As Harry strolled away, The Shadow thanked the officer, who tipped his fingers to his helmet and resumed his beat. As soon as the bobby had pounded from sight, The Shadow chose his own direction through the fog.
Harry Vincent, groping on toward Piccadilly Circus, remained bewildered as he considered the facts that The Shadow had stated. Harry’s duty was plain; still, it did not explain the circumstances that foreboded coming crime.
Selbrock, Ranworthy, and the Rajah of Delapore — all three seemed oddly concerned. The Shadow had named another: Justin Craybaw; and he had specified that the managing director of Rudlow’s was the chief one to watch.
Why?
Harry could not answer the question. He realized, however, that a game was afoot; that already, a crook known as The Harvester had gained first innings. Four men were involved; one of them must be the master hand of evil.
Such was Harry’s final conjecture as he neared the lights of Piccadilly Circus and headed for the immense underground station. He was still perplexed when he had stopped before a slot machine to buy a ticket that would carry him to Aldgate. Harry’s only consolation was that on the morrow, he might find some one more baffled than himself; namely, Inspector Delka of Scotland Yard.
For Harry Vincent was sure of one fact only. He was positive that The Shadow, alone, could have revealed the depth of the coming game. Only The Shadow, master sleuth, could fathom the ways of so insidious a supercrook as The Harvester.
CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW BY DAY
DAWN showed lessened fog in London. The threat of a prolonged pea-souper had been banished by spasmodic breezes in the final hours of night. The mists, however, had not lifted from the neighborhood of the Thames when an early morning train crossed the railway bridge outside of the Cannon Street station.
Aboard that Southern Railway local was an outbound passenger, the same who had come up by last night’s train from High Brooms. The Shadow, garbed in walking clothes, was riding southward. With him, he was carrying a knapsack. Any one who claimed an acquaintance with Lamont Cranston would have been surprised to observe the adventurous millionaire bound on so plebeian an excursion.
The Cannon Street train required a change of cars at Tunbridge, three miles before High Brooms. Rather than wait for the connecting local, The Shadow left Tunbridge station as soon as he had arrived there.
Provided with a map of the terrain, he chose a cross-country route toward Craybaw’s. It was not quite eight o’clock when he arrived at the back of the country estate.
Passing through a wicket, The Shadow took a circuitous course that brought him to a cluster of trees close by Craybaw’s conservatory. Parking his knapsack, The Shadow approached the high side of the porch; pausing beneath the windows, he caught the tones of cautious voices.
“Odd about Craybaw.” The comment was in Lewsham’s voice. “He has been behaving differently, Delka, ever since he took that short journey last night.”
“He appears to be irritable this morning,” returned Delka. “Why should he have quibbled so much with that chap Hervey?”
“About the landscape gardeners?”
“Yes. Hervey reminded him that he had already contracted for workmen next week. Yet Craybaw insisted that a new lot should begin here to-day.”
“Where is Craybaw now?”
“In his study, mulling about. When I was there, he thrust away some papers in a lower drawer of the desk.”
“Letters or documents?”
“Nothing but penciled notations. He pulled them out later, crumpled them and tossed them back.”
“Probably something inconsequential. Nevertheless, Delka, you are to take complete charge of Craybaw. Do not let him out of your sight until this spell has ended. Should he become ill, stay with him.”
“Do you think that some threat has been made against him?”
“Possibly. Or it may be something more serious. I have been wondering about that chauffeur of his, Cuthbert. By the way, Delka, it is time for us to be starting. Better jog inside and find out what arrangements have been made.”
Delka went into the house. The Shadow was about to move away when he heard a new voice. Sir Ernest Jennup had come out to the conservatory and was speaking to Sidney Lewsham.
“Craybaw’s condition troubles me,” declared Sir Ernest. “Unquestionably, the man is no longer himself. He acts as though a huge burden lies upon his shoulders.”
“Does he appear ill?”
“Yes and no. He insists that he must go into the office; yet he says he is willing to relax after this business is finished.”
“Should he summon a physician?”
“He will not hear of it.”
The conversation ended. Delka was coming directly to the conservatory. The Shadow could hear Craybaw’s voice. The man’s mood had certainly improved, for his words were cheery.
“I have come out of the doldrums,” declared Craybaw. “Nothing like fresh country air for a tonic, provided it is in the morning. Night is bad, when the atmosphere chills; particularly at this season.”
“You feel improved?” queried Sir Ernest.
“Positively,” returned Craybaw. “If you are agreeable, Sir Ernest, we might start for the city at once. I feel sure that we are all desirous of a prompt arrival.”
THE four men left the conservatory. The Shadow moved back to the clustered trees. From among the trunks of the tiny grove, he saw the Londoners emerge from the front door and enter Sir Ernest’s phaeton. The long car rolled from the driveway.
Finding a path to the front road, The Shadow took it and soon reached the highway over which he had driven the night before, when following the coupe to Hayward’s Heath. Carrying knapsack and swinging his walking stick, The Shadow had no reason to avoid the notice of passers. No one would have recognized him as a recent guest at Craybaw’s.
Glancing at a road map, The Shadow paused to make a final estimate of distances. All along the edge of the map were computations that he had completed during the morning’s railway journey. The Shadow had calculated with exactitude.
He had known the average speed at which Cuthbert drove, for he had watched the speedometer when the chauffeur had taken him to High Brooms. He knew also the speed with which he, himself, had driven from Craybaw’s home to Hayward’s Heath. Furthermore, he had gauged to a matter of seconds the amount of start that the coupe had gained over the phaeton.
Since he had not passed the coupe on the road, The Shadow knew that it had left the route at some unknown point. That point, according to his computations; must lie within three miles from Craybaw’s house. The map showed only five logical lanes within that space.
The Shadow rejected the first, which lay fairly close to Craybaw’s; also the second, for it was beyond this lane that The Shadow had picked up the coupe’s trail on the return trip. The possibilities had been definitely reduced to three.
The Shadow was walking along the right side of the road, against the traffic. This was hardly necessary, for no cars had appeared upon the road. He reached the third lane, more than two miles from Craybaw’s. He paused there. This was the first of his three possibilities.
The road widened somewhat at the lane; and a curve made the crossing dangerous. It was a spot at which Cuthbert would necessarily have slowed the coupe, when turning left.
At the side of the road, The Shadow found deep dust, scruffed by footmarks. At one spot, he located tire tracks that could have been from the coupe. These formed an inverted V — a proof that the car had stopped at the very entrance to the lane; then had backed.
MOVING along the lane, The Shadow found similar tracks in the dust. While he was examining the marks, he heard the rumble of an approaching motor. Turning about, The Shadow hurried back to the main road. He was walking along it when the roar of the car came from the mouth of the crooked lane.