The drawers of this piece of furniture had been searched. Yet The Shadow was not satisfied. Noiselessly, he opened each drawer. The light showed the interiors. The Shadow’s hand made quick and effective tests.
This was not the blundering type of search that had been made by Howard Wycliff and his companions. The Shadow, using the skillful methods of one who knew every trick of concealment, looked for double bottoms and false backs.
Despite the thoroughness of The Shadow’s search, his work was accomplished with surprising rapidity. The Shadow possessed the uncanny faculty of rejecting useless spots. He picked only those which might be of importance to him.
Within fifteen minutes after he had begun the search, The Shadow was finished with the chosen objects of furniture. His flashlight described a sweeping arc about the room, toward the bookcases with their rows of volumes. These were likely objects; they would follow the furniture after the searchers began their work upon the morrow.
THE SHADOW, however, left the bookcases for the moment. His flashlight gleamed upon the end of the room where the discarded furniture stood. Beyond those pieces was a shuttered window. The Shadow went in that direction.
The iron shutters were formidable. Drawn together, they were held in place by the simple expedient of a hinged bar that swung from one shutter into a receiving arm upon the other. The shutters overlapped; it would have required remarkable ability to open them from the outside.
The Shadow turned back toward the room. He let the rays of the torch fall upon the miscellaneous collection of discarded articles which had been placed near the window. The light fell upon chairs, book rack, and tables. It turned downward, and its rays passed directly between the legs of the two light tables.
Stepping forward, The Shadow carefully moved the tables apart, using one hand on each. His flashlight seemed to dwindle as it dropped to the floor. It went out. A soft laugh whispered uncannily through the room.
In darkness, The Shadow was investigating. His actions were invisible; yet they must have been important, for the soft laugh was repeated. Here, in this end of the blackened room, The Shadow was engaged in some discovery. Light taps sounded from the floor, with the weirdness of raps heard at a spirit seance.
Did those knocks have significance? Their sound might well have indicated communication with the dead. Indeed, the parallel was a significant one. The light, weird noises could have signified that The Shadow was en rapport with dead Cyril Wycliff; for this master investigator was learning facts which only the murdered master of the mansion had known!
The rappings ceased. The whispered laugh was scarcely audible in the gloom. The light came on, rising upward. Suddenly it disappeared. A cloak swished in the darkness. The Shadow had gained a warning.
It came more clearly than when the phantom listener had first heard it — a slight click beyond the door of the room. The turning of the knob; the squeaking of the hinges — these were sounds which The Shadow had avoided in making his entry, but which the new arrival could not eliminate.
The door was open. A slight wisp of air entered the room. Then came the muffled sound of the closing door. Two living persons were now within the library. One was The Shadow; the other, an undeclared visitor.
FOR a full minute, the arrival waited tensely in the darkness. The Shadow had left no token of his presence, yet the ominous atmosphere of this large apartment was evidently having its effect upon the prowler who had entered. The breathing of the visitor could be heard; there was no sound, however, that proved The Shadow was here.
A man moved across the floor. He stumbled against the desk and stopped his progress. His breathing indicated that he was returning to the wall beside the door. He waited there, his breathing stifled, apparently intent to learn if the sound of his motion could have been heard outside the library.
The light switch clicked. Ceiling lamps brought illumination which showed the turned figure of a man clad in a dressing gown, still listening at the door. To all appearances, he was the only occupant of the room, this person whose back alone was in view.
The Shadow had completely disappeared. Yet he had not entirely destroyed evidence of his whereabouts. In the light, there was a sign which betokened The Shadow’s presence — a long streak of blackness that lay across the floor. Though motionless, that strip of darkness was traceable to its source. Between the end of a bookcase and the wall at the windowed end of the room, a phantom figure was standing in a spot well chosen to escape observation.
The Shadow, his form no more than the solid blackness which could have been cast by the end of the bookcase, was watching the man beside the door. Blazing eyes were upon the new intruder. Those eyes, alone, gave visible token of the actual figure of The Shadow. Those eyes, however, were ready to be shrouded in the darkness cast by the wide brim of the slouch hat that projected above them.
The Shadow watched. He saw the man at the door step backward, then turn. That action was the final revealment of the identity which The Shadow had already guessed. The secret visitor, a duplicate key gleaming in his scrawny fist, was Miles Vorber, the old servant!
CHAPTER XIV
THROUGH THE MANSION
A SHREWD, satisfied gleam was plain on Miles Vorber’s face. The servant seemed sure that he was free from discovery. As The Shadow had anticipated, Vorber was here to make a new search of the furniture.
Unlike The Shadow, however, Vorber was content to take much for granted. His observations of the other searchers had convinced him that it was unnecessary to look in certain places. He spent most of his time tapping the sides of the desk, the secretary, and other large pieces of furniture.
Occasionally, Vorber ceased his work to listen at the door. He always began where he had left off. Finally, he seemed dejected. He stood in the center of the room, looking all about him. His face was sour, his attitude was that of a man who was feeling the approach of nervousness.
Each time that Vorber’s gaze turned toward the spot where The Shadow stood, the watching eyes of the silent master seemed to fade from view. Not once did Vorber catch a glimpse of the sinister shape which occupied the library.
Stooping, Vorber walked with feline tread toward the end of the room where The Shadow was standing. He crossed the long, silhouetted patch of darkness that lay upon the floor. He did not notice it. Vorber’s eyes were upon the discarded items of furniture.
The servant reached the very place where The Shadow had performed his mysterious rappings in the darkness. He looked at tables, chairs, and bookrack. He shook his head.
Then, as an afterthought, Vorber extended both hands — one toward each table. With his thin knuckles he tapped the tops of the tables. They echoed solidly. Vorber turned away.
The test had been positive. Vorber had heard what Paul Marchelle had said regarding the size of a deed. Even if the document had been folded, it could not have been placed between the portions of a double table top without some token of the container being evident when Vorber rapped.
The servant was looking at the bookcases. He seemed to be weighing the risks attendant to the removal of the long rows of volumes. Again, he shook his head, without, however, looking beyond the end of the bookcase. A scowl appeared upon Vorber’s face.
Until the present moment, Vorber had been too intent in his search to worry further about matters outside of the library. With a lull in action, the servant apparently began to think of such subjects. The Shadow knew that Vorber had cause for apprehension.
In this room, entry effected with a duplicate key, Vorber was taking chances in his quest for the missing deed. Quick footsteps took him toward the door. The light went out as Vorber’s hand pressed the switch. A puff of air denoted that the door was opened. Vorber waited at the entrance to the room.