To The Shadow, that emptied solution was important. The markings on the label had shown that it was prescribed by Doctor Arberg on the previous evening. The solution now was gone. The Shadow, however, had a sample of it.
Doctor Keyes still possessed the formula. But did the formula — which The Shadow had also noted — correspond to the actual solution? Had Doctor Keyes deliberately ordered the mixture to be poured away — or had Vorber pretended to misunderstand him?
These were questions which The Shadow sought to answer. Unimportant, apparently, to the other three men present, these statements which had passed between Doctor Keyes and Miles Vorber were ones that The Shadow had indelibly registered within the recesses of his mind.
Why did The Shadow remain within the folds of the velvet curtain? He could still see the men within the room; his keen ears could pick up their conversation. Yet at closer range, the strain would have been less. The answer to this problem arrived in the form of Miles Vorber.
The servant, after his heavy pounding upward, came silently down the stairs. Like a cat, he crossed the hall and crouched just outside the library door. The Shadow had anticipated this action. He had sensed that Miles Vorber would have a deep interest in the affairs that the four men intended to discuss — matters which concerned Vorber’s old master, Cyril Wycliff.
Thus Vorber listened, a prowling eavesdropper. Yet all that he saw and heard from his crouched position, his spying tactics as well, were noted by one who watched from darkness. A silent guest was in Howard Wycliff’s home tonight.
That hidden, undetected personage had come to unravel threads of mystery. The silent guest was The Shadow!
CHAPTER XII
THE SEARCH BEGINS
THE men within the library were talking about Cyril Wycliff. The body had gone to the funeral parlors that afternoon. Howard Wycliff, with a meditative sigh, turned to Doctor Barton Keyes.
“Your prediction proved correct, Doctor Keyes,” said Howard. “You told us that death, if it came, would be sudden.”
“Yes, Howard,” returned the physician. “Thrombosis often works directly opposite to the apparent health of the patient. Those who seem to be progressing most favorably are frequently the ones least capable of withstanding the attacks.”
“Doctor Keyes warned us,” rasped Garrett Slader. “That is why I was so insistent all along—”
“About learning my father’s affairs,” interposed Howard. “Well, Mr. Slader, I appreciate your efforts, because they were unquestionably made in my behalf. However” — Howard smiled wanly at Garrett Slader — “all seems to be settled.”
“So far as the will is concerned,” declared Slader. “There will be no trouble with that document. Your father left practically everything to you, Howard. But as for this matter of the deed—”
“I am thinking about the will,” broke in Howard. “I am surprised that nothing was left to Miles Vorber. I thought surely that my father would have remembered him. However, I have offered Vorber steady employment.”
“Has he shown any resentment?” questioned Paul Marchelle.
“No,” answered Howard. “It is rather difficult, though, to guess what Vorber may be thinking. He is always the same in expression.”
“Suspicious by nature,” suggested Doctor Keyes.
“By training,” objected Garrett Slader.
There was momentary silence. None of the men realized that Vorber, the object of their present discussion, was listening just outside the half-open door. Vorber, beyond the barrier, had no inkling that he, in turn, was under observation of The Shadow.
“The matter of the will is settled.” The decisive words came from Garrett Slader. “We come again to the matter of the deed. If such a document exists — I am assuming, Howard, that your father spoke while still in possession of his faculties — it would be well to decide what you intend to do about uncovering it.”
“In the library,” mused Howard. “That means in this very room.” The young man paused to look about, at furniture and rows of books. “I suppose it would be best to begin a search for the missing deed. You have no idea, Mr. Slader, to what sort of property it refers?”
“I have no knowledge of any deed,” returned Slader brusquely. “You heard all that I heard, Howard. It is probable — as I have asserted all along — that your father possessed hidden assets. I would not count too strongly, however, on discovering any documents of any great value.”
“Your father,” remarked Doctor Keyes, turning to Howard Wycliff, “was under terrific pressure at the time he died. He may have been talking purely in delirium. His words may have been meaningless.”
HOWARD WYCLIFF turned toward Paul Marchelle. Howard’s expression was a bit dubious. With Garrett Slader indisposed to making an immediate search, with Doctor Barton Keyes questioning the accuracy of Cyril Wycliff’s last words, Howard expected Paul Marchelle to make a statement that supported the others. The young lawyer, however, took a different attitude.
“A search would be advisable,” he proposed. “Nothing can be lost. Much can be gained. I would recommend it. Naturally, I must keep in accord with Mr. Slader’s opinions—”
“I have offered no objection to a search,” interrupted Slader testily. “I merely refuse to attach too much significance to such operations. I am your attorney, Howard. Whatever I can do to assist you will be done gladly.”
“Let us begin the search,” decided Howard.
“It is rather late,” remarked Slader.
“That doesn’t matter,” returned Howard. “I’m going through the furniture first of all. That can be done tonight.”
With this decision, Howard arose from his chair and looked about the room. The library, large in size, was heavily and variously furnished. One could not appreciate the quantity of furniture until all the objects were counted.
With a shrug of his shoulders, Howard Wycliff went to the first object that looked most likely — a heavy secretary that stood in the corner.
“There’s not much chance of the deed being in plain view,” he said. “These drawers were never locked. My father was a man of caution. He would certainly have used some hiding place that could not easily be discovered.”
Garrett Slader showed sudden interest the moment that Howard Wycliff began the search. The old lawyer arose and approached the young man, to help him look over the items that were in the secretary.
Doctor Keyes, who had shown signs of being ready to leave, also warmed up to the idea of the hunt. He rummaged about the room, going from one article to another.
Paul Marchelle alone remained seated. His eyes roved curiously about the room, as though looking for probable hiding places. He was about to speak when the door opened and Miles Vorber entered.
The servant came into the library in natural fashion. He stared with his customary gaze, as he noted the men at work. He approached Howard Wycliff and spoke.
“Is there any way in which I can aid you, sir?” he questioned.
“Yes, Vorber,” remarked Howard. “Help us search this room. We are looking for a missing deed — the one my father mentioned just before he died.”
VORBER joined in the search. His method, however, was different from the others. He did not hunt of his own accord. He paid strict attention to everything that his companions were doing.
When old Garrett Slader rummaged through papers in a secretary drawer, Vorber was peering over his shoulder. When Doctor Keyes scruffed up the ends of rugs, Vorber was studying the action. Whenever Howard Wycliff turned to look at another piece of furniture, Miles Vorber quickly turned with him.