The Eyes of the Shadow s-2

by Maxwell Grant

  The iron fence erected by Harper Marsden still surrounds the property, including the ancient graveyard."

  Bruce Duncan was still studying the scene below when Harry Vincent concluded his reading. He acted as though he had not heard a single word.

  "Want me to read it again?"

  "No," replied Bruce. "I heard it. That's why I'm so interested. I'm looking at the old cemetery."

  "Can you see it from here?"

  "Yes, to the left of the mausoleum. The tombstones look like little gray bricks. There's some one sitting on one of them."

  "What!"

  "Some one sitting on one of them," repeated Bruce. "A man, sitting on a tombstone. He looks very small, even with these field glasses. He's moving now.

  "Harry, he's walking over by the mausoleum. He's running, now, toward the old ruins. Harry, it's the ape-faced man! He's gone!"

  Harry seized the glasses. The object of his search had disappeared.

  "Are you sure about it, Bruce?"

  "Positive," Bruce declared. "Do you remember when the creature ran off through the woods, last Monday? It seemed to hop along the ground. I recognized that stride just now."

  "I see something," remarked Harry. "A man outside the building. A man with a gray shirt. Chefano wore a gray flannel shirt when we saw him. It may be Chefano. He's gone now."

  They took turns watching through the glasses, but neither saw any further motion near the ruins of the old mansion. They decided to descend.

  "It's the meeting place, all right," declared Bruce as they walked down the path. "The old lane must be close to Mountain Pike. We went past it without noticing it. That's why we missed the man the other night. If we'd waited for the bus, we would have seen him."

  The more they considered the matter, the more positive they were that they had located the place they sought. To make sure, they drove up Ridge Road and found the abandoned lane. Leaving the car, they walked cautiously along until they discovered the iron fence, which was constructed of iron bars, pointed at the top.

  "Stop!" whispered Harry. "Look along the fence, Bruce."

  On the other side of the pickets stood the ape-faced man. The creature's clawlike hands gripped the bars. Its head turned, and it saw the two men in the lane.

  With an ugly snarl the brute ran along behind the fence until it neared the intruders.

  "Come along," exclaimed Harry. "Back to the car. Chefano may be down here any minute."

  Bruce glanced over his shoulder as he ran. The ape-faced creature was evidently human. It was clad in old, ill-fitting garments.

  Back in the cottage, Bruce talked of their discoveries while Harry tapped a call on the wireless. It was late in the afternoon - time to go through the routine of sending a message, even though there was no hope of a reply.

  "The creature is safe inside those bars," said Bruce. "That's why Chefano is keeping it there at present. I figure that he lived in the cabin so as to keep away from the meeting place except on Tuesday nights. But after that trouble in the road, he moved into the old ruins. I don't think he really suspected us of knowing anything. Our trouble with the ape-man was too obviously accidental. He played safe by moving; that's all.

  "Did you see those gates in the fence? They were closed and locked with a chain. That must be the entrance to the place. On Tuesday night, the gates will be unlocked."

  He ended his comments when Harry Vincent adjusted the ear phones. Both men lighted cigars.

  Suddenly, Harry became alert. He listened intently for a minute. Then he sprang to the key.

  "At last!" he exclaimed. "A reply!"

  With his eyes on the code before him, The Shadow's agent worked with keen rapidity as he sent his report of the new discoveries.

  CHAPTER XXVIII. THE FIFTH MAN

  AT one o'clock Tuesday afternoon, Harry Vincent and Bruce Duncan were eating lunch in the Culbertville restaurant. They were seated at their customary table in the corner, by the window. Their voices were low, for there were other diners in the restaurant.

  "To-night," said Harry, "we have another opportunity. Let's hope we can do better than we did last week."

  "Our orders are just the same," replied his companion. "Watch the meeting place and intercept the fifth man."

  "Yes, but we are now sure of the meeting place."

  "We thought we were sure of it last Tuesday night."

  "You don't think we're wrong about it now, do you?"

