“I DISAGREE, commissioner.” The objection came from The Shadow. All eyes turned as ears heard the quiet emphasis of Lamont Cranston’s tones. “This riddle is not unsolvable. Nor is it wise to delay its translation.”
“What need is there for hurry?” retorted Weston. “If David Callard has already gained four of the letters, he may have guessed the other two. In that case, we are too late to stop him. Delay will not matter.
“If he has not guessed the missing letters, we hold him helpless. Therefore, we may play a waiting game. Your comments are valueless, Cranston. Delay is not an unwise procedure.”
“You have forgotten one point, commissioner,” returned The Shadow, calmly. “Mr. Mallikan is leaving for Bermuda within the next few hours. It would be advisable to have him present when the riddle of this ribbon is solved.”
“Why so?”
“Because he may be able to give us some information after we have gained the solution. That may be the reason why Milton Callard arranged for the meeting of his friends to be held in Mallikan’s office.”
Weston had risen from his chair and was standing away from the table. He looked toward Mallikan, who had stepped toward the door, accompanied by his two bodyguards. The shipping man shook his head.
“I am totally perplexed,” insisted Mallikan. “Those letters R X furnish me no food for thought. I do not see how I can be of aid.”
The Shadow seated himself in the chair behind the table. He drew his fingers from his vest pocket; they did not bring the folded bit of paper with them. Instead, The Shadow reached for the blue ribbon, which Weston had just replaced upon the table.
“Perhaps, Mr. Mallikan,” suggested The Shadow, in an easy tone, “you can bear with us for a short while longer. I shall assure you that it will be to your advantage, so far as your Bermuda trip is concerned.”
“But if I miss the boat,” exclaimed Mallikan, “I shall have to engage other passage—”
“You will not miss the boat. Fifteen minutes is all that I require. In that time, I may produce results that will make it unnecessary for you to testify further concerning David Callard. Which means, Mr. Mallikan, that you will not be summoned back from your Bermuda trip.”
“Very well,” consented Mallikan, his tone slightly-nervous. “I am willing to remain here for fifteen minutes. But I doubt, sir, that I shall be of any use.”
A FIXED smile showed on The Shadow’s thin lips. Weston, noting the face of Cranston, recalled that he had seen such an expression in the past. Joe Cardona, staring from the door, felt a sudden hunch that something was about to develop.
Cardona’s hunch was right. Indeed, The Shadow had already guessed the riddle of that tantalizing ribbon.
He had learned information which he had first intended to keep to himself; to investigate in his own way.
Like Weston, The Shadow had actually felt that delay did not matter.
Something, however, had changed The Shadow’s plan. Words had been spoken which had told him that speed was necessary. That was why The Shadow had insisted that Roger Mallikan stay. He had reason to believe that the shipping man could furnish facts at the proper time. The Shadow was determined to press the quest without delay.
CHAPTER XVI. THE VITAL SECRET
“To gain the answer to our problem,” began The Shadow, “we must consider more than the mere letters which appear upon this ribbon. We must take into consequence the factors that inspired Milton Callard to write urgent messages to three trusted friends.”
Silence followed The Shadow’s quiet statement. The listeners were tense as they awaited new development.
“We may safely assume,” resumed The Shadow, “that Milton Callard had placed his wealth in some hiding place. The key to that strong box lay in a single word: one that he feared to trust to any single individual.
“So Milton Callard clipped a ribbon into three pieces. We hold one portion” — The Shadow lifted the blue silk square — “and its letters R X have led us to believe that the other portions bear two letters each.
“Of all the words in the English language, there cannot be many that contain those two letters together.
Still, the tracing of the proper word would be a difficult task, unless we found some way to limit it. I have discovered such a way. Through studying the very nature of this bit of ribbon.”
Listeners shifted. Commissioner Weston stepped forward. The Shadow, though leisurely in tone, was becoming impressive. His words were the forerunners of important findings. All present sensed that fact.
“Had the vital word been an ordinary one,” declared The Shadow, “Milton Callard would have written it upon a strip of paper. He might have used white ribbon and printed the letters roughly with a pen. Instead, he used a blue ribbon, on which were letters stamped in gold.
“Full letters, on a faded ribbon. Proof conclusive that Milton Callard did not prepare the ribbon specially. Instead, he used a ribbon that chanced to be available. One that had previously served a definite purpose.”
Commissioner Weston was on the verge of speaking. Mallikan was staring at The Shadow; the shipping man’s lips were set; his eyes showed a glimmer that might have been partial understanding. As Weston stopped; as Mallikan eased back in his chair, The Shadow spoke again.
“Such a ribbon,” he affirmed, “would be found in one place only. Particularly when we note that its faded color and dull-gold letters have a weather-beaten look. This bit of ribbon, gentlemen, was cut from the blue, gold-lettered band that once encircled a sailor’s hat.”
AN ejaculation came from Weston, as the commissioner thrust his hand forward to pick up the ribbon from the table. The Shadow had dropped the blue silk there. He was reaching for pencil and paper while he stared toward Mallikan. The shipping man was nodding; he could not have done otherwise.
“The key word,” asserted The Shadow, “is the name of a ship. That, alone, gives us an important lead. It tells us that we may be dealing with a proper name: that of some place or some person. Names are our first choice; in considering them, let us first put down the letters that we have.”
Upon the sheet of paper, The Shadow inscribed the letters R X. He showed them to Weston, who was now close by the table. The commissioner nodded.
“R, X,” said The Shadow, slowly. “Those letters cannot mark the beginning of a word. They might be the last two letters of a six-letter name. It is more likely, however, that they are two central letters.
“R and X must be preceded by a vowel. That limits us to a few letters: A, E, I, O, U — possibly Y. I have been going through the alphabet mentally, fitting consonants in front of those vowels; adding the letters R and X.”
“Like B, A, R, X?” inquired Weston. “B, E, R, X, and so on?”
“Exactly,” replied The Shadow, “and I have worked the process rapidly. Knowing that the name might be an odd one, yet quickly recognizable, I was swift in my process. As a result, I struck suddenly upon the word itself.”
To the left of the letters R X, The Shadow printed the letters X E. He pointed to the paper; Weston read the letters aloud.
“X, E, R, X,” repeated the commissioner. “X, E, R, X — it sounds like ‘zerx,’ as nearly as I can pronounce it”
“The name of a place,” prompted The Shadow, “or a name of a person — probably a famous one”
“Xerxes!” exclaimed Weston. “That is the name! The famous king of ancient Persia. Xerxes!”
WITH a calm nod, The Shadow inscribed the letters E S at the end of the line. He stretched forward and passed the paper to Mallikan. The shipping man stared at the larger-lettered name: