“Is Mr. Shiloh there?” she queried. “This is Miss Doyd calling. Miss Theresa Doyd.”
“He is right here, miss,” responded Jeffrey. “Hold the wire, please.”
Theresa could barely hear the valet speak other words, away from the mouthpiece of the telephone.
Jeffrey was addressing Shiloh, stating that Miss Doyd was on the wire. Then, before Shiloh could have possibly reached the telephone, Theresa heard a click, followed by the clatter of a dial.
“Hello,” she called, anxiously. “Hello…”
The dialing stopped short; again a receiver hook clicked. The dial tone zimmed its monotonous sound.
Theresa’s call had been cut off. For a moment, Theresa stood bewildered; then a sudden explanation flashed through her mind.
Mark Lundig must have started another call from downstairs. Probably Lundig — though it might have been some other, for Theresa had heard no voice. She decided, however, that her own voice must have been heard; that was why the dialing had ended so abruptly. The result, whatever the cause, had been unfortunate. Her call to Shiloh had been cut off.
Straining, Theresa listened as she hung up the receiver. She expected to hear new creeping from below; but the locked door of her room prevented any sound from reaching her. Half a minute passed; Theresa gained boldness. Raising the receiver, she heard the dial tone still zinging; she decided that her own using of the telephone must have been a disconcerting factor. Chances were that The Creeper had gone.
Steeling herself, the girl unlocked the door, deliberately walked through the upstairs hall and descended to the floor below.
Theresa’s courage increased. She heard no new creeping; the hall, though gloomy, was not too foreboding. Theresa passed the closed doors of the reception room. She continued on and came to the door of the library. The barrier was half open; the room was lighted. Theresa entered, to find the library empty.
THE girl suddenly sensed some one in the hall. She turned nervously, to see Wilfred approaching from the dining room. She called the servant and spoke loudly.
“When did Mr. Lundig arrive?” she inquired. “Did you admit him, Wilfred?”
“Certainly, miss,” returned the servant. “I admitted Mr. Lundig about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Did he come in here?”
“Perhaps so, Miss Theresa. But I could not say positively. He stopped in the front parlor — to look through the music portfolio, I presume. I had been occupied in the kitchen, so I went directly back there.”
“Where is Mr. Lundig at present?”
“Perhaps he is still in the front parlor, Miss Theresa. Shall I see?”
“Yes. Go there at once, Wilfred.”
As the servant turned about, the telephone began to ring. Wilfred hesitated; Theresa waved him on. She answered the telephone herself. A sigh of relief came from her lips as she heard Shiloh’s voice.
“Theresa?” came the anxious query. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course.” The girl laughed nervously; then looked about to make sure that Wilfred was gone. “Can you come over, Donald? Right away?”
“Certainly, Theresa. But tell me what it is—”
“Everything is all right. I can say no more at present. Come as soon as you can, Donald.”
Ending the call, the girl went out into the hall. She encountered Wilfred coming back from the front parlor. The servant shook his head.
“Mr. Lundig is not about,” he stated. “I believe that he must have gone out again, Miss Theresa.”
“Very well, Wilfred. You may go back to the kitchen. If the doorbell rings, I shall answer it.”
Theresa went into the parlor, to find it empty, as Wilfred had stated. She picked up the music portfolio and tried to study it; but could not keep her eyes from the slowly-ticking clock. Minutes were long intervals to the troubled girl. A dozen passed with increasing slowness. The came a ring of the front doorbell.
Theresa answered it immediately, to find Shiloh on the doorstep; beyond, at the curb, was the glistening green coupe.
Theresa closed the door behind her, pressing the latch as she did so. She spoke to Shiloh cautiously; he listened intently, as he noted the girl’s worried look.
“Don’t come in,” said Theresa. “I want to talk to you out here. I don’t know who may be listening inside.”
“You heard the creeping again?” questioned Shiloh.
Theresa nodded. Both she and Shiloh were intent. Neither had thought of the blackness about them, the nightly gloom that always clung to the front of the old looming mansion. Hence they did not see the shape that glided suddenly across a blotchy stretch of sidewalk.
The figure merged with the darkness. Shadowy in motion, it stopped near the steps. A listener had arrived to hear this conference. It was The Shadow. Obscure in darkness, he had come here only a few minutes before; just in time to see Shiloh’s car drive up.
“I THOUGHT it must be the creeping,” declared Shiloh. “Jeffrey answered the telephone when you called; but before I could get on the wire, some one must have cut you off. As soon as I realized what had happened, I tried to call you back. All I could get was a ‘busy’ signal.”
“I think some one was dialing from the library,” explained Theresa. “Mark Lundig, probably. He was here.”
“I tried to get the number twice,” added Shiloh. “Then I decided to wait for a few minutes. That seemed the best plan, despite my impatience. My third call went through; if it hadn’t, I would have dashed over here anyway.”
“You came very promptly, Donald,” smiled Theresa. “You must have driven rapidly.”
“Like blazes! But tell me, Theresa: What about the creeping?”
“I heard it from upstairs. It was in the lower hall. So I decided to call you. When I picked up the telephone I heard Mark Lundig speaking to a man with a gruff voice.”
“Lundig was talking from the library?”
“He must have been. I learned afterward, from Wilfred, that Mark had come in while I was upstairs. The man with the gruff voice mentioned something quite odd, Donald. He said that Montague Rayne had been staying at the Torrington Hotel—”
“Montague Rayne? Wasn’t he the old codger who jilted your Aunt Mehitabel, some fifty years ago?”
“Yes. Don’t you remember that Mark said Rayne might be important? He must have hired detectives to find out if Rayne happened to be in New York.”
Shiloh chuckled.
“What a fool Mark is,” he stated. “Worrying about Montague Rayne. Why— the old fossil must be at least eighty years old! Most of us decided that he was dead by this time.”
“Apparently he is still alive, Donald. Do you think he could have a purpose in being here in New York?”
“Only to see some bright lights before he dies. I cannot attach much significance, so far as we are concerned.”
“Shouldn’t we inform Mr. Clavelock?”
“That would be a good idea. Find out what he thinks about it. Was that all you heard, Theresa?”
“Over the telephone, yes. I hung up when Mark and the other man talked about some one being on the wire. Then I heard the creeping again. From the hall upstairs, I went back to the telephone. Mark was no longer on the wire. I called you, only to be interrupted.”
“Lundig again, all right. He must have gone back to the library. Was there any more creeping, Theresa?”
“I don’t know. I waited in my room with the door locked. Then I went downstairs. A creeping could have occurred during that interval. It never lasts long, Donald.”
“Is Lundig still in the house, Theresa?”
“I am not sure. He may have gone out. But perhaps The Creeper is still there.”