelle.
“The secretary arranged for Lord Blossington to come here tonight. Since the visit was to be incognito, he urged, specifically, that I dispense with the presence of servants; though he added — quite oddly, I thought — that there would be no objection to my having friends whom his lordship might enjoy meeting.”
“Quite an order,” remarked Barth, polishing his spectacles as he spoke.
“True,” agreed Walpin, “and on that account I invited no one, until Cranston chanced to call me so opportunely. When he asked about his friends—”
“I mentioned your name, commissioner,” interposed The Shadow, “and Walpin was most anxious that you should be present.”
“Jove!” exclaimed Barth. “This is indeed a pleasure! But tell me, Mr. Walpin, about these pearls of yours. They are valuable?”
“Estimated at one hundred thousand dollars, commissioner.”
“Yet you keep them here? Unguarded?”
“In my wall safe. Hidden behind that painting. The one in the third panel.”
“You deem a wall safe sufficiently strong?”
“Yes, considering the fact that practically no one knows that I own such a valuable collection. That fact, in itself, means security. Hm-m-m. It is approaching half past nine. I wonder what is keeping his lordship.”
“When was he due to arrive?”
“Shortly after nine. The secretary was quite precise about the hour. Perhaps it would be wise for me to call his hotel.”
THE SHADOW watched Walpin go to the telephone. A thin smile was present on the lips of Lamont Cranston; Wainwright Barth, however, did not notice it. The commissioner was still busy polishing his pince-nez.