The Shadow had explained facts to Vic Marquette — terse, pointed facts; and when he had finished speaking, he had left but one solution — a single plan of action, to which Marquette could do nothing other than agree.
Yet it was fully fifteen minutes after his visitor had gone when Marquette aroused himself to action.
The Shadow’s plan was a remarkable one — it depended upon chance to a great degree. Yet Marquette had faith in The Shadow. He knew that the man performed seeming miracles.
The plan which he had proposed demanded courage and ability; one important detail depended upon Marquette. Yet Marquette was to assume no risk whatever.
The secret-service man turned on the light. He picked up his hat, and left the room. He went to the street and called for a cab. He gave the driver the name of a hotel on Sixty-second Street.
Reaching his destination, Marquette told the man at the desk that he wished to speak to Lieutenant Branson.
The room clerk shook his head.
“Orders not to disturb,” he said. “He is asleep.”
“I must see him,” replied Marquette firmly.
“You can talk to his friend, Mr. Peterson,” said the clerk. “The gentleman over there in the corner of the lobby.”