A questioning light appeared in the captive’s eyes. Did these words mean hope or tragedy? Froman saw the question that was in Holtmann’s mind. He smiled.
“You are wondering about your release,” he said quietly. “That, I regret to say, is something which cannot be granted for the present. I suppose that by now the purpose of my actions has dawned upon you.
“There is no reason why I should add hazards to those that already exist. Therefore, I intend to keep you here for a while longer. You shall be my guest while you remain.”
With these words, Froman turned and raised the curtainlike door behind him. A tall henchman appeared, carrying a tray of food. For the first time, interest gleamed in Holtmann’s wearied eyes. The tray was laid upon the floor before him.
“An excellent dinner,” observed Froman. “Soup, entree, and dessert. I trust that you will enjoy the preserved peaches as the climax of your meal. I can assure you that they are excellent.”
The mild tone of Froman’s voice brought reassurance to Marcus Holtmann. His weak hands stretched toward the food. Froman laughed and turned away, followed by his retainer. The door closed behind them. Holtmann began to eat eagerly; then his strength failed momentarily, and he devoured the food more slowly.
OUTSIDE the closed barrier, the elevator rose to the cellar above. Frederick Froman’s face was smiling when it came under the rays of light at the top of the secret shaft. He and his henchman stepped from the lift. The elevator descended.
Froman continued upstairs until he reached the second floor. He glanced at his watch; then turned to the man beside him.
“It is approaching ten o’clock,” he said in Russian. “At twenty minutes past the hour you will return below. You understand?”
The henchman duplicated his master’s gloating smile as he nodded.
Seated in a chair in the front room, Froman drew a box of panatellas toward himself, and lighted one of the long cigars. Puffing slow wreaths of smoke, he became buried in thought. Once, he reached for the telephone beside him; then shook his head, and resumed his pondering, staring directly at the opposite wall.
Here, in this upstairs room, Froman was free from observation and intruders. The only means of entrance lay from the floor below. There, Froman’s servants were constantly on guard, secure behind triple-barred doors.
As a gentleman of wealth and leisure, Frederick Froman was able to pursue his affairs unmolested. Those affairs now savored of crime; yet they remained totally unsuspected by the police of New York.
The smile that seemed molded on the light-haired man’s face betokened the security that he felt. That smile might have faded had Froman turned his head.
Behind him, at the side of the room, a window curtain was slowly rising. It revealed a mass of gaping black. The sash beyond was open.
Two eyes gleamed from the darkness. Cold, piercing eyes, they noted the single occupant of the room.
They paused as Froman suddenly aroused from his lethargy.
The blackness began to waver as though retiring to the night. Then, as Froman picked up the telephone, the blackness advanced, and a portion of it lengthened into a long, eerie shadow that stretched across the floor.
Frederick Froman was calling the number of Parker Noyes. Just as he began his conversation, the form at the window took on a human shape. The sound of Froman’s voice drowned any noise made by the lowering of the sash and blind.
“Sixteen days…” Froman was speaking in a troubled tone. “It is very long… Yes, I know I should not call you so often, but this is important… I have sent the message. You understand? I told them twelve days, not sixteen… Yes, in code, with all the information… Let it remain at twelve. Affairs will be safe in Riga for a few days. Yes, Holtmann has told the exact location. They are prepared to strike…”
As Froman spoke, the strange figure was standing only a few feet away. Tall and somber in his black array, The Shadow was listening and watching as Froman continued.
“Holtmann?” Froman’s tone was contemptuous. “He is below. He will not be there long. By twenty minutes after ten” — Froman broke off as he stared toward a clock on the mantelpiece — “that is in ten minutes — he will no longer annoy me… Yes, I understand… It is wise to forget him…”
Swiftly, The Shadow was moving across the room. He glided through the open door without being sighted by Froman. The voice at the telephone dwindled as the form in black descended the stairs to the first floor.
ONE of Froman’s men was standing with his back toward the bottom of the stairs. The black-nosed muzzle of an automatic was visible in The Shadow’s gloved hand.
Had the henchman turned to spy the approaching figure, it would have been his last act. But The Shadow was not here to strike. His objective was the hall below the stairs. With infinite caution, he crept slowly downward, and stepped with noiseless tread as he gained the spot he sought.
Gliding into a room past the stairs, The Shadow pursued his stealthy course. Prowling noiselessly and invisibly, he discovered a low door that indicated the cellar stairs. Opening the door, The Shadow descended and reached the stone-floored basement.
Here the single light showed nothing but solid walls at the side, and cement blocks beneath. Softly, The Shadow traversed the room.
His hand moved as the butt of the automatic tapped each wall. The phantom in black paused to listen. He had discovered a hollow spot.
With great care, The Shadow examined the structure of the wall. His keen eyes could discover no secret opening. The black figure stood in solemn thought. Then it seemed moved by sudden inspiration.
With amazing intuition, The Shadow had realized the significance of the hollow wall. It was the vertical space that received the curtainlike door that barred the dungeon below. The Shadow’s eyes were staring toward the floor. He had suspected the presence of a cavity beneath the cellar. His keen gaze would be sure to discover the opening.
The cracks that divided the blocks of concrete came under The Shadow’s inspection. Shrewd eyes saw the slight elevation of one block. The Shadow’s gaze swept the room; then turned upward. Above him hung the single light. It was located just away from the edge of the bulging block.
With a soft laugh, The Shadow extended one hand upward and grasped the wire above the lamp socket.
He drew the wire downward. It yielded for the distance of about one foot. The block in the center of the floor began to rise.
The Shadow released the wire. The elevator kept ascending until its base reached the level of the cellar floor.
Stooping, The Shadow stepped beneath the rooflike surface of the supported block. Upon one of the posts he discovered a switch. He pressed it, and the elevator descended. This was the mechanism used to operate the lift from within.
The cleverly contrived wire that supported the lamp socket was the device that enabled one to operate the elevator when it was needed from below.
In the corridor beneath the cellar, The Shadow found the barrier to Marcus Holtmann’s dungeon. He turned the knob, and the door moved upward.
Less than ten minutes after leaving Froman’s room, The Shadow had discovered the hidden prison!
MARCUS HOLTMANN was seated on the floor, leaning against the wall. He was finishing his repast — the first that he had enjoyed since his incarceration. In one hand he held the saucer that had contained the preserved peaches.
Holtmann’s eyes were wide as he stared toward the opened door. As The Shadow entered, and the barrier dropped behind him, Holtmann’s hands trembled, and the saucer clattered and cracked upon the floor. The presence of the stranger in black was formidable and awe-inspiring.
Choking gasps came from Holtmann’s throat as he tried to speak to this amazing visitant. Then he caught the glint of the eyes beneath the brim of the slouch hat. They were stern, flashing eyes, yet in them the pitiful prisoner detected the light of friendliness.