AFTER they had closed the door, Dorothy watched the stairway. She was listening intently for any sounds from above. None came. But the girl failed to glance toward the passage near the far end of the great hall. Hence she did not see the pallid face that was staring from darkness.
Twindell had come downstairs while they were in the room with the tapestried panels. He had sneaked into that far passage. He had caught words of Dorothy’s conversation with Rokesbury. Time moved by; Twindell lingered, watching.
Inside the closed room, Rokesbury and his crew had completed their removal of the large tapestried panels. The electric brackets revealed a barren result. The walls in back of the panels were smooth and whitewashed. There was no possibility of a secret doorway. Rokesbury tapped with his knuckles to encounter solid stone.
The engineer ordered his men to replace the heavy panels. They went to work, while Rokesbury timed them with his watch. Intent upon his supervision, he did not glance toward the window, where he had drawn the blinds. Hence Rokesbury did not see the peering eyes that shone through a tiny crack at the bottom of the shade. Those were the eyes of The Shadow.
The cloaked watcher was standing in the dusk outside the mansion. His form was black against the shaded side of the house. Thick darkness with thin rifts of mist pervaded the bog; The Shadow was a living phantom as he moved farther along the wall. He had seen the failure of Rokesbury’s brief search.
He wanted to observe others within the mansion.
Through the grilled window at the end of the great hall, The Shadow caught the glow of the fire. He saw Dorothy Brent watching the stairway. Then his keen eyes spied the pallid face of Twindell. Lingering, The Shadow saw the servant move back into the passage. The door had opened from the tapestried room.
Rokesbury and his men were coming out. The Shadow faded with the increasing darkness as he moved toward the end of the mansion.
Rokesbury ordered his men to leave. He sat down beside Dorothy. He shook his head as the girl whispered a question regarding the search.
“No luck,” said Rokesbury. “If there are any secret hiding places, we will find them elsewhere on this floor. There were solid walls in back of those tapestried panels.”
“Did you put the panels back in perfect order?”
“Yes. No one will know that they were removed. That room must be watched, Dorothy.”
“Why? You found nothing there.”
“But I alone have made the search. Others” — Rokesbury paused — “like the prowler who came down from the hill — may still think that the room hides a secret. I am going to stand watch to-night, Dorothy. My men will be in readiness at the causeway.”
“You think the prowler will return?”
“Yes. If he knows what is going on here — which is possible — he will lose no time. Your uncle is looking through the house. Halthorpe has stated that he intends to repair it. There is mystery here, Dorothy — deep mystery — but do not fear.”
The girl nodded bravely. She felt confidence because Rokesbury would be on hand at the causeway. She was sure that she could rely further upon this friend who had proven his interest in her welfare.
ROKESBURY arose. Dorothy did the same. They walked to the outer door. Rokesbury’s men had gone back to the causeway. While the engineer stood talking to the girl, just outside the door, a lantern came gleaming from the bushes by the swamp. It was Wildemar Brent, returning from his search through the bog.
“Any luck?” questioned Rokesbury.
“No,” returned Brent.
“Where is the professor?” asked the engineer.
“Following a trail of his own,” replied the naturalist. “Ah! There is his light. Here he comes now. Any sign of the ignis fatuus, professor?”
Shelby came up with a lantern. He was shaking his head in response to Brent’s question. He peered solemnly through his spectacles; then glanced ruefully toward the boots that he was wearing. They were thick with mire from the bog.
“The paths are difficult,” declared Shelby. “Time after time I nearly slipped into the quagmire. My word! This marsh is muckier than many of the fens that I have visited in England. Of course, one is apt to encounter quicksand in the midst of an English fen. That danger is not present here.”
“You had better change your shoes, professor,” suggested Dorothy. “You have been more than ankle-deep in mud.”
“Thank you for the suggestion,” said Shelby, with a bow. “I shall follow it, Miss Brent.”
He scraped mud from his shoes; then entered the old mansion. Rokesbury remained talking to Brent. The naturalist did not seem greatly impressed by the offer of men to guard the house. He grumbled that he would prefer to have Rokesbury keep his workmen on the causeway, where they belonged.
Brent went into the house. Dorothy said good-bye to Rokesbury. The engineer departed; the girl went indoors. She sat down at the fire place, beside her uncle. Professor Shelby had gone upstairs to change his clothes.
Twindell was standing at the far end of the hall. Unnoticed, the old servant threw a glance toward the opened door that led into the paneled room. His face was strained and troubled. Twindell seemed perplexed.
Eyes from without saw that expression; for those eyes were close by the solid window at the end of the hall. The Shadow was peering in from outer darkness. Twindell walked away. The gleaming eyes disappeared.
A swish in the darkness outside the old house. An unseen figure glided toward the marsh. The Shadow was taking a swift shortcut through the swampy land — a route that led to the town of Rensdale. By this path that he had discovered, the trip would require no more than a dozen minutes.
Again, The Shadow had seen. He knew that Twindell had learned that no secret lay within the room with the tapestried panels. The Shadow knew that the old servant was perturbed. New events were brewing upon this night.
Through his agents, The Shadow would anticipate what lay ahead. His plans were made; his orders would be obeyed. The Shadow was nearing the end of a quest as strange as Wildemar Brent’s search for the ignis fatuus. Yet all was not sure yet. Chance could still play its part.
While The Shadow, invisible, was trailing his way through the swamp, another figure was stalking along the road that led by the broad marsh. Philo Halthorpe had started off on one of his long evening tramps.
There was no moon to-night. Complete blackness had settled over town and countryside. It was a night when danger lurked abroad. It was a night suited to insidious crime. But the weird, whispered laugh that sounded in the depths of the marsh indicated another fact.
This was a night to The Shadow’s liking. To the being who battled crime, thick darkness was the cloak that aided his thrusts against men who plotted evil.
CHAPTER XII. ABOVE AND BELOW
“BURKE speaking.”
The statement came through Harry Vincent’s earphones. Listening from his post in the beacon shack, Harry had formed new contact with Clyde in the Hotel Rensdale. Acknowledging the call, Harry awaited instructions. They came.
“Cover the squatter’s cabin,” ordered Clyde. “Prevent the bearded man from leaving. Hold him for further orders.”
“Instructions received.”
Using his flashlight along the ground, Harry Vincent proceeded from the shack. He found his way to a forgotten path that he had discovered. Through thick blackness, he began his descent toward the cottage on the hill.
The evening was less than half gone. There was ample time to reach the cottage before the bearded Dalwar was ready to leave. All the way along, Harry watched for signs of flashed signals from the distant mansion in the marsh. He saw none. Hence he was sure that he would find the bearded man in his cabin.