'I saw a shadow. That was all. I lost it; I saw it again. I followed it. I lost it.'
'Then you have failed,' said Carleton, in a disappointed tone.
'Perhaps,' said Zubian calmly. 'On the contrary, I may have succeeded. I believe that I have traced The Shadow to his own environment. There, I may be able to watch him and still escape observation.'
'What environment do you think he chooses?'
'An environment such as this,' said Zubian, looking about him with a smile. 'This club is one of the most exclusive in New York, is it not?'
'It is considered by many to be the most exclusive,' returned Carleton.
'Then,' declared Zubian, 'it would prove quite attractive to a person such as The Shadow.
'Consider the matter sensibly, Carleton. The Shadow fights with gangsters. Does that make him a gangster? Not a bit of it. Intelligent generals wage campaigns against savages; that does not make them savages.
'The Shadow, apparently, spends much of his time in New York, although he has, on critical occasions, appeared abroad. Criminals have tried to find him in the underworld. They have failed.
'You and I are criminals'—Zubian stated the fact with unfeigned pride— 'yet we are not associating with crooks at present. The Shadow is undoubtedly of a caliber superior to our own. So we may assume that he, too, would choose an environment such as the Cobalt Club.'
ZUBIAN paused to light a cigarette. His eyes turned toward Carleton with a knowing glow. In a low, impressive tone, he added remarks to support his theory concerning The Shadow.
'Two agents of The Shadow have been discovered,' stated Zubian. 'One of them—Vincent, by name— appears to be a man of leisure, living at the Metrolite Hotel. The other—Rutledge Mann—is an investment broker. Only a man of discrimination would choose such agents.
'After Zipper Marsh entered the Grayson home, The Shadow deprived him of a valuable mass of spoils.
No one could possibly have traced the stolen articles. Yet they were restored, intact, by The Shadow.
'The possession of those goods did not change The Shadow's purpose. Therefore, we may safely say that The Shadow is a man who is already wealthy.'
'You are right,' agreed Carleton, in admiration. 'Yes, you are right, beyond a doubt.'
'Now,' continued Zubian, 'we must begin to trace The Shadow. If he were a crook—or a detective—that might be extremely difficult. But he is neither. He appears to be unique. He is a man on the border line. He chooses to support the law; yet he invokes the methods used by the criminals whom he fights. Therefore, we must look for a wealthy man who is above suspicion, yet whose normal operations are few and scattered.'
'Where will we find such a man?'
'Here, perhaps,' smiled Zubian. 'Somewhere else, possibly. It may take time to uncover him. Therefore, I shall require your cooperation - and I shall expect Gats Hackett to keep entirely out of the affair. His work will come later, after we have located The Shadow. Now that I have explained my purpose, we can discuss other matters.'
'One moment,' interposed Carleton. 'You have no idea how long it will require to trace The Shadow?
This intrigues me -'
'If fortune favors me,' stated Zubian, 'I may trace him to-night— with your cooperation.'
'With my cooperation?'
'Yes. Come with me.'
As Carleton arose, Zubian was speaking to him in a low tone. Carleton nodded, scarcely understanding the import of the words, yet realizing fully what was expected of him.
'We are going to stroll through the club,' said Zubian. 'There are comparatively few members here at present. I want you to tell me what you know about any of whom I might ask you.'
The men walked along together. They passed through the lobby. They entered the library. They reached a corner of the room where a tall man dressed in evening clothes was seated at a reading desk.
Zubian stopped; then caught himself and continued on. It was not the sight of the man that had made him hesitate; it was the shadow that he had seen upon the floor. There—a jet-black spot—lay a silhouette that closely resembled the one Zubian had seen on Twenty-third Street!
Regaining his composure, Zubian threw a quiet glance toward the man at the reading desk. The face of the man impressed him. It was a firm, chiseled countenance that was almost masklike in appearance.
In that steady glance, Zubian could gain no idea of the man's age. Zubian noticed the eyes of the man at the desk. They were sharp and piercing, flashing as they peered, like living lights, from that inscrutable visage.
Outside the library, Zubian urged Carleton back toward the grillroom, questioning him as they walked along.
'That man at the desk,' whispered Zubian, 'in the corner. Who is he?'
'His name is Lamont Cranston,' answered Carleton. 'He is a multimillionaire—a great traveler. Says very little. No one knows where he has been, or how long he has been away. He seems concerned only with himself.'
Felix Zubian was smiling when they reached the grillroom. Carleton, sitting opposite him, could not understand.
'Lamont Cranston'—Zubian pronounced the name softly—'Lamont Cranston. So that is the name of the man we saw in the library. You are sure his name is Lamont Cranston?'
'Of course,' exclaimed Carleton. 'He is Lamont Cranston -'
'You mean,' interposed Zubian, 'that he calls himself Lamont Cranston.'
'Calls himself Lamont Cranston?' questioned Carleton. 'If he is not Lamont Cranston, who is he?'
'He is The Shadow!' returned Felix Zubian, with a glistening smile of exultation. 'He is The Shadow—and I have become his shadow! Fortune has favored me to-night!'
CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOWING
ON the following day, Felix Zubian began a task that was greatly to his liking. He became The Shadow's shadow. He took up this work under ideal conditions; for it was no longer necessary for him to trail a phantom of the night. Instead, he was tracking a man who made no efforts to avoid observation.
In shadowing The Shadow, Zubian was extremely careful. He knew that it would be unwise to stay too close to the man who posed under the identity of Lamont Cranston; so he decided to use the Cobalt Club as his base of operations. Douglas Carleton facilitated matters by introducing Zubian as a guest member of the club.
Lamont Cranston lunched at the club at noon. When he left the place, Zubian was standing outside the revolving door. He heard Cranston give the doorman the address of a building on a side street near Times Square. That address was repeated to a cab driver who had pulled up.
After Cranston had left, Zubian headed for the spot. He found the address to be that of an old building.
Zubian entered the place and ascended a flight of dilapidated stairs. He studied each floor as he went up, intending to make a more careful inspection on the way down.
On the hallway of the fifth floor, Zubian noticed only one occupied office. As he passed it, the door began to open. Without hesitating, Zubian continued on and fumbled with the door of an office beyond.
Peering cautiously, he saw Cranston's tall form heading for the stairway. Zubian smiled, realizing that he had escaped detection.
After Cranston's departure, Zubian hastened from the building and went back to the Cobalt Club.
Cranston had not returned; so Zubian decided to make some quiet investigations. By casual questioning of employees of the club, he learned a few facts concerning the multimillionaire.
Lamont Cranston lived in a palatial home in New Jersey, and went there every night. He was unquestionably an eccentric sort of man. This, together with the information that Carleton had given, brought Zubian to the conclusion that the identity of Cranston was one which The Shadow had assumed merely as a convenient cloak.
Lamont Cranston was noted as a traveler and a hunter of big game. His affairs, Zubian learned, were so arranged that they moved along while he was out of the country.
Zubian knew, from his contact with gangland, that The Shadow was always close to New York. Yet these expeditions which Cranston undertook were certainly bona fide. What, then, was the solution?
The answer came. There must be a real Lamont Cranston—a man now absent from the United States—and
