“Can’t you wait for Otto to come back?”
“No. But it won’t matter. Otto always drives me, wherever I go, but I can make this short run myself. I’ll have to take the sedan, though. Otto has the speedster.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“No. I’ll go alone. There would be nothing for you to do there. I’ll be back inside an hour.”
BLAKE went out by the side door, after turning on the outside light. Paget and the butler, standing in the doorway, watched him.
Blake disappeared into the darkness of the garage. Paget closed the door and turned to the butler.
“Another drink, Herbert,” he said. “Wait. I’ll come along with you.”
He went into the dining room and talked to the butler while the man prepared the drink. They heard the sound of the sedan as it rolled along the driveway.
Paget continued to talk to Herbert. Several minutes went by. Then Paget entered the library and began to read a book.
There was a certain calm assurance in Paget’s manner as he sat there. Herbert, entering occasionally, saw nothing unusual. Yet Paget was inwardly anxious, waiting expectantly as the minutes ticked by. His only betrayal was in his casual questioning of Herbert.
“Where is the valet?” asked Paget.
“Upstairs, sir,” said the butler.
“The other servants?”
“They go out in the evening, sir. But Jarvis and I are always here. So is Otto, except tonight, sir. Then the watchman comes on duty, later.”
“At eleven?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good idea,” said Paget approvingly. “It keeps the place well protected.”
“Yes, sir. Mister Blake is very insistent upon it.”
The butler left. Paget continued waiting. He noted Blake’s writing at the table, and studied the notations with interest.
Rodney Paget had learned a great deal concerning Wilbur Blake’s affairs during the past six days — a great deal more than Blake supposed.
A car came up the driveway. Paget left the library and went into the living room, where he found Herbert.
The automobile stopped at the side door. Wilbur Blake entered.
Paget stared steadily at the man and noted a slight motion of Blake’s right hand. In return, Paget gave a signal with his fingers. Blake turned to the butler.
“I’ll leave the car in the driveway, Herbert,” he said. “Tell Otto to put it away when he comes in. Tell him I want to see him.”
The butler did not reply. He looked at his master, puzzled. Blake stared back; his eyebrows crept together in the characteristic manner when he was annoyed.
Herbert recognized the action and was quick with his response.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
Paget turned to Blake. “How about the game of billiards?”
“Good,” returned Blake.
Paget turned toward the billiard room, and Blake followed. Paget said something in a low tone, without moving his lips. Blake turned and looked back at Herbert.
“Drinks,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir.” There was no further hesitation in the butler’s manner as he went toward the dining room.
THE two men were playing billiards when Herbert arrived with the glasses. When the butler left the room, Blake whispered to Paget:
“That bird was pretty near wise.”
“Only for a minute,” replied Paget.
“Otto will be next,” commented Blake. “I’ll be ready for him. Say, the job was certainty pulled slick. How did you do it?”
“Never mind.”
“Oh, all right. I just liked the job, that was all. The sedan came along and stopped in front of the old house where you told me to wait. A fellow got out and walked away, up the road. When I saw the coast was clear, I hopped in and came back here.”
The door opened, and Herbert returned for the empty glasses.
“Nice shot, Wilbur,” commented Paget, in his usual drawling tone.
“Thanks, Rodney,” returned Blake, chalking his cue. “Now watch this one.”
The men resumed their buzzing conversation after the butler had gone. At last there was a knock at the door. Otto entered in response to Blake’s order.
“Sorry, sir,” said. Otto. “I didn’t know that Mister Paget had gone until I reached the club.”
“All right, Otto,” said Blake briskly. “Did you bring the watchman?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you put the sedan away?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good night.”
At midnight, the men concluded their game of billiards. As they went upstairs together, Blake passed the butler with confidence and assurance. Paget accompanied Blake to his room.
“Remember,” said Paget, “you are Wilbur Blake. I’ve told you much tonight. I have more pointers that you will learn to morrow.
“I’m here for a month — and the game is in our hands.”
The other man nodded.
“Good night, Rodney,” he said.
In his own room, Paget turned out the light before retiring, and stared through the open window. He saw the watchman pass in his patrol of the grounds. Then his eyes were disturbed by the sight of a long shadow that lay across the lawn.
It reminded him of the shadow that he had seen in that squalid room in the house near Lexington Avenue.
Paget watched the shadow intently for several minutes. He shrugged his shoulders and was about to leave the window, when he fancied he saw the shadow move. He continued watching, but detected no further motion.
“A shadow,” murmured Paget, as he left the window. “Only a shadow — but a shadow may mean — some one. Well, there’s a cure for everything — including shadows.”
He was thinking of the Silent Seven. As yet, he had tested only a portion of their power. Should this strange shadow prove the presence of an enemy, an appeal to Number One would defeat the foe.
What was the power of a shadow compared with that of the Silent Seven!
CHAPTER XIII. VISITOR AT NIGHT
IT was one o’clock in the morning. Two men were sitting in the library of Wilbur Blake’s home. One was Rodney Paget; the other was the man who looked like Wilbur Blake.
Paget was deep in thought. He lacked his customary indifference. Blake’s double was eyeing him curiously. At length he spoke to Paget.
“About time we called it a night, eh, Rodney?” he asked.
Paget looked up suddenly.
“Not yet, Wilbur,” he said, speaking as though to Blake himself. “I want to think a while.”
The other man rose and leaned close to Paget.
“Listen,” came his voice. “If you’re worrying about this business, you’re wasting your time. Look at me. Who am I?”
“You look like Wilbur Blake,” replied Paget in a low voice.
“You’re right,” was the answer. “I am Wilbur Blake — so far as the world is concerned. We’ve been playing the game a week, now, and there hasn’t been a slip. It’s getting better every day.
“Look at me. I’m confident. A few days more, and we’re going to swing a sale that will bring in three million. You’re fixing the percentage to suit yourself. So why worry?”
Paget shook his head dubiously.
“Look at this.” Blake picked up a pen and scrawled a name across a sheet of paper. “Whose signature is that?”
Paget looked at the writing. A trace of admiration appeared on his face.
“It’s the duplicate of Blake’s,” he said.
“You’re right,” answered the other man. “Practice makes perfect. Remember that phony signature I had the first time you met me? Good enough to fool the average man; but this one will fool the best.”
Paget nodded.
“I’ve played square with you,” said the false Blake, in a low tone. “You hold all the trump cards. You’ve got Blake tucked away somewhere so you can bring him back if you want. I can’t make a move without your say-so.