He glanced at his son, but Bruce merely shrugged and went back to his magazine. Timothy bowed, murmured a courteous phrase and took his leave.
A FEW minutes passed, which The Shadow bridged skillfully with Cranston's polite conversation. He was determined to find out who these visitors were to whom Bruce had referred.
Their coming had evidently excited both father and son. The Shadow decided
from the old man's fidgety behavior, his sly glances at his watch, that the visitors were due at any moment now. He was correct. Again the front door bell clanged.
Bruce rose instantly from the sofa where he had been sitting so lazily.
His whole manner became sullen, almost defiant. With a quick stride, he walked toward the living room door.
He said crisply over his shoulder: 'Good night, father. I think I'll go to
the library and play a game or two of solitaire.'
He was gone before Arnold Dixon could utter a word.
Hardly had he left when the heavy footfalls of Charles approached from the
front hall.
'Mr. Joe Snaper and Mr. Bert Hooley,' Charles announced.
'Better show Mr. Cranston into the library,' Dixon said, hurriedly.
'Very good, sir.'
But The Shadow had other plans. He wanted to study for a moment this strange pair who had just entered the room. He stepped closer to them, his smile friendly.
'Good evening, gentlemen. I'm sorry to have blundered in on your appointment.'
'Okay. That's all right with us,' Hooley said.
'Sure! We got lots of time,' Snaper said. He laughed briefly, exposing yellow teeth.
The Shadow summarized the two with a swift glance. Jailbirds! No doubt of that at all. The pasty faces, the low husky voices, the peculiar enunciation from the corners of their mouths were eloquent evidence that these two
'gentlemen' had served time behind prison walls.
Snaper was the uglier of the two. He was lanky, loose-jointed, with a grin
as tight as a steel trap. He had a thin shock of mouse-colored hair. In spite of
the fact that he was wearing expensive clothes, he had neglected to shave himself and his leathery cheeks were peppered with a frosty stubble of beard.
From the set of his coat The Shadow was convinced that the fellow was carrying a large-calibered gun in a concealed shoulder holster.
Hooley was plumper, definitely more dapper. He was almost completely bald.
He smelled faintly of cheap perfume.
'Perhaps I'd better wait in the library while you gentlemen transact your business,' The Shadow remarked in Cranston's quiet tone.
THE SHADOW followed the butler down a long gloomy hall, around a corner cut sharply in the length of the corridor and so into a massively built room with bookshelves lining the wall solidly on all sides.
There was a deck of cards lying on the oaken surface of a heavy antique table and a leather chair was drawn up close to the table edge. But otherwise the library was empty. There was no sign of Bruce.
Charles was drifting quietly away when Cranston's curt voice halted him.
'Just a moment, please. Where's Bruce?'
'I'm sure I don't know, sir.'
'He said he was coming in here. Do you happen to know where he went?'
'No, sir. I don't.'
Charles was getting more and more nervous under the curt questioning of this well-dressed clubman with the piercing eyes.
'It's not my place to - er - follow the movements of Mr. Bruce,' he murmured, his whole manner defiant.
'Is it your place to discuss his character and his personality with Mr.
Timothy?' The Shadow asked, sharply. 'Do you suppose your employer would like to know that you are in doubt about the paternity of his son?'
Charles straightened as if he had been shot. His face became pale with fright.
'You - you heard me talking to Mr. Timothy, to-night? Who - who are you, sir? Not a - detective?'
'I'm a friend of Mr. Arnold Dixon. A word from me will lose you your job, Charles. Let that be a warning to you to answer my questions and to say nothing
afterward. What do you really knew about Snaper and Hooley?'
'Nothing, sir. I swear it!'
'You're sure that you don't know where Bruce disappears when these men call twice a month on his father?'
'I don't know.'
The Shadow studied the butler narrowly.
'Very well. We'll drop that matter, for the present.' He listened rigidly for a moment. 'I want you to leave this library at once and remain in the hall near the front door. You understand?'
'Yes, sir.'
'When you hear Hooley and Snaper coming out of Mr Dixon's study, I want you to cough twice. I have keen ears and will hear you.'
'I understand, sir.'
Charles left with frightened haste, taking care, however, to make no sound.
THE SHADOW waited a moment, then he approached the library window. It was locked, but he found the catch, released it and lifted the heavy sash.
Thrusting his head out into the darkness, he stared toward the projecting of the house where the study was located and where - this was The Shadow's shrewd guess - the valuable collection of Chinese pottery was probably stored on one of the upper floors.
He could see nothing of the scene inside Dixon's study. The shade was drawn on the only window within range of his vision. But, veering his eyes about the grounds that stretched black and formless under the stars, he was suddenly aware of furtive motion.
A figure was gliding rapidly between the shaggy masses of two adjacent bushes. A man! - bent low toward the ground, with something rigid in his hand that looked suspiciously like the outline of a gun. The man was gone before The
Shadow was able to catch a glimpse of his averted face.
Was it Bruce Dixon? This was the thought that made The Shadow stiffen. In poundage and height the figure had seemed remarkably similar to the millionaire's mysteriously vanished son.
The Shadow was lifting one well-shod foot across the sill of the window when from the corridor beyond the library he heard the unmistakable sound of a man coughing. Instantly, he abandoned his plan to slip out and have a look at the grounds. Hooley and Snaper were leaving! Charles, afraid to disobey Cranston's orders, was warning him of that fact.
The Shadow lowered the window. He left it unlocked. He hurried from the library to the front hall, just in time to intercept Arnold Dixon and his two departing visitors.
Glibly, The Shadow explained that he had changed his mind. He had remembered a previous appointment that would make it impossible for him to remain and view Dixon's collection of pottery.
As he talked he managed to bump slightly against Joe Snaper His sharp eyes
had detected something that jammed up the flap of Snaper's coat pocket. It was the leather top of a large bill fold.
To slip it unnoticed from Snaper's pocket was child's play for The Shadow.
It was palmed in his deft hand, shielded by the width of his body as he turned with a sudden amused
