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s。 Exchange Street； however； presented a more garish spectacle。
Bars with open fronts； indoor cafes； amid a blaze of light。 A scattering crowd threaded back and forth across the thoroughfare。 Automobiles rolled slowly； honking their horns continuously。
Wayson was eyeing all about him。 So was Cardona。 All the while； the lieutenant acted as though pointing out the sights to a friend。 A genial； baldheaded man gave a greeting。 Wayson spoke to him。 The fellow nodded。
The same thing happened further on。 Whenever Wayson paused to chat； he kept his keen eyes roving。 He was studying the medley of humanity； looking for men worth watching。
At the end of Exchange Street； Wayson turned about。 He glanced at his watch； then shrugged his shoulders。 His gesture signified that it was too late to begin operations。
〃Tomorrow night…at eight；〃 decided the police lieutenant。 〃I'll meet you at your hotel。 We'll head down this way； Cardona。 We lost too much time with that useless trip out to the Club Caprice。〃
A WELL…DRESSED man was standing near the corner。 He had overheard Wayson's words。 Cardona saw the stranger； but caught only a slight view of his dignified face。 He did not recognize the passer。
But as Wayson and Cardona moved toward Canal Street； a soft laugh came from the lips of the dignified stranger。 He waited until Wayson and Cardona were out of sight； then began a brisk pace in the direction of a hotel； a fair…sized establishment known as the Bontezan。
Under his arm； the stranger had a briefcase。 He placed it by the desk as he signed the register。 The name that he wrote was Justin Oswood。 The address：
New York。
〃I sent some luggage here；〃 remarked the new guest。 〃It bears my name。〃
〃We received it； Mr。 Oswood；〃 informed the clerk。 〃It is in the porter's room。 We shall send the luggage up。〃
In the room assigned to him； Justin Oswood smiled warily as he studied his reflection in a mirrored door。 The visage that he surveyed was the one that had replaced the countenance of Lamont Cranston。
The Shadow was still in New Orleans at a new hotel； wearing a guise that would not be recognized by any who had met Lamont Cranston。
Tonight； The Shadow had visited the home of Danforth Gaudrin； a place where crime was due to fall when the Nautilus returned。 He had acplished all he needed there for the present。 He did not require another visit as Cranston。
At the Club Caprice； he had learned the course that Joe Cardona was to follow。 His chance observance of Cardona and Wayson had given him corroboration。 Tomorrow night； while waiting for the crime that would reveal the schemes of the elusive Cyro； The Shadow would have opportunity to trail Cardona through the French Quarter。
Most important of all tonight's episodes had been the one in which The Shadow had actually encountered men of crime。 He had beaten off a band of would…be slayers。 He knew that they were but a portion of a ready mob。 The rogues had attacked from outside the city； but chances were that their hangout was within the limits of New Orleans。
Luck had allowed the driver of the touring car to escape with the thinned and crippled crew。 To take up the trail； to seek the leader who had ordered that band to battle would be a troublesome task for The Shadow； particularly while better prospects offered。
As Justin Oswood； The Shadow could afford to wait。 Lamont Cranston was gone； thugs would be lying low。 When the time came； The Shadow could deal with the pals of those whom he had beaten back tonight。
CHAPTER XIV
THE MESSAGE
TWENTY…FOUR hours had passed。 Midnight strollers were passing through the narrow streets of the French Quarter； where old…fashioned lamps cast mellow light that softened the scarred house fronts。 The night was warm； people upon balconies overlooked the passing strollers。 Keen； foreign faces formed a good proportion of those behind the upstairs rails。
Among those on the street were two who had been on the go since dusk。
Cardona and Wayson had maintained a haphazard course in their bined search for Cyro。 They had visited places that the police lieutenant called 〃two…bit joints〃： twenty…five cents for a drink； a sandwich or a dance。
They had stopped in little restaurants； and for a while they had loitered about an absinthe shop that held more than the usual quota of foreigners。
Everywhere； Wayson had sown seeds that might grow。 He had told persons of the French Quarter that the police were looking for a gentleman of crime…a con man who did not belong in New Orleans。 He had made it plain that word of such a stranger would be appreciated。
