“Good reasoning,” laughed Zachary.
“Yes,” responded Wilbur, “but get back to my question. Who is it that knows what happened to Walter Pearson?”
“You would like to know?”
“Yes — if you can tell me.”
Zachary Chittenden approached his brother. He laughed as he stood beside Wilbur. Then he spoke in a suave cryptic tone.
“Mark these words,” said Zachary. “Mark them well; then ask me no more. There is a person who knows what happened to Walter Pearson; and the name of the person who knows is — Chittenden.”
With that, Zachary clapped his brother on the shoulder and suggested that they go in the house. Wilbur followed, in perplexity. A light was turned on from within; its dim glow showed through the curtains of a closed window.
A FEW moments later a vague splotch of black appeared upon the stone of the terrace. In the faint light from the window, the head and shoulders of a man appeared above the edge of the parapet. A figure dropped silently upon the terrace. It stood there, tall and spectral, like a being conjured from thin atmosphere.
The Shadow, phantom of the night, was here. Unseen; undiscovered during the inspection made by Zachary Chittenden’s minion, he had risen like a ghost from outer darkness. He was no clumsy prowler like Jessup; he had come here while daylight still prevailed to listen to Zachary Chittenden’s revelations.
A relentless foe of crime, The Shadow was ferreting every angle of the mystery which surrounded this portion of Long Island. He had passed through the grove last night; he had studied the features of Lower Beechview. Now he was present at the house upon the hill.
Moving from the terrace, The Shadow’s silhouetted form merged with the side of the house. It reached the front and stopped, invisible, as a man came strolling along a path. This was Hunky, the gangster who patrolled the grounds. He went in through a side door and soon returned accompanied by Zachary Chittenden. The two men stopped only a few yards from where The Shadow’s shape had become a mass of blotted blackness.
“Down by the side of the entrance,” growled Hunky. “That’s where I’ve spotted this guy Jessup. Thinks he’s sitting pretty I guess. I didn’t do nothing to make him scram—”
“That’s the ticket Hunky,” said Zachary. “You go through the house. Keep away from that entrance until I tell you it’s O.K.”
Zachary returned to the house accompanied by Hunky. A few minutes later, Zachary reappeared with Wilbur. The youngest Chittenden was subtly suggesting a short stroll to his elder brother.
Wilbur did not demur. The two walked toward the entrance. Zachary was making no observations. He did not see the silent gliding shape of blackness that kept pace beside the driveway. No eye could have noticed The Shadow in the dark.
By the entrance, Zachary gripped Wilbur’s arm, and spoke suddenly in a tone that was low, but clear.
“By Jove, Wilbur,” exclaimed Zachary, “it would be great if one of us could walk in on Harvey — just to say hello and appear friendly.”
“What!” responded Wilbur in astonishment. “Why, Harvey would go mad if—”
“I hardly think so” objected Zachary. “Still” — he paused thoughtfully — “at least an invitation should come from him. Suppose you heard from him, Wilbur. You’d go over to see him alone, wouldn’t you?”
“I guess so,” grumbled Wilbur. “Sure — I can’t see any reason why not.”
The two resumed their progress. They passed the entrance, no longer talking.
When they had gone fifty yards, there was a motion in the bushes beside the gate. Jessup’s gawky form slid momentarily into view and went out of sight behind some trees.
Zachary and Wilbur returned, no longer talking. They went up the drive and into the house. It was then that a silent motion occurred opposite the spot where Jessup had been. The figure of The Shadow assumed its vague shape beneath the dim light of the moon, which was now filtering feebly through scudding clouds.
Silent, ominous, The Shadow stood. From unseen lips came a low sound of shuddering, whispered mirth.
It was the laugh of The Shadow — that weird, knowing mockery that characterized this strange unknown master of the night.
The moonlight flickered, then brightened as the clouds spread apart. It shone upon the bare surface of the driveway.
The Shadow was gone.
CHAPTER VIII. THE MIDNIGHT JOURNEY
MORE than twenty-four hours had passed since Zachary and Wilbur Chittenden had held their talk upon the terrace of Upper Beechview. The day had been uneventful. The garage work at Lower Beechview had moved on toward completion. Lamont Cranston had spent a quiet day at the country club. Neither Wilbur nor Zachary Chittenden had moved from their house.
Wilbur, as was his custom, had spent a few hours with the field glasses. He had seen Harvey and his wife upon the lawn of Lower Beechview, and had noted Craig Ware with them. He had seen Jessup superintending the job on the garage. Zachary had been in telephone communication with an attorney in New York. He had arranged an appointment at an early date.
Now late in the evening, the two sons who lived at Upper Beechview were lounging about the big living room. Galbraith Chittenden was there also, dozing in an easy chair. The old man’s clean-shaven face was like yellow parchment, a noticeable contrast to his white hair. Neither of his sons seemed to pay the slightest attention to him.
A telephone bell rang. Wilbur went to answer it. Zachary threw a glance toward Galbraith Chittenden and saw that his father had not heard the ring.
It was several minutes before Wilbur returned. The elder brother made a sign to Zachary. The two withdrew to an adjoining room.
“It was Harvey,” said Wilbur in a tense low voice.
“Oh yes?” questioned Zachary in feigned surprise. “What did he want?”
“He talked rather abruptly,” declared Wilbur. “He said that he was very anxious to see me. He was rather cordial, and seemed to be worried about something. Of course, he naturally supposed that I might be surprised to hear from him so unexpectedly; but I listened well, and when he took on a pleading tone, I played up to it.”
“Trying the big-brother stuff, eh?”
“Not exactly, but to some degree. Maybe he thought I was going to hang up on him, but after our discussion of last night, I worked in with his line of talk.”
“When does he want to see you?”
“Immediately. He said that too many barren years have gone by; that he has something on his mind and would like to unburden it. I promised him that I would say nothing to you or the old man. Just a quiet visit — that’s all.”
“Come out on the terrace,” suggested Zachary. “Let’s talk this over a bit more.”
THE two men went through the living room. A huge police dog rose and followed them. The brute nudged its nose against Wilbur’s hand as the brothers stopped at the doorway to the terrace.
“Go on back, Beowulf,” commanded Wilbur, and the dog obeyed with a short whine.
On the terrace, Wilbur leaned over the parapet and stared toward twinkling lights across the blackened grove. Someone was still up at Lower Beechview, that was evident.
“I hadn’t expected this,” observed Wilbur thoughtfully. “I guess if I had received the call a few nights ago, I might have refused. Then again, I might have decided to go down and see Harvey. He suggested that I come quietly — he is alone tonight — as every one else has gone to bed. He said that I could make it very quickly if I cut down the hill and across the golf course through the grove.”