The statement brought a gasp of alarm from Doris. The girl had read the newspaper accounts of the mysterious theft which had occurred at Sebastian Dutton’s. She had not seen Tyrell since the night when both of them had attended Dutton’s soiree.
“Do you think the tapestry could have been stolen while we where there?” questioned Doris, in an anxious tone. “Wouldn’t it have been terrible — if thieves had been among those guests?”
“A ridiculous supposition, Doris,” returned Tyrell, in an easy tone. “Evidently you have read no further than the headlines. No suspicion is attached to any one who was at Dutton’s home three nights ago.”
“But the tapestry is gone—”
“It must have been stolen the next day,” interposed Tyrell. “Dutton and other persons were in and out of the hallway all during the evening of the party. Trusted servants were about. It would have been impossible for any one to manipulate the locks and enter the tapestry room that evening.
“On the next afternoon, however, Dutton and his wife went out and did not return until late in the evening. There were two servants in the house; they did not hear any one enter. However, when Dutton returned late, he decided to visit his tapestry room; that was when he found the treasure had been stolen.”
“Then you think that some one must have entered the house on the evening after our visit?”
“That is what the police believe. The locks were unbroken; apparently no one had tampered with them. Yet the sliding doors offered the only means of entry to the tapestry room. Presumably, some clever locksmith must have entered the house and spent a considerable time in making his entry to the windowless chamber that contained the tapestry.”
“I feel relieved,” sighed Doris. “It is good to know that the robbery did not take place while we were there. From what you say, it would have been impossible.”
“Quite,” remarked Tyrell. “Therefore, on second thought, we need not worry about Brockthorpe’s golden screens if he displays them to-night. A more important problem should concern you, Doris.”
“What should concern me?”
“Whether or not your new friend will be at Brockthorpe’s. You seemed to be quite favorably impressed with Lamont Cranston.”
The girl shot an indignant look toward Tyrell. The shrewd-faced man did not appear to notice the glance; he was lighting a cigarette. Apologetically, he offered his case to Doris. The girl took a cigarette herself. Her indignation still remained.
“One could hardly fail to be impressed by Cranston’s personality,” resumed Tyrell, in his suave tone. “The man is a cosmopolitan sort. I fancy that you found his conversation most interesting. I hope, Doris, that you will meet him again this evening.”
The girl made no reply. Once again, Tyrell was treating her in subtle fashion. He was planning to use Doris as a lure to Cranston; to draw away the visitor whom he was sure must be The Shadow. Tyrell smiled as he threw a sideward glance toward Doris. He knew that his plan would succeed should Cranston be at Brockthorpe’s.
THE cab pulled up in front of an old but well-kept residence. Tyrell and Doris alighted. They ascended the steps and were admitted. A servant announced them; they joined a small group of guests assembled in a front room.
Not more than a dozen persons were present at Rudolph Brockthorpe’s. The heavy-browed host was standing in a corner, talking to two friends. One was Hubert Bexler; the other was Lamont Cranston. With them was a stocky, swarthy-faced man whom Tyrell eyed with thoughtful gaze.
Sebastian Dutton was absent. That was not surprising. His Sicilian tapestry stolen, the host of three nights previous had evidently no desire for viewing treasures that belonged to others. While Tyrell stood looking toward the corner, he noticed that Doris Munson had left him. A moment later, he observed the girl going toward the talking group.
Tyrell smiled as he saw Doris speak to Cranston. Then she and the keen-eyed globetrotter left the group. Tyrell watched them stroll into another room. He sauntered over to the corner and shook hands with Brockthorpe and Bexler. He turned a quizzical gaze toward the stocky man who stood with the two collectors.
“This is Detective Cardona,” said Brockthorpe, by way of introduction. “He is investigating the robbery at Dutton’s. He came to see me this evening. I invited him to remain.”
“On account of the golden screens,” added Bexler. “Our friend Brockthorpe insists on showing them to-night. He refuses to follow my advice. I have told him that he should keep them in a vault.”
“Like the boy king’s throne,” chuckled Brockthorpe. “Worry about your own treasure, Bexler — not mine. Wait until you see my strongroom. I want Detective Cardona to see it also.”
“You are Joe Cardona?” inquired Tyrell, turning to the stocky detective. The man nodded.
“I have heard of you,” said Tyrell, in a complimentary tone. “They say that you are the ace of the New York force. You are fortunate, Brockthorpe” — Tyrell turned to his host — “in having this man here. If your strongroom has a weakness, he should certainly discover it.”
“Detective Cardona has already—”
Brockthorpe broke off his statement as a servant approached, followed by a young man in evening clothes. Brockthorpe stared quizzically toward the new guest. Then he heard the servant’s announcement:
“This is Mr. Vincent, sir.”
“Ah, yes!” exclaimed Brockthorpe. “Meet Mr. Vincent, gentlemen. He arrived in New York yesterday, from Michigan. I invited him here to meet you. Mr. Vincent was a friend of Stephen Carruthers.”
“So you knew poor Carruthers?” clucked Hubert Bexler, as he shook hands with the new arrival. “Well, well. He was a great chap. When did you last see him, Mr. Vincent?”
“Shortly before his unfortunate death,” returned Harry Vincent, in a sober tone. “In fact, I had intended to accompany him by plane to California. I failed to reach Chicago in time. Hence I escaped the crash over Oklahoma — the crash in which Carruthers was killed.”
Bexler continued to converse with Harry. Tyrell, standing by, was a listener to the talk. The two were discussing Stephen Carruthers. Tyrell was also watching Brockthorpe and Cardona. He saw the detective turn to the heavy-browed host.
“Are the guests all here?” questioned Cardona, in a low tone.
“I think so,” responded Brockthorpe.
“Show them the screens,” suggested Cardona. “Get it over with. I want to make sure just how strong the room is.”
“Very well.”
Brockthorpe called to his guests. Tyrell turned around to notice that Lamont Cranston and Doris Munson were close by. He wondered if Cranston had observed Harry Vincent’s arrival. Brockthorpe led the way into an adjoining room. Tyrell watched the others follow. He came along at the rear of the throng.
A SERVANT was standing by the broad doorway between the rooms. It was Chopper Hoban, in a different livery. Tyrell paused to light a cigarette. He spoke in an undertone.
“Got it ready?” he inquired.
“By the door to the strongroom,” whispered Chopper.
“Anybody seem wise?”
“No. I landed the job yesterday. Muff and Tony made the delivery when I was alone here at seven o’clock.”
“Good. Be alert when I call.”
Tyrell continued onward. The room into which he passed was furnished with heavy, massive furniture. Covered chairs and couches seemed musty among bookcases that lined the walls. This was Brockthorpe’s library. At the opposite end was the door to his strongroom.
Brockthorpe opened that door before Tyrell arrived with the group of guests. People entered. Tyrell followed, in time to hear admiring gasps. As he stepped through the portal, he saw the reason for the pleased expressions.