What was his plan?
That was to be learned.
But tonight, Glade Tremont was to meet with the surprise of his life. Before this evening was ended, he would see his own face — worn by another man!
That was the plan of The Shadow!
Chapter XI — Orlinov Speaks Facts
Seated in the living room of Ivan Orlinov's castle, Cliff Marsland was reviewing past events. His mind reverted to the events of two nights ago, when he had made his crafty visit to the side wing of the strange house.
Since then, Cliff had been chafing because of his idleness. He had done nothing since he had given his message to Clyde Burke. He could do nothing until he received some reply. Above all, he must restrain himself tonight, for a man's life might be at stake.
In New York, Glade Tremont was to meet Matt Hartley. That meeting held some sinister purpose. The Shadow had been warned of it. The outcome, therefore, would be to Glade Tremont's disadvantage. Meanwhile, Cliff must play his waiting game. It would be unwise for him to repeat his trip to the forbidden territory in the side wing of the house. Much though Cliff desired the excitement of another expedition, he could not afford to take chances that might bring an encounter with Ivan Orlinov or his henchmen.
Cliff had a very definite hunch that there was more of interest in this house than a mere laboratory or workshop. When circumstances would permit it, he intended definitely to learn the secret which Ivan Orlinov had managed to preserve so well.
He recalled the Russian's face as he had seen it by the firelight two nights ago. The mere recollection made Cliff feel uneasy.
While Cliff was picturing Orlinov, the man himself stepped into the room. Cliff looked up inquiringly. The Russian smiled pleasantly. He sat down and stared mildly at his secretary.
Then he began to speak in a pleasant tone of voice.
"It iss quiet, here," he said. "Very quiet."
"I enjoy the quiet," responded Cliff.
"It iss different from New York, nein?"
"Plenty different."
"Plenty different." Orlinov repeated Cliff's expression with a laugh. "You haff been here one week, Marslandt. It iss time now that I told you many things, so that you can be of more help to me. Yess?" Cliff Marsland affected a disinterested attitude.
"There are places here that I would like for you to see," continued the Russian. "Come. I shall show you where you haff not been."
He beckoned as he arose, and Cliff walked by his side.
They left the living room and crossed the hall. The door to the wing was open. With a bow, the huge Russian ushered Cliff into the forbidden territory.
Cliff restrained his enthusiasm. While he had been thinking of a visit here, he had not hoped to make it so soon. He looked about him as they passed the second door, and pretended to view the corridor as though he had come into it for the first time.
"There iss something strange for you to see," declared Orlinov. "It iss not here. It iss on the floor up above. Come."
They reached the stairs and went up to the second story. There Orlinov stopped before a closed door. Cliff noticed something now that be had not observed before, when he had been in haste to travel through the passage. This door — as well as the others on the floor — was fitted with a cross-shaped paneling that had a square center.
"Look."
Orlinov pronounced the word like the name Luke. Cliff was too interested to even notice the tone of the voice.
The Russian's finger was on the square center of the panel. A slight press, and the square dropped, revealing a small pane of glass. At Orlinov's bidding, Cliff peered within. He saw a beautifully furnished room — apparently one of a suite, for there was an open door beyond it. The room was carpeted with thick Oriental rugs. A huge bookcase stood filled with massive volumes.
The furniture was of heavy mahogany.
These features were of small interest to Cliff. His eyes were focused upon the inhabitant of the apartment. An elderly man was seated at a writing desk, tracing lines upon a sheet of paper. He appeared to have no interest in his surroundings. His face was long and solemn, his eyes dreary and dull. Orlinov drew Cliff away from the opening. He closed the panel. He beckoned, and Cliff followed him to another door. Here a panel dropped, and Cliff viewed another room, less elegant in its furnishings. This room also contained an occupant. He was a foreigner, a large-headed man with a bushy beard that bristled like a black brush.
He was wearing a pair of large spectacles. He was seated in front of a chessboard, studying the positions of the pieces. He did not notice Cliff's face peering through the opening.
"Come."
A third panel was opened for inspection. This room was a virtual duplicate of the second.
A stoop-shouldered, gray-haired man was pondering over a large book. He was making notations on a pad that lay beside him. He was the first to realize that he was being watched. He turned suddenly about and looked at the open panel with sharp, piercing eyes.
Orlinov closed the panel, and conducted Cliff along the corridor. He allowed brief inspections of other rooms. These resembled the ones that Cliff had seen, but they were not occupied. Orlinov maintained a cryptic silence. Cliff pondered. He followed the Russian to the first floor. There, Orlinov opened the doors of other rooms. These were workshops and laboratories, each fitted out in excellent style. Another apartment contained a vast array of bookcases and filing cabinets — a veritable library.
Finally, Orlinov led the way to the very room where Cliff had listened to the talk between the Russian and Glade Tremont. This proved to be a simply furnished office Orlinov motioned for Cliff to sit down. The Russian took a standing position at the other side of the room. Cliff watched him, wondering. He was completely puzzled by the strange sights that he had witnessed.
He felt sure that Orlinov was about to give an explanation. That, Cliff decided, would be both interesting and of value.
"They were comfortable?" came the Russian's question.
"They appeared to be," responded Cliff, knowing that Orlinov referred to the men upstairs.
"It iss well," said Orlinov. "They can haff comfort if they wish it. If they do not, they can haff trouble." Cliff accepted this ominous statement without making a response. He was anxious to hear Orlinov talk, but was too wise to question the Russian.
"Few haff seen them there," declared Orlinov. "Yess. Few haff seen them. That would not be wise. Do you know why?"
Cliff shook his head.
"Because," Orlinov was speaking solemnly, "those men are dead. Dead! Yess! They are dead men."
"Dead men!" Cliff echoed the statement in spite of himself.
"Yess." The man was coldly emphatic. "They are dead men. Dead men who liff!" Dead men who live!
The thought chilled Cliff Marsland to the marrow. His teeth clenched, and his face hardened, as he stared at Ivan Orlinov. Had the huge Russian gone crazy? His tone was serious; his expression had been positive.
A strange, wild glow had come into Orlinov's eyes. Cliff began to rise from his chair, thinking that he was dealing with a maniac. Then the Russian motioned him back with an imperious gesture. Orlinov's face became quiet. Cliff relaxed.
"When dead men liff," declared the Russian slowly, "there must be a reason. Yess? I shall tell you what iss the reason. Those men haff been useful. Iss it not nice to know that because you haff been useful, you can liff when you haff been dead?"
Cliff was staring hard at Orlinov. He did not like the peculiar emphasis in the man's tone.
It seemed that every remark was directed toward himself. Cliff sensed a dangerous situation developing. He remained calm in spite of his qualms.