The Eyes of the Shadow s-2 Page 9

  "Just one thing I want to know," said Harry. "You mentioned the letter that you were reading in Coffran's study. What did it say, besides the accusation?"

  Duncan's mind was groping. His thoughts seemed far away as he repeated:

  "An attack in Singapore - a plot in Russia - an attempted murder in France - a man who told and died.

  There was something else. I have it! Bernardo Chefano - the twisted lips - they will identify him no matter what disguise or alias he may use."

  "Ah!" exclaimed Harry. "There's something! We can connect some one else with Isaac Coffran. Did the ape-man have twisted lips?"

  "No," said Duncan, "he was hardly a man at all, as I remember. Of course the hashish had me pretty well doped that night. I might have seen anything. Bernardo Chefano. He can't be Pedro, either. Wait! Some one had charge of that strange creature that came into my room. Some one whistled outside. That might have been Pedro, of course. It couldn't have been old Coffran. So it may not have been this fellow Chefano after all."

  He happened to see the paper that lay on the foot of the bed. He had forgotten it.

  "Look," he said. "Abdul gave me this. It fell out of Coffran's pocket the night he was at my house. Some one sent it to him. That indicates the extra man!"

  "'Find out what Duncan knows,'" read Harry. "He found out what you know, all right, but not all." Harry read again:

  "'Investigate personally.' He did that. Came to the house; most unusual for him.

  "'Prevent all interference.'

  "That was Coffran's scheme all right. With you out of the way, there could be no interference - on your part at least, and the message deals with you.

  "'Plans are working perfectly.'

  "What can that mean?"

  Harry Vincent looked toward Bruce Duncan.

  "It's got me stumped," admitted Duncan. "If the man from Russia had arrived, Chefano - assuming he wrote the note - would have the jewels by this time. The plans would not be working. They would have worked completely."

  "Yes," agreed Harry, "it means that something has been going on; that something will continue to go on.

  We must think in terms of these three men who have disappeared. Can there be a connection between them and you?"

  "I never heard of any of them. What did you say their names were?"

  "Arthur Hooper, J. Howard Longstreth, Elbridge Meyers. Three men from different cities. One disappeared each Tuesday, beginning exactly a week after you had your experience."

  "I never heard their names before." Bruce looked out the window, as if he sought relief there.

  Harry Vincent paced across the room. Suddenly he stopped. A look of horror appeared upon his face.

  "Duncan!" he exclaimed. "I have it! It is horrible - it is fiendish! Only Isaac Coffran could have planned it!"

  "What?"

  "The crime that is still going on. Let me explain. Get my reasons. First, suppose that the messenger from Russia is not due to arrive immediately.

  "In those stolen papers was a list of the names and addresses of the six men who were to receive their shares of the wealth. There was also a letter to your uncle, naming the time and place of meeting -

  probably similar to those received by the others.

  "The thief can appear to claim the wealth, posing as your uncle or his representative. But the others would be there, too. He would have to divide the money he received."

  "You don't mean -"

  "You see it now, too. Fake notes to each of the six. Copies - forgeries - patterned after the note to your uncle. Notes that look authentic - setting the date ahead! One six weeks early, one five weeks early -"

  "Vincent!" Bruce Duncan's exclamation expressed horror. "I see it! Hooper - Longstreth - Meyers. Each of them is one of the six men! One by one they have been lured to the meeting place and there they -"

  "They have died," was Vincent's solemn announcement. "But Duncan, there are three men more!"

  "Three men more!" echoed Duncan. "Men who we do not know. Men whom we cannot help. Men marked to die!"

  CHAPTER XVIII. FELLOWS LEARNS SOMETHING

  CLAUDE FELLOWS reclined comfortably in the cushions of the limousine and puffed a cigar in contentment. It was Friday evening; he was on his way to a party in New Jersey.

  The chubby insurance broker had many wealthy friends. Most important of them all was Lamont Cranston, a millionaire who owned a fine estate in New Jersey, twenty miles outside of New York.

