"That's the answer!" exclaimed Weston. "That is exactly what we shall do tomorrow morning. Cranston, you have done great work. Mallikan, you have my thanks."

"You have mine," acknowledged the shipping man, rising. "Apparently, commissioner, you have come to a solution of your problems. I can start my trip to Bermuda without qualms." He glanced at his watch.

"Well, the fifteen minutes has elapsed. It is time for me to start."

Smiling, Mallikan shook hands with members of the group; then departed, accompanied by his two detective escorts. Commissioner Weston appeared elated as he chatted with Justin Hungerfeld. The Shadow, however, retained his fixed smile as he arose from the table.

"You are leaving, Cranston?" queried Weston. "I hope, that you would stay longer, while we discussed plans for tomorrow."

"I am sorry, commissioner," replied The Shadow. "I am entertaining in New Jersey this evening. LikeMallikan, I am running the risk of overstaying my time."

"Very well. I shall call you in the morning."

Joe Cardona stepped forward as the commissioner spoke. The Shadow detected a glum look on the sleuth's face. He paused, waiting to hear what Cardona might have to say.

"Commissioner," a.s.serted Joe, "we ought to get up to that ghost fleet right away."

"Why so, Cardona?" questioned Weston. "It is late in the afternoon. Darkness will arrive before we could get there. It would be difficult to find the Xerxes from the sh.o.r.e."

"It wouldn't be so tough from the river."

"You mean we should go by water?"

"Sure, commissioner. We've got some speedy boats that can average better than thirty miles an hour. We can hit it straight up the river. No traffic, no trouble; and we run square into the ghost fleet when we get there."

"An excellent idea, Cardona. But why have you shown all this zeal?"

"I've just had a hunch, commissioner. Dave Callard has grabbed two of these ribbons. If Mr. Cranston here could figure out the name of Xerxes from one pair of letters, maybe Callard could have done the same with two pair."

"You are right, Cardona. We should visit the ghost fleet at once. Do you agree, Cranston?"

THE SHADOW considered. Then he spoke.

"The missing ribbons," he declared, "bear the letters X E and E S. Yet together, I do not consider them to be as good a clue as the R X."

"Why not?" demanded Weston. "They give the beginning of the word and the end."

"Yes. But that fact might not be recognized. Anyone studying those two fragments might immediately pa.s.s by the letters X E, deciding that they would not be the beginning of a word."

"And he would concentrate on E S as the first two letters?"

"Yes; and failing with them, he would believe that the last ribbon, the only one missing, would carry the all-important first letters. Perhaps his thought may have been that there were more than two letters on the first ribbon."

"All good logic, Cranston. I see another point, also. If Mallikan, a shipping man, did not recognize that the ribbon was from a sailor's hatband, it is unlikely that Dave Callard or anyone else would guess the fact."

"Quite true, commissioner, If Mallikan failed to see what the ribbon was, another might have done the same."

Joe Cardona offered an objection.

"Mr. Cranston guessed what the ribbon was," vouchsafed the detective. "Don't forget that, commissioner.

Of course, the two most important letters are missing from the hunks of ribbon that young Callard hasgotten hold of. But if he ever managed to grab this piece, he'd know the works."

"He would not have to gain the ribbon," remarked The Shadow. "If he holds the other two pieces, mere knowledge of the letters R X would serve as well. Remember, commissioner, you are dealing with a murderer who gained a head start."

"We'll start up there right away, Cardona," decided Weston, suddenly. "Call headquarters. Arrange for the boats to be ready. Leave word where we will be."

THE SHADOW spoke a quiet leave-taking; then strolled out into the hall as Weston began to talk to Hungerfeld and Cardona went to the telephone to put in his call. When the commissioner looked around, he saw that his friend Lamont Cranston had gone.

"Dash that appointment of Cranston's," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Weston. "I was going to insist that he cancel it and come along with us."

"Headquarters on the wire, commissioner," remarked Cardona. "I'm arranging for the boats. We can get two and use four men to each."

"Have four men join us, then," ordered Weston. "They can meet us at the pier. You and I can ride in one boat, Cardona."

"Just the two of us, commissioner?"

"No. We already have two men here." Weston indicated the d.i.c.ks who had come in from Dolver's.

"They will go along with us, Cardona."

"What about Mr. Hungerfeld, commissioner? You'll leave him here?"

"Yes. Markham can look out for him."

The detective sergeant smiled when he heard the commissioner's statement. As a bodyguard, Markham considered himself to be the equal of a squad.

Weston's decision was indication that the commissioner also recognized the detective sergeant's worth.

Justin Hungerfeld, eyeing Markham, made no request for other protection. The old man was also impressed by the bulky sergeant's businesslike air.

