That was all that Rutledge Mann heard. It produced immediate action. He called a telephone number and repeated the word to the man who answered. After that, Mann waited.
It was nearly five o’clock when the stenographer entered the private office, carrying an envelope.
“This came through the mail chute,” she said.
Mann took the envelope. He closed the door after the girl had gone. Then he began to read a message from The Shadow — another of those strange, fading notes that told its story in cryptic code, then disappeared so no prying eyes could study it.
REACHING for the telephone, Mann called the Metrolite Hotel. He was connected with a guest named Harry Vincent. In a quiet voice, Mann inquired to whom he was speaking; then said:
“This is the Sea Breeze Realty Corporation. Our building plans offer a man a real opportunity at small investment. Once you have studied our offer, you will be interested.”
“I don’t think so,” came Vincent’s voice. “I spend my summers in the Middle West. I’m not interested in beach lots.”
Rutledge Mann hung up the telephone. In that short conversation, he had sent a very definite order to Harry Vincent. He had emphasized certain words. Phonetically, those words declared: “See R. Mann at once!”
Fifteen minutes later, Harry Vincent appeared in Rutledge Mann’s office. Like Clyde Burke, Harry was admitted to the inner room. For he, too, was one of The Shadow’s trusted agents.
Rutledge Mann placed two clippings in Harry’s hand. One told of the death of George Andrews; the other was the story of the finding of Dale Wharton’s body.