He did so, on this day, to keep his appointment with Commissioner Weston.
The commissioner had invited Cranston to attend a hearing that concerned the attempted Melrue jewel robbery. Weston not only regarded Cranston as a friend; he appreciated the advice that Cranston sometimes gave him.
Cranston had a good memory for faces, and Weston thought that he might have seen some of the prisoners, particularly since they preyed upon persons of wealth.
The Shadow had actually worked that invitation from the commissioner. He wanted to attend the hearing to learn if any doubt had been raised regarding the identity of the masked man who had taken the jewels.
The prisoners included Fred, the elevator man; also the assistant head waiter from the Top Hat Club.
There were a few others whom the police thought were finger men. Also the captured thugs who had been under Nogger's command.
Definite mention was made of Wally Drillick; although the prisoners claimed they did not know the fellow, it was plain that they believed Wally to be the masked bandit.
Francine Melrue was at the hearing. The girl gave her testimony in a firm voice. With her was a nervous, dissipated-looking young man; her brother, George. The two scarcely spoke to each other. The reason for their coldness was something that The Shadow had easily learned. George was squandering his half million dollars; and Francine disapproved.
When the hearing ended, Francine started from the courtroom. Commissioner Weston stepped over and nodded to Joe Cardona. The inspector stopped Francine, to ask if he might have the pleasure of introducing the police commissioner. Francine smiled; she shook hands with Weston. In turn, the commissioner introduced Lamont Cranston.
FRANCINE was immediately impressed by the tall millionaire's appearance. Cranston's face was firm, almost masklike; his features had a hawkish appearance. His thin lips showed only the faint semblance of a smile; it was his eyes that captured Francine's attention. Francine remembered eyes that had burned with dynamic power, from beneath a slouch hat. The eyes of The Shadow! - all that Francine had seen of that shrouded being's face. Cranston's eyes seemed milder; but there was something in their steady gaze that was strangely reminiscent of The Shadow.
Commissioner Weston was commending the girl on her brave fight against the jewel robbers. Francine scarcely heard what Weston said. When she turned away, she was almost in a daze, still thinking of The Shadow's eyes.
George Melrue saw a chance to talk to his sister. He plucked Francine's arm and spoke in a whiny, pleading voice:
'Sis, we've got a chance to sell the old house.'
Francine snapped from her reverie.
'The old house that Uncle Seth died in?' she asked, mechanically. 'But it doesn't belong to us. Uncle Seth left it to an old friend of his named Wilmot.'
'I talked to our lawyer, Mr. Reddingham,' explained George. 'He's found out that Wilmot died a couple of years ago, so the house reverts to us. And listen, Francine, Uncle Seth always said I had no business sense. But I've pulled a deal that will make the old boy turn cart wheels in his mausoleum!'
'You've sold the house?'
'Yes; and what do you think I got for the old brownstone relic? Ninety thousand dollars!'
Francine gasped her amazement. She forgot entirely that Weston and Cranston were hearing the conversation.
'Why, George!' she exclaimed. 'Mr. Reddingham told us that the house wasn't worth a dollar over forty thousand! And the real estate men said that even that was too high an estimate.'
'I know it,' chuckled George. 'That's where I was smart! It seems that a chap named Hurden called up Reddingham and asked him about the house. Reddingham put it up to me; so I asked a big price, intending to cut it in half and make Hurden think I was giving him a bargain. Instead, Hurden accepted the price!'
A KEEN sparkle showed in Cranston's eyes. The Shadow knew the old brownstone mansion by sight; he recognized its value as less than forty thousand dollars. He had also heard the name of Hurden.
It had been used in some big stock transactions. Hurden was a professional proxy who bought goods for persons who did not want their own names involved. He always made his transactions by telephone and messenger service.
Somebody wanted the Melrue mansion badly. The heirs did not know it; they were both enthusiastic as they left.
Walking out with Weston, Cranston allowed a slight smile. Something lay behind that prospective deal; it smacked of smooth crime, the sort that The Shadow had been curbing lately. It might even be a new development of modern criminal technique.
In fact, the sale of the Melrue mansion might be the very wedge that The Shadow wanted. By studying it closely, The Shadow might reach through and find the crime that lay behind crime. The Shadow had gained something of unexpected value by coming to this hearing.
Concerned with this new fact, The Shadow did not consider another possibility - that his presence at the hearing might also have caused him damage. Nothing had occurred to indicate such; but it was actually the case.
At that moment, a stolid-faced court attendant was riding in a taxicab, mulling over a list that he had prepared. It contained the names of everyone who had been at the hearing. The man sealed the list in an envelope just as the cab stopped in front of a small hotel.
Entering, the attendant gave the envelope to the desk clerk, with the request:
'Please send this up to Mr. Strampf. He wants it right away.'
A bell hop took the envelope up to the fifth floor and knocked on a door. There was a harsh voice from within. The door opened to reveal a lean, stoop-shouldered man, whose face was pale and cadaverous.
Sharp, tiny eyes glittered as they saw the envelope. Strampf plucked it from the bell boy's hand; thrust a quarter dollar in its place. He closed the door and strode back through the room.
There was something spidery in Strampf's gait; a peculiar hunch of his stooped shoulders as he sat down at a table, piled deep with littered papers.
Strampf was the man who had twice watched crimes in progress; the observer who had spotted both Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland. It was Strampf who had trailed the bag of pay-off money.
Strampf ripped open the envelope. His bony forefinger pointed from name to name. The man's dried lips curled in disappointed fashion. He shook his head, rubbed his fingers through his thin hair. Carefully, he tapped the names again.
This time, Strampf stopped on the name of Lamont Cranston.
The little eyes narrowed to tiny points. Strampf sprang from the table, began to search through stacks of old magazines in the corner. They made an odd assortment, those magazines. They included a number of pictorial journals that came from foreign countries.
Strampf found one that was published in Cape Town, South Africa.
Pawing the pages, Strampf found the picture that he wanted. It showed a party of big-game hunters, ready to begin a trek across the African veldt. Their names were listed beneath the photograph. The third man from the left was Lamont Cranston.
Strampf stroked his chin with bony fingers as he noted the date of the magazine. It was six weeks old; but that did not matter. The caption with the photograph declared that the party had left for a two-month trip.
Strampf's lips contorted into a smile.
He had it! There were two persons who posed as Lamont Cranston. One, the actual Cranston, was scarcely ever in New York. The other - an impostor - found advantage in his double's absence. It enabled him to travel at large, concealing his real identity.
The false Cranston was The Shadow!
STRAMPF pounced back to the table. There, he gathered papers that bore various names. To them, he added
