The Shadow - 180 - Wizard of Crime by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1939-07-31T22:00:00+00:00

Fred was too busy reading a note that he had taken from an envelope. Thrusting the note in his pocket, he sauntered along the town’s main street, passed a fair-sized hotel and entered a garage which advertised cars for hire on a drive

yourself basis.

Not only did Fred rent a car; he stated where he was going, because he needed directions on how to get there. He inquired for a place named Sylvan Lodge, and Harry, loitering outside the office, heard the exact specifications that the garage man gave.

Sylvan Lodge was ten miles out of town on the other side of Marripack Gorge. By parking at the site of the old Halfway House, Fred could take the path that led across the footbridge and reach the lodge within a quarter mile.

Looking up from a road map, Harry saw Fred nod, and guessed what was in his mind. Paxton’s own visit to Dudley had been secret; if Fred was to call on another financier, the instructions probably emphasized a similar process. On that account, the footbridge would be Fred’s best route.

Easing out before Fred noticed him, Harry went into the hotel and put in a

long-distance call to Burbank. He learned that The Shadow was already on his way

and would pick up any message left at the hotel. So Harry wrote one, put it in an envelope and gave it to the clerk, marking it with the name of Henry Arnaud,

which The Shadow used on specified occasions.

That done; Harry went to the garage and hired a car of his own.

Fred had already left, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was Harry’s

own policy. He inquired for road directions, too, but his questions concerned a

town that he had noted on the road map, about; thirty miles in the opposite direction from Sylvan Lodge.

Driving out of town, Harry reversed his direction and made quick time to the place where the Halfway House once stood.

It was a perfect spot to park a car unnoticed, for the side of the old hotel was banked with rhododendrons that formed a huge, flowering screen.

Fred’s car was deep in a place a stable had once occupied. Harry chose a similar retreat that looked like the remains of an old bowling alley.

It wasn’t yet dusk, but the wooded path was shrouded with a preternatural gloom. Peaceful though the setting was, its very quiet, broken only by the sound of wood-choppers at work, was foreboding to Harry Vincent.

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