The man at the wheel shrewdly kept a full block in the rear. At last came a long stretch between avenues.
The car ahead was gaining. It swerved the corner. When Zubian's cab reached the spot and turned, it came upon the other cab, stopped some fifty feet ahead.
Zubian's driver swung by and pulled up at a lighted entrance. It was a clever trick, as it allowed Zubian to alight as though he had reached a definite destination.
'Wait here,' said Zubian in a low voice.
The cab driver nodded.
A doorman was opening the door of the taxi. Zubian stepped out and strolled back along the street.
The driver of the cab which he had followed was standing on the sidewalk. He was holding the rear door open, staring into his vehicle in wonderment. Hearing the sound of Zubian's footfalls, the man turned and spoke as one would speak to a casual passer.
'Say'—the man seemed bewildered—'am I loony? Here's a guy tells me to stop, and when I stop, he ain't in the cab no more!'
'Did he pay you?' questioned Zubian, with friendly interest.
'Sure,' nodded the driver. 'Gave me a bill and didn't ask for no change; but this beats me.'
Zubian had seen the interior of the cab. It was empty. Swinging his heavy-headed cane, he went back toward his own car, fuming inwardly. That short lead gained by the first cab had enabled The Shadow to leave his car and slide away into the night.
Reaching his own cab, Zubian prepared to enter. He spoke to the driver from the sidewalk.
'Drive me to the Cobalt Club,' he said.
'Beg pardon, sir' it was the voice of the doorman, interrupting— 'but you're at the Cobalt Club now.'
Zubian turned swiftly. For the first time, he realized where he was. Until now, he had been too interested in that other cab to notice his location. Here he was—at the very place where he had planned to meet Douglas Carleton!
'Thank you,' said Zubian suavely. 'You are right. I am a trifle absentminded, that is all.'
He paid the driver and watched the cab roll away. Standing by the door of the Cobalt Club, Felix Zubian pondered. The Shadow must be a man of miracles, he thought, to bring him here. Had The Shadow learned of his plans? Had he suspected Zubian's purpose?
Zubian's brow furrowed. He tapped the point of his cane angrily upon the sidewalk. Then a sudden expression of enlightenment appeared upon his face. He felt convinced that The Shadow had not suspected his presence. With that conviction came a theory. If it were correct— that theory—to-night's operations might prove exceedingly fortunate.
With a smile, Felix Zubian glanced at his watch. It was after ten o'clock. Swinging his cane, The Shadow's shadow entered the Cobalt Club to keep his appointment with Douglas Carleton!
CHAPTER XI. FORTUNE FAVORS ZUBIAN
TWO men were seated at a small table in the grillroom of the exclusive Cobalt Club. Douglas Carleton and Felix Zubian were at their appointed meeting.
This new setting was a contrast to the hotel room where they had talked together the night before. Here, at the Cobalt Club, there was nothing stealthy in the meeting, and their discussion was free from interruption by Gats Hackett.
Whatever value Gats might be to the schemes of Douglas Carleton, it was obvious that the clubman considered Zubian to be of greater worth. Gats, despite his usefulness, was merely a gang leader, while Zubian possessed the personality that gave entree to the most exclusive circles.
Hence Carleton, this evening, was inclined to listen to Zubian's sage words. He realized that Zubian held Gats Hackett in great contempt, despite his tact in not revealing the opinion to Gats himself. In fact, Zubian's words subtly indicated displeasure with the methods of the boastful gang leader.
'Last night,' remarked Zubian, 'I heard Gats Hackett belittle The Shadow's agents. He spoke of their inability—of their comparative usefulness. Yet Gats failed to notice the obvious proof of the statements that he made.'
'What did the statements prove?' queried Carleton.
'That the strength of The Shadow's organization is centralized in one man only,' responded Zubian. 'That man is The Shadow himself. His agents are merely tools in his capable hands; and no tool, no matter how useful, can be compared with the man who uses it.'
Carleton nodded his head in agreement. He felt that this discussion with Zubian would prove fruitful.
'When you obtained my services for your contemplated enterprise,' resumed Zubian quietly, 'you gained the cooperation of a strategist. I do not speak boastfully—as Gats Hackett does—I merely cite a simple, self-evident fact.
'My past record, known only to myself, is one that should inspire confidence. Scores of gangsters have warred against this man they call The Shadow. All have failed through their own clumsiness.
'You learned of me, Carleton, when you were in Europe. You heard my name; yet you failed to find me, until the word was passed from agent to agent that you wished to see me. Then I arranged a meeting and accepted your terms. I came to America to aid affairs over here.
'Like The Shadow, I employ the services of capable tools. Like The Shadow, I can work alone. To ascertain the identity of such a man as The Shadow is the work for which I am suited. In a great many ways, his career parallels my own. In fact, I believe that on certain occasions—long ago—The Shadow crossed my path.'
'You do?' exclaimed Carleton. 'You think you know The Shadow?'
'No,' responded Zubian thoughtfully, 'I merely believe that I may know something of his past. My nationality'—Zubian smiled—'has always been a matter of policy. Once, originally, I was an American.
During the Great War, I found it more profitable to act in behalf of another government. I was excellently fitted for espionage.'
Carleton nodded. The admission of treachery that Zubian had made only served to increase his opinion of the man. For Carleton, like Zubian, was a rascal of the first water.
'DURING the War,' continued Zubian, 'I learned of the existence of a most remarkable person—one who was presumably an aviator in the air forces of the United States. I heard him called The Black Eagle, because of his penchant for flying at night.
'On one occasion, The Black Eagle was shot down. His role immediately changed; instead of an aviator, he became a secret agent within the enemy lines. His final coup came when he located and mapped an enemy air base, escaping at the last moment in a plane of the German air squadron, flying in safety back to the American lines.
'After the war, The Black Eagle was still alive. I have often wondered what became of him. Now, I believe I know. He, the victor of a hundred strange encounters on land and in the air, has taken on a new identity. He is known as The Shadow.'
'This is amazing!' blurted Carleton. 'If The Shadow -'
Zubian held up his hand for silence. Carleton listened breathlessly, as the self-admitted traitor expanded his remarkable theory.
'I have often thought of The Black Eagle,' declared Zubian. 'I have often wanted to meet him; to trace him in his devious ways; to wreak vengeance upon him because of the difficulties he afforded me in the past. I have given great consideration to the probable ways and methods that such a man would utilize.
Now, I feel convinced that The Shadow is the man whom I have sought.'
'There is no way of tracing him?'
'I have traced him to-night.'
Zubian's words came like a bomb-shell to Carleton. The young man stared in astonishment at this new revelation.
'I have traced him,' resumed Zubian, 'from the spot where Squint Freston has failed. I played a long shot, and I won. To-night, I was at the building which Squint has been watching on Twenty-third Street.'
'And you saw The Shadow?'
