'Do you expect such news?'
'Perhaps. Note that these men disappeared a week apart. Hooper left Trenton on a Tuesday afternoon; Longstreth was last seen in Richmond on a Monday. The papers did not give the news until the end of the week, in either case.'
A sudden thought occurred to Harry Vincent.
'I have a report to make,' he said, 'and it may fit in with this. It concerns a man named Elbridge Meyers who left Cleveland, Tuesday morning - two days ago.'
Fellows seemed interested. Vincent began his story from the time that he had first observed the man on the train, who had proved to be Steve Cronin. When he completed his narrative, he was surprised to see Fellows become unusually alert.
'Write that down immediately,' said the insurance broker, handing him pen and ink. 'I have something to do in the meantime.'
While Harry prepared his report, Fellows was busy with the telephone.
'Universal Insurance Company?' he called. 'This is Fellows, in the Grandville Building. Notify your Cleveland agent to kind out if Mr. Elbridge Meyers is in his office in that city. If he is not in his office, try his home. Have them call me when they are ready with their report.'
While Fellows was reading and approving Vincent's report, the telephone bell rang.
'Hello,' said the insurance broker. 'What's that? Cleveland calling?... Oh, yes. This is Mr. Fellows...
What's that? Elbridge Meyers is out of town? Wait a moment.'
He pencil made notes as he repeated them.
'Left Tuesday morning... Expected back the next day... Had important appointment. Neglected it, but should have been back this morning... Never away more than forty-eight hours... His partner is worried.
'No, I haven't heard from him... I was anxious to communicate with him, as a friend gave me his name as a good insurance prospect. Let me know if you hear that he has returned.
'Thank you. Good-by.'
Fellows seized the pen and wrote a message of his own. He sealed it in an envelope with Vincent's report, went to the outer office, and gave the packet to the stenographer. The girl left.
'Steve Cronin evidently told you the truth,' observed Fellows in a methodical voice. 'He expected to do away with you. Hence his entire story may be correct. If so, he does not know why Elbridge Meyers went to Harrisburg. That makes the Meyers disappearance as mysterious as the others.
'Your report has enabled me to turn in information a few days before the story will appear in the Cleveland papers. Furthermore, it locates Harrisburg as a center. Make yourself at home here. We should receive a reply within an hour.'
The stenographer had left at five minutes after ten. She returned about twenty minutes later. At exactly eleven o'clock a messenger arrived with an envelope for Fellows.
The insurance broker stood by the window as he read the letter carefully. He stared for a while as though committing facts to memory. When he laid the paper on the desk it was a blank sheet of paper. This was no surprise to Vincent. He, too, had received letters from The Shadow; letters written in simple code, with disappearing ink that vanished after a few minutes.
'Vincent,' said Fellows, 'when unusual crimes occur, unusual men are often responsible for them. There is a man in this city who has been indirectly concerned with other disappearances. He lives in a section of the East Side; his name is Isaac Coffran.
'I learned that this man has been watched for the past few days - either by The Shadow or by one of his men, for there are others besides us. Last night Isaac Coffran left his home - something which he has not done for months. To-night he expects a visitor named Bruce Duncan.
'Coffran's house must be watched, and you are the man appointed. There is an empty store across the street. The door is unlocked. You can stay in there. Here is an envelope that contains a telephone number. There is a telephone in the store. Report when any one enters Coffran's house, and whenever any one leaves. If a man goes in and stays there more than two hours, report by telephone.
'Your report concerning Harrisburg will doubtless be investigated to-night. Naturally you are not the man to go back there at present. Hence you will perform this new duty.'
The chubby-faced insurance broker became very solemn as he added the final words of his instructions.
'Remember, Vincent,' he said, 'that Isaac Coffran is a very dangerous man. He is not of the criminal type; he has never been suspected of a crime. Yet I have been assured that he has not only known the facts of the disappearances of various people, but also that certain persons have entered his house and have never been seen afterward.
'The police know nothing whatever of this man's activities. Coffran is old and wise. His memory is remarkable, and his resources are many.
'So be alert. Be careful. Remember all you see, and report everything. We are on the verge of important discoveries. Three men are missing. The Shadow intends to find out where they are.'
Harry Vincent left the office with the address of Isaac Coffran tucked away in his vest pocket. He was sober as he went down in the elevator. Fellows's words had been impressive; never before had the insurance broker talked so thoroughly. A tremendous crisis must have arisen, for The Shadow's detail man had exhibited unprecedented activity.
Master minds were engaged in some uncommon crime. The Shadow was exerting all his power to defeat them. The Shadow would need many eyes to-night.
CHAPTER X. INTO THE SNARE
THE house of Isaac Coffran was an old brick building in an obscure street on the East Side. It seemed strangely deserted to Bruce Duncan as he rang the bell alongside the massive door.
If his uncle's friend had not assured him that he should come at eight o'clock Thursday evening, Bruce would have decided that the house was unoccupied. For all the windows at the front were closed with iron shutters.
Even now he hesitated. He had rung the bell three times, yet there had been no response from within.
Still, it was exactly eight o'clock. It would be best to wait.
The door opened suddenly. Bruce started backward as he faced a huge, dull-faced man whose features were marred by a livid scar across one cheek. The fellow was considerably over six feet in height, and his frame was powerful.
'What you want?' demanded the man in a thick, guttural voice.
'Does Mr. Isaac Coffran live here?'
'Yes. What name?'
'Duncan. Mr. Bruce Duncan.'
The huge man removed his bulk from the doorway and motioned for Bruce to enter. He stepped into a dimly lighted hallway, and the man closed the door and bolted it.
'Wait here,' he said, indicating a chair.
The big attendant went up the stairs at the end of the hall. Duncan waited several minutes. Then he heard Isaac Coffran calling him from the head of the steps.
'Come up, my boy,' were the old man's words.
Isaac Coffran seemed greatly pleased as he shook hands with Bruce Duncan in the upper hallway. He ushered his visitor into a comfortable sitting room at the back of the house.
'Well, boy,' said the old man, smiling and rubbing his hands with satisfaction, 'I have your uncle's letters all waiting for you.'
'Have you looked through them?' questioned Duncan eagerly. 'Did you find anything important?'
'I have not had time to read them. I am leaving that work to you. It is your privilege; especially as the letters would not give me any clue. I am quite ignorant of what you wish to discover.'
'That's true. Where are the letters?'
'In my study. I shall take you there in a few minutes. You may be a long while reading. So I have arranged everything for you to stay all night.'
'That's kind of you, Mr. Coffran.'
The old man looked at Bruce quizzically.
