The Shadow's Shadow

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“CHECKING out, Mr. Vincent?”

Harry Vincent nodded in reply to the desk clerk’s question. He indicated a time-table which he held in his hand.

“Just a short trip to Michigan,” informed Harry. “I’ll be back here in a week or two. I try to get home every now and then. The folks are always glad to see me.”

Strolling across the spacious lobby of the Metrolite Hotel, Harry Vincent smiled quietly to himself. He reached the grillroom, ordered his usual breakfast in a methodical manner, and waited in reflective thought.

It was not often that Harry Vincent could plan a trip to Michigan. He had said that he was going home. In the past few years, New York had come to be more of a home to Harry than the little town from which he hailed. As a resident guest at the Metrolite, he had long since acclimated himself to hotel life.

The Metrolite had its advantages. In a large hotel in Manhattan, guests seldom spoke to one another. One saw hundreds of new faces every day. It was possible to live here in virtual obscurity, free from any interference. A man of quiet demeanor could isolate himself from those about him with little difficulty.

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