fluid!"
Then, as Matthew recoiled, Newboldt calmed himself and stated:
"We shall not have long to wait. I have called the Cobalt Club and talked
with Police Commissioner Weston. He is a friend of Lamont Cranston, and is sure
that he can find him."
Matthew couldn't understand why Cranston was so important in the matter.
The curator explained that Cranston was a world-wide traveler, acquainted with
the mystic doctrines of Tibet. Shiwan Khan was also a master of those
doctrines; it took a mind like Cranston's to fathom the deep purposes that
marked the moves of Shiwan Khan.
In putting it that way, Newboldt was trying to control his own alarm.
Actually, the museum curator knew full well the menace of Shiwan Khan. Three
times, the Golden Master had come to America, each visit the result of
insidious plans for conquest. Unquestionably, Shiwan Khan still termed himself
invincible, though on each of those occasions, he had met with defeat. (Note:
See "The Golden Master," Vol. XXXI, No. 2; "Shiwan Khan Returns," Vol. XXXII,
No. 1; "The Invincible Shiwan Khan," Vol. XXXIII, No. 1.)
Shiwan Khan had met his match in The Shadow.
To Newboldt, The Shadow was quite as much a mystery as Shiwan Khan. A
black-cloaked fighter, who seemed to dwell in night itself. The Shadow had
uncanny abilities that enabled him to combat the most formidable of foes. In
some fashion - Newboldt did not know just how - Lamont Cranston was linked to
The Shadow.
It had never occurred to Newboldt that the guise of Cranston might be one
that The Shadow, himself, had adopted.
Such an idea would be ridiculous; as preposterous as supposing that Shiwan
Khan had come to America again, in the silver coffin of Temujin!
Dismissing such absurd notions, Newboldt tried to impress Matthew with his
new-gained calm.
"The police commissioner is sending a man here from headquarters,"
Newboldt recalled. "Why don't you go out front and meet him, Mr. Matthew? His
name is Cardona - Inspector Cardona."
Welcoming the opportunity to leave the spooky confines of the museum,
Matthew went out. Seating himself at the desk, Newboldt rested his roundish
face in both hands.
Staring at the door, he began to wonder what was keeping Kent. He couldn't
go to find out, because there would be no one in the office to answer the
telephone, should the commissioner call. His nervousness returning, Newboldt
decided to call the Cobalt Club again.
He had just dialed the number and was getting a response, when an odd
thing occurred. Newboldt felt a shock that seemed to pass from the hand that
touched the dial, to the other, which as holding the receiver. He managed to
jerk his hand from the dial; the sharpness ended, but a numbing sensation
remained.
Then, as the curator was managing to gasp a hello, something clanked on
the desk beside him. While he was listening to a voice on the telephone, he
heard another tone, close to his numbed elbow. It was Kent's voice:
"You wanted the keys. Here they are, sir."
"Very well, Kent." began Newboldt. Then, speaking into the telephone: "No,
no. I wasn't asking for a Mr. Kent. I would like to speak to Commissioner
