It was at this juncture that Anthony Hargreaves clapped Lamont Cranston on the back and suggested that the lately arrived guest meet Professor Sheldon.
To Hargreaves, the advent of Cranston was a notable occurrence. Hargreaves was a man of many millions; and he had striven to gain social recognition. He recognized Cranston as one of the elite, and was proud to have him as a guest.
Others there had noticed Cranston’s presence. They, too, were pleased. For Lamont Cranston, member of the exclusive Cobalt Club, and globe-trotter extraordinary, was known as a millionaire in his own right.
A man of high esteem, he kept much to himself, and it was seldom that his whereabouts were known. His appearance at a social function such as this was most unusual. Hargreaves felt sure that it was the fame of Professor Sheldon that had brought Cranston to this highbrow event.
“You must meet the professor,” insisted Hargreaves. “You will like him immensely, Cranston.”
“I shall be glad to meet him,” responded Cranston, in a quiet voice. “but at present he appears to be engaged.”
“Don’t worry about that,” protested Hargreaves hastily. “Professor Sheldon always talks with members of the group after his lecture. We will not be interrupting him.”
“Those men talking with him?” asked Cranston quietly. “Who are they?”
“The tall chap,” answered Hargreaves, “is Roy Darwin, executive with the International Commerce Board. The short man is Clayton Peale, national representative of a large advertising concern.”
“I have heard of both of them,” remarked Cranston. “Who, by the way, is the young man listening to the conversation?”
As he spoke, Cranston indicated a tall, dark-complexioned individual who was quietly watching the group of three. He was younger than the others, and wore a self-satisfied smile as he overheard the professor’s discussion.
“That’s Maurice Traymer,” said Hargreaves. “High social standing — polo player — old family—”
Cranston nodded and walked forward with Hargreaves, as the millionaire host drew his guest toward the spot where Professor Sheldon was standing.
“I appreciate your interest in my discussion,” Sheldon was saying. “I am glad to have talked with you, Mr. Darwin, and with you, Mr. Peale. Such men as you might well be proponents of the true Utopia.”
Hargreaves arrived and introduced Cranston to Sheldon and the other two. A new discussion began, but it did not concern the professor’s lecture. Lamont Cranston merely expressed regret that he had arrived late, and promised to be present upon the next affair at which the group assembled.
“That will be two nights from now,” Hargreaves explained. “Professor Sheldon is returning to his summer home tonight. He will be here in time to deliver an eight-o’clock lecture the night after tomorrow.”
Darwin and Peale had withdrawn; from the corner of his eye, Lamont Cranston noted that Maurice Traymer had also walked away.
Professor Sheldon announced his intention of departing. Anthony Hargreaves and Lamont Cranston accompanied him to a corner of the room, where an attendant had charge of hats and coats.
WHILE Professor Sheldon was donning his coat, a faint smile came over the lips of Lamont Cranston’s inscrutable countenance. From his pocket — on the side away from observation — he drew a tiny fountain pen and deftly slipped back the cap with a motion of his fingers. His hand dropped into his pocket. Not a motion betrayed the fact that Cranston was writing a message therein.
When the hand emerged, it held a folded slip of paper. This was invisible as Cranston held it clipped between his slender fingers.
The attendant was holding Professor Sheldon’s hat. In absent-minded fashion, Cranston took it; then noting his error, handed the headpiece to Professor Sheldon.
When Cranston received his own hat, his hand was empty. The folded paper had mysteriously disappeared.
Professor Sheldon took his gold-headed cane; shook hands with Anthony Hargreaves and Lamont Cranston; then strode from the room. Hargreaves hurried after him, leaving Cranston alone. Still wearing his cryptic smile, Cranston quietly left the apartment.
The millionaire guest was alone when he reached the street and hailed his limousine. As soon as he had entered the car, and Stanley had headed southward, Cranston indulged in a low, whispered laugh. That mysterious mirth revealed the identity of this inscrutable man.
Lamont Cranston was The Shadow!
In the guise of a millionaire clubman, he had attended Kirby Sheldon’s lecture, and had met the old professor who lived at East Point. But there was something in Cranston’s laugh that signified more than ordinary pleasure.
Tonight, he had not only favored the lecture group with the presence of The Shadow. He had also accomplished a very definite purpose that he had held in mind. He had solved the problem of secret communication with Harry Vincent his agent located at East Point.
For Lamont Cranston had made a very simple arrangement whereby a trial message was already on its way, carried by a man who did not suspect its existence.
As The Shadow, he had chosen the identity of Lamont Cranston for his secret guise. As Lamont Cranston, he had picked Professor Kirby Sheldon as special messenger for The Shadow!
CHAPTER VIII
THE REPLY
AT six o’clock the following afternoon, Harry Vincent was seated alone in Malbray Woodruff’s cottage. No new events had occurred on the Point, unless Professor Sheldon’s return from New York, and a short rowboat excursion by Woodruff, could be regarded as such.
In all work for The Shadow, however, Harry had come to regard minor events as possibilities of importance; hence these matters were to be mentioned in his next report. All that Harry now awaited was a means of communication that would not excite suspicion.
Woodruff was still outside, and Harry was engaged with the radio set. He was tuning in on a New York station which he had followed on each preceding night. He had it now, and he was listening for the next announcement just as Woodruff entered.
Harry waved a greeting to the artist; then sat back and heard the voice of the speaker at the broadcasting studio. It was a news announcement:
“It is interesting,” said the voice, “to note that in the government laboratory at Medicine Hat, the Canadian army has developed a new type of shell, which has done wonders in increasing the efficiency of long-range guns.
“One expert has stated that this will revolutionize ordnance equipment, and others are inclined to agree with him. A light cannon that can send missiles twice the present range will answer many military problems. That is one way to reduce armament — by making it more efficient.”
Woodruff offered an interruption as Harry was listening to the next announcement. The artist did not seem to relish the program.
“What do we care about news of the world?” questioned Woodruff. “What does Medicine Hat mean to East Point? Turn on some music — it may be bad, but it can’t be worse than that stuff.”
Harry Vincent laughed as he shifted the dial. At the end of the first announcement, the speaker had ceased to emphasize certain words. Harry had heard all that was necessary.
“Note in hat Sheldon has with him. Send answer that way.”
This was the message which Harry had heard, buried in the longer announcement. To Malbray Woodruff, the words had no significance. In communicating with his agents in the field, The Shadow had long used this system.
How the arrangements were accomplished was a mystery to Harry Vincent. It was one of those unexplainable ways in which The Shadow worked.
With Harry, it was a custom to tune in on certain stations at appointed hours, to listen for emphasized words that would bring him instructions from the ether. On certain occasions, Harry had been warned of danger; on others, The Shadow had guided him in the midst of some difficult task. This time, The Shadow had answered an important question which Harry had asked.