“This is Mr. Mark Lundig, another heir.”
Clyde turned to face a shrewd, sharp-faced man who was sitting on the edge of a chair. He detected a foxlike expression beneath a shock of gray-streaked hair.
Mark Lundig peered through large spectacles, to give the reporter a curt nod. There was suspicion in the man’s gaze. Clyde returned the nod and sat down.
“Ahem!” Clavelock cleared his throat and turned to Carning. “Let me have that sealed envelope from the briefcase. Come, my man, cease fumbling. Find it!”
Carning produced the envelope. Clavelock adjusted a pair of pince-nez spectacles; then spoke again.
“The lists,” he ordered. “Those typewritten lists. There are several copies of them.”
Carning found the lists and laid them on the table. Meanwhile, Clavelock was holding up the envelope.
He waited until Carning produced a shorthand notebook; then, with a grumble at his substitute stenographer’s slowness, the lawyer began to speak.
“ACCORDING to the terms of Bigelow Doyd’s last testament,” announced the old attorney, “the bulk of his estate is to be divided equally among all eligible heirs. This refers to every one present— with the possible exception of Mr. Donald Shiloh, who is a relative of Bigelow Doyd’s first wife. A descendant, you understand, of another branch of the family.
“Nevertheless, I requested Mr. Shiloh to be present. His status is that of a possible heir; he may be awarded a share of the estate. That can be decided later. Our present business is to determine the extent of the estate itself. A matter, I may say, of considerable importance.
“Much of Bigelow Doyd’s wealth lay in his collections of valuable gems and art treasures; together with certain assets which he had stored in some place of safety. Only Bigelow Doyd knew the place where these valuables were stored. Only he knew the extent of his own wealth.”
The lawyer paused, shaking the sealed envelope with his right hand. The observers could see a huge dab of red sealing wax that kept the envelope intact. With his left hand, the lawyer picked up the lists that Carning had given him. There were five of these; Clavelock passed them about the group.
“My word!” exclaimed Egbert Doyd, straightening up to hold a list under a lamp light. “What does this mean, Mr. Clavelock? A whole procession of Latin words, with English words following them.”
“But they are not translations,” put in Mark Lundig, in a sharp tone. “Look: here is the word adsum; after it, the English word ‘jewels.’ Here is bellum; it is followed by the English word ‘inspect.’ And here—”
“That is enough,” interposed Clavelock. “These lists serve as a code book. Bigelow Doyd prepared a Latin inscription; then he formed a statement in English, using exactly the same number of words. He prepared this code for translation of that inscription; but he added a great many words that have no bearing on the matter.
“His purpose was to make the coded lists useless, without the inscription. That is why I am allowing you to examine the lists. They are valueless in themselves; Bigelow Doyd explained that fact when he placed them in my keeping.”
“But what of the Latin inscription?” inquired Theresa. “Is it in the envelope, Mr. Clavelock?”
“We shall see,” returned the lawyer, with a dry smile. “At this meeting, I am privileged to open the envelope and read its contents. Only two men knew that this envelope existed: one was Bigelow Doyd, the other myself. But Bigelow Doyd alone knew its contents.”
Solemnly, Clavelock tore open the envelope. Carning had been taking notes; now the fake secretary leaned over to peer past Clavelock’s shoulder. Seeing that the lawyer was adjusting his glasses, Carning realized that he intended to read the statement from the envelope.
Quickly, Carning shifted back, so artfully that Clyde Burke did not notice his move. That was a point on which Clyde failed; had he been as keen as The Shadow, the reporter would have noticed Carning’s move.
“Humph!” Clavelock’s tone denoted surprise, as his eyes viewed the unfolded paper. “This is no Latin inscription. It gives us information, however. It states that we shall find the scroll within the bottom of the ebony casket. That indicates a search of some sort. Bigelow Doyd said nothing at all to me concerning an ebony casket—”
“I know what it means!” interrupted Theresa, excitedly. “The ebony casket is in grandfather’s old room. Locked in there with other of his personal possessions. I have seen it often; it is a black box, flat, and about one foot square. With the initials ‘B. D.,’ set in silver—”
“You have the key to your grandfather’s room?” inquired Clavelock, with hasty interruption. “So that we can obtain the casket at once?”
“Certainly,” replied Theresa. “The key is in my purse, up in my own room. Shall I bring it here, Mr. Clavelock?”
“Bring it to your grandfather’s room,” decided the lawyer. “We shall complete our meeting there.”
THERESA had risen. She was starting from the room. The others followed, forgetting Clyde Burke. The reporter took up the trail of the procession. He reached the long hallway and saw the group ascending the stairs. He followed, to find himself beside Wilfred. The liveried servant had decided to join the throng.
Wilfred made no comment when he saw Clyde.
The course led to a front room on the second floor. A dim hallway light showed the group waiting for Theresa. The girl appeared a few moments later, carrying a key. She gave it to Clavelock; the lawyer unlocked the closed door of the front room.
Musty blackness was the greeting when the door swung inward. Clavelock grumbled; Theresa found a light switch and pressed it.
Lights blinked on to reveal a huge, old-fashioned room. A massive four-poster bed was the chief item of furniture; opposite it stood an antique table, with a heavy center drawer. Theresa pointed to the table.
“The casket is in the drawer,” announced the girl. “That is where grandfather always kept it. Perhaps you had better open it, Mr. Clavelock.”
The lawyer nodded. He motioned back the persons who were crowding forward, chief among them Mark Lundig, whose long chin was thrust against Clavelock’s shoulder.
Striding to the table, Clavelock tugged at the drawer. It failed to open. As the lawyer looked about, annoyed, a quaver came from old Mehitabel Doyd. The elderly lady had hobbled upstairs, aided by Donald Shiloh.
“There is a hidden spring, Mr. Clavelock,” informed the old lady. “Underneath the table, at the left side. My brother Bigelow once showed me how to operate it.”
Clavelock found the spring and pressed it. The drawer jolted open, halfway. The lawyer seized it and pulled it fully open; then uttered a harsh gasp, that was echoed by those who peered forward with him.
The drawer in the table was entirely empty! There was no sign of the ebony casket mentioned in Bigelow Doyd’s message, the box that Theresa had so carefully described. A gloomy hush followed those startled exclamations as the truth of the loss dawned upon all concerned.
The casket that contained the secret of Bigelow Doyd’s wealth had disappeared. Hidden, stolen, vanished — whatever the case might be, the box which contained the Latin scroll was gone!
CHAPTER IV. THE SEARCH BEGINS
HALF an hour had passed. Old Tobias Clavelock, solemn and keen-eyed, was seated behind the big table in the downstairs library. Acting as presiding officer of a new meeting, he had threshed out details concerning the missing ebony casket.
“We have heard two theories,” announced the lawyer, while Carning, seated beside him, proceeded to take down notes in shorthand. “The first, advanced by Miss Mehitabel Doyd, concerns a man named Montague Rayne. As I understand it, Montague Rayne was once the friend and confidant of Bigelow Doyd.”