Drew looked up as he saw Carter enter, and smiled nervously. It seemed obvious that he was trying to keep his thoughts to himself. When he spoke, he adopted an affable tone that was a trifle forced.
“Thought I’d stay in here while you finished your meal,” he explained to Carter. “Now that Tracy went away, I figured you would come back for dessert.”
“Of course,” said Carter calmly. “Very thoughtful of you, Drew.”
Headley entered while Carter was eating. The attendant cleared away the remaining dishes and went stolidly about his duty. Very few words were exchanged between Carter and Drew. Each appeared quite engrossed in his own thoughts.
Carter’s mind was still picturing the scene in the library. The young man wondered if Drew Westling chanced to be considering it also. Nothing could be gained by silence; moreover, it would be wise not to mention that particular subject. Finishing his dessert, Carter opened a quiet but friendly conversation into which Drew entered with increasing vivacity.
BACK in the quiet library, the curtain moved once again; this time in darkness, for Carter Boswick had extinguished the lamp. A tiny light glimmered, held by an unseen hand. It ran along the bookshelves and stopped at two volumes that were very slightly out of place.
A black-gloved hand removed the two volumes of “The Three Musketeers.” The books were placed upon the table there, the flashlight glowed while fingers went through their pages.
A low, laugh-like whisper came from lips in the dark. The Shadow, following a clew that he had gained, had arrived after Carter Boswick had inspected these very books. A slight yielding of one volume at a certain spot indicated the place from which Carter had removed a message.
The books closed. The hands replaced them upon the shelf. The Shadow’s light went out. The whisper died away in the darkness as an unseen form passed from the library, reached the hall, and looked into the dining room, where Carter still chatted with his cousin.
The figure moved toward the rear of the house. Soon it was gone. It reappeared momentarily from the side porch, and crossed the driveway toward the bushes. There, The Shadow listened. There was no sound.
Vigilant watchers were no longer here. The Shadow had detected them upon their arrival; now he discovered that they had left.
Why?
The Shadow, even though he had arrived late in the library, sensed the explanation. The young Boswick, The Shadow knew, had found some message.
Had word of that finding been passed to those outside? Would an attack be made tonight?
Possibly; although the sudden departure of the watchers made it unlikely.
There was another explanation.
Some one within the house could have learned what Carter Boswick had found; or could even have taken whatever the young man had discovered. These watchers could have left with important information.
The Shadow had waited long in the upstairs study, believing that Carter Boswick had either failed to discover the meaning of his father’s letter, or would have waited to follow instructions later in the evening. It was Carter’s prompt actions that had blocked The Shadow’s careful plan of previous inspection.
Much might have happened during that unanticipated interim. But The Shadow, even when he encountered ill fortune, never faltered. This strange personage had a weird ability to turn all events to his advantage. Such would be his plan tonight.
The stealthy figure made no sound, nor did it show itself as it moved across the lawn. Darkness seemed to swallow The Shadow as he set forth.
It was not until later that another figure made its appearance within the confines of the Boswick estate. A young man, cautious, but by no means invisible, took up his vigil at a convenient spot some distance from the house.
Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow, had been summoned to keep watch and to report on Carter Boswick’s actions. That would be his duty for the present. The Shadow, himself, had other work to do.
Into the darkness he had gone; within darkness would he remain. From somewhere, unseen, he would plan his campaign of swift action. The Shadow, alone, could frustrate the designs of those who had gained the stolen clew!
CHAPTER X.
CARTER TAKES A TRIP.
CARTER Boswick possessed an amazing faculty for walking into trouble. In Havana, aboard the Southern Star, he had deliberately stepped into difficulties. That same oddity was due to manifest itself again.
Had Carter Boswick failed to remember the latitude and longitude mentioned in the message he had found, he would no longer have been a factor in the grim game which Hub Rowley was playing. The Shadow, shrouded in darkness, knew well who was seeking the information which Carter had discovered.
Hence the course of The Shadow’s investigation lay toward Hub Rowley. But The Shadow, wise in all procedure, had not neglected Carter Boswick as a possibility.
Nor had Hub Rowley.
When morning was well under way, the Boswick mansion was under surveillance from two directions, watched by men of opposing sides, neither of whom knew the others were on the job.
Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow, was lounging by the side of his coupe at a filling station across the highway from the Boswick home. Stacks Lodi, underling of Hub Rowley, was eating a belated breakfast in a little restaurant a few hundred yards farther down the road.
Meanwhile, within the big house, Carter Boswick was announcing plans. Those arrangements, from their very start, were destined to bring the young man back into the zone of action, making him a principal factor in the battle for wealth. For Carter, after a night of troubled sleep, had decided definitely to follow the lead that he had found in his father’s message.
This meant that now, more than before, Carter Boswick would be slated for elimination by Hub Rowley. It also meant that he would be of vital importance to The Shadow—as a short cut to the information which The Shadow now was seeking to obtain.
Without realizing it, Carter was making himself a pawn on the board that lay between two shrewd and relentless players.
