Another telephone call. The sharp-eyed investigator went to the back of the restaurant and ordered a cup of coffee. While he awaited it, he picked up a paper napkin and carefully wiped a third smudge from his hand.
An hour later, a light clicked in a darkened room. A bluish glare was reflected above the top of a polished table. Those same hands appeared beneath the glow. The strange, changing gem, The Shadow’s girasol, sparkled its iridescent hues.
The Shadow was in his sanctum. His hands were at work. To-day, The Shadow had solved one factor in the mystery. He had discovered a new weapon in The Death Giver’s armory.
The right hand wrote beneath the blue light:
Three deaths to intimidate Henry Bellew. All on the regular train which Bellew took.
A pause; then the hand added:
Three deaths to intimidate another man. Along the route which that man must regularly follow.
The final notations were:
Poison contained in shattering globes.
Gas contained in self-destroying envelopes.
Death by liquid. Death by vapor.
The writing was in ink. Letter by letter, these notations began to disappear. That was the way when The Shadow inscribed his thoughts. The ink that he used was a chemical fluid that evaporated in the air.
A final remark appeared upon the blank sheet:
Find the man whom The Death Giver threatens. Tomorrow.
The writing glared blue; then faded. The light clicked out. A tiny spot of illumination appeared as a set of ear phones were drawn across the table. Burbank’s quiet voice came over the wire.
The Shadow spoke instructions. Burbank’s responses followed. The conversation ended. The little signal disappeared. A swish came through the darkness as The Shadow moved across the sanctum.
Then came the laugh. A strange, sinister shudder awoke reverberations throughout that silent room. The laugh rose to a strident, mocking cry. Invisible walls threw back the eerie sound. When the quivering mirth had ended with a myriad of ghoulish echoes, The Shadow was gone.
Tomorrow. The Shadow had planned. Tomorrow, his amazing mind would meet the challenge of The Death Giver!
Where Joe Cardona had placed useless watchers, seeking for a needle in a haystack, The Shadow would use scientific skill.
Tomorrow, he would trace the man over whom the threat of death was impending. Through that man, The Shadow would follow the trail back to Thade, The Death Giver!
CHAPTER X. EYES OF THE SHADOW
SHORTLY before eight o’clock the next morning, a light coupe with a boxlike extension at the rear, pulled up on a side street in Manhattan. Just around the corner was the entrance to the little arcade where tragedy had arrived the day before.
A lank individual, whose most noticeable articles of apparel were checkered cap and leather puttees, stepped to the curb. He looked about, spied a man approaching him, and put forth a query:
“You Mr. Vincent?”
“Yes,” replied the man who had been waiting. “I’ve been expecting you. All ready to take the shots?”
“Sure thing.”
Harry Vincent watched the man in puttees open the rear of the car to unlimber a camera apparatus.
“Let’s see what time your watch shows,” he said.
The camera man exhibited his wrist watch. It corresponded with Harry’s timepiece. Seven fifty-two.
“Get this right,” ordered Harry; “I want a continuous series of shots beginning at eight ten and running until eight twenty-five. Keep yourselves inconspicuous. I want to get pictures of this arcade just like it is every morning.”
“What about sound apparatus?”
“There won’t be any. I’m preparing a script for an announcer who will talk along with the pictures.”
“I get you. Showing them the scenes where these mysterious deaths occurred and—”
“That’s the idea exactly. I want continuous shots so I can pick out a suitable length of film.”
“What about in the arcade itself?”
“That will come later,” declared Harry. “I’ve got another cameraman for that. Just a close-up shot of the spot where this fellow Bradley dropped dead. We’ll get that when the crowd has thinned.”
A few minutes later, Harry Vincent left in a taxi just after the cameraman and his assistant had picked a suitable point from which they could shoot photographs of the arcade.
“Good idea this fellow Vincent has,” remarked the cameraman approvingly. “He’s a free lance in the film game — one of those small-time producers who pop up every now and then with a good idea. Called me up late last night. Had a red-hot stunt in mind.”
“He’s shooting other pictures?” queried the helper.
“Yeah,” said the cameraman. “He’s going to frame a reel showing the busy places where the mysterious deaths occurred yesterday. He’ll sell it to the newsies all right. Maybe he’ll make a short of it.”
IN the meantime, Harry Vincent was riding downtown in his cab. He left at Forty-second Street, to make swifter time in the subway. He arrived at the Stellar Building — where the second death had taken place — shortly after quarter past eight.
Here he found another cameraman awaiting him. Harry made arrangements for shots from across the street, beginning at eight thirty-five. Walking around the corner, Harry encountered a third photographer already established in an entry across the street from the little restaurant.
“Mr. Vincent?” questioned the man.
Harry nodded.
“All set,” said the photographer. “I’ve fixed it to make shots from the fire tower over here. I can cover the restaurant O.K. When do you want me to begin?”
“Quarter of nine,” stated Harry.
The first part of Harry Vincent’s unusual assignment was completed. He was acting in accordance with instructions from The Shadow. Boldly, Harry had arranged for the planting of cameras at the three places of death, in order to show the morning scenes.
It was all in the work of the newsreel men. There would be swift action after this: the prompt development and delivery of the films. A timely subject for newsreel distribution required rapid attention; and the men whom Harry had hired knew their business. The finished reels were to be delivered at an uptown office early in the afternoon.
Harry Vincent left the vicinity of the Stellar Building immediately after giving instructions to the camera men. He rode uptown to the building, where he had ordered delivery of the films. He smiled as he reached the fourth-floor hall. A painter was just completing a title on the door:
H. VINCENT
CINEMA ENTERPRISES
Harry walked into the furnished office. It consisted of three rooms: an outer office, a private office, and an inner chamber that served as a projection room. Harry had arranged to take this place for a month. In so doing, he had followed instructions from Burbank.
Harry had called a rental agent who specialized in quarters for independent motion-picture concerns, and had found that this place was vacant. He had insisted upon immediate occupancy.
By the time the cameraman arrived with their finished reels, the paint would be dry upon the door, and the entire place would have the appearance of an established enterprise. Those in The Shadow’s service worked quickly when they received orders.
While Harry was surveying his office, the door opened and a girl entered. Harry recognized her as the stenographer who worked for Rutledge Mann. The girl announced that her employer had sent her over to assist Mr. Vincent.
“Of course,” said Harry. “My regular stenographer is away. It was very kind of Mr. Mann to send you here for the day. I am expecting some visitors. You can announce them when they arrive.”