The man at the table tore the sheets and the clippings. That case was ended. He referred to another. This was the account of a bank robbery in London — a mystery that had baffled the best sleuths in Scotland Yard.
The stolen money — sixty thousand pounds — had been recovered following a tip from an unknown source. The same night, two men had been discovered dead in a London rooming house; the victims of a gun fray.
There was no apparent connection between these persons — reputed to be criminals — and the restored bank funds. How they had met their end was a mystery.
The Shadow tore these clippings, and with them the typed sheets. That case was closed.
Those dead men were the robbers.
How they had stolen and lost the bank notes — how they had died, and why — these, again, were facts that only The Shadow knew!
There was a third pile of clippings. These related to a Parisian affair, the death of Herbert Brockley; the subsequent killing of Parisian criminals who had been responsible for it; and the flight and disappearance of one of the gang.
The American referred closely to this subject. He folded up the papers and inserted them in a secret drawer of a small steamer trunk that was standing in the corner. From another compartment of the trunk, the man produced a package.
Tucking the bundle under his arm, he left the suite, and descended to the lobby of the hotel. He walked along the street for several blocks; then stopped a taxicab, and spoke to the driver in perfect French. He ordered the man to take him to a certain cafe — the Poisson d'Or. The driver looked astonished. He could not believe the instructions. The Poisson d'Or was one of the worst dives in all Paris. It was patronized only by criminals of the most notorious type.
Unwelcome strangers usually met death there.