The millionaire paid one final visit to the wireless room before he left. No message had been received from Vincent. So Lamont Cranston entered his luxurious limousine, and was driven to the city.
* * *
Shortly before six o’clock, Lamont Cranston appeared at the exclusive Cobalt Club. He put in a call for his home, and talked to Burbank. No message had been received.
“Never mind,” he told the wireless operator. “I can wait until nearly nine o’clock. If you receive any word, put it down in tabloid form, so you can give me the details quickly. I can fix a reply in less than ten minutes.”
“Very good,” said Burbank.
Had he known that the reply — no matter how important it might be — was to go over the air, artfully concealed in a radio program, Burbank would have marveled at the amazing ability of Lamont Cranston. But Burbank knew nothing of the means of communication which his chief intended to use.
Dinner at the Cobalt Club was an interesting affair for Lamont Cranston. He sat down at the table with wealthy friends, who were accustomed to dine from six thirty until well after eight.
But on this occasion, the globe-trotter warned his companions that he must leave them by seven thirty, in order to keep an important appointment.
One of the diners brought up the subject of recent criminal activities. The news of the gang war in Tiger Bronson’s home had not found space in the newspapers. It was merely a rumor. One of the men had heard of it.
“We know very little about what goes on in the underworld,” remarked a millionaire named Berkeley, with a serious expression on his face. “There are characters there whose power is tremendous — personages of whom we seldom hear. Take, for instance, The Shadow.”