They started through the house. Furnace men and plumbers were next. They kept everyone busy with questions, while the electricians were on the second floor. The electricians came downstairs to say that the wiring was ship- shape. They left, taking their tester with them.
WITHIN the next hour, a special messenger brought an envelope to the offices of the Solidarity Insurance Company. It was delivered to Bradthaw, who still had Caudrey and Strampf in his office.
Bradthaw opened the envelope and brought out three but recently developed photographs. He smiled as he passed two of them to Caudrey.
Each picture was a mass of blurred gray; but a solid chunk of blocky blackness showed in the center.
The photos had been taken at different ranges; hence the black rectangles varied in size. Bradthaw pointed to dimensions marked on the margins.
'The gray,' he explained, 'is the wall of old Melrue's study. The black object is obviously a metal chest, three feet wide and two feet high. Estimated at two feet from front to back. This photo' - he handed the third to Caudrey - 'was taken from the hallway.'
'X-ray photos!' exclaimed Caudrey. 'Taken by the fake electricians! But how did they handle it?'
'With a camouflaged apparatus that they called a 'circuit tester'; we have used the device on previous occasions.'
Bradthaw lifted the desk telephone. He gave the Melrue number to the switchboard operator; told her to ask for Mr. Hurden. He added that no name was to be mentioned. Bradthaw handed the telephone to Caudrey. Soon Hurden's voice came over the wire. Eagerly, Caudrey told Hurden to buy the old mansion.
As soon as Caudrey had replaced the telephone, Bradthaw produced a fully typed insurance policy from his desk drawer and handed it to the actuary. He also gave Caudrey a promissory note made out for three hundred thousand dollars. Caudrey signed it. Looking through the policy, he noted that the Speculation Rider had been attached.
'Hurden will have the deed tomorrow,' declared Caudrey. 'He tells me that the place is furnished. He can invite friends to a house-warming tomorrow night. I shall be there -'
'And so shall I,' inserted Bradthaw. 'At your invitation, Caudrey. Strampf will stop in to see me on some matter. Meanwhile, Strampf will see to it that the house is undisturbed, between tonight and tomorrow.'
As he arose, Bradthaw added with a smile:
'We take care of such details, Caudrey. After all, I now have more at stake than you. You can rest assured that we shall find that chest exactly as old Seth Melrue left it.'
Bradthaw spoke with rich-voiced confidence. Perhaps the crime profiteer would have lacked that deep-toned assurance, had he known that The Shadow had survived last night's bombardment.
CHAPTER XV. THE SHADOW'S MOVES
WHILE Hurden was completing his inspection of the old Melrue mansion, a middle-aged man was seated in the small living room of a comfortably furnished apartment. His eyes were keen; his hardened face looked crafty, topped by its grizzled hair.
Yet when the man turned on a light to offset the gathering dusk, the glow wrought a transformation. His features, relaxed, showed a kindliness that belied the first impression that they gave. Those who knew this man realized why.
His name was Slade Farrow. He was a criminologist who reached deep into the tortured souls of outlawed unfortunates. They trusted Farrow because he looked like one of their own ilk. He adopted that hardened pose to gain their confidence. After that, his real self began to appear.
Under Farrow's guidance, desperate men came from the depths. They believed in Farrow; he made them believe in themselves.
Farrow did not reach down to help. He plunged in beside the men he aided; pushed them out to security.
He had spent as many as six months of a single year within the walls of a penitentiary, as a fellow-convict with a man who needed his aid.
To Farrow, such service brought its rewards. Greatest of them all had been his meeting with that mysterious personage called The Shadow.
Battling crime was but one side of The Shadow's work. The Shadow recognized that the majority of criminals were past claim, but he frequently discovered those who were exceptions. Sometimes, The Shadow set them straight himself; others, those cases that needed prolonged efforts, he turned over to Farrow.
Last night, Farrow had done The Shadow an important service. Listening to news reports, tuning in on police calls, he had picked up coded signals that he understood. They were from Burbank, The Shadow's contact agent.
Learning that Burbank was a prisoner with others, Farrow had not called the contact number, which he knew. He had waited for a direct call from The Shadow.
That call had come this morning. The Shadow needed Farrow; wanted him to be ready. Farrow had reported Burbank's message. Since then, he had been listening for more calls. None had come. Farrow knew that the link was ended. He wondered what The Shadow would do.
AS Farrow pondered, he realized that he was not alone. He looked about. In a chair close beside him sat a black-cloaked visitor who had entered like a ghost. For a moment, Farrow was frankly startled; then he smiled as he recognized The Shadow. Farrow spoke:
'No news.'
Calmly, The Shadow recounted the events of the preceding night. Farrow sat in amazement; his face lighted when he heard of The Shadow's reappearance in the transferred sanctum. Then came The Shadow's statement regarding the plight of his agents:
'Their present contact cannot be restored. They must be reached. I have arranged a method. In my file cabinet are details of a black-light projector that will enthuse men of crime.'
Farrow nodded. He knew of the device. The Shadow had taken it from a dangerous criminal. The ray that it projected could put electrical equipment - such as burglar alarms - completely out of action.
'They will learn two facts,' continued The Shadow. 'First, where the apparatus can be found; second that Burbank understands it. The device will puzzle them. They will take it to Burbank. In the base of the projector will be a simple device. A coil, a tube, dry-cell batteries.'
'To send a short-wave beam!' exclaimed Farrow. 'To be picked up by direction finders!'
'You will have one here,' informed The Shadow. 'The other will be at Doctor Sayre's.'
Again Farrow nodded. He knew Rupert Sayre, the Park Avenue physician whom The Shadow had once saved from death. With two direction-finders keyed for the expected signal, Farrow saw the prospective results.
Rising for departure, The Shadow made a final request:
'Have Tapper ready. He may be needed.'
WHEN he left Farrow's, The Shadow followed an untraceable course. All his amazing skill at silent unseen travel was in use tonight. On many occasions, The Shadow risked moves that might enable persons to gain chance glimpses of him. Tonight - and on nights to come - he could not afford that policy.
The Shadow was dead; so at least, the underworld believed. The Shadow did not intend to permit any arguments to the contrary; not even the guess that some hophead might have seen The Shadow's ghost.
Stealth was doubly imperative; for The Shadow was approaching a spot where he believed that crooks might be. He reached the street where the old Melrue mansion stood - dark, forgotten, formidable.
Within those walls lay some secret important to The Shadow. By finding it, he could bait the supercrook, Marvin Bradthaw.
As The Shadow crept close to the house, he sensed that it was watched. Someone stirred in a darkened space beside the mansion.
The Shadow waited until the prowling watcher had gone past. Other times he would have chosen the simpler course of overpowering the fellow in the darkness. That was out, tonight. The Shadow intended to leave no evidence that would indicate he was still alive.
The Shadow entered the house with absolute silence after working on a cellar window. He reached the ground floor. He heard men moving about. Hurden had filched a back-door key and had sent it along to Caudrey.
The Shadow waited until he heard no more sounds. He moved to the main stairway; ascended to the second
