The Plot Master s-71

by Maxwell Grant

  Strategy, not strength, would be the method by which the unknown plotter would gain those

  plans. Dadren's letter had paved the way. Seeking a method by which the master crook

  could profit by Dadren's message, The Shadow found the answer.

  His pen moved swiftly upon the paper. The Shadow was summarizing the facts that he had

  learned, through various sources, about Eric Hildrow. Professor Whitburn had supplied

  information. Polmore, in his confession to the professor had named the master crook as

  Reginald Satterly.

  A tall man—a red mustache—hair of the same color—a monocle—

  These notations faded. Then came Whitburn's own description of the man whom he had

  seen; the one whom Nuland had recognized as his chief.

  Sallow—black hair—black mustache—

  A dying crook had coughed out a confession in the Hotel Halcyon. His description of Eric

  Hildrow had begun like Whitburn's. Then the man had added words which The Shadow now

  wrote:

  Changed—to a beard—

  That change had come after the departure from Death Island, when Hildrow was faring forth

  to arrange for the capture of Commander Dadren. That was the guise in which Dadren must

  have met him. The character of a bearded man.

  Three disguises; beneath them, a face of which The Shadow had no description. In the

  battle aboard the Northern Express, tools of the master plotter had also been effectively

  disguised.

  Though Hildrow's various make-ups may have been hastily donned, there was no question

  but that the rogue was a master in the art of disguise. Therein lay his strongest forte. It was

  the weapon upon which he trusted in all his dealings.

  The Shadow laughed as his hand wrote prophetic words. The inscription faded. Then an

  object came into the light and rested there. It was a photograph of Commander Joseph

  Dadren; one that Harry Vincent had sent to The Shadow weeks ago.

  KEEN eyes studied the portrait. Their glare seemed to burn through the picture, as if

  seeking the face of the villain who was using Dadren in order to accomplish a fell purpose.

  Softly, The Shadow laughed.

  He had noted every feature of Dadren's face. He would not forget the details. He pressed

  the photograph to one side. Then he made a last notation:

  Wednesday. Two o'clock.

  The time that Harry Vincent was scheduled to go to the Navy Department. The beginning of

  a short period when Harry, who knew Dadren well, would be absent from Senator

  Releston's.

  As the writing faded, The Shadow inscribed two new words, both of which related to that

  hour on the coming Wednesday:

  Before. After.

  A whispered laugh crept through the room as The Shadow clicked the light switch. A form

  moved softly toward the window and drew aside the curtain. Keen eyes gazed off toward the

  myriad lights that formed a resplendent glow about the capital city.

  Gazing upon the scene, The Shadow laughed again. The echoes of his low, sinister tone

  seemed to repeat the words that he had written.

  "Wednesday—two o'clock—before—after -"

  There lay the crux of coming combat. There was The Shadow's plan to offset the cunning of

  the unknown plotter, Eric Hildrow. Both would move. One would win. The Shadow's laugh

  betokened confidence.

  Hildrow's hidden purpose; his coming thrust to be delivered at a timely hour—these were

  factors that others had failed to see. The depth of Hildrow's strategy had baffled Dadren,

  Releston and Marquette.

  Harry Vincent had not seen the game. The Shadow, alone, had analyzed it. Moreover, he

  had picked the one way by which Hildrow's methods could be most effectively thwarted.

  What Hildrow planned; the measures that could beat him— these were the thoughts that

  sprang in detail through the brain of that being beside the window.

  New crime would strike in Washington, that city that sparkled beyond The Shadow's

  window. Theft of mighty consequence; murder of a man who had striven to aid his

  country—these were the crimes that must be beaten.

  Only The Shadow knew.

  CHAPTER XVIII. WEDNESDAY BEFORE TWO

  WEDNESDAY afternoon found Harry Vincent in the office of Senator Releston's apartment.

  Vic Marquette was there; so was Stollart. Only Senator Releston was absent.

  Morning hours had drifted by. No word had come from Commander Dadren. These waiting

  men had discussed the matter; both Harry and Stollart had agreed with Vic Marquette when

  the Secret Service operative had proclaimed that the commander would not show up before

  to-morrow morning.

  Two o'clock was nearing. Harry was due to leave shortly for the Navy Department. The

  footsteps from the hallway broke the monotony. The three men turned, to see Senator

  Releston enter.

  Releston's quizzical look was answered by a shake of Vic Marquette's head.

  "No word from Commander Dadren," mused the senator, seating himself at the desk. "I am

  inclined, Marquette, to believe that we are the victims of a hoax. We may have made a

  grave mistake by giving our acquiescence to that note from Dadren."

  "Don't make any change until to-morrow noon," put in Vic. "We'd better play the game the

  way we started it, senator."

  "Certainly," agreed Releston. "Nevertheless, I -"

  He paused. Smedley had entered to announce that a caller was in the waiting room. He

  handed a card to the senator. Releston came up from his chair and made a gesture with

  both hands. Smedley, understanding, hurried out to call the visitor.

  "Is it Dadren?" demanded Vic.

  Releston nodded. He was too excited to speak. Then Harry Vincent, looking toward the door

  saw Commander Dadren enter.

