SPARK’S hard eyes showed their admiration for the scheme. Malfort purred the details.

“Since Cranston is the last man,” stated the master crook, “there is no need to intercept him before he reaches Rowden’s. We intended to concentrate upon the major, as soon as the money men were gone. Tonight, it will be a simple matter to eliminate both Cranston and Rowden, when they hold their meeting in the penthouse. I, personally, shall attend to that task.”

Malfort paused to study the fire flame. When he spoke again, his tone was harsh.

“So much for our campaign,” he declared. “We must now consider The Shadow as a factor. Let us assume that he knows everything. He has learned why we murdered Blessingdale and Hessup – to say nothing of Durlew. To show his strength, he arranged Furbish’s visit to Rowden, last night.

“Since he protected Furbish, he will also be on hand to safeguard Cranston. We can not chance an open battle with The Shadow. Therefore, I must see to it that The Shadow can not be present. Unless -”

Malfort stopped suddenly; his eyes revealed a cunning gleam. Spark listened expectantly.

“Unless,” concluded Malfort, “The Shadow and Lamont Cranston prove to be one and the same!”

Spark uttered an exclamation of astonishment. Finding his voice, he warned:

“You’ll have to look out then, chief. If The Shadow is Cranston, he’ll show up in the penthouse.”

“Let him,” retorted Malfort. “The penthouse will be a perfect trap! Better even than the one last night! That snare had a loophole, which Ku-Nuan did not cover. Rowden’s penthouse will have none. All that I shall need is four competent marksmen.”

“You’ve got them, chief. The gorillas at the hide-out. Barthow can smuggle them through when you need them.”

“I am depending upon those four. Cranston will be doomed, whether or not he is The Shadow. For the present, however, we must consider The Shadow independently. Suppose that we should block him completely; take him from the field beforehand. How would that appeal to you, Spark?”

“Sounds like a pipe dream, chief -”

“Perhaps it is,” Malfort paused speculatively. “Yes, it would depend upon luck – and luck is always uncertain. The Shadow had luck last night. Perhaps his fortune is due to change.”

Rising, Malfort paced before the fire, rubbing his hands in front of the flame, chortling softly to himself. His manner changed as he swung toward Spark.

“LAST night,” reminded Malfort, “it was The Shadow who tipped off the police. He wanted it to look like sheer coincidence; but there were too many police, to be there by pure accident. We must remember that The Shadow has one weapon that he can always invoke. That weapon is the law.”

“The cops aren’t wise,” objected Spark. “They don’t know that we were covering the Maribar Hotel.”

“Simply because The Shadow did not choose to tell them,” stated Malfort. “He knows that once the Maribar is attacked, I shall take to final cover with my spoils. Just as I have used Major Rowden as bait for men with money, so has The Shadow kept the situation intact, knowing that I must eventually strike at Rowden.”

“If The Shadow is Cranston, you’ll bag him -”

“But suppose he is not Cranston?”

“Then you’ll slip one past him, chief. He’ll do like he did with Furbish. Send him through and wait for him to come out again, particularly because he’s wise that I can’t show up with an outfit. Only Cranston won’t come out like Furbish did -”

“You are underestimating The Shadow, Spark. He will foresee that I may be planning to eliminate Rowden along with Cranston.”

“He’ll figure the pay-off will come tonight?”

Malfort nodded.

“Yes,” decided the supercrook. “The Shadow will foresee a final conflict in the penthouse. Therefore, I must act to thwart him beforehand. You will aid me, Spark – you and Ku-Nuan. First, though, I shall rely on luck.”

“You’ll be taking a long chance, chief,” expressed Spark, doubtfully. “If it goes haywire – this stunt you’re planning on – it may put you on the spot. It might put The Shadow wise to where you are. It might bring him here – to this house -”

“Possibly.”

Malfort’s smile, reddened by the fire, was the crimson leer of a demon. Spark gazed, speechless. He had seen that gloat before. He knew the results that it brought. Spark’s idea of odds changed suddenly. He was ready to place his wager on Malfort, against The Shadow.

“Go,” ordered Malfort. “Rest until tonight. I shall need you then, with Ku-Nuan.”

Spark arose, his bulldog face as rigid as if under a hypnotic spell. At the door, the lieutenant turned back to gaze again at Malfort. He saw the master plotter against the ruddiness of the fire. Leering features still held their satanic gleam.

Spark Ganza had a sudden hunch that Kenneth Malfort would depend upon more than ordinary luck in his coming scheme against The Shadow. Spark continued on his way.

Malfort remained in meditative pose. Concentrated though he was, Malfort’s remark, a few minutes later, showed that he was alert to all that passed about him. Malfort spoke the name: “Wardlock.”

Though his back was turned, Malfort had heard the soft-footed secretary approach the door. Wardlock responded. Malfort swung about. He questioned:

“Do you remember, Wardlock; when we came here? I said then that -” Malfort paused. Wardlock was nodding, a gleam upon his moonish face. Knowing that the secretary understood his statement, Malfort continued with a final, cryptic utterance:

“It will happen tonight!”

CHAPTER XV – THE MESSAGE AT DUSK

THE day had ended without new event. On Manhattan’s streets, newsboys were still shouting about the law’s battle with crime; but the evening newspapers provided no fresh details.

Spark Ganza had not been located; nor had the police found any other members of his band. The evening journals had simply rehashed the morning accounts. One tabloid was beginning a life story of Spark Ganza, terming the missing crook a new “public enemy,” while other newspapers were predicting a general round-up by the police. These were merely attempts to manufacture news where none existed.

Outside a tall office building, a well-dressed man had paused to scan the front pages of the final edition. After a brief glance, he shoved the newspaper into a trash can near the curb. As he turned toward the entrance to the building, this individual showed his face in the light.

The well-dressed man was The Shadow; his features bore the make-up of Henry Arnaud.

This was one of The Shadow’s favorite disguises. Fuller than the face of Cranston, the features of Arnaud completely changed his facial contour. Well-molded, they showed no traces of falsity. Nevertheless, The Shadow could divest himself of that visage in the darkness, as he had proved the night when he had left Major Rowden’s. Beneath the built-up surface of the Arnaud disguise were the features of Cranston.

There was one reason why The Shadow preferred the Arnaud disguise when roving about town. The character of Henry Arnaud was purely The Shadow’s own invention. No actual Arnaud existed. There was, however, a real Lamont Cranston. Hence, The Shadow deemed it unwise to use his countenance when visiting places where Cranston was not likely to be seen.

This office building was an example. Though a tall one, it was antiquated; and there were few offices occupied on its upper floors. The Shadow was going to the twenty-fifth, to visit an empty office. Not an unlikely trip for the supposed Henry Arnaud, who seemed to prefer out-of-the-way spots; but certainly a most unusual journey had Lamont Cranston taken it. The globetrotting millionaire liked the jungles of India and the wilds of Tibet; but never the empty floors of Manhattan office buildings.