The refrigerator car was attached; the empties were dropped. The whistle of the locomotive called in the flag man. The couplings jerked; the conductor waved from the caboose. Zach Hoyler responded and went back into the station before the rear lights of the train had disappeared around the bend. He heard the distant blare of the locomotive, whistling for the grade crossing.
A FEW passengers began to appear. They were coming to take the inbound local, which was soon due. The agent stamped some tickets and attended to other details. The local arrived. Several passengers alighted and took waiting automobiles back to town. Zach Hoyler settled down for his long wait until the Union Limited pulled in.
The door of the waiting room opened. Two men entered. One was Harry Vincent; the other, Elbert Breck. They approached the ticket window; it was Elbert who spoke first.
“Any telegram for me?” he questioned. “For Elbert Breck?”
“No,” replied the agent. “I’d have phoned you if any had come in.”
“Hardly,” remarked Elbert. “Our phone went out of order a few hours ago. Send your telegram, Harry. I’ll meet you outside.”
Harry took a blank and wrote out another telegram to Rutledge Mann. This was still part of his policy. He had received a dummy wire from Mann this morning; a reply was in order. Harry gave the message to the station agent; then went outside to look for Elbert.
There was no one on the platform. Harry walked over to his coupe. Elbert was not in the car. Turning about, Harry chanced to see his companion appearing from the far end of the platform. Elbert arrived at the coupe.
“Just taking a little walk along the track,” remarked the young man. “Didn’t know you had come out.”
When they reached the house, Harry and Elbert found Tim Forey there. The sheriff seemed glum. He talked a bit about the mysterious death of Ezekiel Twinton; he mentioned that the house on the hill had been closed.
These were facts which Harry and Elbert already knew. Craven happened in while Forey was talking; the servant moved about and finally went into the kitchen. After a while, Forey decided to leave.
“I’ve sent the deputies back to town,” informed the sheriff. “Keep the place locked up in case there’s any prowlers around. Guess you fellows can look out for yourselves.”
Forey shot a significant glance at Harry. The Shadow’s agent understood. Baffled, Forey intended to allow full leeway here. The sheriff did not know that Elbert Breck had been abroad on the night of Ezekiel Twinton’s murder.
Perhaps the sheriff still suspected Craven. If so, he was relying upon Harry and perhaps Elbert. Harry nodded in response to Forey’s glance. He became thoughtful after the sheriff had left. Under ordinary circumstances, Harry might have condemned himself for misleading the sheriff into thinking that all was well within this house.
But Harry was an agent of The Shadow. He knew that his service to the hidden investigator would offset any neglect of duty to which Forey had assigned him. Not long after the sheriff’s departure, Harry went upstairs and prepared a brief report for The Shadow.
Coming downstairs, Harry discovered that Elbert Breck was absent from the living room. Harry knew that Elbert had not gone up to his own room. Going out into the kitchen, Harry found the place empty. The back door was unbolted. Harry stepped out and looked about.
CRAVEN, too, was missing. Had they started out on separate ways? Not knowing how soon The Shadow might appear, Harry returned into the house and went up to add notations to his report. He estimated that either Elbert or Craven could have been gone for half an hour — Craven perhaps longer.
Footsteps, soft in the hall. Harry stepped from his room. It was Craven, coming down from the third floor. Ostensibly, the servant had been in his room all the while. Harry began to have doubts of his own suspicions.
“Have you seen Mr. Breck?” inquired Harry.
“No, sir,” replied Craven. “I have been in my room ever since Mr. Forey left. I was just coming down to make sure all was locked.”
“The back door is unbolted. Wait. I’ll go down with you.”
As they reached the kitchen, the back door opened and Elbert Breck stepped into view. The heir seemed taken aback for the moment; then he grinned weakly.
“Taking a little stroll,” he said to Harry. “Just here about the place. Thought you had gone to bed, or I would have invited you along with me.”
That ended the matter. Craven looked up. It was nearly eleven. Harry strolled in and turned on the radio while Elbert and Craven retired. A little while later, Harry went up and added a few notes to his report. He left the light on as a signal to The Shadow; then went to bed.
TEN minutes before the Union Limited was due, a silent figure glided through the darkness near the railroad station. The Shadow stopped, away from the lighted platform. There were no passengers tonight. Zach Hoyler was standing at the outer end of the platform, leaning against a lightly loaded baggage truck.
Evidently the Limited was due on scheduled time. Other work finished, the agent had wheeled out the truck and was whiling away the minutes that remained. At last came the sounds of the approaching Limited. The train pounded into the station. The baggage went aboard. Off came three trunks and a square box. The final object measured about two feet in each direction.
The Limited pulled out. As Zach reached the door of the baggage room, a stocky figure stepped from the track. Perry Nubin growled a greeting. The agent smiled in wry fashion.
“Back again,” was his remark. “Getting to be a habit. Well, sleuth, there’s three trunks and a box that just came into town. Look them over. Maybe they’ve got fingerprints on them.”
Nubin passed up the trunks; but he studied the box while Hoyler was unlocking the outer door of the baggage room. The detective said nothing; but a quizzical frown appeared upon his heavy forehead. The Shadow, watching from darkness, observed the expression. So did Zach Hoyler, as he turned from the baggage room.
“What’s the matter?” queried the agent.
Nubin looked up suddenly.
“Nothing in particular,” he said, gruffly. “But I just found something better than fingerprints. Look at the label on that box.”
“Addressed to Grantham Breck!” exclaimed Hoyler, as he noted the name on the box. “Say — I wonder where that came from?”
“New York,” returned Nubin.
“Sure,” agreed Hoyler, “but I mean who sent it?”
Nubin shrugged his shoulders; then made a brief remark.
“The old man hasn’t been dead long,” stated the detective. “Maybe this is something he ordered before he was croaked. Say — that box is kind of heavy, ain’t it?”
“Yes,” admitted Hoyler, as he swung the box from the truck. “Mighty heavy, for its size.”
“Must be loaded with lead. Here — I’ll give you a hand with it.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll roll it into the baggage room. Here goes.”
“What are you going to do with the box?” questioned Nubin, as he followed to the door of the baggage room.
“Call Breck’s house,” responded Hoyler. “That’s who it’s addressed to. Breck.”
“It’s for Grantham Breck. He’s dead.”
“I’ll notify his son.”
“Tonight?”
“Can’t. He was over here earlier in the evening. Happened to mention that his phone was out of order.”
“Humph. I’d like to know what’s inside that box.”
“Do you want to crack it open?”
Nubin hesitated at Hoyler’s question. The detective was considering the consequences.