The black splotch that lay on the floor was motionless.
Paget arose. He walked toward the door. He turned and his eyes sought the floor. Still they saw no motion in that shadowy blot, yet Paget was sure that its position had changed.
The shadow had receded. The clubman gave no sign of his discovery. He walked to the door and placed his hand upon the knob. Then he swung about.
The black blot was moving now, drawing toward the window, shrinking into nothingness. Paget watched it, expecting it to stop. Instead, it disappeared with amazing suddenness.
With quick strides, Paget pounced across the room and reached the open window. His companion joined him. The man started to speak, wondering if Paget had gone suddenly insane. The clubman brushed him back.
“Keep away!” exclaimed Paget, as he leaned from the window.
BELOW him was a courtyard at the side of the building. A light from the street showed nothing but the rough brick wall of the old house. To the left was a corner, barely six feet away. There was no window directly below; the nearest was twenty feet to the right.
“The back of the house!” exclaimed Paget. “Do you have a window there?”
His companion shook his head.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I thought I saw some one at the window,” said Paget.
The man laughed.
“It would take a human fly to come up that wall,” he said. “You’re seeing things.”
“I saw a shadow on the floor,” returned Paget. “It moved away. It looked like the shadow of a man — a large shadow that shriveled.”
“Did you see any one outside?”
“No. He might have gone around the corner of the house.”
“Hanging on those bricks?”
Paget shrugged his shoulders. The man’s incredulity was logical. Still, Paget was sorry that there was no back window through which he might have made a quick inspection.
He decided to forget the matter, after adding one word of caution.
“Be careful, Dodge,” he said. “I didn’t want you to look toward the window. The less you are seen, the better.”
The man nodded. He replied in like manner.
“Watch the Dodge stuff,” he warned. “It’s a bad name to call me—”
“All right for the present,” said Paget. “I don’t use it much. It’s the first time I’ve said the name tonight. As soon as you get placed, I’ll forget the name Dodge, unless—”
“Unless?”
“Unless you try a double-cross!”
The man nodded.
Rodney Paget took one more glance from the window. Half satisfied, he waved good night to his companion and left the room without another word.
Outside the building, he looked cautiously up and down the street. Seeing no one, he walked away.
The shadows on the street seemed real to Rodney Paget as he threaded his way to Lexington Avenue.
He stopped a cab and rode to his apartment. At the door of the building, he looked across the street, staring suspiciously at the blackness of the opposite sidewalk.
Finally, convinced that his imagination was at work. Paget entered the apartment house. Lights appeared in his windows. Fifteen minutes later, they went out.
Rodney Paget had retired.
It was then that the shadowy mass across the street began to move. Something like a solid form emerged and flitted ghoulishly away.
As it neared the avenue at the end of the street, the moving shape again merged with the black fronts of the building. From that moment, the keenest eye could not have detected its presence.
A taxicab stopped in answer to a whistle. The driver could see no prospective passenger. Then he heard the door of the cab open.
The fare had stepped up without the taximan seeing him. A head appeared at the partition and a low voice gave the cab driver a destination.
As the cab rolled along the street in front of the apartment house where Rodney Paget lived, a low, mocking laugh came from the interior of the cab. It did not seem to be the laugh of a human being. It was a laugh that seemed to be the shadow of a laugh.
CHAPTER XII. BLAKE TAKES A RIDE
WILBUR BLAKE was seated in the spacious library of his Long Island home. An empty glass was beside him on the table. He pressed a button on the wall. A butler appeared.
“Herbert,” said Blake, “tell Otto to come in here before he leaves.”
A moment later a uniformed chauffeur entered the room.
“Everything all right, Otto?” asked Blake.
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re to pick up Mister Paget at the Merrimac Club at ten o’clock and be back before eleven.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pick up the night watchman at his house. You can bring him in the rumble seat.”
“Yes, sir.”
The chauffeur left. Blake went to a table in the corner and started to write.
Paget had been staying with Blake now for about a week, and he enjoyed Paget’s company in the huge Long Island house. Blake’s vast wealth made friendships of an intimate nature rare. He was rather a lonely young man.
BLAKE had been occupied less than ten minutes before some one entered the room. He turned to see Rodney Paget.
“How did you come in?” questioned Blake, in surprise. “Otto just left to pick you up at the Merrimac Club.”
“He did?” exclaimed Paget. “I told them to call up from there. A friend of mine was coming out in this direction, so I came out with him. I didn’t have time to phone, myself.”
Blake summoned the butler.
“Did they call from the Merrimac Club?” he asked.
“No, sir,” replied Herbert.
“I know what they did,” said Paget disgustedly. “I told them your chauffeur was coming at ten. They probably thought I wanted them to inform him that I had gone. A fine pickle, isn’t it?”
“It makes no difference,” replied Blake. “I won’t need Otto anyway. I’m glad you arrived early. Bring us drinks, Herbert. Then we’ll try a game of billiards.”
While the two men sipped their glasses, Wilbur Blake became both loquacious and complimentary.
“You know, Rodney,” he said, “you’re the best company I’ve had around this house. Five days, you’ve been here—”
“Six,” corrected Paget.
“Six,” confirmed Blake. “That’s right.”
“And six days is a long stay,” said Paget.
“I want you to stay a month, if you can spare the time,” said Blake.
Paget handed his glass to the butler.
“I’ll consider it,” he said. “But you’re busy at times, Wilbur. I don’t want to annoy you.”
“Don’t worry about that,” laughed Blake. “If you can stand it, I can. You’re the one that’s put out when I have to discuss business. Tonight was the first evening you haven’t been here.”
Paget nodded.
“Besides,” said Blake, “I like to talk some of my affairs over with you. You’d make a good business man, Rodney, if you spared the time.”
“Big business interests me,” said Paget languidly. “I become bored with trifles — and that’s why I don’t work any more than is necessary.”
The butler entered.
“Telephone, sir,” he said to Wilbur Blake.
Blake’s face was puzzled as he arose.
“Come along, Rodney,” he said. “I’ll answer the phone on the way to the billiard room.”
They entered the large living room, and Blake went to the phone. He held a short conversation; then hung up the receiver and turned to Paget.
“I’ll have to run over to see Barton,” he explained. “He’s all worried about that trust-company proposition. Expects a couple of men in tonight and wants me there.”