"Who— who—" he began.
"He is an old friend of daddy's, "said Martha, in a low voice. "Mr. Arnaud. He is wounded. I'll tell you all — all about him, doctor. But please — first — look after him."
The physician nodded as he placed his bag upon the floor and leaned over the unconscious man. Then he beckoned to Martha.
"Come," he said. "We must take him to a bed, upstairs." The doctor was a man of unusual strength for his age. He was at least sixty, but his features and his physique were youthful. He took the great share of the burden while Martha helped with surprising strength.
The form of Henry Arnaud finally rested upon its right side, on a bed in a spare room.
There, Martha was able to see Arnaud's face.
It was a firm, well-molded countenance. It was pale, but unyielding. Martha stared at the closed eyelids, hoping frantically that The Shadow still lived.
The maid was here now. She and Martha were following the physician's instructions.
Doctor Merritt was a practitioner of long experience. He tended the wound with the utmost skill.
Martha, watching The Shadow's face, saw the eyes open and sparkle momentarily. Then the eyelids closed. It was after midnight when the physician and the girl stood together in the downstairs hall. Doctor Merritt was quiet and thoughtful. Martha Delmar was tense.
"He is all right," said the doctor. "The wound is by no means a serious one. He has suffered chiefly from loss of blood. He must remain quiet for a few days, while he regains his strength. He is too weak to talk at present. So you can tell me how it happened."
"I don't know, Doctor Merritt," declared Martha frankly. "I only know that Mr. Arnaud is a friend — a true friend — and that he came here wounded."
"I must report this case," said the physician.
"Please, doctor," pleaded Martha. "You must not make me the victim of more notoriety. I have suffered terribly since my father died. People have plotted against me, Doctor Merritt, and Mr. Arnaud is the only one who has stood by faithfully. So much is at stake, doctor—" The girl's pathetic tone succeeded. Doctor Merritt nodded slowly.
"I shall wait a few days," he said. "You may rely upon me, Miss Delmar. Since you know nothing of the accident, I shall wait until I can question Mr. Arnaud."
"I think it would be best for me to stay away a little while — unless I hear from you. I see no possible complications. Call me if any should develop. But say nothing."
"No one will know," declared Martha. "I can rely on my servant. Thank you, doctor. This may mean worlds to me."
Upstairs the girl entered the room where Henry Arnaud lay weak and quiet. His eyes opened as he heard Martha's approach. The maid had gone to prepare some medicine.
Henry Arnaud's lips moved. They whispered words. Martha listened intently and nodded as she caught their meaning. She found a paper and pencil, and wrote a message that The Shadow dictated. Afterward, when Henry Arnaud seemed to be comfortably sleeping, Martha took the paper downstairs. There, at the telephone, she sent a telegram to Rutledge Mann, an investment broker in New York. It did not seem to be an important message. It called for an immediate delivery of all the bonds which Mr. Mann had been instructed to purchase. They were to be sent by air mail, with special delivery when they reached Middletown. The telegram included this address, and Martha gave her own name as the signature.
She wondered about the message. It seemed like the garbled idea of a confused mind.
What could its purpose be? Martha wondered; but she had obeyed.
For Henry Arnaud wore the symbol of The Shadow, and his dictates were the only hope that remained to Martha Delmar!
Chapter XXII — Sunday Night
Harvey Bronlon's big limousine swung into the dark driveway, its brilliant headlights throwing a tremendous glare upon the porch of the millionaire's home. Bronlon himself stepped from the car. He was followed by Judge.
The two men entered the house. They were met by a servant, who spoke to Harvey Bronlon.
"Someone has been trying to call Mr. Traver, sir," said the flunky. "He left a number here." Bronlon passed the slip of paper to Judge, who scanned it closely. He went to the telephone and called. He spoke in quiet, terse monosyllables. Then he hung up the receiver and went into Bronlon's smoking room, where the millionaire was awaiting him.
"It's Deacon," declared Judge, in a low whisper. "Something has happened. I told him to get up here right away. He couldn't talk over the telephone."
Bronlon nodded. He rang a bell, and servant appeared.
"Did Mr. Best call me today?" he asked.
"No, sir."
"I told him to come back," declared Bronlon. "Perhaps he will call this evening. If he arrives, show him in here."
The two men sat staring at each other in silence. Bronlon was glowering; Judge was serious. They talked tensely in a low undertone. At last, Judge shrugged his shoulders.
"No use worrying until Deacon gets here," he said.
Bronlon uttered a grunt of agreement.
Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Best was announced. Deacon was ushered in. He stood solemnly until the servant had gone. Then, when Bronlon closed the door, he slipped into a chair, his usually quiet face betraying excitement.
"We're up against it, Judge!" he said. "Everything went wrong last night. That fellow you thought you killed must have come to life. He got away — and we're three men short!"
"You mean—"
"I mean that our pals are dead. Major, Ferret, and Butcher. All stretched out in the corridor." Amazement appeared upon Judge's face. It turned to fury. He rose in his chair, and clenched his fists. He looked at Bronlon. The millionaire wore the expression of a hunted man.
Judge became suddenly calm.
"Give me the details," he said to Deacon.
"I went by there last night," declared Deacon. "Everything was quiet. Today, I waited until after noon. I hadn't heard a word from Major.
"I thought he might have called you up — but I knew that you were out of town. I decided I had better take a look in the morgue — to see the body that was supposed to be in the coffin.
"I went down. The coffins were all empty. I saw a little pool of blood on the floor. Drops running to the panel in the wall. Drops going toward the stairway.
"I went into the corridor. There I found them. Butcher — I stumbled over him the first thing. Major and Ferret were at the other end of the corridor."
"What did you do?" asked Judge quietly.
"I left them there," said Deacon. "That's the best place, for the present. No one will ever find them. We can get rid of the bodies later. But how are you going to cover things up tomorrow — when they aren't at the bank?"
Judge pondered for a moment; then smiled grimly.
"Remember what I said here last night?" he questioned. "About sending my three chief men out on survey work? Well, that's gone into effect. The announcement went to the newspapers. That gives us a breathing spell, so far as the first problem is concerned."
"But what about the cash—"
Bronlon's question was an anxious gasp.
"Out tonight," said Judge firmly. "Deacon is here. He has come to examine the caskets, and to see about purchasing some additional ones. You and he go over to the storage room. I happen to go along."
"Shall we ship them out again?"
"No. It will be a transfer. It won't take us long, will it, Deacon?"
"Not a great while," replied Deacon.
"The money goes into those packing cases," said Judge quietly. "We've held them there for emergency. The truck can take the cases away early in the morning. After that — well, that has all been planned."
"All right," said Bronlon, his tone easing.
"There's just one danger," declared Judge coldly. "The Shadow is still alive. He is wise to our game. We must get him. He can't be far away."