At one point, The Shadow paused. He went on, then returned. Backed against the wall, he surveyed Humphrey Delthern’s body. Another laugh came from those mysterious lips — a grim laugh that betokened a strange discovery.
From this spot, The Shadow had detected a peculiar factor that involved both bodies. Black-gloved hands moved from the folds of the cloak. The Shadow moved toward the form of Humphrey Delthern; then returned. He repeated the same procedure as he studied Wellington’s body.
Pressing his tall form flat against the wall behind the desk, The Shadow still continued to visualize what must have happened. His tiny flashlight was in evidence, despite the fact that the room was well illuminated. It was along the floor beside the wall, then clicked off.
Again, The Shadow studied the bodies. With this inspection, his repeated laugh was expressive. Its new tone told that The Shadow had learned an important fact. These men had been slain by a hand that had not hesitated. A double murder, with Warren Barringer present, could not have been executed with delay.
Yet in each case, the stroke had lacked exactness. The knife in Humphrey Delthern’s body was buried at an angle. The shot that had slain Wellington had entered from the side. What could have caused these awful things to happen?
The Shadow knew. His next action proved it. Moving swiftly, the tall phantom reached the light switch by the door and extinguished the illumination. Only a slight glow from the hall entered the room. The Shadow glided back to the wall. There, in almost total darkness, his keen eyes seemed to perceive the situation as it had existed.
The flashlight gleamed in the left hand. The Shadow lunged forward toward the body of Humphrey Delthern. He withdrew and swung in the direction of Wellington. He pressed himself more firmly against the wall; then stood motionless. His laugh sounded with a note of sinister elation.
VOICES came suddenly from below. The Shadow’s form made no motion toward the door. Instead, it remained in the darkness. Feet were pounding on the stairs. No noise came from the spot where The Shadow had taken his position.
Men were in the hallway. They were coming toward the open door of the study. A voice growled. No response came from the room of death. A figure loomed in the gloom of the hall, and stared into the dark study. Another man appeared suddenly beside the first arrival.
“Nobody in here,” growled the man who had spoken before. “That is, nobody — unless—”
There was a foreboding tone in the voice. It brought a grunt from the second man.
“Reach in there,” said the first speaker. “See if there’s a light switch by the door.”
A hand groped along the wall. It found the switch, and clicked it. On came the lights, to show the dead bodies, with two uniformed policemen staring in from the door.
“Dead!” came the exclamation. “Both of ‘em — Delthern and the butler. Say — the girl had the right hunch when she thought something was wrong!”
Searching eyes scanned the room. Both officers raised their heads and looked beyond the bodies, in sudden thought that the murderer might still be lurking here. They saw nothing but the paneled walls.
Staring directly at the spot where The Shadow had been, there was no sign of a living being. Save for the dead bodies of the murdered men, the room of death was empty.
No trace of The Shadow remained. Out of blackness he had come; into blackness he had gone, now that his inspection had been made. Active even to the moment when the policemen had hesitated just outside the door, The Shadow had managed to completely evade discovery.
Just as the murderer had eluded the sight of Warren Barringer, so had The Shadow escaped the detection of the police. The visitor from the void had vanished!
CHAPTER XV
WARREN GETS ADVICE
WARREN BARRINGER’S step was furtive as the young man entered the side door of the City Club. The lobby was deserted; only a few persons were seated in the lounge. Yet Warren was overly self-conscious as he turned his footsteps toward the stairway. He hoped that he would find Clark Brosset where he had left him — in the upstairs office.
Warren was fortunate. His tap at the door brought an immediate response. The barrier opened, and Warren entered to face Clark Brosset. The club president took one glance at his young friend; then quickly shut the door and locked it. He urged Warren to a chair; then snapped quick questions.
“What’s happened, Warren?” asked Brosset. “You’re as pale as a ghost — all tuckered out — no hat — clothes mussed—”
Apprehension showed upon Brosset’s face as he made this staccato survey of Warren’s troubled condition. In response, the young man stared vaguely across the room, and spoke in a voice tinged with horrible recollections of his late experience.
“Murder, Clark,” came his hoarse tone, “murder! Humphrey Delthern — Wellington — both killed. Right while I was there, at Delthern Hall! So help me, Clark, I’m innocent!”
Clark Brosset surveyed his friend’s face. He saw the changing emotions that flickered over Warren’s countenance. He approached and gripped the young man’s shoulder.
“Buck up, boy,” he urged, in a low, steady voice. “I’m here to help you, Warren. Steady! Let me know what’s happened. Easy, now — from the beginning.”
Warren nodded. With a quick effort, he regained some of his composure. In an even monotone, he began his story. He told of his arrival at Delthern Manor; of his interview with Humphrey Delthern. Then came the episode of the first death in the dark; Humphrey with the knife jutting from his heart. Warren followed with Wellington’s intervention; the second extinguishing of the lights; and the shot that slew the servant.
“Go on,” said Clark Brosset seriously. “You left the house then? Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t think so,” declared Warren. “I found a cab about a block from the Manor. I took it—”
“A great mistake!” exclaimed Brosset. “That may cause you trouble, Warren. If the taximan saw you when you got out here—”
“I think I’m all right,” interrupted Warren, as he managed to smile. “First of all, the driver was looking for someone who had left the cab and forgotten his change. He didn’t see my face.
“Next, I had a hunch, and told him to take me to the station. It was while we were riding there that he mentioned the matter of the money. Said he would give me what was coming when we reached the depot.”
“When the cab stopped, I watched the driver. I saw him fumbling in his pockets. I told him to keep the change as I stepped from the door; then I ducked past the back of the cab. All he knows is that he took a passenger to the railroad station.”
“Good headwork,” commented Brosset. The president was pacing the room; he turned and put another question: “How did you come here from the station?”
“Took a trolley,” answered Warren. “A crowded car. No one could have noticed me. I came in through the side door.”
“All right,” said Brosset approvingly. “Come now, Warren. Spruce up a bit. Straighten your tie and brush your hair. Mirror in there by the washstand. We’re going down in the grillroom together.”
“You mean—”
“I mean that we’re going to be seen together here at the club. I’ve been around the place all evening. Everyone knows that I’ve been here. You were with me up to the time you left. You’ll be with me now.”
“But those dead men — up at the Manor—”
“Listen, Warren.” Clark Brosset’s voice was severe. “Did you see the murderer?”
“No. It couldn’t have been anyone but Jasper — after what I heard him say on the phone.”
“But did you see him?”
“Not even a glimpse,” admitted Warren.