In return, Fellows received letters, written in simple code which he could read quickly. The writing was in a special kind of ink, which disappeared shortly after the letter had been opened.
The insurance broker was an excellent man for gathering detailed information. He followed all The Shadow’s instructions perfectly. In return, he received a substantial salary, which came from some unknown source.
The Shadow was, of course, a man of considerable wealth. Fellows had recognized this from the start. On one occasion, the insurance broker had gone to visit a friend named Lamont Cranston, a millionaire who had an estate in New Jersey, some distance from Newark.
He had gone in Cranston’s limousine; and on the way, The Shadow had joined him in the car, and talked with him in the darkness — only to disappear when the automobile arrived at the millionaire’s home.
But later on, Lamont Cranston had been wounded — in some mysterious fight. Fellows had gone to see him, and had secured the services of a wireless operator named Burbank, who operated Cranston’s amateur sending station while the millionaire was incapacitated.
The Shadow worked by radio. He was a man with unlimited resources. Lamont Cranston had a sending station; he was a millionaire. So Fellows had smiled to himself, but had said nothing. He, alone, was sure that he knew the identity of The Shadow.
Where was The Shadow now?
Fellows could not answer that. Lamont Cranston had been away for some time. He was a man who came and went as he chose. His servants remained in the house. They never discussed his affairs.
It was while Claude Fellows’s mind was still considering the subject of Lamont Cranston that the door of the outer office opened.
“Come in!” called Fellows.