  SENATOR RELESTON recognized the visitor's face. He came around the desk to shake

  hands with the rugged-faced commander.

  A smile appeared upon Dadren's lips as the freed prisoner spied a box of cigars upon the

  senator's desk. Without a word, he released his hand from Releston's and helped himself to

  a perfecto. He lighted the cigar, delivered a grunt of satisfaction and seated himself in a

  chair. Puffing contentedly, he began to speak.

  "I can talk now," declared Dadren. "I haven't had a smoke for a week. Those rascals left me

  without a cent in my pockets, otherwise I would have stopped at a cigar store on my way

  here."

  "Where were you held prisoner?" questioned Releston.

  "I don't know," replied Dadren. "Today, I was blindfolded and placed in an automobile. The

  car seemed to drive in circles. Men on both sides of me— ruffians with revolvers.

  "They brought me into Washington. I guessed, from the sound of traffic, that we were in the

  city. Then they shoved me from the car. I ripped away the blindfold. I was in an alleyway a

  block below this hotel."

  "What kind of a place did they have you in?" inquired Vic Marquette.

  Dadren stared suspiciously at the Secret Service operative. Releston introduced Vic. Then

  Dadren spied Harry Vincent and came to his feet to shake hands with his secretary. After

  that, he remembered Vic's question.

  "We can talk about that later," declared the commander. "Another matter is more important.

  Tell me, senator, are the plans safe? The ones that Vincent brought?"

  "They are here in my vault," declared Releston.<
br />
  "Let me see them," suggested Dadren.

  Releston waved his hand toward the door. While Dadren looked puzzled, Harry explained

  that the senator allowed no one in the office while he turned the combination of the vault.

  Harry led the way into the front living room. Marquette and Stollart followed. Dadren sank

  comfortably in a chair and puffed deeply at his cigar.

  Soon Senator Releston joined them. He gave the diagrammed sheets to Dadren. The

  commander studied them and nodded in satisfaction.

  "All is well," he declared.

  "You have the tracings?" questioned Releston.

  "No," answered Dadren. "I destroyed them."

  "What! You mean -"

  "They were unnecessary. That is, I can copy them from memory. I destroyed them as a

  gesture."

  "For the benefit of your captors?"

  "Yes. They thought the tracings were duplicates. They let me go because they could not get

  the originals, which were necessary to their game. So I tore up the tracings after they

  handed them to me. A bluff. It was a good policy."

  Harry Vincent happened to glance at his watch. Dadren noticed the move and shot an

  inquiring glance toward his secretary. Harry explained that he was due at the Navy

  Department. He gave the reason.

  "I can call them," he added. "Perhaps they would delay the inquiry -"

  "You don't know the department," interposed Dadren. "You must go there at once, Vincent.

  By the way, don't mention that I am back. I prefer to announce that fact myself."

  "Very well, sir."

  AS soon as Harry was gone, Senator Releston and Vic Marquette were ready with new

  questions. Commander Dadren waved his hand in an annoyed fashion. He turned to Stollart.

  "I left my suitcase in the waiting room," said Dadren to Releston's secretary. "It contains a

  few papers that my captors returned to me. Nothing pertaining to the plans"- this was to

  Releston—"but there are letters to which I must refer. Could you get it for me?"

  The final remark was to Stollart. The secretary nodded and started for the little hall. Dadren

  called after him, asking him to bring in the box of cigars from the senator's desk.

  "I could smoke steadily for a week," laughed Dadren. "It's funny, now that it's past, but it's

  hard to go without tobacco, when a man is a heavy smoker like myself."

  Stollart arrived with the suitcase. Dadren placed it beside his chair, but did not open it. He

  stretched one leg upon the heavy bag; with cigar between his fingers, he spoke to Releston

  and Marquette.

  "Let's leave the questions until later," he decided. "Only one thing is on my mind right now:

  Those diagrams that I destroyed. I want to reconstruct them. I can do it by making notes to

  begin with. Is this man your secretary, senator?"

  He indicated Stollart. Releston nodded.

  "Has he studied the submarine plans?" inquired Dadren.

  "No," replied Releston.

  "But you two have?" asked Dadren, indicating Vic along with the senator.

  "Yes," answered Releston.

  "Then I must request privacy," asserted Dadren. "My plans, senator, are something like your

  vault. They have a combination which must be kept secret. If I dictated to a person who has

  not examined the plans, he will know nothing. I should like you and Mr. Marquette to be

  absent."

  So speaking, Dadren picked up the plans that Releston had brought from the vault. He

  began to look over the diagrams.

  Senator Releston suggested that Dadren and Stollart go in the office. The commander

  smiled and shook his head.

  "This room will do," he said. "After I have finished the dictation, I shall be ready to go to the

  Navy Department."

  "I'll go with you," offered Vic.

  "Very well," agreed Dadren.

  Releston arose and went toward the office. Marquette followed. Dadren motioned to Stollart

  to close the door. The secretary did so. He was alone with Commander Dadren in that

  single room which extended out from Senator Releston's spacious apartment.

