Another idea struck Saybrook. Funny that the call should have come here for Doctor Shores. The physician must have left word at his home that he could be reached at Bartram’s.
Probably a period of time had elapsed between the exact minute of Preston’s death and this call. How long? Where had Shores been in the meantime?
Saybrook wondered. He tried to picture what might have happened at Preston’s home. The man had evidently been found dead. Would they have called Doctor Shores right away?
IT was after twelve o’clock now. Grace went upstairs, and Mahinda, disappeared. Willard Saybrook remained smoking for half an hour, still wondering about the Preston case. He heard a knock at the door, and opened it, to find Shores outside.
“Ah!” exclaimed the physician. “So you’re still up? Just driving by on my way home — thought I’d stop in a minute. Too bad about Arthur Preston” — the physician shook his head sadly — “too bad. I’m used to death, but when it occurs so uselessly—”
“How long ago did it happen?” questioned Saybrook.
“About an hour before they called me here” — Doctor Shores hesitated — “no, maybe it was less than that.
There’s a physician living next door to Preston’s. They called him in. Then they began to phone me. Tried a lot of places and then called here.”
The physician gave a brief description of circumstances as he had found them at Preston’s; then he glanced questioningly toward the living room.
“Grace has retired?” he asked.
Saybrook nodded.
“Where’s Mahinda? Did you let him go off duty?”
“I guess he went off duty of his own accord. Glad I was up when you stopped by, doctor. I’m just turning in now.”
Saybrook accompanied the physician to the front door. After Shores had gone, he stood staring out into the darkness. He did not see the car parked down the street. It was Harry Vincent’s coupe. It had been there off and on during the evening.
The car pulled away shortly after the young man closed the front door, but the vigil had not ceased. New eyes had taken it up — eyes that had appeared in the darkness after Harry Vincent had gone.
Those eyes peered through the window. They saw Willard Saybrook, but he did not see them. They were most mysterious eyes, those eyes of The Shadow!
After Saybrook had turned out the lights and gone upstairs, the eyes remained in the darkness outside the house — the only visible signs of a figure that moved with the invisibility of night itself.
The Shadow, unlike Harry Vincent, did not avoid a close approach to the Bartram mansion. In fact, after his first inspection of the place, the strange investigator moved across the grounds at leisurely pace. His blackened form made a blot as it passed the white marble front of the mausoleum where Josiah Bartram lay buried.
Then, The Shadow was swallowed by the night. His disappearance ended the long chain of mystery that had begun since early evening.
Why had The Shadow come to this spot? Had he, like Willard Saybrook, decided that the clew to strange deaths might best be found at the place where such death had first begun?
Later events might tell. For the present, all was veiled.
Only The Shadow knew!
CHAPTER XI. THE SHADOW WORKS
THE ringing of the telephone awoke Harry Vincent the next morning. He answered sleepily to hear a quiet but unfamiliar voice.
“Mr. Vincent?”
Harry acknowledged.
“I understand,” said the voice, “that you are in Holmsford in order to study conditions in this county so far as building enterprises are concerned. If you could meet me at your convenience, I believe that I can show you opportunities once we are acquainted.”
Harry began to reply; suddenly the wire was interrupted. The click of the receiver at the other end was the cause. Harry made no effort to resume the connection. He understood all that he needed to know.
He had received a message from The Shadow!
Holmsford County Building. At once.
Those emphasized words were the hidden message. They meant that Harry must go on duty. As Harry hung up the receiver, he saw a key lying beside the telephone. He looked at it, and saw the number 902.
That must mean Suite 902 in the Holmsford County Building.
Harry dressed hurriedly, put the key in his pocket, and left the hotel.
The Holmsford County Building, Harry knew, was where Hurley Adams had his office. Furthermore, Harry had learned, the lawyer occupied Suite 904. For some reason, The Shadow desired Harry to be next door.
The Shadow had been at work last night. Parked near the Bartram house, Harry had suddenly discovered a tiny envelope on the steering wheel of his coupe. Harry had not seen any one place it there.
The envelope had contained a coded note, telling Harry to leave for the hotel in ten minutes. He had done so, just after Doctor Felton Shores had left the house for the second time that night.
In his room, Harry had written a report. It had gone in the table drawer. In his haste, Harry had not looked for it this morning. But he knew that The Shadow must have entered while he was sleeping, to take the report and leave the key!
HARRY found that Suite 902 was an empty one. He unlocked the door and entered. In the inner office, he gasped. There, on a table, rested a pair of receivers with a wire that led to the wall!
Harry knew immediately that The Shadow had done another job last night. He had installed a dictaphone that connected with the lawyer’s office next door!
After half an hour of futile listening, Harry Vincent’s patience was rewarded. Some visitor had come to see Hurley Adams.
The voice suddenly impressed its identity. Willard Saybrook was the visitor! Harry could visualize Grace Bartram’s fiance talking to the old attorney.
IN this picturing, Harry was quite correct. Willard Saybrook had come to see Hurley Adams — and The Shadow had anticipated such a visit. Within twenty feet of Harry Vincent, but with a wall between, the young man and the elderly lawyer were engaged in deep conversation.
“Tell me,” Saybrook was asking, in a serious tone. “Was Arthur Preston one of the group?”
“Yes,” affirmed the lawyer solemnly.
“Was it necessary that he should die?” questioned Saybrook.
“No,” responded Adams sadly. “I was on the point of warning him last night. I almost called him. I almost went to see him. As a matter of fact, I did go out for a stroll. Perhaps it was fortunate that I did.”
“Why?”
“My man, Unger, encountered some one in the house just after I left.”
“Who was it?”
“Unger does not know. The man escaped.”
“Then you think—”
“That some one may have intended to take my life. Finding me absent, the assassin visited Preston and killed him.”
A brief silence followed. The lawyer broke it with an explanation.
“I decided,” he said, “to wait until to-day to speak to Preston — the one man whom I felt sure would not be responsible for these crimes. I made an unfortunate mistake in waiting. I am extremely worried now; but I have a new plan.”
“What is it?” asked Saybrook.
“I cannot tell you now,” responded Adams. “It is an experiment. I must try it.”
“It involves the others?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me,” said Saybrook, after a slight pause. “If you will not name the other members of the conspiring group, will you answer me if I ask you regarding a certain man — whether he is a member?”
“Perhaps,” replied Adams thoughtfully. “Who is it that you suspect?”