Blair Windsor, also bound, lay a few feet away. There were three other men in the place.
One was Bert Crull; the second was Vernon; the third was the old man whom Harry had seen in the farmhouse.
“He’s come to life,” said Crull, looking at Harry.
“Fine,” came the reply from the old man. “Now we can question him.”
“Shall we wait until Jerry comes back?” asked Crull.
“He won’t be back, right away,” answered the old man. “You and he did quick work, all right, the way you nabbed this fellow.”
Harry looked around the room. The cavern was lighted by several electric incandescents. Evidently the wiring came from the farmhouse.
An object that appeared to be a printing press stood in one corner. There was a table in another. The sides of the room were dim. Harry could make out chains, ropes, and boxes on the floor.
The men looked at Harry; then their leader, the old man, spoke to Bert Crull.
“You question him, Birdie,” he said.
Crull sat on a box, and stared at Harry Vincent.
“Come on, Vincent,” he said. “Give us the lowdown on what you’ve been doing around here. Windsor has told us all he knows.”
Harry looked at Blair Windsor questioningly. The other prisoner nodded in corroboration.
“I had to do it, Vincent,” he said. “This gang has got us. They may make terms with us, if we tell them all we know.”
“I know very little,” replied Harry. “I just happened to be visiting Blair Windsor. I noticed that people disappeared from his cellar. So I figured there was a passage over to the farmhouse.”
“You were snooping around the farmhouse, weren’t you?” cross-examined Crull. “Why were you doing that?”
“I figured that it was the other end of the tunnel. That’s all.”
“Who did you see there?”
“You, one night. Vernon, another. Also the old gentleman, here.”
“Ah! You looked in the second-story window?”
“Yes. I was just able to peek into it from the shed roof. I couldn’t hold my position long enough to stay. I just caught glimpses on the two occasions I visited there.”
“Hm-m-m.” Birdie Crull was thoughtful. “What about the night some fellow grabbed you there? Who was he?”
“I don’t know,” replied Harry. “I got away from him.”
“Listen, Vincent,” interrupted Crull. “There’s more to your story than you’re telling me. Come clean, or it will be tough for you. Who sent you here?”
“No one.”
“What else do you know?”
“Nothing.”
Blair Windsor interjected a remark.
“We’re up against it, Vincent,” he said. “Don’t hold anything back from Crull.”
“He’s got the right dope,” said Crull to Harry. “We’ll let you go, if you tell us everything.”
“I’ve told you everything,” said Harry sullenly.
Birdie Crull studied him for a short time. Then he turned to the old man.
“What will we do about it, Coffran?” he asked.
The name came as a startling revelation to Harry Vincent. The old man must be Isaac Coffran — archenemy of The Shadow!
Harry had never seen Isaac Coffran. That master of secret crime had disappeared when he had been vanquished by The Shadow. No one had known where he had gone.
This was Isaac Coffran’s new center of activity! It meant danger — fearful danger. Harry congratulated himself that he had not betrayed his connection with The Shadow. What little hope he now had depended upon silence. For Isaac Coffran was merciless. Harry could tell by the gleam in the old man’s eyes that he was planning some fiendish scheme.
“There’s no use in bluffing any longer,” said the master crook. “I’ll take charge of him now. Let Windsor go free. That will surprise him, perhaps.”
Blair Windsor was unloosed. To Harry’s complete amazement, Windsor calmly joined the others. That brought revelation.
Blair Windsor was a member of the gang! Harry had played into his hands. With Harper and Buckman out of the way, he had been left entirely along among the enemy!
Harry realized now that he had been thoroughly mistaken all along. He had believed that some danger threatened Blair Windsor; that he had come to Brookdale to protect Windsor against some plot.
Instead, he had been delegated by The Shadow to find out the true state of affairs — and he had failed!
Harry Vincent groaned.
The answer was a laugh from Blair Windsor.
“Fooled you, didn’t I?” asked the owner of the Brookdale house. His usually frank face now bore an expression of malice. “Thought I was working with you, didn’t you? You took the gun I gave you. It was loaded with blanks. You fell for it, Vincent.”
The biting words explained a mystery to Harry. He had been wondering why his shots had failed to stop his attackers. Now he understood.
“Well,” said Blair Windsor, turning to the others, “what shall we do with him?”
“Bump him off,” said Birdie Crull, tersely.
Blair hesitated. Evidently he was less brutal than his companions. He seemed to be considering some alternative plan. Finally he shook his head.
“I don’t like to see you do it,” he said. “We’ve managed to get by without murder up to now. Maybe we can make him talk. Perhaps we can fix him to keep him quiet. Murder is bad—”
“You say we’ve done without murder?” inquired Isaac Coffran. “You’re wrong there, Windsor. How about Frank Jarnow?”
Blair Windsor looked puzzled. The old man smiled.
“We didn’t have anything to do with Jarnow,” said Blair. “Henry killed him—”
Isaac Coffran held up a thin hand. He pointed to Birdie Crull, who smiled grimly.
“There’s the fellow who bumped off Jarnow,” he said. “He planted the job on Henry.”
“Why did you kill Jarnow?” Blair asked Crull.
“He snooped a bit, too,” explained Birdie. “He found out too much at the old farmhouse. He stole the paper” — Crull laughed as Blair Windsor gasped — “and he was showing it to Henry when I got there. So I gave it to him, and left the hot rod on Henry.”
“I didn’t realize that,” said Blair soberly. “I thought Henry did it, all along.”
“We didn’t tell you,” interposed Isaac Coffran. “We decided you would handle matters better if you knew nothing about it. You thought that Henry actually killed Frank Jarnow. So you didn’t have to play a game.”
“That was best,” admitted Blair, nodding. “It helped me keep a clean slate, all right.”
“Since Birdie killed Jarnow,” remarked the old man, in a cold voice, “I can’t see why he should object to finishing this man, here. You must agree with me on that point, Windsor.”
Blair nodded thoughtfully.
“But I shall deny him the pleasure,” continued Isaac Coffran. “A quick shot is all right, when a man is talking to the wrong party, as Jarnow was.
“But in this instance, Vincent, when he talks” — the old man’s voice carried biting emphasis — “will talk to the proper persons. He will talk to us. So his death will be a slow one. He will linger on the verge until he tells his story.”
“You’re going to put him in the casket?” There was apprehension in Blair Windsor’s question.
“Exactly,” replied the old man. “We have never used it before. Now is the proper time.”
“I’m opposed to it,” objected Blair Windsor. “There’s no occasion for torture.”
“We’ll vote on it,” said Isaac Coffran, calmly. “I say yes. You say no. What is your choice, Birdie?”