value to the public; his words showed good will and appreciation of those who had served the people.
Suddenly, his tone became bombastic. His papers in his left hand, Coyd gestured with his right. He denounced graspers, grafters and their ilk. Head tilted sidewise while he read from his typewritten notes, he continued his gestures, wagging his right forefinger as he named certain companies, one by one.
The “rogues roll call,” Coyd termed it. He denounced these special companies; he declared that they had deceived the public by deliberately refusing to make possible economies that would produce lower rates. He added that their game was known; that its doom was near.
Congressional measures, Coyd prophesied, would force the creation of a control board that would base rates upon those of sincere utilities that had already found ways of giving maximum service at minimum cost.
Harry had read Coyd's speech; it had struck him as chaffy; but when Coyd delivered it, The Shadow's agent became lost in admiration. With all his bombastic force, Coyd could be both eloquent and effective.
When the congressman slumped to his chair, exhausted, the room still seemed to hold the ring of his powerful speech. It was a quarter of a minute before Harry remembered a duty; with a quick pull of his hand, he shifted the top of the cabinet back to its original place.
COYD'S face was flushed. Somehow, despite his exhaustion, he had retained his high pitch. Doctor Borneau felt the patient's pulse and ordered an immediate rest. Tabbert and Jurrick came up to aid Coyd; the congressman pushed them aside. Rising from his chair, he walked to the door of the bedroom. Standing there, he turned and spoke to Harry.
“You heard it, Vincent,” chuckled the congressman. “Go back and tell Releston about it. Invite him here to ?night, to hear it for himself.”
“Sorry, Mr. Coyd,” said Harry. “Senator Releston has a previous engagement. Of course, he will hear your speech over the air, at the dinner which he is attending in Baltimore. But—”
“Too bad,” interposed Coyd, gloomily. Then: “Bring his friend, Crozan, if you wish. He can see my delivery and tell the senator about it afterward.”
Suddenly wearied, Coyd went into the bedroom. Harry strolled out with Tabbert, while Doctor Borneau was making notes and Jurrick was replacing the medicine bottles in the cabinet. At the bottom of the stairs, Harry paused to light a cigarette; as he tarried, Borneau and Jurrick came down the steps.
Tabbert had gone. Harry started up the steps, remarking, in passing, that he had left his hat in the living room.
Reaching there alone, Harry went to the big box; he shifted the lid; it came up several inches. Reaching inside, Harry made adjustments: when he closed the lid and slid it, he heard locks click tight.
Harry had followed instructions received through Burbank. His work was done for the time: what the aftermath would be, Harry could not guess. He knew only that he had done The Shadow's bidding; that some strange climax would later be staged to close a baffling drama.
Something must be threatening, despite the fact that Coyd's speech was written, approved and rehearsed. The outcome was a mystery to Harry. What the finish would be, only The Shadow knew!
CHAPTER XVII. FIGURES IN THE DARK.
SEVEN o'clock. A torrential rain had broken the day's heat wave. It was dripping still; the lights of Washington were hazy through the steamy atmosphere. An hour yet remained before Congressman Coyd's speech would go out over the air, as the finale of the scheduled banquet.
Across from Dunwood Rydel's mansion, two men were seated in a parked coupe. Cliff at the wheel; Hawkeye beside him. Both were watching the rain?soaked driveway with the garage beyond. A light glimmered suddenly to attract their attention. It was under the porte?cochere. The front door opened and Dunwood Rydel stepped into view.
A limousine rolled from the garage. It was the big car that Hawkeye had seen that night on Q Street. The car skirted the mansion; Rydel boarded it and the big machine rolled from the drive. After it had passed, Cliff started in pursuit. The course led to the Lotus Club.
When Rydel alighted, he gave brief instructions to Mullard, who was the chauffeur at the wheel. The man nodded and drove away. Cliff followed him in the coupe; but Hawkeye was no longer aboard. The little spotter had dropped from Cliff's car to put in a call to The Shadow.
Mullard picked a twisting course through slippery streets. Cliff kept the trail; he followed the limousine northward along Seventh Street. Then Mullard changed his tactics; he began to zigzag over the same territory. Apparently he was deliberately trying to shake off any followers. Cliff let him take a turn; then waited.
Soon Mullard's car appeared, crossing the street a block ahead. The glare of a bright electric light was the give?away. Cliff followed and made the corner. As he turned, he saw the limousine parked by the curb, a block and a half ahead. Then the big machine started suddenly; it zipped for the nearest corner and shot out of view as Cliff was coming up.
The chase was ended; but Cliff was sure that he had found a goal. The building before which Mullard had stopped was an old, three?story house; Cliff knew it by the proximity of a street lamp that had partially revealed the standing limousine.
Like the house that Hawkeye had visited on Q Street, this building was a residence converted into an apartment.
It bore the name plate: “Northern Arms.”
CLIFF parked his coupe. He went into the lobby, pushed a bell beside a name and listened in hope of luck.
The door clicked; Cliff entered. Instead of going upstairs, he sneaked to the rear of the hall and waited.
A door opened above; a voice shouted; then the door slammed. Some annoyed apartment dweller had decided that the ring was a hoax.
While outside, Cliff had noted one point in a preliminary survey. Windows, first and second floors front, had been lighted. The slammed door had apparently come from the second story back; a likely guess, for Cliff had pressed a button marked 2B. The third floor, therefore, seemed like a good bet. Cliff sneaked up the stairs and reached it.
This building, like the one that Hawkeye had visited, was equipped with a rear fire escape. This was required by law in both cases; for none of these old houses were fireproof. Cliff took the rear apartment as the easiest mode of entry. He reached the fire escape and leaned over to a locked window.
Using a thin prying tool, Cliff tried The Shadow's system. His efforts were comparatively clumsy; for he required several minutes before he could catch the lock, and he chipped the woodwork into the bargain.
When he finally opened the window, Cliff slid into a small kitchen; from there, he reached a darkened hall, with a bedroom on the side.
Using a flashlight, Cliff spotted a suitcase. He opened it; the first objects that he saw were papers and letters.
Cliff examined them and chuckled; he opened an envelope and produced a handful of newspaper clippings.
These were all he needed.
Continuing through to a living room, Cliff calmly turned on the light and picked up a telephone. He dialed the Hotel Halcyon. He asked for 808. Burbank's voice responded. Cliff reported. That done, he stretched out in a comfortable chair and laid his revolver on the table beside him. Cliff was prepared to wait as long as necessary.
MEANWHILE, Dunwood Rydel had met two persons in the Lotus Club. One was Coyd's daughter; the other was another girl, a blonde whose attractiveness was quite as marked as Evelyn's. This was Beatrice Rydel.
The girls had come in from Virginia. Delayed by the storm, Beatrice had called her father; he had told her to meet him at the Lotus Club.
The trio went into the upstairs dining room. As they were ordering dinner, a man strolled in and took a table close by. It was The Shadow, guised as Henry Arnaud. Quietly, he ordered a prompt dinner, stating that his time was short.
