Farrow literally took his coat off when he settled down to such work. Frequently he had entered a penitentiary, posing as a convict, to gain the confidence of certain prisoners. There was one thing about Farrow; no one could know him long without realizing that he was a man of absolute trust.
In his easy chair, beside a glowing table lamp, Farrow had set aside a book to reflect upon the past. He remembered the time when his generous career had been threatened by disaster. Rescue had come through a mysterious cloaked being called This Shadow. (See 'The Green Box,' Vol. IX, No. 2.) Since then, The Shadow had aided Farrow in many cases that required justice.
Who was The Shadow?
That was one question that Farrow could not answer. Sometimes The Shadow visited here in garb of black. Farrow also recalled a visitor who called himself Lamont Cranston, but was not actually the millionaire who bore that name. He remembered another, Henry Arnaud, but Farrow knew that the identity was simply a disguise.
All those visitors had been The Shadow. Farrow had seen The Shadow in other guises, also; but had never learned who the mysterious person really was.
Farrow however, had cherished one confident belief. If The Shadow ever revealed himself to any one, naming his identity when unmasked, Farrow would be the person to whom The Shadow would so appear.
Despite that surety, Farrow had no inkling that The Shadow's unmasking would take place here tonight.
As Farrow reached for his book, he heard a whispered voice beside him. Looking up, Farrow saw the cloaked figure of The Shadow. He met the burn of eyes that were focused from beneath the slouch hat brim. As in the past, The Shadow had entered Farrow's apartment unheard.
Cloak fell away. Gloved hands lifted the slouch hat, then peeled away the gloves themselves. The visitor chose a chair and came into the light. Farrow saw a face that he had never viewed before, but it seemed familiar.
Catching a connected thought, he looked toward a newspaper that lay on the table. He saw a photograph that tallied with the visitor. Farrow exclaimed the name: 'Kent Allard!'
'Yes.' Allard's reply was an even-toned one. 'I am Kent Allard.'
For a moment, Farrow thought that he was seeing The Shadow in some new disguise, then the sheer impossibility of the situation awoke a different idea. Long ago, Farrow had decided that The Shadow's real identity must be a remarkable one, as incredible as The Shadow himself.
Kent Allard had been twelve years in the Guatemala jungle. All that while The Shadow had been battling crime in New York and elsewhere. On the face of it, Allard and The Shadow could not be the same person. That was why Farrow decided that they were. He was used to the impossible, where The Shadow was concerned.
'It is amazing,' confessed Farrow, 'but I am confident that you are actually Kent Allard.'
'I am,' stated Allard. 'Because I have actually returned to my own identity, I have decided that you should know it.'
The tone indicated that Farrow could ask questions. Reaching for the newspaper, Farrow refreshed himself on certain details that he had read that afternoon.
'It states here,' declared Farrow, 'that you were an aviator in the World War; an ace who was shot down within the enemy's lines. You were believed dead until a short while before the Armistice. Then you returned, after escaping from a prison camp where you had been confined for months.
'After the war, you retained your interest in aviation and made several outstanding flights. The last was the long hop to South America, which ended somewhere in Central America. You were believed dead until a few weeks ago when it was learned that you were in Guatemala.'
FARROW laid the newspaper aside. With a slight smile, he questioned, frankly:
'How much of this is true?'
'A great deal of it,' declared Allard. 'I was actually a War ace. Winning air battles seemed to come to me naturally, and I gained a preference for night flights. The enemy called me the Dark Eagle. They were glad when they shot down my plane.'
Allard paused. His smile was as reflective as Farrow's. In reminiscent tone, he added:
'But I was not shot down. I landed by design; and drilled the gas tank of my own ship. Wearing a black garb, I traveled by night, on foot, within the enemy's lines. I entered prison camps, yes; but never as a prisoner. I visited them only to release men who were held there, to guide them in their escape.
'By day, I adopted disguises; and working entirely on my own, I contacted our secret agents. That was when I learned my faculty for penetrating the deepest schemes. I met persons who were amazed to learn that I had discovered the actual parts they played.
'I became a roving secret agent, and finally located a secret air base maintained by the enemy. It seemed suicidal to visit that place and map it. They actually trapped me after I had finished. But my experience as aviator served me. I escaped from the base itself, in one of the enemy's own planes.'
Farrow understood the rest of that adventure. Kent Allard, returned to his own friends, had naturally stated that he had escaped from a prison camp. By thus accounting for his absence, he had kept the future open for further service as a secret agent.
'The war ended,' continued Allard. 'I found that aviation offered part of the life I needed; but it provided neither the action of battle, nor the keen work of the secret agent. I rejected the idea of becoming a soldier of fortune. I considered warfare an uncivilized institution except when absolute necessity required it.
'I saw such necessity in a field that others had neglected. Crime was becoming rampant in America and elsewhere. Underworlds were organized, with their own hidden battle lines. Only a lone foe could pierce that cordon; once inside, he would have to move by stealth, and strike with power and suddenness. I chose that mission.'
FARROW could see the expression of Allard's face. In the light, the clear eyes concealed their burning power. At moments, however, Farrow noted the hawklike semblance of Allard's countenance. He remembered the same trace in other faces that he had seen The Shadow wear.
'I resolved to bury my identity,' declared Allard. 'I flew South and landed purposely in Guatemala. I spent a few months among the Xincas and gained their friendship. I came home, disguised so none could recognize me. I became The Shadow.
'During my new career, I found it necessary to appear in many places. Sometimes the actors in the scenes of the underworld were mere puppets, manipulated by master-plotters who posed as men of high esteem. There was need, too, to learn what the law intended.
'I had once known Lamont Cranston, millionaire globe-trotter, whose hobbies were exploration and aviation. Cranston was often absent from the country; so I adopted his appearance. It gave me all the advantages that I needed. As Cranston, I found occasional opportunities to stop in Central America and visit my isolated friends of the Xinca tribe.'
Farrow had listened breathless. A sudden thought struck him. He started the question:
'Did Cranston ever learn -'
'That I look his place?' smiled Allard. 'Yes. I had to settle that matter, once. I visited Cranston, as The Shadow. I let him see me as himself. That visit gained Cranston's full cooperation. Ever since, he has obligingly stayed away, whenever I have requested his absence. There have been occasional complications; but all were easily managed, until the present case.'
Farrow understood. That Croydon air crash had left Cranston unable to cooperate further, for the present. The millionaire's name had come into headlines. Soon, Cranston would be back in America; but he might be unable to travel for the next few months. The Shadow had needed another role; so he had become himself.
'As The Shadow, I have become widely known,' remarked Allard, in a methodical tone. 'Though I have remained untraced, there are many who can testify to my whereabouts at certain times during the past twelve years. There is one place where I could never have been, during all that while.
'That place is Guatemala. By returning home as Kent Allard, I have chosen the best of all possible identifies. No one will ever link me with The Shadow. As Allard, I shall be welcome everywhere. I have already established myself with Commissioner Weston. I can enter the same circles where I appeared as Cranston.
'I have long foreseen this prospect. All that I awaited was the necessity of becoming myself. The longer I waited, the better. Twelve years were long enough.'
RISING from his chair, Allard raised his cloak and placed it over his shoulders. He donned the slouch hat. As he drew on his gloves, Farrow saw the glow of a fire opal that shone from the third finger of The Shadow's left
