THERE was something about the servant’s manner that reminded Paul Marchelle of Vorber’s actions on the preceding night. The man seemed to know what was going on; he had arrived just at the moment when Howard Wycliff had intended to summon him. Paul Marchelle, however, said nothing. He watched Vorber carefully after Keyes and Slader had departed.
“We are moving the furniture, Vorber,” stated Howard Wycliff. “The van will come for it tomorrow. You can assist in its removal.”
“Very well, sir,” responded the old servant.
“After that,” declared Howard, “we shall have the floor and walls of the room torn up. It will be a large order” — the young man glanced ruefully about the room — “but it seems to be the only course. Unless—”
“Unless what?” queried Paul Marchelle, as Howard Wycliff paused.
“Unless this furniture might possibly contain the deed,” said Howard, with a shake of his head. “I admit that it is very improbable, for we have made a thorough search. Nevertheless—”
“The furniture will be in the warehouse,” interposed Marchelle. “It will be available any time we may require it.”
“That’s true,” agreed Howard. “Suppose we list all the items which are to be removed.”
“A good thought,” said Paul Marchelle.
The young lawyer produced paper and pencil. He sat at the desk and wrote down the names of the various articles as Howard Wycliff called them. Miles Vorber, standing like a lonely sentinel just within the doorway, watched both his master and Marchelle with beady, suspicious eyes.
Howard Wycliff completed his calling of the larger items. He went to the other end of the room, and surveyed the rejected pieces of furniture strewn there.
“What about these?” he questioned.
Paul Marchelle swung from the desk. He looked at the light chairs and tables; then went back to his list.
“Call them off,” he suggested. “They’ll only be in the way when the men begin to tear up the room. You’re sending the furniture away so the room will be clear.”
“Right,” agreed Howard.
WHEN Marchelle’s list was completed, Vorber put forth a question. He wanted to know about the books. Howard Wycliff decided that they could go upstairs.
“Remove them during the morning, Vorber,” he ordered. “Get them out of the way before the moving men arrive. The books are too valuable to go into ordinary storage.”
Paul Marchelle was tabulating his list. He checked up every item of furniture; then thrust the paper in his pocket. He remarked that the list would be of importance later on.
As Howard Wycliff walked toward the door, a streak of blackness faded through the partly opened barrier. Paul Marchelle followed. Vorber walked stolidly after the two young men. Howard Wycliff closed the door and locked it.
“It’s early yet,” he remarked. “Suppose we go out and take in a late picture.”
“All right,” agreed Marchelle. “You are liable to run into a lot of trouble parking the car, though.”
“There’s a space two blocks from the theater,” said Howard. “I’ll drop you at the lobby; you can buy the tickets and wait for me there.”
The two men left. Miles Vorber went upstairs. Silence pervaded the gloomy old house. Long minutes passed. A whispered laugh crept through the lower hall. The Shadow had awaited the return of Miles Vorber. The servant had not come back. Evidently he was allowing time to make sure that Howard Wycliff and Paul Marchelle were actually going to the theater. There was a possibility that they might make an unexpected return.
The Shadow glided up the stairs. He stopped as he heard a door shut. Vorber was coming from one of the rooms on the second floor. The servant walked across the hall and entered another room. The Shadow glided into the room which Vorber had left. He flashed his tiny light about it.
The rays showed a large bed, a table with a telephone upon it, and several other pieces of furniture. The Shadow’s light went out. Returning to the hall, The Shadow regained the stairs and watched Vorber come from the second room which he had entered.
It was evident that the servant was restless. The Shadow knew the reason. Vorber, despite the thoroughness of his search the night before, was anxious to make another visit to the locked library.
Vorber turned toward the stairway to the third floor. His soft footsteps sounded upward. The Shadow waited; then, with a soft laugh, descended to the ground floor. Keenly, he had sensed that Vorber would not resist the urge to return below.
The Shadow’s pick clicked in the lock of the library door. The barrier opened. The Shadow entered. The rays of his flashlight shone toward the end of the room. The door closed softly.
In the stillness of the darkened room, The Shadow awaited the arrival of Miles Vorber. Before this evening ended, the first step in The Shadow’s plan would be completed.
The snare was in the making. If it succeeded, there could be but one result.
Before the missing deed finally reached the hands of Howard Wycliff, the murderer of Johan Arberg and Cyril Wycliff would again visit this mansion where he had committed crime!
CHAPTER XVII
PLOTTERS DECIDE
THE SHADOW was right in his assumption that affairs in Howard Wycliff’s home would have a strong influence upon the unknown murderer. While The Shadow rested within the portals of the library where Cyril Wycliff’s deed was hidden, two men, located elsewhere, were discussing the situation that existed in that very room.
Ward Fetzler and Martin Hamprell were in conference. The man who had ordered murder was talking with the one who had executed it. Although less than an hour had elapsed since Howard Wycliff had decided to remove the furniture from his library, the fact was already known to this pair of plotting villains.
“What do you think about the removal of the furniture?”
The question came from Ward Fetzler. The landowner’s face betrayed a dubious expression. Martin Hamprell laughed as he provided the answer.
“A good idea,” he said. “It will give us a break in the long run.”
“But suppose the deed is in a table drawer—”
“Not much chance of it,” asserted Hamprell, “judging by the telephone call you received a short while ago.”
The remark explained why these men knew what had happened at Wycliff’s.
Ward Fetzler had received a communication from his inside man.
“Cyril Wycliff,” explained Fetzler, “was a cagey old fellow. He would probably have hidden that deed in the most curious spot possible. Even though the furniture has been thoroughly examined, I am not convinced.”
“Why worry?” questioned Hamprell. “The furniture will be in storage, won’t it?”
“Yes.”
“We can get at it then. Any time we want. We’ll have the location of the warehouse. We can grease our way in if we want to make a search. I can locate some racketeers who will fix it for us. They have the storage companies pretty well scared.”
“What about the search in the library?”
“That’s a different matter; but it will be easy also. We can run in a couple of phony workmen with the crew. Your inside man can fix that. I’ll get the gunmen.”
“It may mean a fight,” remarked Fetzler, in a dubious tone.
“Sure,” agreed Hamprell. “What of it?”
“I still think,” asserted Fetzler, “that the whole matter would be simplified by having you step in alone. That can be accomplished in one way only: by getting Howard Wycliff away from the house before the deed is found.”
“You are right,” agreed Hamprell. “That’s exactly why we want the crew on the job. If we can coax Wycliff somewhere, so that only Marchelle will be in charge, the job will be as good as done, provided that it doesn’t take too long for them to wreck the living room.