But Cliff, even if he had not been informed beforehand, would have immediately recognized their true caliber. He knew graduates of the underworld when he saw them. Every man in Orlinov's retinue was a close-mouthed mobster who had come here from New York.
There was a gun on every hip. The gardeners carried weapons; so did the cook. As Cliff shifted his position, he felt his own revolver bulge against his side. For although he was technically Orlinov's secretary, he was also an appointed member of the crew of armed henchmen whose vigilance was never ending.
It had been Biff Towley's task to supply Orlinov with retainers, and the New York gang leader had done his work well. Every one of these underlings took orders direct from the Russian. Each man had his own duties, and kept his own counsel. Arguments and disagreements were taboo. Every man had a good reason for being satisfied here, living easy and away from the besetting difficulties of Manhattan. Had anyone attempted mutiny, the others would have swarmed upon him in an instant. In this transplanted realm of gangdom, Cliff Marsland was biding his time. He had duties here, other than those which Biff Towley had planned for him.
While he appeared to be answerable to Biff alone, he was actually in the service of The Shadow.
But he knew that his usefulness would cease the moment that he betrayed his hand. For that reason, Cliff Marsland was playing a waiting game. Already he had learned a few facts of interest. He was holding them for the present. It was not yet time to communicate with The Shadow. There was mystery here in Orlinov's castle; and so far, Cliff had not been able to penetrate it. The huge building was divided into three sections, the narrow central portion and the two side wings. The left portion of the house was where the majority of the men resided, Cliff among them. Ivan Orlinov and two of his oldest henchmen lived in the right wing of the building.
There, Cliff knew, Orlinov had a laboratory and a workshop, His only assistant — outside of the mobsters — was a taciturn Russian called Petri, who never left that portion of the house.
The wing could be entered only from the central section, and the way was closed by an iron door.
On the surface, it seemed likely that Orlinov was merely a suspicious inventor who feared that someone might steal the fruits of his creative mind; but Cliff thought differently. Unless Orlinov feared the law itself, he would not require the services of such a large crew of mobsters.
How did affairs at this place concern The Shadow? That was a question Cliff Marsland could not answer.
When he had arrived here, he had wondered why there had been no action. The presence of the armed force was not sufficient to restrain The Shadow. Cliff had known that remarkable man to fight his way through twenty hoodlums.