He had left that strange mark upon the paper; he had gone noiselessly from the room; he had finally clicked the doorknob so that Harry would again be aroused from reverie.
Thus had The Shadow, unseen, gained the information that Harry Vincent had left for him, and made it plain to his agent that he — The Shadow — had come to Holmsford.
From now on, Harry knew, his work would be that of a subordinate. There would be orders that he must obey; but the work of investigating mystery lay in The Shadow’s hands.
To-morrow night! The meeting between Willard Saybrook and Hurley Adams! The Shadow knew about it now — and The Shadow would be there!
CHAPTER VII. THE MEETING
THE house in which Hurley Adams lived was not a large one. It was a secluded building, attractive, and surrounded by a large lawn. A street lamp caused long shadows from trees and shrubbery. Willard Saybrook, when he came up the walk to keep his evening appointment with the lawyer, noted those wavering shapes.
Saybrook was admitted to the house by a solemn-faced attendant. Adams was a widower, and lived alone, with one manservant in the place. Evidently Adams had given instructions to admit Saybrook immediately upon his arrival, for the servant solemnly ushered the visitor up the stairs.
Thoughts of shadows on the lawn were no longer in Saybrook’s mind. But the flickering splotches remained — all but one. As soon as the young man had entered the house, that shape detached itself from the others. It became an object of life — a token of an invisible person who owned it.
When it reached the wall of the house, the long patch of blackness transformed itself into a living being.
There, close beside the wall, stood the spectral figure of a being garbed in black. The folds of the cloak obscured the body. The brim of a dark slouch hat hid the features. Only two sharp eyes were visible — burning, brilliant optics that peered vividly through the night. Then the eyes no longer glowed. The form itself faded. The Shadow was slowly scaling the side wall of the house.
A silent, creeping specter, The Shadow made his way foot by foot toward a lighted window on the third floor. Invisible, black-gloved hands gripped projecting stones and bits of masonry. Twisted vines of ivy aided in the progress.
The Shadow reached his objective. His right hand, using a thin metal jimmy, silently loosened the catch on the window. The sash went up, without the slightest noise. The hand slowly urged the shade by inches.
Sharp eyes peered into the lighted room, and keen ears listened.
The third-floor room was a miniature library. Its walls held shelves from floor to ceiling. These shelves were ponderously arranged with heavy, buckram-bound legal volumes. A desk in the corner, a table, and three chairs constituted the only items of furniture.
The window through which The Shadow peered was one of three. The other two, at each end of the room, were set at the end of projecting alcoves, due to the slope of the roof.
HURLEY ADAMS, a serious look on his dignified face, was seated at the desk. The old lawyer’s white locks were scarcely more pallid than his complexion. Indeed, Adams had all the appearance of a man harassed by worry or ailment.
Willard Saybrook, standing in the center of the room, showed no signs of similar condition, but he was restless.
The apparent contrast between the two showed clearly that Adams was harboring some great problem, while Saybrook was annoyed because of his inability to understand certain matters that filled his mind.
“Sit down, Saybrook. Sit down.”
These were the first words that came to The Shadow’s ears. They were uttered by Hurley Adams, and the old man appeared a trifle relieved when Willard Saybrook took a chair and planted himself across the table. The faces of both men showed plainly to the silent observer at the window. The Shadow could see every change in emotion that flickered over either countenance.
Saybrook was waiting for Adams to speak. The old lawyer cleared his throat; then settled back in his chair, and acted as though at a loss for something to say. Saybrook showed signs of impatience. At last, he opened the conversation himself.
“Adams,” he said, “I have reached a decision on this matter — namely, the death of Josiah Bartram. I took your advice and said nothing, despite the fact that Doctor Shores has called at the house on several occasions. I was holding back, waiting only for something to occur. I feel that it has occurred now.”
“You mean the death of Maurice Pettigrew?”
“Exactly. The architect was once associated with Josiah Bartram. Ordinarily I would see no connection between the two. But with so strange a case of suicide following an unusual death, I come only to one conclusion.”
“Which is?”
“That Bartram’s death was not natural; and that Pettigrew was not a suicide.”
“What do you intend to do about it, Saybrook?”
“I plan to take up the matter with Safety Director Selwick. He has accepted Pettigrew’s death as suicide, and the coroner has supported that statement. Selwick knows nothing about the circumstances of Josiah Bartram’s death. I am going to confer with Doctor Shores — and with Director Selwick.”
Hurley Adams raised his hands protestingly at Saybrook’s words. A frightened expression showed in the older man’s gaze. Willard Saybrook’s proposed action filled him with apprehension. The young man stared curiously at his host; then, with a gesture of impatience, Saybrook started to rise.
Pleadingly, Adams motioned him to remain. The lawyer’s worried look turned to a tense shrewdness.
Saybrook wondered at the change; and as Adams began to speak, the words caused Saybrook to become attentive. He sensed that the lawyer had a revelation to make.
“SAYBROOK” — Adams had gained command over his emotions — “I am going to tell you why you must preserve silence. I am going to reveal a secret that I have kept for twenty years — a secret which should never leave my lips.
“Others have held the secret inviolate. It is only to preserve it that I am willing to divulge it to you — only because you, alone, have suspected foul play where others have made no comment.”
Willard Saybrook was seated now. He sensed from the old man’s tone that Adams had a great burden on his mind. Within a few minutes, Saybrook felt that he would know something of the mystery that had surrounded the deaths of Josiah Bartram and Maurice Pettigrew.
“First” — Adams was stern — “you must promise to reveal this secret to no one. You must also be willing to assume the risk that lies over those who have possessed it. It is only my fear that you might resort to hasty action that prompts me to take you into confidence. Do you understand?”
“Does this secret involve Grace Bartram?” questioned Saybrook.
“Yes,” responded Adams. “It does.”
“Her safety?”
“Her safety may be at stake.”
“I promise, then, to maintain silence.”
“No matter how startling the secret may be?”
“No matter what the secret may be.”
“Even though it might make you party to a crime?”
“That makes no difference to me.”
Hurley Adams caught the sincerity of the young man’s tone. He studied Saybrook momentarily; then settled back in his chair and began to speak in a reminiscent voice.
“Twenty years ago — or more” — Adams was reflective — “a group of men in Holmsford planned a crime of tremendous proportions. Doubtless you have heard of it. The crime was the appropriation of millions from the Holmsford City Bank.”
A look of amazement swept over Willard Saybrook’s features. He had heard of that event; he, like most others in Holmsford, knew the details. But they did not jibe with the statement made by Hurley Adams.