Cranston. Yet Zubian, more convinced than ever of The Shadow's amazing abilities, came to the immediate conclusion that Lamont Cranston and Henry Arnaud must be one and the same!
It was possible, of course, that two members of the Cobalt Club might visit the same curio dealer; nevertheless, Zubian now recalled that he had never seen Arnaud at the club until after the time when Cranston had disappeared.
It was with new elation that Zubian watched through the peephole and listened for any conversation that he might hear.
Henry Arnaud remained in Crayle's office for some twenty minutes. Then Zubian saw him come to the door, accompanied by the old curio dealer.
'You must come back to-morrow,' crackled the old man. 'Come back then, Mr. Arnaud. That shipment will be here in the morning. If you come after two, I shall have some beautiful rarities to show you.'
'I shall be here,' responded Arnaud, in a calm, even voice.
LEAVING the old building, Zubian racked his brain. Here was opportunity! By strategy, he could accomplish what he had failed to do before.
What was the best course?
This building made a perfect spot for a killing. Zubian knew what Gats Hackett would recommend—a crew of gangsters lying in wait.
But Zubian decided that such a course would be too crude. The Shadow had encountered such traps before. He seemed to possess an uncanny sense of detecting the presence of lurking gunmen.
No—newer and more effective measures must be used. Guns should be there, of course, but not where The Shadow could suspect them.
Zubian, back at the Cobalt Club, was thoughtful as he smoked a cigarette in a secluded corner of the grill. At last a plan began to form itself in his scheming mind. An evil smile flitted across his suave countenance.
Walking out into the lobby, Zubian assured himself that Henry Arnaud was not present. Then he went to the telephone and called Devaux's home. Douglas Carleton was there, and, in cryptic tones, Zubian made an appointment for the evening.
When Carleton joined Zubian at ten o'clock, the young clubman seemed peevish and disturbed. Zubian asked the reason. It developed that Carleton was troubled about affairs at Devaux's.
'It's that fellow Milbrook,' he explained.
'Milbrook and the girl?' questioned Zubian.
'Well—that's annoying, too,' declared Carleton. 'Virginia and I are not on good terms at all. In fact, the engagement would be ended if it were not for old Devaux. He sides with me.
'I told him that I regard Milbrook as a rival. So he is helping out. He sees to it that Milbrook and Virginia never have a chance to talk together. If they did—well, an elopement might be the result.'
'Milbrook comes there every evening?'
'Certainly. To talk about diamonds with Devaux. Milbrook wants to make a sale; but Devaux won't look at the diamonds until he feels ready. So Milbrook is keeping them down in the safe of the diamond syndicate's office.
'If Devaux renigs, the diamonds will go elsewhere; but so long as the old man is interested, Milbrook is holding onto the goods.'
'How long will Devaux hold out?'
'He's a good staller,' said Carleton, with a wan smile. 'He is pretending to be disinterested, to make Milbrook become anxious. He told me so, and I advised him to hold matters indefinitely. But that can't last forever.
'Meanwhile, we're in a bad way. If we could only get rid of The Shadow, we could raid the syndicate office and grab the diamonds—two million dollars' worth of them. Gats Hackett could do the job; he's got his new mob lined up. But you know what would happen. The Shadow would be there. Chances are he's watching Gats like a hawk.'
'Is he? Hm-m-m,' observed Zubian thoughtfully. 'It always comes back to The Shadow. That's why I brought you here to-night, Carleton. I've traced The Shadow again.'
'What! Where? Who is he?'
'Another member of the Cobalt Club,' said Zubian softly. 'He is Lamont Cranston no longer. He passes himself as a man named Henry Arnaud.'
'Then we can take another shot at him!' exclaimed Carleton. 'Gats has his new mob -'
'Gats is out of this,' declared Zubian quietly. 'The man that I intend to use is Squint Freston. We must get him quietly and arrange for him to obtain a few gunmen who are not too closely associated with Gats Hackett.
'Remember, The Shadow may be watching Gats. Leave this to me, Carleton. We are going to end The Shadow, and you and I will be present at the finish.'
'When?'
'To-morrow afternoon!'
'Where?'
'In an office building near Times Square.'
Zubian spoke with such assurance that Carleton could not doubt his words. Yet the statements were so cryptic that they left Carleton bewildered. Zubian saw his companion's perplexity.
'We are using strategy, Carleton,' he said quietly. 'This will be done by skill—not by clumsy gunfire. I must obtain Squint Freston's services by midnight. The arrangements will be made before dawn.'
'Tell me about them?' requested Carleton eagerly.
In a low, calm voice, Zubian began to unfold his scheme.
As the import of his words became apparent to Carleton, the clubman smiled in elation. This was a trap that surpassed all others—a snare that could not be suspected, even by The Shadow.
'A sure plan!' exclaimed Carleton, when Zubian had concluded.
'It is only strategy,' said Zubian. 'Strategy that will bring death to The Shadow!'
Henry Arnaud was seated in the lobby when Douglas Carleton left the Cobalt Club. He was still there when Felix Zubian strolled by, some minutes afterward.
The Shadow did not receive even a glance from the man who had become his shadow.
CHAPTER XX. THE TRAP BRINGS DEATH
ON the following morning, Felix Zubian and Douglas Carleton met near the building where Hawthorne Crayle's dingy office was located. It was after ten o'clock. Zubian, carrying his heavy cane in his right hand, gripped Carleton's elbow with his left.
Arriving at the building, the two ascended to the fourth floor. The door of Crayle's office was closed.
Zubian drew Carleton into the room across the hall.
'Everything is ready,' whispered Zubian. 'There is the signal wire - we laid it last night.' He indicated a thin green strip that ran under the door, out into the hall.
'The tank?' questioned Carleton.
'That went in last night—to the end office. Squint and three men are down there, waiting.'
Carleton smiled. He knew the purpose of these preparations. He relied upon Zubian's cleverness.
To-day would surely mark the doom of The Shadow.
'The telegram is planted,' added Zubian. 'Crayle will fall for it when he comes in. He usually gets here at eleven.'
This statement proved true. At exactly eleven o'clock, the stoop-shouldered form of Hawthorne Crayle appeared in the hallway.
Zubian and Carleton watched the old man through the peepholes. Crayle opened the door of his office.
He saw a yellow envelope Iying upon the floor. He tore it open and scanned the message with shaking hands.
The paper fluttered from Crayle's fingers; the old man hastened into his office. He reappeared a few minutes later, carrying a battered suitcase. He stopped at the door, scrawled a note on a sheet of paper, and attached it to the panel. He closed the door behind him, and shambled hastily along the hall.
'I knew that would happen,' remarked Zubian, with a laugh. 'I talked to Crayle one day when I was examining his curios. He has one daughter living in Albany. The telegram states that she is very ill. He won't know