  "Don't forget one thing, Harry. This fellow Chefano is as clever as the devil himself. For all we know, he may be laughing at us this very minute."

  Harry shook his head.

  "Don't be foolish, Bruce," he said. "Everything is all right now. Our one worry is how we are going to handle the situation. But I believe that will work out well. To-night we will receive our final instructions."

  "We didn't get any last Tuesday night - when we needed them most."

  "Something was wrong then. The Shadow expected to be here; at least that's my opinion. But he didn't arrive."

  "Maybe he won't be here to-night."

  Harry Vincent did not reply.

  "Suppose," added Bruce Duncan quizzically, "that we do not receive further instructions. What are we to do when the fifth man arrives? Follow him or warn him?"

  "Follow him, of course."

  "It would be better to warn him."

  "Impossible," said Harry. "We couldn't do that in the dark. Remember, each of these men has come secretly to the meeting place. Another is due to-night. He will be suspicious of everything until he reaches his final destination. If we should step out of the darkness and speak to him, he would look upon us as enemies."

  "We might wait for him here at the station."

  "That would be better, but even then he would be suspicious. Most important of all, our orders are specific; we are to begin our watch before midnight. We can't be out by the old ruins and be here, too."

  Bruce Duncan shrugged his shoulders. Somehow he doubted Vincent's faith in the wisdom of The Shadow. It was true that Bruce owed his life to the timely aid The Shadow had given that night at Isaac Coffran's. But the failure of a week ago had somewhat curbed Bruce's enthusiasm.

  A TRAIN pulled into the station across the street. It was the afternoon local from Harrisburg. Bruce Duncan studied the few passengers who alighted. One was a heavy-set man with a ruddy complexion who stood on the station platform and surveyed the scene curiously.

  Bruce watched the stranger. The man walked over to the bus and talked for a minute with the driver.

  Then he crossed the street and disappeared from Bruce's view.

  Harry Vincent was reading a newspaper. Bruce Duncan slipped quietly from his chair and left the restaurant. He moved across the street and approached the bus driver.

  "Hello," said the driver. "Going to ride out with me?"

  "No; we have our car here in town. I just came over to say 'Hello.'"

  "Reckon I'll have another passenger for Ridge Road to-night. It seems like I let somebody off there once a week."

  "You mean on your last trip?"

  "Yep. Some fellow was just talking to me a couple of minutes ago. Wanted to know what time the last bus went. Said he was going out to Ridge Road. I told him I stopped there."

  "Did you know the man?"

  "Never saw him before. He talked like an Englishman. Stranger around here, I reckon. He just went down the street, looking over the town. Well, he won't find much to do around this place. Might as well go out on this trip and wander around the woods. This town is as slow as they make them."

  The driver waved good-by as he climbed into his seat and started the bus.

  Harry Vincent, lowering his paper, noticed that Bruce had gone. He glanced out the window just as Bruce waved good-by to the bus driver and walked out to him.

  "What's up, Bruce?" he asked. "I didn't see you leave the restaurant. Why the conversation with the bus driver?"

  Duncan explained everything that had happened. Harry whistled. />
  "I'll bet that's our man!" he exclaimed. "He must have arrived early. Where did he go, Bruce?"

  "I don't know," replied Duncan, "but he can't be far away. Let's visit some of the stores. Maybe we'll find him."

  They discovered the Englishman in the corner drug store. He was talking to the clerk. Harry Vincent purchased some cigars; he and Bruce lighted them and stood by to listen to the conversation.

  "I don't know where you can hire any autos round here, sir," said the clerk, addressing the Englishman.

  "I merely desired to make a short journey," replied the stranger. "I supposed that a motor car would be available. I understand that the scenery is beautiful in this district, and I intended to ride up toward the mountains."

  "We are going that way," said Harry, joining in the discussion. "We would be glad to have you accompany us."

  The Englishman studied the two young men.

  "I should be delighted to accept your invitation," he said. "But I should not care to inconvenience you. I wish to return to the village; otherwise I should have been a passenger on the motor bus. But I learned that it does not return until late in the evening."

