All this was frankly put. It was good logic. Royce’s statement brought a lull in the conversation. For half a minute, nothing was heard except the torrential downpour of the rain. Then Roger Parchell spoke, almost wearily.
“Hothan was hoaxed,” declared the heir. “He stole jewelry from Tobold’s pawnshop, to find it comparatively valueless. He raided Morth’s study and was fooled by a crazy trap that the old professor had devised. A silver skull — a mechanical skull — both look like bluffs that my uncle knew about. I refuse to be humbugged by belief in treasure that does not exist.
“I shall stay here a few days, Selwood. After that, I shall collect my heritage from Wingate and return to California. Perhaps I may prolong my visit to a week. But one thing is certain: I shall give up all thought of this ridiculous treasure hunt. That is final.”
SELWOOD ROYCE smiled. Something was passing in his mind. Clyde Burke watched intently. Royce spoke.
“Suppose, Roger,” said the millionaire, “that I told you where the treasure might be. Would that interest you?”
“I’m going to no more trouble—”
“But this will require none. It is worth a gamble. I believe that the wealth is somewhere in this mansion.”
Roger Parchell looked incredulous. Clyde Burke became intensely interested. Selwood Royce vouchsafed an explanation.
“Tobold and Morth,” declared the millionaire, “were close friends of your uncle. I was merely a name; your uncle knew my father. Why, then, if he wanted a confidant, did he choose me in preference to Tobold or Morth?”
Neither Roger nor Clyde replied. Royce answered the question himself.
“There is only one deduction.” he declared. “Your uncle must have entrusted his wealth to my father’s keeping. Or perhaps he stored it secretly, knowing it would be under my father’s protection. That was why your uncle sent for me.”
“No,” rejoined Parchell, wearily. “Listen, Selwood, if this is not a hoax, my uncle must have told facts to Hothan originally. We have evidence that Hothan was looking for a skull. Tobold had one; so did Morth.”
“Yes, the skull is a clue. But—”
“So good a clue, that if you had such an object here, you would already have remembered the fact. But you have mentioned nothing of the sort. So that eliminates these premises.”
“The skull,” mused Royce. “That’s true, Roger. The skull is the clue. But since we intend to search this place anyway, that merely becomes a detail. I have already determined, Roger, that we shall go through this house from top to bottom until we have uncovered every cranny.”
“A huge task, Selwood,” commented Roger. “A great deal of trouble—”
“None at all. I have half a dozen servants. There are all sorts of rooms in this mansion. I pointed that fact out to you this afternoon. The north wing, for instance, is entirely closed. I, myself, do not know what the place begins to contain. Come, Roger — when shall we begin?”
The question was pointed. It roused Roger Parchell from his lethargy. The heir considered.
“I confess I’m beginning to be interested, Selwood,” he asserted. “Suppose we take that motor-boat trip tomorrow, on the Sound. We’ll be back the next day. I’ll be pepped up. Then we can map up our plans for the search.”
“I should like to begin tonight,” declared Royce. “At the same time, there is no need for rush. You are right, Roger, the boat trip will put us in fettle. Then we can—”
Royce paused as the butler entered. He came to announce that Mr. Wingate had arrived. The lawyer was ushered in a minute later.
Wingate nodded a greeting; then proceeded to wipe his spectacles.
“A terrific storm out.” he declared. “I pulled my car up under your side portico to keep it out of the wet. Then I came around to the front.”
WINGATE donned his glasses. For the first time he noted Clyde Burke. The lawyer stared suspiciously at the reporter. Then, in an irritated tone, he said:
“A call from a client delayed me. I don’t think I would have come out at all had I known that the storm would strike. After all, there is nothing of importance. What do you gentlemen think?”
“We have just planned to search this house,” announced Royce. “I believe that Hildrew Parchell’s wealth may be hidden here.”
Wingate’s sour smile was dubious.
“When do you intend to begin this wild-goose chase?” inquired the lawyer.
“In a few days,” replied Royce.
Wingate was about to make a statement. Suddenly he felt in his pockets. He arose from the chair that he had taken.
“I must go out to the car again,” he stated. “Is there a side door to the portico? I have forgotten some minor papers that I want Roger to sign. They are in the car.”
“Turn left in the hall,” pointed Royce. “The door to the portico is bolted from the inside. You can open it.”
As Wingate left, Royce arose. He turned to Clyde; then to Roger.
“Suppose we visit the art gallery,” suggested the millionaire. “Mr. Wingate can join us there.”
They left the dining room by another door. Royce instructed the butler where to send Wingate. They passed through a hallway where an exit led to a veranda. Clyde noticed that this door was bolted. Royce made a turn in the hall; Clyde followed; Roger, lighting a cigarette, came along in leisurely fashion.
Royce opened a door that led to a short flight of stairs. He pressed a light switch; a glow came from the top of the steps. They went up to a passage at the top, where Royce turned on another light. Then came footsteps on the stairs behind them. They turned, expecting to see Wingate. Instead, it was the butler.
“Another guest has arrived, sir,” the man announced to Royce. “He said you did not expect him—”
“Who is it, Talbot?”
“A Mr. Lamont Cranston, sir—”
“Show him here at once, Talbot! And be sure to tell Mr. Wingate where we are.”
Clyde and Roger waited with Royce at the head of the stairs. A minute passed; then footsteps approached. Wingate was here, carrying a small document case. Then came other footsteps. The tall form of Lamont Cranston appeared upon the stairs.
Selwood Royce shook hands with the unexpected guest. Then, with a gesture, he pointed to the passage that led to the art gallery. The group was ready to view the collection of paintings that Royce had gained as a legacy from his father.
CHAPTER XVIII. IN THE GALLERY
“THIS passage,” stated Selwood Royce, “was originally intended to be a small gallery in itself. Notice the arrangement of its paneled walls.”
He pointed along a corridor that measured some thirty feet, before it turned left. At the end of this thirty-foot extent was a door in the wall. The barrier contained a full-length mirror. The visitors could see their reflections as they approached.
“Is the gallery past the mirrored door?” inquired Clyde.
“No,” replied Royce. “That is merely a storage closet. We take the passage to the left. It is a short one — only a half a dozen feet — and it leads us directly into the center of the main gallery. You will notice that the main gallery parallels this long passage through which we are now walking.”
They reached the turn. Here Royce pressed another light switch. They swung left and came directly into the main gallery, which was dark. Royce pressed more switches; they were set in relays all the way along.
The gallery was illuminated. The visitors were standing directly in front of one of the pictures. It was a Moorish scene, which showed a youthful Oriental speaking to a Moorish maiden beside an open latticed window. The picture was entitled: “The Last Tryst.”