“As I have stated,” Tracy was saying, “your father made you his sole heir-except for a moderate but ample income that he left to your cousin, Drew Westling.”
“Why wasn’t Drew at the boat to meet me?” questioned Carter.
“I don’t believe that he knew when you were coming in,” answered Tracy. “Your father told him that you were on your way from Montevideo; but I don’t think that Drew inquired the day of your arrival. Your father’s death was a blow to Drew.”
“Of course,” agreed Carter. His tone, however, showed a tinge of disappointment. Drew Westling was his only relation, now that Houston Boswick was dead.
“You will probably find Drew at the house,” declared Tracy. “He is living there; and Headley, your father’s servant, has remained. There are other domestics — Headley is the only one of consequence. He is something of a supervisor, or caretaker.”
Farland Tracy paused after this explanation. Then, in a new train of thought, he came to a matter that proved to be of special consequence.
“There is a certain factor regarding your father’s estate,” resumed the lawyer, “that I cannot mention just at present. I discussed it with your father shortly before his death. My instructions were to wait until you had reached the home, and had established a residence there.
“Technically, such residence will begin as soon as you have stepped across the threshold, providing you announce your intention of keeping the old house. You will assume your father’s place as master there. So I shall come to visit you this evening. We can discuss affairs in the rooms that used to be your father’s study.”
There was a seriousness in the lawyer’s tone that impressed Carter Boswick.
“TELL me,” questioned the young man. “Was all well at the time of my father’s death?”
“Yes and no,” responded the lawyer thoughtfully. “Your father, Carter, had been living under certain apprehension. He had hoped for your return. If you had not come back, Drew Westling would have been his heir. Therefore, he took rather extraordinary methods to protect his estate.
“At the time he died, he believed that certain efforts were being made to interfere with his plans. He did not seem to fear that his life was in danger; but he did think that his property might be in jeopardy.
“He was positive that unknown persons had entered his home during his absence, in an effort to frustrate his plans. There was, however, no trace of an actual plot. He might have been mistaken—”
Carter Boswick interrupted. In a low, tense voice, he recounted his adventure in Havana, and the episode that had taken place aboard the Southern Star. Farland Tracy listened intently to the story. When Carter had concluded, the lawyer rubbed his chin in deep thought.
“Those events may be of a serious nature, Carter,” he declared. “It seems amazing that two attempts should have been made upon your life, at a time when you were coming home to gain a heritage. On the contrary, they may have been chance episodes. They may have no bearing upon your present situation. That, I sincerely hope, is the case.”
“Why?” questioned Carter, as the lawyer paused.
“Because,” continued Tracy, in a regretful tone, “there is only one person who could profit by your death.”
“Drew Westling?”
“Yes.”
Carter Boswick chewed his lips. He knew that Farland Tracy had spoken an apparent truth. Nevertheless, he was loath to believe that his cousin could be planning perfidy.
That, too, appeared to be Tracy’s thought. The lawyer expressed it in definite terms.
“Drew Westling is a spendthrift,” he declared. “Shortly before your father’s death, Drew lost heavily at the gaming table. I did my utmost to disentangle him from the snare. I succeeded only partially — enough to protect Drew for the time.
“I said nothing to your father regarding the matter. Had I mentioned it, Drew would probably have lost his income, and all claim to the estate, had you failed to arrive home.”
While Carter was still nodding his understanding, Tracy continued in a milder, more tolerant tone.
“Nevertheless,” he resumed, “Drew is a likeable young man, with all his faults. I would hesitate to class him as a plotter. I feel that he should be given the benefit of all doubt. At the same time, you should use discretion, Carter. My visit tonight will be important. It must be between ourselves. It concerns your affairs only.
“Drew Westling is entitled to his provision in the terms of the will. He is your cousin. He has a right to live with you at the old mansion. I know that you will treat him generously. Still, you must remember the existing facts. Give affairs a chance to adjust themselves. Be cordial to Drew, but make your renewed friendship one of slow culmination.”
“I appreciate the advice,” responded Carter. “It is well given, Mr. Tracy. Drew Westling’s lack of interest in my arrival gives me an excellent starting point. I shall be cordial and glad to see my cousin. But my experiences in foreign lands have shown me the folly of becoming too friendly all at once — even when a relative and boyhood chum is concerned.”
The men finished their lunch. Farland Tracy glanced at his watch and noticed that it was half past three.
“Holland must be here with the car,” said the attorney. “He will drive you to your home, Carter. I shall call tonight shortly before nine. It will apparently be no more than a chance visit; actually it will be a matter of greatest consequence. You understand?”
“Absolutely,” replied Carter Boswick. “You may rely upon me.”
The two men left the grillroom. Lamont Cranston remained. A few minutes later, an entering man stopped at Cranston’s table. It was Judge Vanniman Lamark, pleased to greet an old friend whom he had not seen for nine months.
As he chatted idly with the judge, Lamont Cranston still wore his thin smile. He was thinking of that appointment between Farland Tracy and Carter Boswick. He, too, would be there at nine o’clock.
But he would not visit the Boswick mansion as Lamont Cranston. Tonight, The Shadow would reappear to again play a hidden part in the destinies of Carter Boswick!
CHAPTER VIII
THE SECRET MESSAGE
IT was eight o’clock that evening. Carter Boswick, back in his father’s old mansion, was pacing the floor of the gloomy hall. He spied Headley walking morosely toward the dining room. The servant turned as Carter spoke.
“Has Mr. Westling called?” inquired Carter.
“No, sir,” answered Headley.
“Very well, then,” said Carter, with a tone of impatience. “I shall go ahead with dinner.”
“It is ready, sir. Mr. Westling is usually quite late—”
The front door opened by way of interruption. Carter Boswick turned. His keen eyes studied a man who was entering. He saw a young fellow of slight build, whose carriage and pale features marked him of the lounging type. The arrival was holding a long cigarette holder in one hand. This added to his listless appearance.
For a moment the two faced each other. Then a light crept over the features of the man who had just entered. His eyes showed an unexpected sparkle. He sprang forward with hand extended.
“Carter!” he cried. “Carter!”
The enthusiastic greeting seemed genuine. Carter Boswick caught Drew Westling’s hand, and grinned at the cousin whom he had not seen for years.
They had been boys together — these two — and the physical superiority of Carter Boswick was even more marked than before. Drew Westling seemed pitifully frail beside the stalwart form of his newly returned cousin.