would meet The Shadow, too!
CHAPTER VI
A MAN'S BEST FRIEND
FROM the dirty window of a dingy hotel room, Chet Conroy surveyed the town
of Packensaw and the hill beyond it. This poor lodging was the best that he
could get, but it suited Chet's circumstance. Bedraggled by his flight, his
finances limited to less than ten dollars that happened to be in his pocket,
Chet preferred surroundings that were cheap, with no questions asked.
It was well into the afternoon, and so far, Chet had accomplished but two
things. He'd phoned the Thorneau Brass Works and had learned that Humphrey
Thorneau was in New York. Thorneau was expected back this evening, but not at
the brass works. He could be reached at his residence, when he returned.
In fact, Chet gained the impression that Thorneau seldom bothered to visit
the brass works, which wasn't surprising. The business was one of his earliest
enterprises that had long since dwindled in relative importance. Thorneau had
bought up other businesses in Packensaw, everything from woolen mills to
brickyards, but his policy was always to unload one good asset for something
better.
At present, as Chet already knew, Thorneau had been buying into aviation
plants, shipyards, and other important lines where his ability to get results
could gain its full expression. His new interests were scattered far and wide;
indeed, Chet could picture Thorneau smiling at the present boom in Packensaw,
rating it as very small time in comparison to the nationwide speed-up with which
Thorneau was so familiar.
It didn't surprise Chet, though, that Thorneau still lived in Packensaw.
The reason was very visible; it stood on the hillside that dominated the town, a
mammoth residence built of gray stone, surrounded by a large estate that
probably rivaled the average baronial home.
Chet could gauge the size of Thorneau's preserves by the great stone wall
that surrounded the grounds. It ran through woods, up slopes, and out of sight
behind the hill. Thorneau's house, with its huge walls and conical turrets, was
a veritable castle, in the style of a French chateau. It even had extensive
stables and other buildings, including a gatekeeper's lodge.
A gloomy old place, perhaps, but Chet was anxious to reach it. The second
thing he'd accomplished would help him when he reached his goal. Chet had sent
his suit out to be sponged and pressed, and the job had been well done. Right
now, the wavy mirror in the hotel room reproduced Chet Conroy in the fashion of
a gentleman.
Still, Chet would have to reach Thorneau's.
As he pondered on that problem, Chet noticed motion at the distant gate
that fronted Thorneau's estate. Two cars were drawing aside, each to let the
other pass. One was a station wagon, coming out. The other was an entering
limousine.
Chet's eyes followed the station wagon, though his mind was on the larger
car, for he knew the limousine must be bringing Thorneau home. But the chance
way in which Chet's gaze trailed the less important vehicle proved much to his
