himself; in fact, may have done so. But the reports presented facts in definite, condensed form, and they would at least serve as a check-up.
The insurance broker was glad that his services were needed. His own business was doing well of late, but he was always assured of a regular income from this new and unknown source. Cash came in by messenger once every month.
Fellows knew that if he required money for an emergency, a note placed in Jonas’ door would bring a prompt response. He was wise enough never to question a messenger who brought an envelope from his unknown benefactor. Fellows reasoned that the messengers, who were all uniformed delivery boys, had received the envelopes from some one on the street, and had been watched until they entered the Grandville Building. So they would know nothing of value.
In brief, the insurance broker’s whole interest concerned his own welfare. Beyond that, he scented danger, and so avoided it. His present work was finished; new instructions might not arrive for some time to come. Yet the monthly payments would keep on.
Fellows finished his coffee and smiled with satisfaction as he started back to his office. Why should he worry about The Shadow’s identity? The less he knew about it, the better.
All that he had ever written to the mysterious stranger had been inscribed with the special ink that vanished permanently; a new bottle came by mail when it was needed. The typewritten statements would not disappear; but they merely put forth facts and carried no clew as to their origin.
Whatever The Shadow’s purpose might be, Fellows could see no danger threatening himself so long as he continued discreet.
CHAPTER XIX
WOVEN FACTS
A circle of light shone on a square table. It was like a spotlight that came from above, for it was focused by an opaque lamp shade.
Beneath the light, a pair of hands were opening an envelope. All that showed in the ring of light were the hands, the envelope, and a watch that lay on the table. The watch indicated four minutes after six.
The arms were clad in black, and they faded away into the darkness beyond. The hands were white; they were long, and the fingers tapered. Upon the third finger of the left hand a translucent gem glowed beneath the lamplight. It was a large blue girasol, or fire opal, and it shone with a strange red reflection.
The hands removed a group of folded-papers and spread them on the table. They were the lists of data and reports that had been typewritten by Fellows, the insurance broker.
The hands held up each paper in turn. Eyes above the lamp shade read the typed words. Eyes that were hidden in the darkness; eyes that were lost in gloomy, sinister shadows.
The papers were spread upon the table, overlapping in the circle of light. A pair of scissors flashed suddenly beneath the illumination; scissors that came as though they were conjured out of nothingness.
The hands handled the scissors deftly. The typed lists of facts were cut into tiny pieces, and arranged in little separate rows. The hands brushed the remaining scraps from the table.
Then a large sheet of paper appeared in the light, and with it a jar of paste. The hands moved like living creatures. They passed from one row of paper slips to another, fingering the bits of typing, choosing first one and then another.
The slips were laid at intervals upon the large sheet of paper. Occasionally the hands changed the order of the slips. Sometimes they rejected bits of information, substituting others in their place.
The actions were uncanny. As the hands worked in silence, they seemed to be fingering real facts and actions, instead of mere slips of paper, forming new combinations of phrases that differed from those which Fellows had assembled.
Minutes passed; but the hands kept on, untiring. They slipped here and there in rapid silence, and the quickness of their motions showed that they were controlled by a mind that thought with amazing speed. The circling second hand on the face of the watch seemed slow and sluggish in comparison.
At last the hands ceased their movement. Many slips were lying upon the paper. The fingers touched one and pushed it to a new position. They took another, only later to be removed. Again the motion stopped.
Then the hands dipped the paint brush in the jar. They worked rapidly again, applying paste to the backs of the chosen slips.
The bits of paper were pasted in position, and the result was a series of lines, the disconnected items of information standing well apart.
The assembled phrases read as follows:
“Geoffrey Laidlow … millionaire … no enemies … house at
Holmwood … Laidlow returned home … accompanied by his secretary …
went into the library … closed the door … heard a sound in the
house … went to the study … discovered a man at the open safe …
Howard Burgess … Laidlow’s secretary … knew the combination? …
wearing coat and gloves … was shot and killed … ran to the front
window … shot in the arm … dropped the revolver on the lawn …
opened the safe … jewels were there … removed papers … scattered
them on the floor … Ezekiel Bingham … criminal lawyer … lived
near Laidlow … passing the house … stopped his car … heard shots
fired … entered the Laidlow home … found Burgess … called the
police … saw a man cross the lawn … met a man named Joyce … in
his automobile at night … gave Joyce a copy of the code … demanded
quick translation … ordered silence … purpose of the code …
unknown … collection of gems.”
The hands reappeared above the patched paper. The right hand now held a pencil. The left steadied the paper, the fire opal on the third finger gleaming like a live coal. The pencil was poised for an instant, then it crossed out the single question mark that appeared among the statements.
With easy, unhesitating motion, the hand used the pencil to print words in the blank spaces between the typed items. Its uniform speed indicated that the controlling mind was well ahead; as the new words were formed, the mixed phrases became coherent. The hands stopped. A complete, amazing story stood forth in bold relief. It was most emphatic because the words that had been added were printed in small, neat capital letters, as perfect as the typing. This was the finished result:
“Geoffrey Laidlow, A RETIRED millionaire WHO HAD no enemies, LIVED IN A house at Holmwood. Laidlow returned home ONE EVENING accompanied by his secretary.
“LAIDLOW went into the library ALONE, AND closed the door. LATER HE heard a sound in the house AND went to the study. THERE HE discovered a man at the open safe.
“THE MAN WAS Howard Burgess, Laidlow’s secretary, WHO knew the combination OF THE SAFE. BURGESS was wearing coat and gloves. LAIDLOW was shot and killed BY BURGESS, WHO THEN ran to the front window, WHERE HE WAS shot in the arm BY HIMSELF.
“BURGESS dropped the revolver on the lawn. BURGESS HAD opened the safe, BUT NO jewels were there. BURGESS HAD removed papers AND HAD scattered them on the floor.
“FROM THEM HE TOOK ONE THAT BORE A CODE. Ezekiel Bingham, THE criminal lawyer WHO lived near Laidlow, WAS NOT passing the house. ACTUALLY, HE HAD stopped his car OUT FRONT. WHEN HE heard shots fired, HE IMMEDIATELY entered the Laidlow home, WHERE HE found Burgess, WHO GAVE HIM THE CODE.
“BINGHAM called the police AND TOLD THEM THAT HE saw a man cross the lawn, THUS SUPPORTING THE SECRETARY’S STORY.
“SOME TIME LATER BINGHAM met a man named Joyce in his automobile at night AND gave Joyce a copy of the code. BINGHAM demanded quick translation AND ORDERED silence.
“THE purpose of the code IS NOT unknown. It tells where Laidlow kept his COLLECTION OF GEMS.”
