“But after Josiah Bartram’s death — even before you first spoke to me about it — I feared that Josiah had been murdered. One of the conspirators, I believe, has turned fiend. Yet I waited, hoping that I was wrong. Maurice Pettigrew’s death has convinced me that murder is afoot!”
“The others!” exclaimed Saybrook. “Who are they?”
“I must not name them,” said Adams. “To watch them or to warn them is my work alone. I cannot involve any other person. I have spoken to you because you are Grace Bartram’s fiance, and I cannot speak to her at present. In fact, it might be best that she should never know. Now, Saybrook, you understand why I demanded that you be absolutely silent.”
“Who do you think killed Bartram?” demanded Saybrook. “Who killed Bartram and also Pettigrew?”
“I do not know,” returned the lawyer. “I have been unable to point to any one of the conspirators. There is one whom I believe is innocent. I am almost ready to warn him. Perhaps I shall do so tonight.
“It may be that an outside murderer is at work — or that a conspirator is employing an agent. Those are factors, but I feel sure that some traitor of the group is responsible. However—”
Hurley Adams paused and looked steadily at Willard Saybrook. He saw that he had made no mistake in taking the young man into his confidence. He had gained Saybrook’s entire trust. Adams decided to make his added statement.
“You did not see Maurice Pettigrew’s body,” he declared. “I did. It was lying on the floor. The hands, Saybrook, were pressed to the dead man’s throat. It reminded me of Josiah Bartram when he died. I wondered if Pettigrew had cried out the words that Bartram uttered—”
“Fingers of death!” exclaimed Saybrook.
Adams nodded slowly, and repeated the fateful words in a tone that was low and barely audible:
“Fingers of death!”
CHAPTER VIII. THE SHADOW MOVES
A LONG silence followed after Hurley Adams had spoken those fateful words. Both the old man and his visitor sat motionless as though repressed by a pallor of gloom. Willard Saybrook’s head was bowed in thought. Hurley Adams, though unmoving, was studying the young man with keen, half-closed eyes that stared through narrow slits.
What was the meaning of that gaze? Did Hurley Adams regret that he had told so much? Was he considering other secret facts that he had not mentioned? Was he wondering whether or not to reveal the identities of the other men who had been involved in the great crime of years ago?
The lawyer’s look was cryptic; it seemed to take on a scheming air. It revealed the trait of the old man’s nature that had allowed him to enter into such a deal as that of twenty years ago.
Gradually, the look faded; the eyelids opened, and Hurley Adams was benign. The old man sensed that his secret would go no further; that by this long declaration he had fully gained Willard Saybrook’s confidence.
A slight smile came on the wan lips as Hurley Adams settled back into his chair. Conceivably, Saybrook had become a menace to the lawyer, now that he knew the secret. Yet Hurley Adams, shrewd and perceptive, realized that by his display of frankness he had gained much. Saybrook would now rely upon him; the young man was no longer a doubtful and dangerous factor in the lawyer’s secret affairs.
“Remember,” warned Adams, in a quiet tone, “you must keep silence! I, like others, am in danger. Say nothing, no matter what occurs. Fingers of death may work again; we cannot help it if they do.”
Saybrook nodded and arose from his chair. He extended his arm across the desk and shook hands solemnly with the gray-haired man.
“I’m going back to the house,” he declared. “I’ll stay close to home for a while. I don’t think that Grace is in danger — but it will be wise for me to be watchful.”
“A very good idea,” affirmed Adams.
“More than that,” added Saybrook, “the first crime took place there. Perhaps I can find a clew. I am going to try” — his voice was determined — “and see what I can discover. I’m glad you told me everything, Adams. I’m with you from now on. Count upon me.”
The unseen eyes of The Shadow were still peering beneath the blind when Adams and Saybrook arose.
The lawyer went to the head of the stairs and called his servant to show Willard Saybrook from the house. While his visitor’s footsteps were still tapping down the stairs, Adams came quickly back into his third-floor library.
THE old man was nervous now. His face twisted in a doubtful smile. He stood before the window, pondering; then suddenly went to his desk and picked up a telephone book that lay mere.
There was excitement in his action as he thumbed the pages until he found the one he wanted. His long, thin forefinger ran down a column and stopped at a name. With finger firmly pressed, Adams looked at the telephone upon the desk; then tossed the book aside and reached for the instrument.
Was Hurley Adams considering his plan of calling some one of the conspirators, in an effort toward a warning? The old man had suggested that he might take such a course.
The question, however, was not answered, even though it seemed fairly obvious. Adams did not pick up the receiver. He shook his head doubtfully; then walked to the door and called his servant.
The man appeared less than a minute later. Hurley Adams spoke to him by name, and gave instructions.
“Unger,” he said, “I am going out. Be very careful of the house while I am gone. Admit no intruders. See that all is safe in this room. Remember, you are on guard duty.”
Unger smiled. The man — perhaps forty years of age — was an ex-soldier. He tapped the side pocket of his coat, and Hurley Adams understood. Unger, when in the house, was armed. That had been in accordance with the lawyer’s recent instructions.
When Unger had gone downstairs, Hurley Adams went to the desk and removed a revolver from the drawer. He put the gun into his pocket; paced the floor for a few moments; then left the room.
As the lawyer’s footfalls echoed from below, the window blind rippled silently. The black crown of a soft hat came into view. It was followed by caped shoulders. A few moments later, The Shadow stood within the library.
The black-clad entrant picked up the discarded telephone book. With keen exactness, he opened it almost to the spot where Hurley Adams had turned. Keen eyes beneath the hat brim caught the tiny marks that the lawyer’s thumb had made upon the pages. A few moments afterward, The Shadow’s gloved forefinger was running down the very column that the old man had consulted.
There, pressed into the rough paper, was the mark of a finger nail. Inadvertently, Hurley Adams had indicated the name which he had sought. The Shadow’s eyes noted the name — Arthur Preston — and also the address.
Was Preston the conspirator whom Adams had stated that he might warn? Had the old man decided to visit him instead of telephoning?
The Shadow’s soft laugh indicated that The Shadow knew. Adams had named no living man tonight; but The Shadow had learned the identity of a person of whom the lawyer had been thinking!
The telephone book made a slight thud as it fell to the floor in exactly the same manner as Adams had dropped it. With that slight sound, The Shadow detected another noise that had not quite reached his ears before he dropped the book. Footsteps were coming up the stairs. The Shadow listened. The footsteps ceased; then began again, very softly.
Some one was coming to this room; and that person had heard the fall of the telephone book. The Shadow’s keen eyes scanned the place. The window, across the room, meant that he must encounter the path of the open door. Instead of turning in that direction, the black-clad personage swept toward the nearer of the end alcoves.