Before the helpless man's blurred vision, the gleaming blade flashed sidewise and downward. A black-gloved fist had materialized from nowhere. It had landed against the face of the Filipino!
As Louie toppled sidewise, Stuart was freed. He rolled over in an effort to regain his feet.
As he turned, Stuart saw the white-coated Filipino rising before him. The murderous man was dodging the new antagonist. Once more, the gleaming knife flashed; then a mass of blackness blotted out the form of the Filipino.
The mask obscured Stuart's vision. As he pulled the handkerchief down to his neck, he saw Louie's form rise upward toward the ceiling, as though elevated by an invisible force! It was an amazing blur to Stuart's blinking eyes.
Then the Filipino hurtled headlong. The gleaming knife clattered to the floor.
Bewildered, Stuart saw Louie lying stunned. Looking back at the spot where the Filipino had been, he saw the answer.
In the center of the room stood a man in black — a tall figure clad in a flowing cloak. His face was obscured by the brim of a hat. From beneath, glowed keen eyes that viewed Stuart. The folds of the man's black cloak were swaying; and Stuart caught a glimpse of a bright, crimson lining. It was the mysterious man whom he had seen the night before! Here, in this mellow-lighted room, the tall figure seemed more mysterious than before. It was a shadow that had come to life — a solid being materialized from nothingness. Stuart's eyes were staring; his ears received the next weird impression. From that tall, sinister form came a mocking laugh. It was a cry of victory — the sardonic mirth of an avenger! Those burning eyes were staring toward the unconscious form of the murderous Filipino. The hidden lips were voicing the swift triumph!
This man had rescued Stuart; but was he friend or foe? Had he stopped the death thrust of the knife to deliver death of his own choosing?
Seized by a sudden fear, Stuart could think of but one course; to protect himself in case this being of the night should prove to be an enemy!
Across the room, he saw his revolver, lying beneath a chair. Stuart acted on impulse. He leaped for the spot where his gun lay, intending to gain the weapon as a protection.
He stumbled as he reached his objective. On his knees, Stuart clutched the.32 and threw himself around to cover the stranger. Then came amazement.
The man in black was gone! Stuart was alone, with the sprawled form of the helpless Filipino!
Was it all a dream? Could the rescue have been a thing of fancy? Even as Stuart wondered, his ears caught a sound that seemed to echo from outside the house. It was a long, eerie laugh — that same triumphant laugh of the man in black!
Stuart pocketed his revolver and dashed from the house. He stood in the thick darkness.
He could see nothing he could hear nothing. The weird rescuer was swallowed by the night.
Retracing his steps toward the road, Stuart wondered. He had found the front door unlocked when he had rushed from the lodge. It was through that door the stranger had entered. The man must have unlocked it — for it seemed likely that Louie would have barred the door at night. On a chance, Stuart wended his way to Hawthorne's. He crept to the house and peered into the window. Both men were at their places. It was obvious that neither had been out of the cottage.
Slowly, Stuart went back toward the Inn. His body was bruised and lame. He took his time; and stopped frequently to listen.
As he neared the hotel, he heard a distant sound. It was the faint humming of an airplane motor. Was Mayo returning? Stuart waited. The black sky gave no sign of the plane. The purring sound faded. Stuart recalled that there was a landing field a few miles from Greenhurst. Had the plane taken off from there? The plane was departing, not arriving; so it could not be Mayo's ship.
Stuart was wondering as he went into the hotel; wondering about the man; wondering about the plane. Somehow, there seemed to be a connection.
In this, Stuart was correct. Heading southward, The Shadow was flying to New York!
Chapter XIII — The Midnight Meeting
One night after Stuart Bruxton's experience in Greenhurst, Harry Vincent encountered developments in Philadelphia.
From the darkened window of a small apartment, he was peering across a narrow courtyard to a lighted room in a wing of the same building. The window of that room was open.
Harry was watching Denby Chadwick.
A sound came across the court. It was the ringing of a telephone. Harry was awaiting it as eagerly as Chadwick. He looked at the luminous dial of his wrist watch. It registered twenty minutes of eleven. Chadwick was answering the telephone.
"Yes — yes" — were his words — "I understand. I've been waiting to hear from you. I don't like it, though… I'm afraid I'll lose everything… You're demanding too much… No — no" — the voice had a pathetic note "don't say that… Wait… Wait a moment." Chadwick left the phone and came to the window. He stared out into the court with haggard eyes. His hands moved restlessly, clasping and unclasping. He drew down the sash.
Unable to hear more, Harry left his apartment and hastened through the hall. It was a considerable distance to the door of Chadwick's apartment.
Arriving there, Harry found himself in luck. The transom of Chadwick's door was slightly open. Harry could hear the voice within, although the words were not so plain as they had been in the room across the court.
Harry realized that he had missed an important part of Chadwick's conversation, and he chided himself for not having come here the moment that the phone call had commenced. It was too late for such regrets, however.
"I understand," Harry heard Chadwick say. "I've got to come through" — the voice was glum — "and you're letting me off easy, after all. I want to be sure that this is all of it, though." A pause followed, indicating that Chadwick was listening from the other end. Then came these words:
"I'll be there, then. But I want to be sure that I'll be safe. You know I'm taking a chance, going alone. I can't do anything else, but — " The voice stopped, as though the speaker might be listening to an interruption from the other end.
When Chadwick spoke again, it was with the tone of a man who has been somewhat reassured.
"You're protecting me positively, then. Well, I'll be there. I know the way. Midnight."
The conversation ended. Harry Vincent hurried back toward his own apartment. He waited behind a corner until he saw young Chadwick appear and start for the elevator. Then Harry descended by the stairway.
Chadwick was leaving the lobby when Harry reached the ground floor. Harry knew his immediate destination. Chadwick's car was outside the apartment.
The man was driving away when Harry reached the street and clambered into his own coupe. He saw the taillight of Chadwick's car as it turned a corner. Harry followed in pursuit.
Chadwick's car reached a trafficked street. It was not difficult to trail it.
Harry was thinking deeply as he kept pace behind the car in front. He knew something of Chadwick's troubles, but not enough.
So far as his uncle's death was concerned, Chadwick had a perfect alibi. But the fact that he had been quizzed so closely by the county detective made it appear as though there might be a plot against him. Blackmail was afoot, Harry decided. Perhaps old Grant Chadwick had been killed because he would not meet demands. Perhaps the heritage which Denby Chadwick had received was putting him in hot water also.
Harry remembered the fiendish plan that had operated against Stuart Bruxton. If the same men were after Denby Chadwick, there would certainly be danger.
Chadwick was going to a meeting. Harry, armed, was following him. The meeting was to be at midnight. It must be some distance away.
Harry's surmise was justified when Chadwick headed along the boulevard toward New York; then turned off to the right.