Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 076 by Maxwel l Grant

Author:Maxwel,l Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

CHAPTER XIV. THE MEETING

LATE the next afternoon, a dapper man strolled into the lobby of the Hotel Goliath. He stopped at the desk, inquired for the key to Suite 1472 and asked if any mail or telephone calls had been received for Mr. Verne. The clerk's reply was negative.

Montague Verne strolled aboard an elevator. Standing there, he appeared to be a middle-aged idler who was bored with life. Verne was difficult to place. He might have been an Englishman; or he might have been an American who had traveled extensively abroad.

His demeanor, however, showed him a man of the world. His face, rugged in outline, was drooping in its features. His profile, which showed as he turned toward the side of the elevator, possessed a definite bluntness.

The elevator traveled up to the fourteenth floor. Verne paused to obtain a drink of ice water after he had left the elevator. The faucet was close beside the elevators; as he drank, Verne noted a mail chute also.

He pulled some picture post cards from his pocket and dropped them down the chute.

Verne strolled to 1472. He unlocked the door and stepped into the living room of a small suite. He closed the door behind him; then turned around and stopped in surprise.

He was facing a tall intruder who was standing in a corner of the room.

STARTLEMENT registered itself but momentarily on Verne's face. Regaining his composure, Verne studied the personage before him. He saw a countenance that was impressive. The tall stranger had a hawk-like visage that maintained the solemn expression of a mask.

Verne calmly placed his hat upon a table. He pulled a tabloid newspaper from his pocket and laid it there also. Nonchalantly lighting a cigarette, he turned to the corner and asked: “Well, who are you!”

A faint smile showed on thin lips. The Shadow responded quietly.

“My name,” he stated, in an even tone, “is Lamont Cranston. Perhaps you have heard the name before.”

Verne's eyes lighted momentarily. Then the dapper man shook his head.

“Can't say that I have, old top,” he remarked. “Let me see. Cranston, you say. Lamont Cranston—”

“A friend of Silas Tilton.”

“Silas Tilton?”

A quiet laugh from The Shadow's thin lips.

“Come, Verne”—it was the tone of Cranston—“you have read the newspapers. In fact, you have just laid a copy of the Classic on the table. I suppose you have read the advertisement that appeared in today's edition. The one addressed to Signet. Do you intend to answer it?”

Verne looked chagrined. Then he shrugged his shoulders and formed a drooping smile.

“Yes, I've read the newspapers,” he admitted. “I know who you are, Cranston. You were mentioned as a guest at Tilton's, who left just before trouble started there. But tell me: how did you guess that I was Signet?”

“Quite simply.” The Shadow's face still held its knowing smile. “That is, I learned enough to suppose that someone staying at the Hotel Goliath might be Signet.”

“You have seen the correspondence that I conducted with Stanton Treblaw?” Verne was parrying with an artful fashion.

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