As he repeated these things, Burbank was changing plugs in the switchboard, to reach various persons and inform them. There was only one that caused a brief delay; it was to the Graceland Memorial Library, which was located rather far up Fifth Avenue. Distance wasn’t what delayed it; time was needed simply because a certain Mr. Cranston had to be informed that he was wanted on the telephone.
Now The Shadow’s agents were definitely on the move. The question was how much they could accomplish even if they reached the Lookout Cafe in time to operate.
The Lookout Cafe was a most popular place. Only a short distance inside the park, it combined an old mansion with a garden to compose a fashionable eating spot. The only hazard was the weather; if bad, it crowded the patrons indoors, but that didn’t apply tonight because although the sky was overcast, there was no threat of rain.
Hence finding a man named Claude Older, particularly if you’d never met him, was something very difficult, even more difficult than locating a blue coupe among some fifty cars all parked in the darkness.
What helped was the loud-speaker which suddenly interrupted the orchestra that was playing on the garden terrace. It announced:
“Mr. Older - Mr. Claude Older - your friend is here -”
A pause followed, during which a number of diners stirred at various tables, but only because they were restless. Nobody answered to the name of Claude Older.
Again the amplifier spoke:
“A friend waiting for Mr. Older - a friend waiting outside -”
Several people were rising to step to a larger table that a waiter had prepared for them. Nobody noticed a man on the very fringe of the garden, who sidled from his chair as if to light a cigarette away from the slight breeze. He was a man with a high forehead and a baldish head that was compensated by a bristly mustache.