  Cranston was holding the party to-night. He had sent one of his cars - chauffeur included - to bring Fellows.

  Cranston was a good friend to have. Fellows had known him back in the days when the insurance business had been less prosperous. The millionaire had always given him encouragement. The only trouble was that Cranston was so often away. Like other persons of wealth, he apparently went South in the winter and North in the summer. It was said that he often traveled to Europe.

  At any rate, it was an event when the big house in New Jersey was open and guests were invited.

  Fellows had always felt that Cranston might have helped him out of his financial trouble a few years ago.

  But that had occurred when the millionaire was away. Fellows had pulled out of his predicament, thanks to The Shadow. That had been his first experience with his mysterious employer.

  Fellows had performed his services faithfully and well. He no longer had worries. Checks came in regularly, even when his insurance business was slow. He had never been able to identify The Shadow; now he was no longer curious about the matter.

  To-day he had sent in a most important report. Harry Vincent had come to his office and had told of an interview with Bruce Duncan. Not only had Fellows learned of Isaac Coffran's fiendish schemes and the secret of Bruce Duncan's uncle; he had listened to a well-thought-out theory that Vincent had evolved.

  All these matters had gone in the morning report. The stenographer had taken the envelope to the dingy office on Twenty-third Street. A reply had been received. It was a simple one - instructions to Harry Vincent to wait with Bruce Duncan at the Metrolite Hotel until further notice.

  Vincent had seemed a bit impatient. But Fellows had taken the whole affair very calmly, and his soothing advice had quieted the eager young man. It was evident that The Shadow intended to think matters over carefully. The situation was unquestionably a difficult one.

  The limousine had passed through the Holland Tunnel. It had traveled several miles into New Jersey and was now running along an unimportant highway. The chauffeur pulled up at a small service station.

  "Always get my gasoline here, sir," he explained to Fellows, opening the rear door of the car to do so.

  "I have no objections." The insurance broker smiled.

  The chauffeur closed the door. Fellows shut his eyes and yawned. As he did, he thought he heard the door open and close again. Probably the chauffeur had not shut it tightly the first time.

  The limousine was moving again. The insurance broker was completely alone in back; in fact, he was entirely by himself, for the glass partition was closed behind the chauffeur.

  "This is really comfortable," he said aloud.

  "I agree with you," replied a voice.

  FELLOWS was startled. The voice had come from the corner of the car. It was black there, for there were no lights along the road. But Fellows was not surprised simply because he heard the voice; it was the tone of the voice that startled him. He had heard it before - long ago - that weird whisper. It had always seemed friendly to him, but he could well imagine it as a voice that could create dread apprehension.

  "The Shadow!" he exclaimed.

  "Yes," came the sibilant whisper. "To-day's report was excellent."

  "Thank you," replied Fellows.

  "Realizing that you would be alone," said the voice of The Shadow, "I took this opportunity to join you on your journey. I have been thinking matters over. Listen carefully while I tell you what our new plans will be. You can give Vincent his instructions tomo
rrow."

  Fellows leaned back in the seat and shut his eyes. He felt more accustomed to that strange, whispered voice. It was low but clear. Every word seemed to impress itself upon his mind.

  "The fourth man, picked for death, will reach the meeting place on next Tuesday. At ten o'clock a train leaves Harrisburg - southwest, through the Cumberland Valley. I believe the meeting place is in that direction - perhaps among the surrounding mountains.

  "Before next Tuesday the place must be discovered. You may intrust that work to two men - Harry Vincent and Bruce Duncan.

  "You will receive a memorandum to-morrow morning by nine o'clock."

  The big car turned off the road and stopped between stone gateposts. A keeper appeared in the glare of the lights and opened the iron gates.

  The limousine swung up the driveway. It stopped at the entrance to Cranston's mansion. The chauffeur opened the door on the side where The Shadow sat. The porch lights shone fully into the interior of the automobile. The insurance broker could see the entire seat as he stepped out.