Cardona completed arrangements, then glanced from the window. The afternoon was waning; it was getting close to dusk. There was still time for the run up to Poughkeepsie, although Cardona had a hunch that they would not make the trip before dusk.

The ace detective had exaggerated the speed of the police boats in order to sell Weston the idea of an immediate start. A trip by automobile could be made in less time; but Cardona knew that the commissioner would prefer the boats once they were aboard. Travel would seem swifter when ploughing along close to the water.

OTHER eyes than those of Joe Cardona were also surveying that darkening sky. The Shadow, riding southward through Manhattan, was still in the guise of Lamont Cranston as he gazed from the window of his limousine and studied the sky line of the city.

With one hand on the ready bag that contained his garments of black, The Shadow used the other to lift the speaking tube and give a quiet order to Stanley. The Shadow had decided to go elsewhere than to Lamont Cranston's New Jersey home. He had also picked a mode of travel different from those which Cardona had considered. His plan was revealed by the quiet words which he delivered through the speaking tube, just as the car approached the Holland Tunnel: "Stop at the Newark airport, Stanley."

CHAPTER XVII. THE YELLOW HORDE.

BACK at the old Hotel Albana, a gloom had settled in the eighth-floor corridors. Poorly illuminated by daylight, the approach of dusk had made the hallways vague. One could scarcely distinguish the numbers on the doors.

A yellow face bobbed into view from the stairway by the service elevator. That visage had not been present when The Shadow had made his departure; but it had come very shortly afterward. Dark eyes watched through slitted lids as this henchman of Leng Doy crept forward into the corridor.

A door opened; voices were heard. The Chinaman ducked back to the stairway and peered from a corner while a group of men came into view. There were four in all: Commissioner Weston, Joe Cardona and the two detectives. The quartette was on its way to a Hudson River dock.

"Hungerfeld's all right with Markham," Weston was saying. "I would rather leave one man here - one competent man - than a group. We can count on Markham to be alert."

Cardona grunted his agreement. The detective was thinking of someone other than Markham. He made remark while they waited for the elevator.

"Burke's down in the lobby, commissioner," informed Joe. "I told him he could stay there. He's waiting for a story. What will I do about him?"

"Bring him along," replied Weston, in jovial tone. "We can crowd him into one of the boats. It is better to have him with us. That will keep him from trying to interview Justin Hungerfeld."

The elevator door clanged open. The four men entered. The door closed. The watching Chinaman crept from his hiding place, came along the corridor and stole to the door of 816. After listening for a few moments, he returned to the stairway.

Soon other faces came in view. A trio of whispering Mongols, nodding to the words of some hidden leader. These Chinamen started forward; others arrived at the top of the stairway. They edged large hampers into the corridor; then one of them crept to the door in the main corridor, the one that bore the number 814.

Slyly, this Celestial produced a large ring of keys. He began to try them in the door of Hungerfeld's inner room. The lock-picking Chinaman proved himself to be cautious as well as an expert. He fitted a key and turned it; then looked toward the stairway and nodded. The Chinamen with the hampers whispered to someone past the corner.

TWO men stepped into the corridor in answer to the signal. One was Dave Callard, his rugged features discernible despite the gloominess of the hall. The other was a squatly, bespectacled Chinaman, whose face looked owlish. Callard's companion was Leng Doy, the missing Chinese merchant.

Callard paused when he reached the door of 814. Leng Doy kept on to where the pa.s.sage turned. The Chinaman made gestures, ordering his minions to take posts. He, himself, went to the door of 816 and beckoned for two to join him. A yellow horde had gained possession of these corridors; others were shifting in from the stairway. A full dozen Chinamen were ready at the beck of Leng Doy. Both doors of Hungerfeld's suite were covered.

Minions were at the corner of the pa.s.sage, ready to give alarm.

They were waiting for Dave Callard to begin action. Flanked by two wiry Cantonese, the American turned the k.n.o.b of the door marked 814. He opened the barrier and peered into an empty bedroom. A large window furnished fair illumination from the dusky outside sky. Callard saw that the room was empty.

Entering, Callard left the door ajar behind him. The door to the living room was open; lamps were lighted and the sound of voices came to the intruder's ears. Justin Hungerfeld's crackly tones were answered by Markham's gruff speech.

"I shall rest a while, sergeant," the old man was saying. "After that, we can have dinner served here. You will dine with me, of course?"

"Sure thing," returned Markham. "Thanks, Mr. Hungerfeld. How long do you want to rest?"

"A half-hour nap will be sufficient."

"O.K. I'll call you when time's up."

