“Father,” remarked Beatrice, “we are in a great hurry. Evelyn wants me to go with her to hear her father's speech. He is delivering it from his home, you know.”
“Humph,” growled Rydel. “So that's why he was so testy this morning. I had forgotten about that plagued speech of his.”
“Father!” reproved Beatrice. “You are forgetting Evelyn—”
“That's all right, Beatrice,” laughed the brunette. “Daddy has said many mean things about your father.”
“He has?” queried Rydel.
“Yes,” acknowledged Evelyn. “Many times.”
“Humph.” Rydel's tone was a chuckle. “Maybe the old codger is a good fellow after all. I like people to be frank. Come to think of it, he is frank.”
“Why don't you come with us?” queried Evelyn.
Rydel shook his head.
“Not for the speech,” he decided. “I have a conference with some friends, here at the club. Mullard is to take the limousine back and come for me in the coupe. I believe, though, that I can get away by nine?thirty. I shall have Mullard keep the limousine in town; then I can come along for Beatrice.”
“And meet daddy.” added Evelyn.
“Perhaps,” said Rydel. “Anyway, you girls can call Mullard and have him take you to Coyd's in the limousine. I sent him to the F Street garage. I told him to wait there in case you needed him.”
“We have my coupe, father,” reminded Beatrice. “We can drive to Evelyn's in it. Then I can call one of the chauffeurs and have him take it home from there, since you will be coming in the limousine.”
An attendant entered and spoke to the headwaiter, who indicated The Shadow. The attendant approached and delivered a message. The Shadow read the statement that Mr. Burbank was calling. He left the table, went to the lobby and answered the telephone. He received news of Cliff.
Telling the attendant to cancel his dinner order, The Shadow left the club. Hailing a taxi, he gave a destination. When the driver reached an empty house, he paused, puzzled; then the fare was thrust into his hand. The door of the cab opened; the passenger was gone.
The driver blinked. He had remembered a man with a briefcase. Yet no such passenger had alighted; in fact the driver had no recollection of anything but a gloved hand, tendering him his fare and tip. Shrugging his shoulders, the cabby drove away along the puddly street. The Shadow, turning the nearest corner, saw him travel by.
NEARLY a block ahead, a limousine was halted by the curb. As The Shadow swished forward through the darkness, he caught a glimpse of a figure by the machine. An instant later, the big car shot away. Continuing, The Shadow reached the back of a huge brownstone house. He had arrived at Congressman Coyd's.
Moving through the passage beside the house, The Shadow reached the front. He seemed unconcerned by that brief sight that he had gained upon arrival. Outside, he discovered a parked sedan; it was Senator Releston's car. Harry Vincent was already at Coyd's.
Long minutes passed; a phantom shape had glided out of sight. Elsewhere, however, a watcher had found something to observe. Hawkeye, stationed outside the F Street garage, saw a limousine swing into the entrance, a dozen minutes after The Shadow had spotted the same car at Coyd's.
Inside the garage, Mullard alighted and hailed an attendant. The fellow came over; the chauffeur put a query:
“Did the boss call?”
The attendant shook his head.
“Listen, Stevie.” Mullard drew the fellow aside. “I got a hunch that old Rydel is checking up on me. I've been riding around in this bus of his and the gas bill's kind of heavy. See?”
Steve grinned and nodded.
“Got a date with a gal,” confided Mullard. “Want to slide out of here along about nine; and I won't be back for an hour. Maybe some snooper is watching. Give me a break, will you?”
“How?”
“You know that old entrance over on the other side?”
“Sure. A couple of old junkers are blocking it.
“Shove them out so I can use the door. Worth a couple of bucks for your trouble?”
“You bet.”
The attendant went away. Mallard remained by the limousine, away from Hawkeye's range of vision. Though he had not spied the spotter, Mullard still figured that a car had trailed him. If so, it might have come back to the front of the F Street garage, after being shaken in the chase. By using the forgotten side door, Mullard was making a sure thing of a get?away.
EIGHT o'clock was nearing; it was the scheduled time for Coyd's speech. The Shadow, watching from the passage beside the brownstone house, saw a taxicab jolt to a stop in front. A man alighted; he was the radio technician sent to make the hook?up. He had evidently come from the banquet, allowing ample time for the final arrangements.
Hardly had the cab moved away before an imported coupe stopped before the house. Two girls alighted; Evelyn Coyd and Beatrice Rydel had hurried through their dinner in order to be in time for the speech. They, too, were admitted to the house.
Softly, The Shadow laughed as he merged beneath the darkness of the walls. His suppressed mirth faded, lost amid the patter of raindrops on the eaves above. A phantom shape, obscured in blackness, his time for action had come.
Every occurrence of this early evening had fitted The Shadow's analysis. A superscheme was ready for its payoff. Men of evil purpose had grasped their opportunity. They had planned and labored, prepared to offset counterthrusts; but they had not reckoned with the master who was due.
The Shadow.
CHAPTER XVIII. DECISIONS CHANGE.
WHILE The Shadow still lingered outside the darkened brownstone house, a group of persons had assembled in Congressman Coyd's upstairs living room.
Foster Crozan was seated there, in a comfortable easy?chair. He was talking quietly with Evelyn Coyd, who was seated opposite; while Beatrice Rydel was chatting with Hugh Tabbert.
Doctor Pierre Borneau was also present. Smoking a cigarette, the physician was slowly pacing back and forth across the room. In the corner stood Harry Vincent, his elbow resting on the big box that Burbank had delivered. Harry was watching the radio technician complete the hook?up.
The radio man had ignored the big box. Harry had expected that. Burbank had faked its hook?up; the only real connection that the box possessed was a wire to an isolated floor plug. The technician, in fact, had wondered what the cabinet was doing here and had decided that it was some mechanical device which did not concern him.
His work completed, the technician was using the telephone to call the downtown banquet room. Harry Vincent used this opportunity to note the other persons in the room. Tabbert interested him most; Harry noted that the red?haired secretary was scarcely listening to Beatrice Rydel's chatter. Tabbert was looking at Evelyn Coyd, who, in turn, was deliberately ignoring him.
Harry could see the clenching of Tabbert's fists; he knew that the fellow was thinking of Don Jurrick, whom Tabbert considered as a rival. For it was obvious that the home?town boy was in love with the congressman's daughter.
“Where is Mr. Coyd?”
The question was asked by the radio technician, a weary?faced, businesslike individual. Tabbert suddenly realized that he was being addressed. He turned about and spoke.
“Mr. Coyd is downstairs in his study,” he stated. “He went down there with you, didn't he, Doctor Borneau?”
“When I awakened him,” replied the physician, “he asked if he might go downstairs. He seemed in good spirits, so I permitted him to do so. Mr. Coyd is quite alert this evening.”
“I heard Jurrick's typewriter going,” stated Tabbert, “so I suppose that Mr. Coyd is dictating some additional
