“Vincent can help with that,” added Releston, quickly. “If he could be here more regularly—more often —”
“Very well,” interrupted Coyd, abruptly. Then, to his secretaries: “You hear that, Jurrick? Tabbert? Jove!
Why didn't the two of you jolt me yesterday?”
“I was afraid to, sir,” confessed Jurrick. “When I was copying your penciled notes. I wondered about them —”
“And I was puzzled when I heard you read them, sir.” broke in Tabbert. “But I knew that Jurrick must have copied them exactly. I saw you hand them to him, sir; I knew how quick you always are to catch any error in a copy.”
“I understand,” nodded Coyd. “I know that I must have written that statement and delivered it verbatim. But I cannot explain my folly. Jove, Releston! Is there no way to stop it?”
RELESTON shook his head; Crozan copied the senator's example. The Shadow, however, spoke in slow, deliberate fashion. His even?toned words were definite.
“My understanding of the present situation,” he remarked, “is that the congressional committees are authorized to regulate the sales and purchase of all munitions that our government may require. Am I correct, senator?”
“Absolutely,” returned Releston. “But we cannot control exports, Cranston. We can only lay down the law in reference to government purchases.”
“I understand. I have heard also that Congress made a large appropriation for American armament, to be supplied as occasion may demand, bringing this country up to its treaty limitations. Am I correct again?”
“You are, Cranston. One function of the present committees is to determine when that appropriation shall be made; and how the moneys shall be spent.”
“Very well.” The Shadow's smile was fixed. “Suppose that you, senator, and Mr. Coyd, issue a joint statement. Tell the public that the committees may recommend that the entire appropriation be spent at once; that all munitions available should he purchased immediately, with the price fixed barely above cost. And then—”
The Shadow paused, his smile unchanging. Senator Releston had grasped the idea. The solon's stern face was lighted with enthusiasm.
“Marvelous, Cranston!” cried Releston. “You have the answer! These factories will be working overtime, rushing their foreign orders, knowing that our present committees cannot stop them.
“But we control supplies needed for the American government. We can make the factories store away their output; we can deny them the privilege of export on the grounds that we control all munitions that the American government may want. We can make them wait for our refusal before they ship their munitions.
Until we say that we will not buy, they cannot unload elsewhere!”
“And when you decide that you will not buy,” remarked The Shadow, “Congress will again have been in session. The new committees will have been formed, empowered to control—to ban—all exports of munitions.”
“Munitions on hand, with no sale,” ejaculated Releston, his face beaming. “The only possible purchaser would be our own government. It would buy at cost—”
“But it never will,” assured The Shadow. “Once your statement has been made, senator, with Mr. Coyd's approval, the whole game will be spiked. Those rising stocks will slump back; the factories will never open.”
RELESTON nodded. He turned to Harry Vincent and pointed to a typewriter in the corner of the room.
“Take this statement, Vincent,” said the senator, briskly, “direct on the machine. A joint statement by the congressional committees on munitions, of the Senate and the House—”
The Shadow had stepped forward; Releston saw a slight restraining gesture of his hand. The senator understood; he turned to Layton Coyd.
“It is your privilege, sir,” bowed Releston. “You have heard the plan, Mr. Coyd. I shall concede to you the honor of delivering the words for this epoch?making statement.”
It was the perfect stroke. Coyd, when the cause had seemed hopeless, had expressed his willingness to follow Releston's lead. He could not withdraw from it; in fact, a statement from Releston alone would be sufficient to spike the scheme by which swindlers hoped to use munitions makers as a step to wealth.
Even though he might have shown reluctance, Coyd was committed, now that The Shadow had shown the way. But if Coyd were forced to play second fiddle at this time, future relations might be strained between him and Releston. Knowing that, The Shadow had gestured to the senator; Releston, wise in all circumstances, was stepping aside for Coyd.
In grandiloquent fashion, Coyd stepped forward. Bombastically, he delivered his statement, one hand tucked beneath his coat in Napoleonic fashion.
The statement finished, Coyd relaxed. He seemed to shrink as he always did, when an effort had been ended.
As Coyd groped his way back to his chair, Harry pulled out sheets of paper and their carbons. He brought the triplicate copies to Releston, who pointed toward Coyd. Harry brought the papers to the congressman. Coyd signed each one with a flourish.
At the bottom of each sheet, Releston wrote the words: “Approved in full”; then added his own signature.
Coyd saw the action and smiled. He knew that the glory was all his. Speaking quietly, his tone filled with friendliness, he said:
“I leave the rest to you, senator. I am too tired to interview the press. I am starting for Virginia within an hour. Doctor Borneau assures me that after a brief rest, I shall be myself again.”
“Call the newspapers, Vincent,” ordered Releston. “Tell them to have representatives at my apartment within fifteen minutes. This news will reach New York by wire in time for the noon editions. It will stop that forced rise of munitions shares, before the closing rush at the market.”
THE visitors left Coyd's. Harry took the wheel of the sedan. Senator Releston occupied the center of the rear seat, clutching two of the precious papers that bore Coyd's signature and his approval. The senator was bubbling with enthusiasm. Foster Crozan, on his right, was nodding, his lips wreathed with a steady, set smile.
The Shadow, his disguised lips straightened, was looking from the window on the left as the sedan pulled away from the brownstone house. Enthusiastically, Releston turned and thumped his hand upon The Shadow's back.
“Grand work, Cranston!” approved the senator. “You gain the credit. You were right, the poison was given—a big dose to the public, the interview that Coyd gave yesterday. But you found the antidote, old fellow. You found it and the cure will be complete.”
A slight smile formed on the lips of Lamont Cranston. Releston thought that The Shadow's expression was a response to his own enthusiasm. The senator was wrong; The Shadow had smiled because of something that he had seen, not heard.
The Shadow had noticed a coupe parked across the street as the sedan rolled by. He had spotted the man hunched behind the wheel; he had recognized the mustached face of Walbert. But The Shadow had seen even more. He had noticed a slight lift of the rumble seat; he had caught a momentary glimpse of a wizened face ducking out of view, within the back of the coupe.
Hawkeye, the artful trailer, had been clinging close to the mustached dick. The little spotter had chosen the cute system of riding everywhere within the confines of the rumble seat at the back of Walbert's coupe.
CHAPTER XI. WEED GAINS FACTS.
“WALBERT has arrived.”
Burbank's hand came up over his shoulder as his voice spoke these words. The Shadow received the earphones in the darkness. Quiet reigned in 808 as the chief and his agent waited in the blackness. Evening had replaced daylight.
Voices came through the earphones. Tyson Weed was querulously interrogating Walbert.
“So you saw Releston come and go.” remarked the lobbyist. “And you saw Coyd leave alone, in a hired