Callard sidled to the wall as Hungerfeld appeared in the doorway from the living room. Markham was behind the stooped man; the detective sergeant glanced toward the window; then turned about and went back into the living room. He did not glimpse Callard. Close by the door to the hall, Dave made a signal.

It was observed by a peering Chinaman.

HUNGERFELD fumbled about and found a floor lamp. He pulled a cord; then approached the bed, intending to lie down. Again, Callard motioned. The door opened; and the two Chinamen crept in.

Hungerfeld was glancing toward the window; but his ears, surprisingly keen, must have heard the sound that the intruders made.

The old man came to his feet, turning about with surprising agility. He made no outcry, for he was staring into the muzzle of a revolver that flashed from the fist of Dave Callard. At the same moment, Hungerfeld heard a sound from the outer room. Someone was knocking at the door of 816.

The Chinamen who had entered were crouched as if to spring. Their threat was added to Dave Callard's soft hiss for silence. Hungerfeld stood motionless as Callard stole toward the connecting door. Again the rap had sounded at 816. Markham had drawn a revolver and was on his way to answer the call.

Callard watched the detective sergeant from the connecting door. There was little reason for Markham to suspect danger, for he might have thought that Weston and Cardona had decided to return. But Markham was vigilant; he was ready with his gun as he opened the door.

The detective sergeant stared into an empty hall. For a moment, he hesitated as he stood in the doorway.

Then he caught the sound of a sharp cry from Hungerfeld's bedroom. Quickly, Markham whirled about, just as the crackled call was stifled.

Hungerfeld had delivered a warning in spite of the Chinamen who threatened him. The Mongols had pounced upon him promptly, smearing their clawlike hands upon his face. That was why the cry had been stifled; yet Markham had heard it. Oddly, however, the incident had worked to the advantage of Dave Callard.

Standing with leveled gun, Callard had been ready to attract Markham's attention on his own. Hungerfeldhad saved him the trouble. Markham's spin was just what Callard wanted. It brought the intruder face to face with the detective sergeant; and Callard had the bulge.

With a defiant growl, Markham swung to aim, dropping back toward the hall as he did so. Callard could have dropped the detective sergeant with a volley, for Markham's clumsy move was a foolish one. Shots proved unnecessary, however. Before Markham could bring his gun to action, a surge of lurking Chinamen pounced upon him. The burly d.i.c.k went down beneath the deluge.

Clawing hands s.n.a.t.c.hed away Markham's revolver. Wiry Celestials rolled the fighting sergeant into the living room. Gripping fingers clutched his arms and legs; yellow fists stifled Markham's vicious protest.

Behind the surge came Leng Doy. Placidly, the owl-faced merchant closed the door to the hall while half a dozen of his Cantonese henchmen conquered the lone fighter who lay beneath them.

Ropes were coming from the pockets of these American-garbed Chinamen. Gags were being stuffed into Markham's mouth. Held helpless, the detective sergeant was trussed hand and foot. His body was doubled, his face was m.u.f.fled. All Markham could do was glare at Callard from above a wrapping of bandages.

CALLARD chuckled harshly as he recognized Markham as the d.i.c.k who had been with Cardona that night at the dock. Turning about, the young man walked into the bedroom, to find Justin Hungerfeld, subdued and helpless. The old man was huddled in a chair beside the bed.

"Do you know who I am?" demanded Callard, in a low growl. "I'll tell you. I'm David Callard. You knew my uncle, didn't you?"

Hungerfeld hesitated; then nodded, pitifully.

"Don't be worried," growled Callard, sourly. "You think I'm here to kill you. Well, I'm not." He paused; then deciding that a threat was necessary, he added in a harsh tone: "Not if you talk the way I want."

"The ribbon," gasped Hungerfeld. "I - I'll give you the ribbon. Here -"

The old man struggled and reached into his vest pocket as Callard ordered the Chinamen to ease their hold upon him. Weston had left the bit of ribbon in Hungerfeld's possession.

The old man found it where he had placed it and brought it into view. Callard plucked it from Hungerfeld's shaking fingers. He grunted as he studied the letters R X.

"Did Mallikan see this?" he demanded.

Hungerfeld nodded.

"Did he know what it meant?" continued Callard.

"Not - not at first," responded Hungerfeld. "But later, when he was pressed, he managed to tell us. A friend of the commissioner's decided that R X was part of a word -"

"Go on. What word?"

"The word Xerxes. The name of a ship."

"The Xerxes! The old boat that ran between Hong Kong and Calcutta?"

Again, Hungerfeld nodded. "And where is the Xerxes?" quizzed Callard. "Did Mallikan know?"

"Yes," replied Hungerfeld weakly. "The vessel is with the ghost fleet, near Poughkeepsie. The police commissioner has started there by boat."

"Is Mallikan with him?"