  The car was empty!

  At some instant - probably when they had stopped at the gates - The Shadow had disappeared, silently and invisibly.

  Fellows could not believe his senses. He almost doubted that he had had a companion in the limousine.

  He would have considered it all a dream, but for those clear thoughts and statements that still lingered in his mind.

  He went leisurely into the house. He gave his hat and coat to a waiting servant. He was ushered into the large living room.

  Lamont Cranston greeted him with a smile. The millionaire was a comparatively young man, but his face seemed a trifle old. In fact it was almost masklike, as though his features possessed an artificial mold - a surface over a face beneath.

  Cranston's eyes were twinkling in a kindly manner.

  "Glad to see you, Claude," he said.

  "Thanks for sending the car," replied Fellows.

  "That's all right." The millionaire laughed. "But I've been worrying about you, old man. Rather a dull trip it must have been - coming out here all alone."

  "I didn't mind it."

  "That's good." The millionaire's face took on an almost solemn expression. "Yet it must have been rather lonely for you. So I'll send a few of the other guests back with you to-night. It will be more interesting than to sit all alone - alone with darkness - and shadows."

  CHAPTER XIX. A CHANCE ENCOUNTER

  IT was Monday morning.

  Two men were eating a late breakfast in the only restaurant of a small town in Pennsylvania. They were alone in a corner. Across the street they could see the railroad station.

  The man nearest the window began to speak.

  "Well, Harry," he said, "this looks like our last bet. The thriving town of Culbertville, Pennsylvania. Unless we find something here, the whole plan is wrong."

  "Maybe we slipped up in one of the other towns, Bruce."

  "Well, we made enough inquiries. Of course, time has been short. We can finish here to-day, then try the other places again to-morrow. But there are other places that we haven't visited at all."

  "Those were eliminated in the final instructions we received from Fellows."

  "You mean in that telegram that was waiting for us in Harrisburg?"

  "Yes."

  "Why did Fellows cut them off the list? What does he know about it? We're here on the ground. He's back in New York."

  "The instructions came from The Shadow, Bruce. Fellows merely passed them on to us."

  "Maybe The Shadow is wrong, Harry."

  "You don't know The Shadow, Bruce."

  The man by the window shrugged his shoulders.

  "He knows his stuff all right, Harry. I can see that. But there's just a certain amount that a human mind can do. I understand his plan all right. He thinks that one of the towns along this branch line is the spot we're after. So he studies them all from some standpoint that we don't know, and cuts some of them off the list. I admit that that's good theory. But does it work in practice?"

  "That's what we're trying to find out."

  "I know. So far it's been a blank. Keep on with it; I'm game. But I'm beginning to question the entire basis of the thing. There's two great chances of error. First - Elbridge Meyers. Are we sure he's one of the men? Second - assuming that he is one of them, did he come this way?"

  "It's all based on deduction, Bruce. The Shadow is a master of that art."

  "Granted. But we're playing two long shots just the same. I'm right with you, Harry. But I don't want to be disappointed if it doesn't work out."

  His companion reached in his pocket and drew out a letter.

  "I just stepped in the post office," he explained. "Meant to open this when I came in. It's from Fellows -

  sent general delivery to reach us here this morning. It can't be very important, but it may have some notes of interest."

  He opened the letter and scanned the written page. Bruce Duncan could see that the words were in code.

  "Well," said Harry Vincent, smiling. "Here's an answer to your first question. Investigation has revealed that all three men - Hooper, Longstreth, and Meyers - were in Russia some years ago. Looks like the original idea is correct."

  "Let's see the letter," suggested Bruce curiously.

  Harry gave it to him.

  "I said the letter," repeated Bruce.

  "I gave it to you."

  "No, you didn't. This is a blank sheet of paper."

  Harry smiled.

  "I forgot you didn't know about it," he said. "The ink doesn't last on any letters that deal with The Shadow's business. It fades out and never comes back."

  HARRY rose from the table.

  "Let's get started," he suggested.

