“I didn’t say so, but I expect he is. Maybe Tim figures there’ll be some more shooting.”
“So he’s put the rod out of sight, eh? Well, that may bring in some American gats.”
“Funny thing,” suggested Hoyler, “about old Breck having that pistol in the first place. Tim thinks he was carrying it when he was killed. I wonder why he chose a German gun.”
“Nutty, I guess,” growled Nubin. “He’s the kind of bird who would have wanted something different. Say” — the dick changed the subject — “what about this guy Vincent? Has he been sending these telegrams very often?”
“Pretty often. Guess he’s got a job with that fellow Mann.”
“Must think he’s a big shot, worrying so much about his investments. Say — that fellow Ezekiel Twinton lived up on the hill, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Who lived with him?”
“Two servants. A deaf butler and a Chinese cook.”
“What are they doing now?”
“Tim Forey moved them down into town, I understand. Leaving the old house empty. I guess he brought the dogs along, too.”
“No deputies up there?”
“Why should there be? There’s nothing in that house worth stealing. If there is, it would be easier to move it than to put men guarding a place where nobody’s living.”
“Guess you’re right. Say, Hoyler, tap this through for me.” Nubin reached for a telegraph blank. “Buddy of mine used to work on the B and R. Out of a job in New York; thought maybe I could place him on the Union Valley if he came up to see me.”
“Anything like you?” questioned the agent, while Nubin was writing the telegram. “If he is, that wire don’t go through from this station.”
“There it is,” retorted Nubin, shoving the telegram under the wicket. “Send it and keep the wise-cracks for the rubes down in Chanburg. I’m going out on Sixty-eight.”
THE Dairy Express was on time. It came grinding into the station before Hoyler had a chance to send the telegram. Perry Nubin hopped on between milk cars. He waved to Hoyler as the train pulled out. Number Sixty-eight was lighter than usual. Hoyler watched the train gather speed as it reached the bend.
When the agent came back into the station, he entered the ticket office and picked up the two telegrams. There was a third one lying beneath the others; one that Hoyler had forgotten. It was a message that he had received over the telephone from the Breck house.
That wire had been phoned in shortly before Harry Vincent’s arrival. It made Zach Hoyler ponder. The telegram was addressed to Powers Glidden, who was evidently a New York attorney. It stated that the sender wanted to retain him as advisory counsel.
Hoyler was wondering why Harry had not brought the telegram. He was also puzzled by the signature. It was simply one name: “Breck.” Hoyler recalled the voice that had come over the wire; its tones had been those of Craven, the butler. The man had called the station on previous occasions.
It seemed logical that Elbert might have given Craven the message to send. Perhaps he had formulated the telegram after Harry Vincent had departed for the station. The single name “Breck” was also explainable; but Hoyler had pondered upon the fact that it could have applied to the dead father as well as to the living son.
Perry Nubin’s telegram was to a man named Charles Bland. It was a suggestion that Bland should come to see the detective at Laporte. It was signed by Nubin’s full name. Zach Hoyler stacked Harry Vincent’s telegram with the other two.
Blackness blotted out the lights from the platform as Hoyler began to send the telegrams. That blackness occupied a single window. The Shadow was close at hand. He had heard the conversation between the men from town. More than that, he had seen Perry Nubin listening in outside an opened window.
The detective had not come in on the Limited; but he had actually gone out on the milk train. The Shadow had watched the speed of the departing Dairy Express. He knew that Nubin could not have hopped off at the bend.
The Shadow was listening to the clicks of Zach Hoyler’s key. The agent was finishing for the night. The Shadow listened to the ticks and read them plainly. He understood all the messages that were going over the wire. Three pauses marked short intervals between the telegrams that Zach Hoyler dispatched. His task completed, the agent left the little office, closed the windows, turned out the light and came through the door of the waiting room, locking it behind him.
Hoyler’s roadster rumbled townward. The Shadow stood silent in the darkness. Then came the sound of his shuddering, whispered laugh. The Shadow had gained the key to coming crime. In one of the telegrams that Zach Hoyler had sent to New York, the master sleuth detected a summons that meant dangerous business. The move that The Shadow expected would soon be due.
LATER, The Shadow glided into the clearing by the autogiro. He opened a box in the cockpit of the ship. He lifted earphones and gained contact with Burbank. Then came the sinister tones of The Shadow’s weird whisper.
Orders to Burbank. Speaking from darkness, The Shadow gave them. The Shadow knew the goal that men of crime were seeking. He knew that the move was coming; he knew the reason why. Over the shortwave radio, The Shadow was instructing Burbank how to aid him in his plans.
For The Shadow, keen in his study of two murders, had devised a clever scheme by which he could frustrate the evil band that would soon be moving toward its long-sought goal. Through bold success, The Shadow would seek to clear the underlings; then encounter their evil chief alone.
CHAPTER XV
IN FROM NEW YORK
Two nights later. A heavy freight came plodding along the line of the Union Valley. Couplings clanked; big freight cars jolted as the engineer gave the brakes. The locomotive came to a stop nearly half a mile up the line. The caboose was by the station platform. The conductor of the freight waved to Zach Hoyler, who was standing outside the waiting room.
“Cutting off up ahead,” informed the conductor. “Dropping a couple of empties and picking up that refrigerator box you got on the siding.”
Zach Hoyler nodded. The refrigerator car had brought a consignment to Chanburg. The empty freight cars were to be loaded on the morrow with a large shipment from a cannery located near Chanburg. The baggage room already contained the first load of crates. They had been brought over early, by mistake.
Brakemen were hurrying along the tops. The train was cut about sixteen cars from the locomotive. The first step was to pull further ahead to the end of the long siding; then to back and pick up the empty refrigerator car. After that had been attached, the locomotive would again pull forward, back up and drop the pair of empties.
A trainman was standing by the switch as the locomotive and the first sixteen cars went by. The pair of empties were among the lot. The short first section took the curve just beyond the switch; then came to a stop. The engineer was waiting for the swing of lanterns that would give him the signal to back. Members of the train crew were on the near side of the track — the inner portion of the curve.
While the first sixteen cars were at a standstill, doors opened on the far side of an empty car. Sweatered figures dropped beside the track and scurried for the bushes on the upper embankment. They were crouched there when the locomotive reversed. They waited until the lumbering “hog” had chugged back on to the siding. Out of the headlight’s glare, the waiting men scrambled back to the rails and jogged along the track.
None of the train crew saw them. Brakemen had moved back by the switch and beyond. Lost past the curve, the jogging crew heeded the gruff voice of their leader. A dozen men scrambled down from the right of way. They were heading for the little shack in the bushes.