The laugh of The Shadow sounded mirthlessly. The right hand lowered. The left hand, close to the long black cloak, disappeared with an automatic that it held.
Jose had not seen the weapon. Had he aimed his rifle toward The Shadow, he would have learned the accuracy of The Shadow’s aim.
Now with Jose gone, The Shadow acted swiftly. Vic Marquette had half arisen. He was staring blankly about him — a man just awakened from a daze. Stooping, The Shadow raised him to his feet.
Scarcely realizing whether he was guided by friend or foe, Vic felt himself guided along a downward path. Trudging through the woods, supported by a strong arm, the secret-service man was dimly recalling events which he had so recently experienced.
THE side path ended when they reached the road. Here, beneath the trees, The Shadow’s form was invisible. Vic Marquette, regaining his alertness, realized that he was some distance from the cottage. He heard a low voice close beside him.
“Go back to the hotel. Do not approach that cottage again. Leave, to-night before you are seen.”
The words were a command. Vic understood. He realized suddenly who had spoken. This was not the first time that Vic Marquette had encountered The Shadow. In his recollections, the secret-service man remembered a tall figure in black who had saved him in a battle against enemies of the law.
“The Shadow!”
Marquette’s brain was no longer hazy as he gasped these words. He turned and groped through the dark, expecting to discover the mysterious person beside him.
The Shadow was gone. From the trees beside the road came the whispered tones of a low, sardonic laugh — the parting sign of The Shadow.
The secret-service man stood wondering. Then he realized the wisdom of The Shadow’s injunction.
Vic could not grasp all that had happened, but somehow he understood that he had not only been saved from death, but that his enemies believed him dead.
The cottage in the woods was a trap — to go there unarmed would be futile. There was only one course — to follow The Shadow’s bidding.
Moving slowly along the road, Vic recalled one question that had been asked him by Alfredo Morales. That question had concerned some one named Partridge.
Vaguely, Vic remembered the feather that Jerry Fitzroy had carried. A partridge feather! Yes — the cottage in the woods could wait. Let the men who had captured him believe him dead. Partridge was the man whom he must find. The others would be watched by The Shadow.
In the light of his recent experience, Vic had much confidence in The Shadow’s ability to cope with them.
WHILE Vic Marquette was setting forth toward the Westbrook Inn, another man was stumbling through the woods a few hundred yards away. It was Jose, frantically working his way back to the cottage.
He had lost the path in the darkness, and he was impelled onward through the underbrush by the fancied sound of a ringing laugh that still echoed in his ears. Nearing the cottage, he rested. A gasp came from his lips. Did he hear that same laugh, close beside him? He was sure of it!
Again, Jose blundered wildly through the thicket until he staggered into the clearing and stumbled upon the steps to the house. The door opened, and Manuel looked out.
With an effort, Jose regained some of his bravado, and entered the building. He found Morales and Armagnac awaiting him.
Jose’s bedraggled appearance immediately caught the attention of Morales. The Argentinian quickly asked a question.
“Well?” he inquired. “What has happened?”
Jose was setting his rifle against the wall. Momentarily turned away, he was facing the window at the far end of the room.
For an instant, his eyes were wild. There, on the floor, he saw that same long shadow — that black projection from the window that slowly swayed backward and forward.
The effect on Jose was electric. Frightened though he was, he stiffened, and his face took on a scowl as he turned to answer the question that had been put to him.
“Did you do the work?” demanded Morales.
“Yes,” growled Jose.
“That is the trouble, then?”
“Nothing — except those ropes. One of them was tangled on my foot. I nearly went over the cliff myself.”
Morales laughed. Jose’s excuse passed without question. Jose was noted for his clumsiness. Morales turned to Armagnac.
“You see?” he asked. “That is the way. A good man to do the work, but a blunderer. We must not blunder when we deal with Lucien Partridge.”
“There will be no blunder there,” returned Armagnac.
An hour later, Jose, partly recovered from his former dread, crept back along the path to the mound of rocks above the old quarry. Now that he had spoken false to Morales, he was worried lest his lie be discovered. He was thinking of those ropes and stones that he had left on the brink of the cliff.
The moonlight was shining on bare rock when Jose arrived. The sight of the place worried the man. He was puzzled when he discovered that the stones and the ropes were no longer there.
It all seemed like a dream to Jose, who was imaginative despite his brutal nature. He wondered whether he had actually experienced that encounter with The Shadow. Perhaps — the thought was a hope to Jose — he had pushed that body off the cliff, and then imagined what he had seen!
As Jose stared into the moonlight, a sudden sound broke from close beside him. The noise was low and weird, like a ghostly echo of a laugh that Jose had heard before upon this very spot!
Before the man could turn, a whispered voice came to his ears. Its hissing tones carried a final warning in words that gave Jose new terror — for they brought up the future as well as recalling the past.
“Remember!” The Shadow’s utterance was sinister. “You have done my bidding. When I appear again, you will still obey. For those who do not obey will die!”
The voice trailed into a hollow laugh. Jose waited to hear no more. He fled along the path, back to the cottage, striving to fight against his newly awakened panic.
Shortly afterward, a tall form in black emerged from a clump of bushes beside the mound of rocks. The Shadow stood like a spectral image upon the flat surface that glistened gray in the moonlight.
A low, triumphant laugh echoed from the cliff. Its hissing tones seemed to reach the sepulchral depths of the old quarry, to be reechoed like the tantalizing whispers from a myriad of elves.
Then The Shadow was gone. Silence and moonlight alone remained upon that spot.
CHAPTER XIII
ARMAGNAC PROPOSES
ON the next afternoon, an automobile from the Westbrook station swung up the road toward Lucien Partridge’s estate. As it turned beside the river gorge, its occupants were plainly visible to Alfredo Morales, stationed across the river. Through the spyglasses, the Argentinian recognized the bearded face of Pierre Armagnac.
The Frenchman was paying a visit to Lucien Partridge, in accordance to the plan that he and Morales had agreed upon. When the car had passed the turn in the road, it was no longer in view, but Morales knew well that Armagnac would not turn back from his mission.
The Frenchman alighted in front of the heavily barred gate, and dismissed the chauffeur in the vehicle that had brought him. His keen eyes studied the arrangements of the high iron fence. It did not take Armagnac long to appreciate the formidable barrier that this made. He knew that it was in all probability protected by electric wires.
Armagnac was wondering about Morales when he rang the bell. Last night he had gained a high respect for the Argentinian’s ability, but he felt doubtful that Morales possessed a sure scheme of entering the grounds.