he's due here shortly. But it won't matter. I'll have my servant tell Graff I've
gone out of town."
Nodding toward Shebley, Frescott fumbled the dial in what seemed accidental
fashion. Repeating the process slowly, the professor took pains to keep from
getting his number before Shebley went, which wasn't difficult, because Shebley
was already starting from the room, calling for his valet.
With a smile that marked him capable of conniving practices, Frescott
completed the connection. Alone in Shebley's curio room, Frescott asked to be
connected with his own office in the Museum of Antiquities. There were a few
rings from the line; then came a voice that Frescott recognized.
"Hello, Cranston." Frescott's tone was both affable and confidential.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, but I have some last minute news. You know Jared
Shebley, of course?"
Apparently Lamont Cranston did, and said so. From then on, Professor
Frescott was very precise.
"Shebley has heard on what he regards as good authority," stated Frescott,
"that the chest of Chu Chan has gone to a Washington dealer. So Shebley is
taking the next plane to Washington. You will just about have time to do the
same."
The abrupt click of the receiver at the other end told that Cranston wasn't
losing a moment in acting on Frescott's advice. With a subdued chuckle, the old
professor arose from his chair and rustled the proof sheets on the chess table
as he fumbled for his hat that was lying there.
Leaving the dusk-shrouded room, Frescott went out through the hallway; his
hat still in hand, he bowed to Shebley's servant as he left. Taking the elevator
down to the ground floor, the professor went out to the street.
There was something crablike in Frescott's rapid gait toward the nearest
corner. Over his shoulder, the benign-faced man looked back with a conniving
smile. Someone was entering the rather modest apartment house that was
noteworthy only because of Shebley's lavish penthouse; somebody whose face
Frescott recognized.
The arrival, sallow of face and worried, was Lionel Graff, the speculator
who had come to convince Jared Shebley that he ought to buy the chest of Chu
Chan. Graff would be sadly disappointed when he learned of Shebley's sudden
departure, and that fact gladdened Professor Frescott.
If he hadn't been watching Graff, Frescott might have noticed something
that happened on the far side of the street. There, a figure stirred from a
dusk-fronted building and kept pace with Frescott as he turned the corner.
Possibly the professor wouldn't have seen the shape that trailed him, for its
manner was decidedly furtive.
Though its height was uncertain, the figure was lithe, if not slender.
Gliding from one dusk-patch to another, it gave the effect of being clad in a
dark cape. It dwindled into gloom near the corner, thus adding a mysterious
aftermath to the canny game that Frescott had played.
In manner, at least, the mystery figure resembled The Shadow, the famous
personage who roved Manhattan's streets at dusk in search of crime to conquer.
But there were two good reasons why The Shadow could not be hereabouts this
evening.
First, The Shadow had been too far from Shebley's apartment house to reach
there before Frescott left; again, The Shadow had decided upon another