The tour had halted in Gallion's Restaurant； where Wayson had suggested a midnight meal。 Seated at a corner table； Joe Cardona noted a balcony along the back of the main room； with an entrance to another part of the restaurant。
Monsieur Gallion； with pointed mustache； came over and chatted in French with Wayson。 Then the proprietor broke into convivial Italian when introduced by Wayson to Cardona。
〃Wait until we visit some water…front beaneries；〃 chuckled Wayson； as a waiter took their order。 〃You'll hear every lingo there。 But these are the spots where Cyro might be。 A swindler might land a sucker at Gallion's。〃
As Wayson spoke； Cardona noted a tall； keen…visaged stranger enter the restaurant。 Joe had a hunch that he had previously seen the newer somewhere else in the French Quarter。 He did not suspect that he was looking at The Shadow。
As Justin Oswood； The Shadow had trailed Wayson and Cardona during the entire evening。 Sometimes close； sometimes at a distance； he had constantly kept inconspicuous。 He had heard Wayson state…hours ago…that they would wind up at Gallion's。
More than that； The Shadow had spied others watching Wayson and Cardona …
particularly in the absinthe house。 There； a squint…eyed foreigner had overheard Wayson mentioning Gallion's。 The squinty individual had departed promptly afterward； so quickly that The Shadow； handicapped by his part of Oswood； had been unable to follow。
At one time during the evening； The Shadow had dropped the trail。 That was when Wayson had announced a brief portion of his ing route。 The Shadow had left； he had hailed a cab and gone to the Hotel Bontezan； where he was registered as Justin Oswood。 Returning to the trail； he had stopped at Gallion's； to leave a package。 Then he had picked up the course of Wayson and Cardona。
The trip had been a short one； for the Bontezan overlooked the French Quarter。 At present； returned to Gallion's； The Shadow quietly asked the waiter for his package。 The man produced it； and placed it on a chair beside the customer。
Indulging in a light meal； The Shadow had finished before Wayson and Cardona were half through。 He remained； however； smoking a cigar。 Thus he saw a shirt…sleeved man who entered and walked over to Wayson's table。 He understood the French that the fellow uttered。 He saw Wayson nod； he watched the man go out。
〃A tip；〃 confided Wayson to Cardona。 〃I thought one might be ing。〃
〃About Cyro？〃 asked Joe。
〃It may be；〃 replied Wayson。 〃That chap came from Pierre Debeq。〃
〃Who is Debeq？〃
〃An old Frenchman who lives in a house at the end of a little alley near Royal Street。 He has a great many wealthy friends； although his own finances are limited。 I think I see a light。〃
〃About Cyro？〃
〃Yes。 Maybe somebody who knows Debeq spoke to him about some swindler being in town。 It's a good lead。 Swallow your coffee。 We'll go over and see Debeq。〃
WHILE the two men were putting a hasty finish to their meal； The Shadow arose and strolled from the restaurant。 Under his arm； he was carrying the package that he had obtained at Gallion's。 In the brisk manner of Justin Oswood； he walked one block in the direction of the Hotel Bontezan。 That distance covered； The Shadow changed his course。 He came to an empty house between two street lamps。 He stepped beneath the shelter of a deep balcony。
There was a sound of crinkling paper； as The Shadow opened the package which he carried。 Totally obscured by the gloom； The Shadow remained in this temporary shelter。 Something swished softly in the darkness。 Then came silence。
A splotch of darkness moved along the sidewalk； it wavered past the fringe of the nearest lamplight。 A patrolling policeman spied the phenomenon； purely by chance。 He stared suspiciously at the overhanging balcony。
Clicking his flashlight； the patrolman made an inspection of the sheltering space。 The rays showed no one beneath the balcony…nothing except a wall of crumbling brick。 The patrolman resumed his beat。 Quiet reigned within the Vieux Carre。
Silently； mysteriously； The Shadow had blended with the night。 No longer passing as Justin Oswood； he had assumed his favored garb； that cloak of blackness that so well…befitted the night…splotched byways of this antiquated area。
WHILE The Shadow was finding seclusion in the cover of darkness； two others were also deciding that the quiet of the French Quarter suited them。
Cardona and Wayson had paced away from Gallion's and were almost to the residence of Pierre Debeq。
〃There'