“We — we didn’t get along, father and I,” gulped Elbert. “But when I first — when I first learned of his reported death, it — well, it broke me up. I’m his only heir — but that doesn’t mean anything. He was my dad. I — well, I was to blame for our misunderstandings. This — this has changed me, sheriff. I mean it. I mean it.”
There was something pathetic in Elbert’s speech. It won Harry Vincent’s sympathy. Even gruff Tim Forey softened sufficiently to clap his hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“We’re investigating, kid,” said the sheriff. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. You stay right here. It’s your father’s house — yours now — and leave the rest to me.”
“All right, sheriff.”
“I’ve got Vincent staying here. If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have learned anything. I want him to stay on—”
“As long as he wants.” Elbert arose and gripped Harry’s hand. There was a surprising firmness in his grasp. “You’re my friend already, Vincent. You’re white — that’s all.”
The effort seemed to overcome Elbert Breck. Subsiding, the young man dropped back into his chair. He rested his head on one hand and stared toward the floor. His face was melancholy.
“I’m going down town,” remarked Sheriff Forey. “Come along, Vincent, while I scare up those deputies. I’m taking them with me — rather, I’m going with them in their car.”
They left Elbert Breck.
THE moment they were outside the front door, Forey gripped Harry’s arm. The sheriff spoke in a low, tense tone.
“Elbert is lying,” he informed. “His story doesn’t click. No mention of his father’s death could possibly have reached the New York newspapers this morning. Elbert wasn’t in New York. Ezekiel Twinton was right. Elbert was staying over in Laporte.”
“How did he hear the story there?” inquired Harry, in a whisper.
“On account of the searching party,” stated Forey. “I told them who they were looking for. You know how news leaks out. Wait a minute, though. I’m telling you how Elbert could have learned of his father’s death — one way that he could have learned. There’s another way.”
“You mean—”
“That Elbert might have known it last night. Learned it here — not in Laporte. Listen, Vincent, I’m suspecting nobody; yet everybody. I’ve even had you on the list.”
“I thought so,” chuckled Harry.
“But you’re off it now,” assured Forey. “What’s more, I’m going to prove it to you. I’m leaving you here alone. I want you to make friends with Elbert Breck.”
“I think I can do that,” declared Harry.
“I know you can,” stated Forey, emphatically. “This much is certain. Elbert is trying to get a line on what’s happening, or he wouldn’t have shown up so promptly. If I stay here; if I leave deputies, he’ll know that I’m suspicious.”
“You might explain that you were watching Craven.”
“That would only be a halfway measure. It’s a sure bet that Elbert will stick around so long as he thinks he’s clear. That’s why I’m going to depend on you for a while. Are you game?”
“I am.”
Harry received the sheriff’s bonecracking hand clasp. Turning on his heel, Forey called to the deputy. The two entered a touring car and started back to town. Harry Vincent stood pondering.
STRANGE events had crossed his path. Out of a clear sky, Harry had discovered death and mystery. The result: he was playing two parts, both leading to the same goal. He had become the secret agent of the law as well as the secret agent of The Shadow.
The Shadow! As Harry stood in the gathering darkness, he wondered what The Shadow’s next step might be toward the solution of the strange problem that involved the murder of Grantham Breck and the disappearance of the dead man’s body. While Harry pondered, the answer came. With an uncanny closeness that made Harry quiver, a whispered voice spoke a single word from the darkness close beside him.
“Report!”
The Shadow! The master of darkness had come here from Twinton’s! He wanted to know what his agent had learned. Steadily, in a low monotone, Harry recited the conversation that had passed at Twinton’s. He followed with an account of the interview between Elbert Breck and Sheriff Tim Forey.
All the while, Harry stared straight ahead. He did not see The Shadow; he did not see his chief; but he felt a distinct impression of The Shadow’s veiled, yet dynamic presence. In conclusion, Harry began to recite his own speech here with Forey, here outside the house. It was then that a hissed interruption sounded.
“Report received.”
Almost immediately afterward, Harry sensed that he stood alone. He realized that The Shadow had listened in on his talk with Forey; that The Shadow had required only the missing details. Harry knew that The Shadow had departed. This meant that his chief wanted him to carry on until he received new instructions.
Turning, Harry Vincent went back into the house. He was ready to play the game; to be friendly with Elbert Breck, yet to keep close watch upon the young man’s actions. He knew that Sheriff Forey had reached a standstill; yet he was confident that new developments would come. The Shadow was at work.
Off beyond the dimly lighted house, a strange, shrouded figure was gliding through the gathering darkness. Harry Vincent had divined correctly. The Shadow had bided his time throughout the day; now, with darkness his habitation, the master of the night was ready to resume.
A whispered laugh stirred up vague echoes. That throbbing mirth was foreboding. Before this night was ended, The Shadow would produce evidence that others had failed to gain.
CHAPTER VII
THE SHADOW AT WORK
ONE hour after The Shadow had received Harry Vincent’s verbal report, an autogiro came settling upon the lighted landing field at Laporte. The pilot alighted and strolled over to a place where cabs awaited passengers from planes. He entered one of these vehicles and ordered the driver to take him to the Laporte Hotel.
The rural taximan was garrulous. He began chatting with his passenger as he headed for the town. The arrival from the autogiro listened quietly to the driver’s gab.
“Seen that windmill of yours this mornin’, boss,” informed the taximan. “Say — them giros sure can drop down quiet, can’t they? Seen it again when you went up this afternoon. Say — you ought to use that ship to fly over Chanburg. I hear there was doin’s round that town.
“Lookin’ for a body over there, I hear. Finished up about three o’clock in the afternoon, I reckon. But they was talkin’ here at the air field about sendin’ a couple of planes over that way tomorrow. Guess they figure people could see things from above that they couldn’t see on the ground.”
The chugging sedan that passed for a taxi had reached the main street of Laporte. The town was a thriving one; its chief thoroughfare was well illuminated. Laporte boasted three hotels; the driver pulled up at the best, the Hotel Laporte.
When the pilot of the autogiro entered the lobby of the hotel, his features were plainly revealed for the first time. His face was firm and impassive, almost masklike. It gave no clew to his exact age. Brilliant eyes shone from either side of a hawklike nose.
Tall and sweeping of stride, the hawkish arrival entered an elevator and rode up to the fifth floor. There he entered a room which he had engaged that morning, under the name of Lamont Cranston. As soon as the door had closed behind him, Lamont Cranston assumed the role of The Shadow.
Though he had left his black garments stowed safely in the autogiro, The Shadow still possessed his gift of merging with the dark. He moved silently through the room. His whispering lips formed a soft laugh. A light clicked above a table in the corner. Its shade sent the rays downward; only white hands appeared beneath the glow.