Yet Carter felt that he was taking every precaution when he spoke to both Drew Westling and Headley, in the dining room where he and his cousin had just finished breakfast.
“I intend to establish my residence here,” declared Carter. “Nevertheless it is essential that I follow business plans which I made before I left Montevideo. I represent a large South American importing house. My trip to New York was intended purely as a step toward a further business voyage to Europe.
“My original intention was to remain here a few weeks; then to go to Paris and Berlin. My father’s death has caused me to change my plans. I must conclude the obligation which I owe to my associates in Montevideo; then I shall be free entirely. The sooner I discharge my duty, the better.
“Therefore, I shall book passage for Europe at once. I shall he back in New York within six weeks, and this will then become my permanent home. With Farland Tracy handling the affairs of the estate, there should be no obstacle in the arrangement. If you choose to remain here, Drew, you are welcome to do so—”
“Never mind about me,” interrupted Drew Westling. “I’ll stay here when you’re here, Carter; but in the meantime, I’d as soon drop away for a while. I’ll move into the club as soon as you leave.”
“Which will be to-day,” remarked Carter, in an offhand tone. “I plan to go by way of Montreal and the St. Lawrence waterway. So I should like to start for Canada this evening.”
“Suits me,” returned Drew.
“As for you, Headley,” stated Carter, “you can resume your old duties of caretaker. The house will be closed; you can stay wherever you choose.”
“Very well, sir,” said the solemn attendant.
“That settled everything, then,” concluded Carter. “I have packed sufficient luggage. I shall start for the city at once. Call a cab, Headley.”
WHEN Carter Boswick’s taxi rolled forth from the driveway, it became a target for watching eyes. Harry Vincent, nonchalantly stepping into hi
s coupe, took up immediate pursuit. Stacks Lodi hurried from the restaurant and entered a sedan which had Scully at the wheel.
The flow of traffic along the highway, the fact that the road led directly into Manhattan—these were the factors that prevented either of the trailers from noticing the presence of the other.
When the course finally ended on an uptown street in New York, and Carter Boswick left the cab and entered a towering skyscraper, it was obvious that the young man intended to visit some office in the building.
Both of the pursuers worked similarly. Harry parked his coupe across the street, and watched the door of the building. Stacks dropped from the sedan and lounged at a convenient post, while Scully managed to find a stopping point for the sedan, about half a block away.
Carter Boswick’s business was brief. He told Farland Tracy exactly the same story that he had given Drew Westling and Headley. The lawyer agreed that the European trip should best be handled at once, so as to assure a return at the earliest opportunity.
He expressed only one doubt; namely, the possibility of Carter receiving some communication from a source not known.
“Remember,” he said sagely, “you may have an immense fortune almost within your grasp. It might he advisable to remain at the old home.”
“I thought of that,” returned Carter abruptly. “Nevertheless, I feel confident that my father planned well. No, Mr. Tracy. there is really no possibility of my failing to receive the information which belongs to me.”
“You speak with assurance,” said Tracy. “If you feel that way about it, I can see no objections to your voyage. Have a good trip, Carter, and do not worry. I shall attend to all affairs of the estate, and be ready with an exact report when you return.”
Coming from the building, Carter Boswick took a cab and went directly to the Grand Central Station. There, at the information booth, he drew a large map from his pocket and, after partially unfolding it, consulted certain notations which he had made on the back of it.
Carter had found this map before leaving the house; it was one of many old guides and charts that had belonged to his father’s library.
Pocketing the map, Carter made inquiries regarding Western railroad lines running northwest from Chicago. He did not ask a single question concerning trains to Montreal. He named certain towns in the State of Wisconsin. The man at the booth consulted a huge railroad guide.
WHILE this was going on, other persons began to form in line. Half a dozen men were behind the rotunda counter, but all were busy. Carter paid no attention to the people close by, hence he did not realize that two men were overhearing his plans.
One was Harry Vincent. The Shadow’s agent, a young man of athletic appearance, might well have been a chance traveler seeking routine information for a trip.
The other was Stacks Lodi.
But Carter would not have recognized Hub Rowley’s underling, even though the man had been a passenger aboard the Southern Star. Stacks had shaved away his darkened, waxed mustache. The smooth upper lip gave him an entirely different appearance.
When Carter Boswick had finished his questioning, he sauntered away from the information booth, his luggage in the custody of a porter. Harry Vincent stepped up and asked for a railroad time-table. Stacks Lodi did the same. Both, in walking away, followed the direction that Carter had taken.
Harry, consulting his time-table, passed the ticket window where Carter now stood, and overheard the young man making reservations. Harry kept on his way.
Stacks Lodi, arriving later, stood at the next window and heard the negotiations between Carter Boswick and the agent.
From then on, all paths diverged. Carter’s western limited did not leave for a few hours. The young man checked his luggage and went from the station.
Harry Vincent sought a telephone booth. Calling a number, he stated what he had learned. He hung up the receiver and awaited a return call.
