A half hour passed. Then the phone bell rang. He answered it eagerly; but was disappointed when he did not recognize the voice of the stranger of the preceding night’s adventure. It was a man’s voice speaking, however, calling him by name, and talking in an easy tone.
“Mr. Vincent?” the person said. “This is the jeweler. I have a message for you.”
The word “message” made Vincent become suddenly alert. The voice was talking slowly now, and certain words came in a slight emphatic drawl.
“Your WATCH was sent to another MAN by mistake. We expect to have another IN very soon; perhaps by NEXT Tuesday. It will be delivered to your ROOM.”
The message was forming in Vincent’s mind. He did not reply.
“Was my message clear?” came the question.
“Yes,” Vincent replied.
He hung up the receiver and repeated the stressed words slowly and softly to himself:
“Watch - man - in - next - room.”
Vincent chuckled. It was an order, and it was up to him to obey.
He had grandly ordered cigars with his breakfast, so he lighted a perfecto and smoked for a while.
Then he began to wonder about the next room, the occupant of which he was to watch.
There should be two rooms next to his - one on each side. Vincent went into the hallway. No, the message left no doubt. His own room was a corner one; the only door near his in fact, it was right alongside and was numbered 1417.
There was no one in the hallway. Vincent listened at the door of the next room, but heard no sound. That didn’t change the instructions, however.
It was up to him to locate the man who had room 1417, and to watch that person’s activities. The best thing to do was wait and listen.
He went back in his own room and left the door ajar; then stretched out on the bed and began to read the morning paper.
CHAPTER III
THE MAN IN THE NEXT ROOM
Time was becoming rather boring to Harry Vincent. It was three o’clock in the afternoon; he knew this, because at noon a bell boy had arrived with a package from a famous jeweler that contained a fine gold watch and chain.
Vincent had smiled when he had opened the package, because the gift from his strange benefactor was, in a way, a confirmation and reminder of the message that had come over the telephone.
But now, when the minutes had begun to lag, he wondered if his plan of waiting was all that was expected of him. He had eaten a hearty breakfast, but was beginning to wonder about having lunch sent up to the room.
Then he heard the footsteps.
The door to the hall was still ajar, and he had heard several persons go along corridor. But there was something different in the walk of whomever was now approaching, for these footsteps seemed quick and nervous - and once they had hesitated.
Vincent stepped to the door of his room. The door opened inward, and the end of it was away from the next room. By putting his eye close to the opening, Vincent could see a short distance down the hall.
As he took this position he heard the footsteps hesitate again; a moment later he saw the form of a man of medium height, who stopped directly in front of Room 1417. The man was looking over his shoulder down the hallway, and in his hand he held a key. Apparently satisfied that no one was in sight, he quickly thrust the key into the door and fumbled with the lock.
Vincent was able to study his profile in the few seconds the man required to unlock the door. The face was rather paunchy and featureless, and Vincent figured the age of the man as close to fifty years.
When the door of the next room had closed, Vincent began to speculate. There was nothing about the man’s appearance that could be classed as unusual. He seemed to be of the veteran salesman type, one who might have been on the road for many years.
But unquestionably the fellow was anxious not to be seen. He might be an intruder, entering the room while the occupant was away; but it was more probable that he was the man whom Vincent had been sent to watch.
Another hour went by; then the door of the next room was opened, and what seemed to be the same footsteps went down the hall. Vincent slipped into his hat and coat, and giving the man time to reach the turn that led to the elevator, he followed, rapidly and quietly. He was just quick enough to catch the elevator, and he found himself right beside his quarry.
The man walked hurriedly through the lobby, Vincent sauntering after him. But, outside, the middle-aged chap showed surprising activity and dashed for the only cab that was in front of the hotel.
Vincent caught the instructions to the driver; the man called “Pennsylvania Station”; but it was two minutes before Vincent could hail a second cab with instructions to drive to the same destination. Urging his driver to hurry, he reached the terminal in such good time that he was positive he could not be far behind the man he was trailing.
Vincent had seen nothing of the other cab on the way; and now he spent a good half hour watching the various train gates, in futile hope of seeing his man. Finally he returned to the hotel and had the unexpected sensation of observing the missing man comfortably seated in an armchair reading an evening paper, as though he had been planted there all the time. Disgusted, Vincent very humanly gave up his fruitless watching, and went in the hotel restaurant to order dinner.
The meal was a good one - the best Vincent had eaten in months - but he did not enjoy it. He realized that he had been hoaxed; that the man he followed had either changed his destination or had slipped by in the crowded station. Worst of all, the fellow might have spotted him while he was watching the train gates.
Vincent was sure now that there must be some good reason for watching the man, but he argued that it would be foolish to follow him immediately after his hopeless failure. In fact, he began to forget his duty as his mind dwelt upon the stranger of the night before.
“Funny how that fellow disappeared,” he mused. “He went like a shadow; just like a shadow. That’s a good name for him - The Shadow! I’ll remember that.”
Vincent finished his dessert, still speculating on the strange personality who was now fixed in his mind. But when he reentered the lobby, he realized that he had spent too much time in the dining room. The middle-aged man was no longer present.
Vincent mentally chided himself. Evidently it was his duty to be something of a detective. So far he had proven himself totally lacking in that ability. Then it occurred to him that he could at least discover the identity of the man he was supposed to watch. So he strolled to the desk, intending to open conversation with the clerk.
He began with a natural question, the while scanning the mail boxes attentively.
“Anything in 1419?” Vincent asked.
In reply, the clerk drew a letter from a pigeonhole and handed it to him.
This was a surprise. He had not expected mail. The envelope explained away Vincent’s surprise. It was addressed to R. J. Scanlon, and bore a return address and postmark which showed that the missive had come from San Francisco. Vincent motioned to the clerk.
“Not my letter,” he said.
The clerk looked at the address, then turned and shoved the envelope into another pigeonhole.
“My mistake,” he said. “I gave you the mail for 1417. There’s nothing in your box.”
Vincent walked away with a smile. The clerk’s mistake had given him the information he needed. On second thought, Vincent was glad he had not quizzed the clerk about the man in 1417, and thereby made himself unduly conspicuous.
He bought a few magazines and rode up on the elevator. There was no light showing through the partly- opened transom of Room 1417.
“All right, Mr. Scanlon,” Vincent mused, as he sat in his room and began to read. “I’ll be up and waiting when you come in tonight. Have a good time while you’re out.”