  They left the restaurant and drove about the town in Vincent's coupe. The car bore Pennsylvania license plates. Harry had been careful about that registration. It would not attract the attention of a car that was plainly identified as from New York.

  After a short cruise they returned and separated. Each spent an hour about town, gossiping in stores and with idlers. This was an easy task in the rural community.

  "Only one good idea," said Harry when they met. "We might try the old Mountain Pike that goes north from here. There's a bus runs over it, through a gap between the hills. The bus waits for the last train from Harrisburg. Meyers might have taken it if he got off here."

  "Good idea," agreed Bruce. "I haven't anything better to offer."

  They rode slowly along the pike toward the nearest mountains, which were several miles away. As they neared the rising slopes, the road entered thick woods, which opened occasionally when they approached farms.

  They stopped when they had reached the highest point in the road, midway between two small mountains.

  "Let's go back," said Bruce. "We passed several side roads. The spot we hope to find is probably some distance off the pike."

  Returning, they reached a road that went to their left. It was a dirt road and in poor condition. Harry drove the car carefully and slowed down as they neared a bend.

  "Listen!" exclaimed Bruce.

  From a distance up the road came a cry for help. It was a man's voice, screaming loudly.

  Harry pressed the accelerator. The car shot forward. They rounded the curve and turned sharply in the other direction. Directly in their path were two men struggling in the center of the road. One was trying to free himself from the other's grasp. He was shouting, but his cries were weakening. Evidently he was being choked.

  Harry jerked the wheel as he applied the brakes. He missed the combatants by a narrow margin, almost ditching the car at the side of the road.

  The men were at the left of the car. The one who had been screaming had fallen in the dust, his opponent upon him.

  THE attacker was not a large man, but he appeared vigorous. Harry seized him by the shoulders and dragged him away. With a terrible snarl the fellow turned upon him. The attack was terrific. In one seco
nd Harry was lying helpless, with the man beating his head against the road.

  Bruce came to the rescue. He had seen Vincent fall, and he realized the strength of the antagonist. He had not anticipated such a battle or he would have seized a wrench from the car. His help was needed instantly now; he hurled himself upon the frenzied man and rolled him in the dust.

  With this advantage, Bruce expected quick results. Yet he was suddenly overpowered; the tables were turned. He found himself on his back, his arms beneath him. Clawlike hands were at his throat. As he stared upward he saw a hideous, wizened face, with wicked, glaring eyes.

  Bruce Duncan was at the mercy of that apelike creature that had entered his room a month ago. It was the same brutal face that he had seen before!

  The monster possessed prodigious strength. It was choking him to death. Why didn't Vincent come to his rescue? Vincent, or the other man, whom they had aided? Duncan's head was beating within, like the sound of a drum. His eyes seemed bulging from his head. He could even feel the claws that were buried in his neck.

  Suddenly the pressure relaxed. Duncan was still powerless; the creature's hands were still at his throat.

  But its head had turned sideways. It was waiting, unwilling to loose its victim, yet hesitating for some unknown reason. It seemed to be listening for something.

  As Duncan breathed, the drumming ceased, and his head cleared. Then to his ears came a sound that he had heard on that same eventful night. It was a low, hissing whistle from far away; a penetrating whistle that seemed to echo through his brain.

  The creature rose quickly. With long, jumping strides it dashed to the side of the road. As he propped himself on one elbow, Bruce Duncan saw the strange monster disappear into the surrounding woods.

  CHAPTER XX. TWISTED LIPS

  SOME one helped Bruce Duncan to his feet. It was the man who had been struggling with the creature when the coupe had arrived.

  Harry Vincent, a dazed look on his face, was sitting in the road, rubbing the back of his head.

  The man, who was assisting Duncan, appeared to be a farmer. His face was white from his recent experience.

  "Sorry I couldn't come quicker, friend," he said. "You gentlemen helped me. I was pretty near done. I was just comin' to help you when the critter ran away. I was agoin' to hit him with this."