“Jasper called Farman,” he announced. “Wants a conference. Delthern Manor. Tonight. Thought he’d better call Farman first. Will call me himself if Farman tells him I agree.”
CLARK BROSSET held up his hand for a moment’s consideration. At last, he nodded, whispering that Warren should express agreement.
“Hello, Mr. Farman,” spoke Warren. “I can change my plans, I believe… Yes, have Jasper call me here… Surely, I’ll be glad to talk to him… Yes… I understand… I’ll be here…”
“Jasper was reluctant to call me,” explained Warren, after hanging up the receiver. “He told Farman that he has become very serious-minded since assuming his responsibility as head of the Delthern house.
“According to Farman, Jasper feels that he and I should be friends. He wants a family conference: he and I, with Marcia Wardrop — and Farman in attendance. Farman thought it would be an excellent idea.”
“It’s all right,” nodded Brosset. “I see his purpose, Warren. He must figure that he’s safe by now, and that family accord would be a good step. This police theory of attempted burglary is a great break for Jasper — and for you, in a way.
“Wait here until Jasper calls. Go to Delthern Manor tonight. Jasper, when sober, is not hard to deal with. You won’t have trouble like you did with Winstead and Humphrey — especially if the call comes from him.
“But keep your head, Warren. Don’t let Jasper know that you suspect him of crime. Be affable. You will learn more that way.”
“This may be a trap,” said Warren, with a worried tone. “I’ve encountered trouble every time I’ve been in Delthern Manor, Clark.”
“Don’t be superstitious.”
“But Jasper is dangerous.”
“Not to you, Warren. He’s reached the point he wants. He is the chief legatee, Half of the estate is his. He’s managed to get by. If any further trouble should occur there, it would put him in a real jam.
“Figure it this way, Warren. Jasper wants your friendship. You and Marcia are his safeguards. He cannot gain a cent more unless he eliminates the pair of you. A single murder would accomplish nothing.
“Jasper is trying to establish himself. He has sobered and is playing safe. Much of his previous irresponsibility may have been a pretense. The only way to meet his game is to form contact with him, now that he has paved the course.”
Clark Brosset’s emphatic tones were convincing. Warren saw the logic, and was glad that he had gained the benefit of his friend’s advice.
“Pursue your former policy,” added Brosset. “It worked before; it will work again. Rely upon my assistance, for I know the same facts that you know.”
The two men chatted for a quarter hour. The telephone bell announced another call. Clark Brosset answered it and spoke in an affable tone. His lips silently phrased a name that Warren observed as Brosset handed him the telephone.
“Jasper,” was Brosset’s statement.
The club president listened while Warren talked with his cousin. Brosset caught the trend of the conversation from Warren’s remarks.
“Hello, Jasper,” greeted Warren. “Certainly… Always glad to hear from you, old man… I told Mr. Farman so… Yes, tonight will be fine… Nine o’clock? Surely. I’ll be there… See you later.”
“Great work, Warren,” commented Brosset, after the call was concluded. “Suppose we go downstairs and have dinner. Then you can run up to Delthern Manor later.”
Warren agreed. He and Brosset descended. They dined in the grillroom, with other club members. They returned to Brosset’s office, chatted a while, and finally noted that it was nearly quarter of nine.
Clark Brosset shook hands warmly with Warren Barringer. He walked downstairs with the young man, and saw him through the front door of the lobby.
“No need for secrecy tonight,” whispered Brosset, as Warren stepped into a taxi. “Use your head, old fellow. Do nothing rash until you talk to me. I’ll be somewhere around the club when you get back.”
SOMETHING was gliding along the floor of the City Club lobby as Clark Brosset returned through the front door. The president did not see it. A shadowy, substanceless blotch of blackness, it moved steadily toward the stairs and ascended them ahead of the man who followed.
Before Brosset had reached the head of the stairs, the door of his office opened at the touch of an invisible hand. A stealthy figure glided through. When Brosset arrived and turned on the light, there was no sign of a living form. Only the solid blackness beyond the jutting bulk of a filing cabinet indicated the spot where a living person might be standing. Yet there was no motion visible there.
The telephone bell rang. Clark Brosset answered the call, held a brief conversation, and hung up. The club president opened the wall safe and busied himself there, his actions plainly visible from the corner. He finally took out the record books of the City Club, closed and locked the safe; then deposited the books upon the desk.
After a few moments of thoughtful table drumming, Clark Brosset became restless. With hands thrust deep in his pockets, he paced across the room, extinguished the lights, and went out, closing the door behind him.
Something swished from the corner beyond the filing cabinet. A living form stalked through the office. A tiny disk of light, no larger than a half dollar, cast its gleam about the room.
The glow traveled along the desk. It paused upon the telephone; it rested on the unopened record books. It flickered across the room, and cast a shimmering beam upon the door of the wall safe from which those volumes had been taken.
A low laugh broke the silence of the office. That tone of mirth came as the climax of The Shadow’s efforts. Its boding notes told of previous investigation; of a purpose behind the presence which had stalked the corridors of the City Club as secretly as it had moved within the gloomy walls of Delthern Manor.
The knowledge of The Shadow was apparent in that laugh. This phantom of darkness knew the turn that present events had taken. He had lingered in this office before; he had learned the plans that Warren Barringer had made with Clark Brosset.
Jasper Delthern was awaiting the visit of his cousin, Warren Barringer. Soon the two would meet at Delthern Manor. It was too late for The Shadow to be there at the beginning of their interview.
This office was the place where Warren had promised to communicate later with Clark Brosset. It, like the Manor, was important. Before The Shadow started on his mission at the Delthern Manor, he had work to do here, while Brosset was absent from the City Club office.
The shuddering laugh of The Shadow was repeated. It came as a final token of the secret knowledge which guided his plans upon this fateful night!
CHAPTER XX
THE WARNING
JASPER DELTHERN was standing at the open doorway of the great reception hall. The huge apartment was illuminated by its long rows of flickering candles that extended from the bottom of the balcony. The candelabrum on the table was also aglow.
Holley, the ex-chauffeur, approached the master of the Manor. He announced a visitor.
“Police Chief Gorson, sir.”
“Show him in,” ordered Jasper.
Holley went away and returned in company with Sidney Gorson. He brought the police chief to the spot where Jasper was standing. Jasper turned, shook hands with Gorson, and swept his other arm toward the room.
“Splendid sight, isn’t it?” he questioned.
“Yes,” agreed Gorson. “What’s the idea of all the lights?”
“Family conference,” explained Jasper. “Our old Delthern tradition, chief. You know what I told you last night. Ghosts of our ancestors—”