  "We are coming back to town shortly," said Harry. "We are living in a cottage several miles from here.

  We intended to run out there and then return some time before dinner. It would be a pleasure to have you with us."

  This argument persuaded the Englishman. He left the store with Vincent and Duncan, but insisted upon riding in the rumble seat so that he could have a better view of the surrounding country. Harry drove slowly along Mountain Pike.

  As they neared the foothills, Harry watched the Englishman in the mirror at the front of the car. He could see that the man was interested in something; so he drove very slowly as they neared Ridge Road. As they passed that highway, the man in the rumble seat turned and looked back over his shoulder until they had rounded the next bend.

  HARRY kept on until they reached the highest point of Mountain Pike, then he turned the car and drove back to the road that led to the cottage. He invited the Englishman into their house. The guest looked curiously at the radio equipment.

  "A sending station?" he said. "Quite interesting."

  "Yes," said Vincent. "We are interested in wireless. This is a good spot to experiment with it."

  "Not many persons living hereabouts, I suppose."

  "Very few. There are some unoccupied cabins in the woods below. Beyond that, across Ridge Road, is the deserted ruin of an old house."

  "Indeed. That's curious. Ruins have always interested me. I have seen many in England, and the Continent."

  "In Russia?" questioned Bruce Duncan suddenly.

  The Englishman started. He looked sharply at his questioner. Then his natural indifference returned.

  "Yes, I have been to Russia," he drawled.

  "And that is why you are here now," added Harry.

  A curious expression appeared upon the Englishman's face. For a moment, he appeared to be alarmed.

  "I don't quite understand," he said.

  Bruce Duncan no longer doubted that the Englishman was the fifth man.

  "Why did you come so early?" he questioned. "You are not expected until midnight."

  The Englishman did not reply.

  "We are glad that you arrived early," continued Bruce. "We have been waiting for you - to warn you.

  Didn't you suspect that something was wrong when you received word to come before the time that was originally stated?"

  The Englishman's face expressed concern.

  "My name," continued the young man, "is Bruce Duncan. I am the nephew of Harvey Duncan, who was one of the seven men who were summoned to meet in the old ruined house. My uncle died. He had the names of the other six men. The list was stolen after his death. Since then, four men have been lured to their doom. You were to be the fifth."

  The Englishman slumped into a chair. He could tell that Bruce Duncan was speaking the truth. He seemed in a daze.

  "An impostor," said Bruce, "is taking my uncle's place. He has the stolen badge that will identify him as the proper man to receive the wealth from Russia. But he knew that six others would arrive on the appointed night. By removing them, he could keep the secret to himself, and appropriate the shares that belonged to them. Hence he evolved the fiendish scheme of notifying each man to appear beforehand. He set the meeting times a week apart. We are attempting to frustrate his plans."

  The Englishman rose from the chair and became suddenly alert. He extended his hand to Bruce Duncan.

  "My name is Hubert Weston," he said. "I was a major in the British army during the war. I was in Russia, prior to the revolution. I saved the life of Prince Samanov, one of the czar's generals. I promised him that I would obey any summons that came from him or any one whom he might designate. The proof of its authenticity was to be the mark of his signet."

  THE Englishman drew a folded paper from his pocket. It was a message, stating the time of the meeting place, and naming the spot as the old ruined house below Ridge Road. The note contained complete directions for reaching the place before midnight.

  "The time was set for a week from Wednesday," observed Bruce as he noted the date on the message.

  "Correct," responded Major Weston. "But I had no idea that others were expected. Hence I would actually have been surprised at the presence of other passengers on the bus, and would have had no suspicion that anything was wrong, should I have come alone."

  Bruce Duncan was studying the seal at the bottom of the message. The Englishman laid another sheet of paper beside it.

  "This message followed," he said. "You will observe that the impression of the seal in the wax appears to be identical. Yet from what you say, it must be a clever imitation. It would not be difficult to duplicate the seal after one had seen the original impression."