  WHEN Senator Releston reached his office, he seated himself behind the desk. Vic

  Marquette, however, remained standing. The operative began to pace, restlessly. Silent

  minutes passed. At the end of ten, the door opened and Stollart appeared.

  "Where is Commander Dadren?" questioned Releston.

  "He departed, sir," replied Stollart, seriously. "He took the plans and my shorthand notes. He

  said he would have the notes typed at the Navy Department."

  "He departed!" cried Vic Marquette. "Which way did he go?"

  "Through the outer door of the living room," replied Stollart. "He ordered me to bolt it after

  him. I did. Then it struck me as rather peculiar that he should choose that exit -"

  Vic Marquette leaped for the telephone. He called the desk. He learned that several persons

  had just come down on an elevator. The clerk had seen them go out; he could not say,

  however, if any answered Dadren's description.

  "Call the Navy Department," suggested Senator Releston. "Perhaps they -"

  "No use," growled Vic. "That's the last place we'd find him. That man was an impostor. I was

  beginning to suspect it. He's taken the diagrams with the tracings. He's landed the works!"

  With this statement, Vic became glum. He stared at the senator, whose face reflected the

  same expression. Only Stollart was unperturbed. Unnoticed, the secretary was wearing a

  smile of satisfaction.

  By skillful stratagem, an impersonator of Commander Joseph Dadren had boldly walked

  into Senator Releston's abode. He had asked for the plans that had been brought by Harry

  Vincent. He had received them.

  Coolly, this crafty worker had followed up his deception. Such was the aftermath of the letter

  from the real Commander Dadren. A keen brain had designed a simple but effective

  method to gain the priceless plans that had lain behind the formidable door of Senator

  Releston's impregnable vault.

  CHAPTER XIX. WEDNESDAY AFTER TWO

  TWO o'clock.

  Vic Marquette, pacing nervously, noted the time. Senator Releston was at his desk, deep in

  thought. Stollart stood inconspicuously at one side.

  "I thought of calling Vincent," said Marquette, savagely. "But that wouldn't do any good. He's

  over at that inquiry; it would be a tough job to get hold of him."

  "There is still a chance," declared Releston, "that we have not been deceived. I still think that

  a call to the Navy Department -"

  "Would ruin everything," broke in Vic. "Listen, senator. If that was really Dadren who came

  here, all we've got to do is wait. Let him handle the matter the way he wants. But if the fellow

  was a faker, we could call every department in Washington and it wouldn't bring him back."

  "You are right, Marquette," admitted Releston, with a solemn nod.

  "Dumb work on your part, Stollart," accused Vic, whirling to the silent secretary. "If you hadn't

  let him get away; if you'd only come in here to tell us he was going -"

  Protest showed on Stollart's face; it was Releston, however, who intervened.

  "Save criticism for yourself, Marquette," he said, sternly. "Do not shift the blame to Stollart."

  Vic subsided glumly. He resumed his pacing. Two minutes passed; then came footsteps.

  Vic turned to see Smedley enter. The servant looked puzzled.

  "What is it, Smedley?" inquired Releston.<
br />
  "Commander Dadren has arrived, sir," returned the servant. "He is in the waiting room.

  But—I don't understand -"

  "Dadren has returned?" exclaimed Releston.

  "But he hasn't, sir," protested Smedley. "He announced himself as if he had never seen me

  before. And he looks a bit different, sir."

  "The real Dadren!" shouted Vic, pouncing toward the door.

  Before Vic reached the portal, Dadren himself appeared. He had heard the cries; he had

  come to learn the trouble. Under his arm he carried a portfolio. Smedley was right; this

  Dadren looked different from the other.

  SENATOR RELESTON recalled a definite appearance of the first visitor's face. Firm

  features, so well molded that they had been almost masklike. This man looked less like

  Dadren than Releston had expected. Had the two been side by side, the senator would have

  chosen the first Dadren as the genuine. Circumstances, however, made him decide in favor

  of the newcomer.

  Vic Marquette had denounced the first visitor as an impostor. Releston had given accord.

  Both took it for granted that Commander Dadren stood before them. In fact, the naval officer

  looked bewildered at the excitement which his arrival had created. Looking past Releston

  and Marquette, he caught sight of Stollart.

  A warning signal from the secretary. It was Stollart, at present, who was troubled. While

  Releston and Marquette had been registering elation, Stollart had lost his smug satisfaction.

  Sight of this new face; a glimpse of the portfolio—both were enough to tell bad news to

  Stollart.

  "At last." Dadren appeared relieved as he forced a smile, yet all the while his eyes were

  watchful. "Here I am, senator, with the missing portions of the plans."

  Advancing to the desk, he opened the portfolio. From it, he drew forth the sheets of tracings

  and spread them out that all could see.

  "Give me the other drawings," suggested the commander. "I shall show you how they fit."

  "We have bad news, commander," interjected Releston, going back to his desk. "The

  plans—the ones Vincent brought—are gone!"

  "Gone!" exclaimed Dadren.

  Looking about, he caught Stollart's eye. Again a danger signal came from the troubled

  secretary. Dadren looked to Releston for an explanation.