“Good,” decided Harry. “That ought to offset Jubal. And yet, if Jubal is as dangerous as he appears to be, you may be in for new trouble. Which worries me” — Harry smiled — “particularly after helping you out of one scrape.”
Rex eyed his new friend steadily. In Harry Vincent, he saw an adventurous spirit that rivaled his own. The reply that Rex gave was spontaneous.
“Why not come along, then,” he suggested. “If you’re out for a vacation, you can get it at Lake Chalice. I believe there’s something there, Vincent.”
“I might go up there with you,” decided Harry. “Just for a few days, anyway. I tell you what I can do, Brodford. I bought a ticket to Detroit, like yours, intending to pay further fare through from there.
“But I’ll stop off. I’ll call home and New York, by long distance. While you get in touch with this lawyer of yours. If it works out, we can travel up to Lake Chalice together.”
“Agreed,” responded Rex, thrusting his hand forward.
Harry received the shake. It was a tentative bargain between new friends. But the smile that Harry wore had added significance. For Harry knew that this arrangement would be in keeping with The Shadow’s plans.
A report to The Shadow. To prove what The Shadow had already divined: that Rex Brodford’s life was in jeopardy. A trail of crime had begun; one that involved Rex Brodford. The Shadow would intend to follow that trail to the finish.
And for a beginning, none better could be had than this alliance between Rex Brodford and Harry Vincent. Together, they could encounter adventure. Whatever concerned Rex would concern The Shadow’s agent also.
As the limited sped onward to Detroit, Harry Vincent was picturing the future. He knew — with positiveness — that he would be ordered to go through with this projected plan. That he, like Rex Brodford, would soon be a guest of Cortland Laspar in the lodge on the shore of Lake Chalice.
CHAPTER VIII. THE LODGE ON THE LAKE
LATE afternoon. A rattletrap flivver was jouncing along a rough road through thick forest land. It was driven by an overalled native who seemed to enjoy the bumpiest spots. Harry Vincent and Rex Brodford were bouncing about in the back seat.
“Ease it, driver,” ordered Rex. “Miss a few of those rocks if you can. How much farther?”
“‘Bout two miles,” came the rejoinder, as the old car thumped a rut. “‘Tain’t far to the lumber-camp road. You’ll see it over that way.”
He nudged his thumb to the right. Shortly afterward, the rattly touring car rounded a bend. Harry and Rex saw a corduroy road leading off to the right. That was the route to the lumber camp that Cortland Laspar had installed in this vicinity.
The amateur chauffeur kept driving onward. A clearing showed among the trees; through it, the passengers caught the blue sheen of a lake. Trees again; then another sight of blue. At last there were frequent glimpses of water on both sides. The car came to a rocky clearing where a lowlying house stood by the fringe of trees.
This was Cortland Laspar’s lodge. Its setting was ideal. The house was situated on a promontory that jutted out into the lake. All about were twisting, wooded shores. Off toward the right, the lake widened and showed tree-clad isles.
From one, a tiny wreath of smoke was curling upward, its thin white a contrast to the ultramarine hue of Lake Chalice and the emerald banking of the forest.
Harry and Rex alighted. Coming from the verandah of the lodge was Cortland Laspar. The gray-haired man was clad in a linen suit. He seemed to be enjoying the pleasant weather.
Rex shook hands with his uncle’s friend, then introduced Harry. The hired car started back toward the depot, miles away.
The arrivals accompanied Laspar up to the lodge. They ascended the steps of the broad verandah, crossed the porch and entered the front door. They found themselves in a broad, cool living room that won their instant admiration.
Laspar smiled as he noted the enthusiasm. It was plain that the magnate was proud of this room. It was furnished with wicker chairs and tables, all of attractive pattern. Smooth grass rugs carpeted the floor.
Upon the walls hung numerous trophies — heads of deer, moose and elk. A bear rug in one corner formed the setting for a rack that held an array of shotguns and rifles.
Viewed from the front door, the living room spread off to the right. An alcove at the far rear was large enough to form a small library; books in their cases, reading lamp on a table, were evidences of the alcove’s purpose.
Straight ahead from the front door, namely, at the left rear of the living room, was a long passage that led to other quarters of the lodge. Though low, the building occupied a large area.
“Miguel!”
As Laspar called the name, a stout Filipino appeared. The man was wearing a white coat. He grinned as he saw the visitors. Laspar called for drinks. Miguel nodded and departed.
While waiting for refreshments, Laspar motioned his guests to chairs.
“How do you like the lodge?” Laspar inquired.
“Excellently!” returned Harry. “You certainly designed it well, Mr. Laspar.”
“No credit to me,” laughed the magnate. “This was not my lodge originally. In fact, I have occupied it for only a short time. Since we established the new camp two miles back from the lake.”
“The lodge was here before that?” asked Rex.
“Yes,” replied Laspar. “It was built by a gunning club that later disbanded. The lodge remained unoccupied for a few years. I purchased it quite cheaply. I like it so well that I may return here for the winter. This fireplace” — he indicated a huge hearth in the front wall — “should make the house warm and cheerful, even in the coldest weather.”
“Lucky you are in the lumber business,” remarked Rex. “You’ll use a lot of logs when you get going.”
“Oddly,” chuckled Laspar, “I shall not have to supply my own firewood. The gunning club apparently stocked up in advance. In fact, it is lucky that I have nothing to store here. The cellar — or what there is of one — is completely cluttered.”
So speaking, Laspar arose and went to the passage that led to the rear of the building. He stopped halfway and unlocked a metal-sheathed door that was set in the right wall of the passage. He beckoned.
Harry and Rex arose.
Laspar opened the door and turned on a light. A glow from below revealed a square-shaped cellar beneath the living room. Harry and Rex went down a flight of steps to find their way blocked by heaps of broken-down furniture. Tables, chairs and cots formed an array of junk.
“Is this the firewood?” called Rex to Laspar; who was at the head of the stairs.
“No,” returned the millionaire, laughing at the question. “Those antiques belong to the gunners, if they ever choose to call for them. I shall have to clear them out of the way when I want to get at the logs. The cordwood is stacked over beyond.”
“I see it.”
Rex pointed. Harry saw. The far wall of the cellar was massed with stacks of logs for the fireplace. This fuel looked sufficient to last for two winters. It was inaccessible without shifting chairs and tables.
“Come on up,” called Laspar. “Miguel is here with the drinks.”
Harry and Rex ascended the stairs. Laspar locked the door, then motioned toward the verandah. They found Miguel waiting with iced drinks. The three seated themselves about a table and reached for their glasses.
“FROM here,” remarked Laspar, gesturing toward the lake, “you can view the property of the Quest mine. It is there, on the farther shore. Its acreage stretches to the right, clear down past those islands.”
“Where does it begin?” asked Rex.