  The second message was inscribed in handwriting that closely resembled the penmanship of the first. It stated that the meeting time had been changed.

  "The new date is to-night," remarked Bruce.

  The Englishman was staring at Harry Vincent, who was busy with the wireless key. Bruce Duncan explained the situation, telling of his own adventures and the important part The Shadow had played in these affairs.

  "Marvelous!" exclaimed Major Weston, enthusiastically. "I owe you much, Mr. Duncan, for coming to my assistance. I am quite willing to rely upon your judgment. I am glad that I have been warned beforehand. I shall agree to abide by any instructions that you receive over the wireless."

  Harry Vincent completed his message. He was wearing the ear phones while he jotted down the reply which he was receiving.

  "I have full instructions," he announced. "The arrival of Major Weston had made it unnecessary for us to watch the old ruined house. We are to wait here and be cautious for another week. It is probable that the sixth man will arrive next Tuesday. We must intercept him, also, if possible. The Russian, we now know, is due a week from Wednesday. That is the night that we shall attack."

  "But to-night," objected Bruce. "What about tonight? Won't Chefano be suspicious when Major Weston does not arrive?"

  "That matter was covered in the message," replied Harry. "The nonappearance of one man will mean nothing. Chefano has no proof that Major Weston received the messages that were sent him. Nor has he any proof that Major Weston intended to keep the appointment. One man less means one less crime. He will surely wait until the Russian appears. This plan which The Shadow has arranged will protect Major Weston."

  There was a note of finality in Harry Vincent's voice. The plan did not satisfy Bruce Duncan. He looked inquiringly at Major Weston. To his surprise, the Englishman agreed with Vincent.

  "I am satisfied," he said. "I shall be pleased to remain with you until a week from Wednesday night - the time originally appointed. I shall accompany you to the meeting place on that night."

  CHAPTER XXIX. LAMONT CRANSTON DISAPPEARS

  DOCTOR WELLS seemed highly pleased with the cond
ition of his injured patient, Lamont Cranston.

  "You have been improving rapidly," he said, as be stood at the foot of the bed. "I have rarely witnessed such a rapid recovery."

  "Excellent," observed the millionaire, who was leaning against propped-up pillows. "How soon will I be on my feet?"

  "You are almost on your feet now," replied the physician. "You have walked about the room to-day. But you must not try to be active for a while. Let me see. This is Tuesday afternoon. It was a week ago last night that you were injured. Suppose we wait until next Tuesday, before you leave the house."

  "All right," yawned the millionaire.

  "Has Mr. Fellows been here again?" questioned the doctor.

  "Not since the time you summoned him last week," answered Cranston. "He brought Burbank here, you know. Burbank has communicated with him."

  "Oh, yes; Burbank, the wireless operator. I haven't seen him yet."

  "He spends most of his time upstairs. Wireless is my hobby, you know. I experiment frequently. I feel satisfied to know that my work is going on, even though I am incapable of attending to it."

  "You may be able to take a hand at it yourself, by the end of the week," said the doctor.

  "That's encouraging. The way I feel to-day, I could be up and around - outdoors - anywhere."

  "Forget that idea," ordered Doctor Wells.

  The door opened, and Richards entered. The servant gave a sheet of paper to Lamont Cranston.

  "Mr. Burbank sent this down, sir," stated Richards. "He said it came in at three o'clock."

  Cranston's keen eyes scanned the paper before him. Then the millionaire tossed the message on the bed.

  He closed his eyes and tilted his head back as though engaged in deep thought. Doctor Wells could see the paper. It was inscribed with a series of dots and dashes - a wireless code.

  Suddenly the millionaire seized a pencil. He wrote rapidly on the reverse side of the paper. Doctor Wells was amazed at his remarkable activity. Cranston paused occasionally as though inspired by sudden thought, then he continued to inscribe his series of dots and dashes. He passed the paper to Richards.

  "Tell Burbank to send this."

  Doctor Wells noticed that the injured man seemed weary as he laid his head against the pillows.