The servant went to the professor’s study. The gray hat was lying on a table, with a gold-headed cane beside it. Unseen, Harry slipped his compact message within the hatband.
“You are leaving for New York, sir?” questioned Harry, when Professor Sheldon appeared.
The professor stated that he was departing within a few minutes.
“I would appreciate it if you would drop me at the depot,” said Harry. “I walk down there sometimes—”
“Come right along!” exclaimed the professor. “Glad to accommodate you, Vincent. Any time, any time!”
Twenty minutes later, Harry Vincent alighted from Professor Sheldon’s limousine, and wished the sociologist a pleasant ride to New York. Shoyer drove away, and Harry remained upon the station platform.
A few minutes later, he smiled when he saw an old car jouncing along the road from the Point. Downs was arriving, ostensibly on his regular trip to the little settlement. Harry, however, knew that Elbert Cordes must have sent him to make a check-up on the stranger who was visiting Malbray Woodruff.
Harry did not visit the post office that day. He bought tobacco, groceries, and canned goods. He packed his bundles in the rickety cab, and ordered the driver to take him back to Malbray Woodruff’s cottage.
Harry was pleased with this excursion. He sat on the porch of the artist’s cottage, watching Woodruff at work on the beach, painting a picturesque array of rocks. To-day, Harry, had called the turn; he had made Downs follow him, and had given the man nothing to suspect.
Moreover, Harry, had maintained contact with Professor Sheldon, and had given the old sociologist sufficient reason for the morning visit. Thereby, Harry had accomplished still more. He had followed the order of The Shadow.
Professor Kirby Sheldon was still The Shadow’s messenger. At this very moment, the dignified old gentleman was riding to New York, bearing a note from Harry Vincent to his chief. The reply had been sent, carrying new information to The Shadow.
CHAPTER IX
THE NEXT LECTURE
EVENING found Lamont Cranston one of the early arrivals at the apartment of Anthony Hargreaves. The new member of the sociology group was warmly welcomed by the millionaire host. The two were talking when Professor Kirby Sheldon entered.
The old man seemed quite interested to meet Cranston again. The two engaged in a short conversation which turned to a discussion of conditions that both had seen in foreign lands. Hargreaves, beaming, listened to the talk. At last, the millionaire was forced to leave to greet other guests.
Cranston saw the professor watching the departing figure of the millionaire, and made a quiet remark.
“Fine chap, Hargreaves,” was Cranston’s comment. “An excellent host and interested in educational subjects.”
Professor Sheldon smiled wanly.
“Perhaps,” he said. “Nevertheless, our friend Hargreaves is superficial. His type is an interesting study to a sociologist. He represents one who is trying to unburden himself of the shackles of one social group in order to adjust himself into another. Scarcely a Utopian principle.”
“Right,” responded Cranston, with a slight smile. “A well-chosen point, professor. I can see your view. All of us are simply human specimens in your eyes.”
“Exactly,” returned the professor. “As I stated in my last lecture, there are two divisions of the social strata. The useful ones eliminate caste; the useless ones cater to it. The man of humble origin has his place in society, but he should seek to produce equality — not to kowtow to existing groups that are erroneous in concept.”
“Therefore, Hargreaves—”
“With all due respect to our host, he is a menace to Utopian ideals. His interest in these lectures is a sham. He is not listening to my statements; he is looking for the plaudits of those guests whom he considers to be of advantage to him.”
“A very frank statement, professor,” remarked Cranston. “It would be an excellent thought to incorporate in your lectures.”
“I have used it,” returned the professor, with a smile. “But it has fallen upon deaf ears — so far as Mr. Hargreaves is concerned. You, Mr. Cranston, are a man who appreciates the uselessness of caste. Therefore, you have a Utopian tendency. That, in my mind, is the true test of worth.”
With this remark, Professor Sheldon noted that the group was assembling; and prepared to start for the corner where the hats were placed. Lamont Cranston politely relieved the professor of his hat and cane. With smiling thanks, Professor Sheldon turned toward the rostrum.
Cranston gave the hat and cane to the attendant. In the action, Cranston’s supple fingers slipped within the inner band. They emerged carrying a folded slip of paper — the message from Harry Vincent.
WHILE the professor was making ready for his lecture, Cranston chanced to approach Anthony Hargreaves. The millionaire was talking to a man whom Cranston had seen a few nights ago — Maurice Traymer. Standing near by, Cranston overheard the conversation.
“A few less faces tonight,” Traymer was remarking. “How does that come about?”
“It is to be expected,” returned Hargreaves.
“Let me see” — Traymer was reflective — “Darwin is not here — neither is Peale. Both seemed quite interested members of the group. You have heard from them?”
“Yes,” responded Hargreaves. “Darwin dropped me a line to say that he was making an unexpected trip abroad. Peale had intended to go to the West coast; he also wrote to say that he had left sooner than anticipated.”
“Nice of them to notify you.”
Hargreaves was about to reply to Traymer’s last statement, when he spied Cranston, and immediately insisted that his guest have a seat. Traymer sat down beside Cranston. The young society man introduced Cranston to two charming young ladies who were seated close by. One was Elise Cathcart; the other, Gale Sawyer.
A few moments later, Professor Sheldon began his discourse. His theme tonight was the application of utilitarian ideas to the Utopian ideal, and as he warmed up to the subject, the old sociologist waxed eloquent.
“Utilitarianism,” he stated, “is a doctrine that the greatest happiness of the greatest number should be the end and aim of all social and political institutions. A fine theory; but in practice, it wreaks injustice.
“Consider a social group in which the minority have the real conception of worth and worthiness. That clear-thinking minority would be suppressed by the overpowering presence of a base-minded majority.
“Utilitarianism, applied to a composite population, is a delusion and a menace. Applied to the new Utopia, it would prove a blessing. For there, the basic population would be idealistic; beauty, art, and excellence would be given preference as useful possessions.
“In America, the predominance of utilitarianism is shattering our greatest benefits and ruining our finest institutions, In Utopia, utilitarianism will be a force toward the creation of finer benefits and greater institutions.”
As the professor continued, his thoughts on Utopia became more tangible. He ceased to speak of his cherished ideal as a mere conjecture; he talked of Utopia as a definite fact that was already in the making.
Lamont Cranston watched the faces of the listeners. He saw that Anthony Hargreaves was accepting the professor’s remarks only as enthusiastic theories. Maurice Traymer appeared quite indifferent and a trifle bored. Elise Cathcart and Gale Sawyer, however, were filled with admiration at every word.
WHEN the lecture ended, Cranston remained seated, and so did Traymer. Thus the two overheard the conversation that was passing between Elise Cathcart and Gale Sawyer.
“It was a wonderful lecture,” enthused Elise. “I consider it the best that the professor has given.”