A light had been turned on. They were in a small room that served as a garage. An old touring car stood in the center.
Harry could see his captors now. Both were brute-faced mobsmen of the underworld. They seemed to gloat because they had him in their power.
“Quick work, eh, Lance?” The speaker was the uglier of the two. His face bore scars, and Harry, noticing his hands, saw that one finger was missing from the left.
“Soft, Marty,” said the other, a fellow with a swarthy, foreign look. “Lend a holt here. We’ll heave him in the buggy.”
Harry was deposited roughly in the back seat of the touring car. The men moved away. He tried to struggle with the ropes. They bit into his wrists. His feet, too, were firmly bound.
“Well, he’s all set for his last ride,” came Lance’s voice.
“Yeah” — Marty’s reply was a growl — “but we’re not goin’ just yet. The boss has got somethin’ to say about this.
“Wait’ll I fix that tail light. We don’t want no cops botherin’ us. Then I’ll buzz Flash, an’ we’ll be ridin’ high an’ wide.”
Harry Vincent shut his eyes in resignation. So this was to be his finish! He realized that this occurrence had not been anticipated — that for once The Shadow was not here — could not be here — to help him!
CHAPTER VIII
DEATH IN THE CARDS
“EXCUSE me, gentlemen,” remarked Charles Blefken, rising from the bridge table. “Being the dummy this hand, I beg the privilege of finding out why that long-distance call from my wife has been delayed.”
The other three men laughed. The subject of the long-distance call had been discussed between hands during the evening. All the visitors were close friends of Charles Blefken.
One was Winthrop Morgan, another lawyer. James Rossiter was a physician. Felton Carew, the last of the group, was a gentleman of leisure — a wealthy clubman whose ability as a bridge player made him a welcome addition to any table.
“Charley’s been a bit restless all evening,” observed Morgan, when Blefken had left the room. “Hasn’t been playing as good a game as usual.”
“Worried about his wife,” said Rossiter. “She’s out in Cleveland. She hasn’t been well, you know.”
“Your lead, Rossiter,” said Carew.
Charles Blefken had crossed the hall between the cardroom and the lounge. There was a dim light showing through the open door of the latter room. Blefken entered and spoke in a soft whisper.
“All set, Joe?” he asked.
A grunt came from behind a massive chair set in the corner. Joe Cardona was hiding there, wondering why he had bothered to come on this mission.
His faith in Middleton’s appearance was waning. Like Blefken, he was beginning to think that the writer of the note was a creature of fantastic imaginings.
“It may be pretty soon, now,” said Blefken encouragingly. “Guess it seems long to you, though.”
“It seems hours since your friends were in here with you,” came Cardona’s response. “How’s the game going?”
“I’m out twenty dollars so far. Can’t keep my mind on it.”
“What’s the time now?”
“After nine,” said Blefken. “Around nine thirty, I guess.”
He pressed a bell. In less than a minute a servant appeared. Joe Cardona was quiet now. No one could possibly have suspected that he was in the room.
“Remember, Stokes,” ordered Blefken, “if any one comes to see me, show them in here. You understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Also remember to tell me that long distance is calling.”
The lawyer left the room a few moments after the servant had gone. The hall was dark; he had purposely left it so. He and Cardona had agreed that too much illumination might worry the eccentric Middleton.
Blefken went by the little hall that led to the side door. Perhaps Middleton would ring at that entrance. It was not unlikely. People familiar with the house often came in that way. In fact, Cardona had come by that entrance tonight. So had Morgan and Carew.
Doctor Rossiter had rung at the front door. Perhaps his practice of making professional calls had brought him there from force of habit. Rossiter was Blefken’s family physician.
Minutes ticked by slowly for Joe Cardona after the lawyer had gone. Then, the patient detective heard the servant’s footsteps in the hall. He fancied that Stokes was on his way to the front door.
This speculation was correct. Two persons entered the room. Cardona did not risk peering from behind the chair. But he recognized the servant’s voice.
“Wait here, sir,” Stokes said. “I shall call Mr. Blefken immediately.
“All right,” came a low, nervous voice.
The tone impressed Cardona. The detective felt sure that this must be Jerry Middleton.
The servant was gone now — the newcomer was pacing the floor nervously. His heavy breathing showed that he was unquestionably perturbed. The silent sleuth sensed the situation.
He was glad now that he was here. Whatever Middleton’s purpose, it must be important.
A HEAVY step arrived. The pacing man stopped. Cardona knew that Blefken had come. The door closed. Cardona heard the lawyer’s voice. It signified more than a greeting.
Blefken’s “Hello” was uttered in a carefully rehearsed manner. He and the detective had set it as a sign. It meant that Middleton was facing the other way.
Cardona edged toward the side of the chair. He obtained a vantage point. He could see what was going on.
The newcomer was sitting a few feet away. Joe could see his pallid face, although Middleton was turned so that his profile was not quite visible to the man behind the chair.
“You received my letter?” Middleton’s voice was plaintive.
“Yes,” answered Blefken quietly. “I am still puzzling over its significance.”
Cardona managed to sight the lawyer. Blefken was standing at the opposite side of the room, his hands behind his back. He was studying Middleton with the practiced eye of an attorney.
“I’m glad I’m here,” announced Middleton nervously. “Glad because I’ve come in time — for once!”
There was a significant note in the pronunciation of the two final words. Blefken detected it.
“Just what do you mean?” inquired the lawyer.
Middleton’s breath came in quick, short gasps.
“Blefken,” he said, “I can’t be cross-examined. Please make allowances for that. I’ve actually come here against my will — come because there is danger!”
“Who is after you?”
“Please don’t question me. Don’t worry about me. Think about yourself. Your life is in danger — terrible danger!”
“I have received no threats,” Blefken responded. “I have no enemies of consequence. I have nothing to fear. What is this all about, Middleton?”
“I see you don’t trust me,” declared Middleton bitterly. “If you knew what I have undergone — what I know — what I have tried to prevent — how I am bound — how terrible it all is—”
“Easy,” remarked Blefken quietly. “Take it easy, old chap! Let’s quiet down a bit. We don’t want to be overheard. You’re safe here—”
“I’m safe, yes,” exclaimed Middleton, in an excited whisper. “I’m safe, always — until my page is turned. My page — you understand? It’s a long way yet, in the book. But yours is next — the last one was turned. Your page is open now!”
Cardona slipped his automatic from his pocket. He was covering Middleton now. He felt that the man was dangerous. Still, he was not ready to act until Blefken should give the word.