Stacks Lodi also used a telephone, in a different part of the station. His call was to Hub Rowley. He listened intently to the big-shot’s response. His face gleamed as he heard Hub’s words. He was smiling a wicked grin when he walked away from the booth.
The aftermath of this sequence of events came when the western limited pulled out of the Grand Central Station on its trip to Chicago.
Carter Boswick, deeply engrossed in a book that he had purchased, was seated in the club car. His mind was at ease. He had made it quite evident that he was going to Europe, via Montreal. Instead, he was off to visit the exact spot mentioned in his father’s secret message—some unknown locality in the wilds of Wisconsin.
Across the way sat Harry Vincent—a quiet young man who was apparently unconcerned with those about him. At the card table, Stacks Lodi had already begun to amuse himself with a game of solitaire.
OPPOSING forces were at work. Carter Boswick, sure that he was free, with all knowledge of his secret trip a minus quantity, was already under the vigilant surveillance of two men—one who represented justice; the other, a tool of crime.
Once again, Carter Boswick was heading into trouble. Stacks Lodi, the trouble-maker, was on his trail. But still, Carter was under the secret protection of The Shadow. Harry Vincent, The Shadow’s agent, had been deputed to be close at hand, forewarned that danger might strike.
Action was in abeyance on this journey. These men—neither of whom suspected the other’s presence—were the advance guards. They were but the instruments of greater minds, the nullifying influences put forth by Hub Rowley and The Shadow.
Conflict was brewing between the big-shot and the dread avenger. The struggle would center about Carter Boswick, who had plunged himself into this fray for millions which rightfully belonged to him.
The impending battle was one that promised strange results—and into its fury would come others; men whose important parts in the drama of crime had not yet been revealed. Carter Boswick was totally unsuspecting of what lay ahead.
But The Shadow, hidden being of darkness, knew that unexpected consequences would soon manifest themselves. Plans long fostered were due to reach their startling climax when Carter Boswick gained the goal that he sought!
CHAPTER XI.
THE SHADOW’S PLAN.
Two nights had passed since Carter Boswick had set out from New York City. The third evening had fallen. Along a lonely road in northwestern Michigan, a swift coupe was speeding at sixty miles an hour.
Harry Vincent was the man behind the wheel. His eyes were steadily focused upon the gravel road that stretched before him. His hands responded to every bump of the jolting highway.
Despite the ordeal of the rapid drive, Harry wore a smile. He was nearing the end of his journey.
Obedient to The Shadow’s order, Harry had followed Carter Boswick to Chicago; and had again taken up the trail when the young man had boarded a train north. At Green Bay, Wisconsin, a long break had occurred. Carter Boswick had been forced to wait over several hours for a connection.
This had given Harry an excellent idea. He was confident that no harm would befall the man whom he was protecting while Carter was traveling by train. The real danger lay at the stopping points. Hence Harry had used the interval to obtain an automobile capable of high speed. His study of the road maps convinced him that he could beat the time of Carter Boswick’s train.
Now, with only a few miles to go, Harry was half an hour ahead of his schedule. He had waited at Green Bay until Carter Boswick had left; then he had burned up the roads in his untiring effort to reach the final destination before Carter arrived. This place was Junction City, a Michigan town some miles north of the Wisconsin border.
What was to happen at Junction City?
Harry had no inkling. He had been instructed to stay close to Carter Boswick, particularly after the end of the journey had been reached. That was exactly what Harry intended to do now. His only qualms concerned the fact that he had let Carter get out of sight during the travel from Green Bay to Junction City.
Harry
Vincent had long been an agent of The Shadow. He had encountered many adventures while working in behalf of his mysterious master. In every instance, Harry had been free to act upon his own judgment when occasions arose. This had proven to be one of those cases.
Harry had changed from train to automobile for two definite reasons. First, because he feared that Carter Boswick might become aware of his presence during the final stage of the trip; second, because he knew that a car might come in handy at Junction City. The opportunity to obtain one at Green Bay had been too good to miss.
In all his episodes in The Shadow’s service, Harry had encountered mystery. He had never gained an inkling as to the identity of his unknown employer.
Instructions came through only two sources—Rutledge Mann, a chubby-faced insurance broker in the Badger Building in New York City; and over the telephone, from a hidden agent named Burbank.
Through contact with one or the other, Harry received all routine information; but in times of emergency, he frequently received mysterious orders from The Shadow himself. Harry anticipated some such occurrences during this new adventure; for he was now far away from the usual base of operations.
THOUGHTS of the unfolding mission, coupled with anxiety for Carter Boswick’s present safety, spurred Harry unto a final burst of speed which ceased only when his headlights revealed a welcoming sign on the outskirts of Junction City. Here, Harry slackened the speed of the car and rolled easily through the lighted streets of a small town.
The sight of a signal light down a side street showed Harry that he was near the railroad, and he guided his car to a bumpy road that ran alongside the tracks. He finally came to a stop close beside a dilapidated railroad station.
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