The Shadow had arrived at Montgard. Prowling within close range of the massive stone walls, he was studying the character of the fortlike building. Informed through his agents that men of crime were close by, The Shadow was looking over the objective which they must gain.
Reaching the front wall, The Shadow followed the house itself. His figure was like the blackened stones. Approaching night hid his shape. At times, The Shadow paused, while his sharp eyes scaled the heights above. The rugged stones, though they would afford hold to a climber, could offer no advantage in entering Montgard. Windows above were all of the curious, small-paned type.
The Shadow’s form moved upward. The starting point was directly below the balcony where The Shadow had spied Jarvis Raleigh. Gloved hands gripped stones. Like a human fly, The Shadow made the ascent. His peering eyes came above the parapet about the small balcony.
Jarvis Raleigh had left the upper porch. A heavy door, tightly closed, showed the path which he had taken. That door presented a formidable barrier. Bolted from the inside, it would prevent all entry.
The Shadow moved downward. Increasing darkness hid his form as he circled to the rear of the house. Barely discernible in the afterglow, The Shadow’s figure was no more than a fleeting shade. No human eye would have noticed it.
The Shadow paused. His ears had detected an approaching sound. The tall figure moved upward, taking the rear wall with marked alacrity. One dozen feet above the ground, the moving shape paused and clung in batlike fashion within a blackened spot formed by the clustered branches of a near-by tree.
A GROWL from below. One of the Great Danes was sniffing near the wall. The dog’s eyes moved, upward. Its throat formed a rumble. Still growling, the dog rested on its haunches.
A figure came blundering through the gloom. The voice of Jerome formed a snarl as the caretaker gripped the big dog by its collar.
Looking upward, Jerome could not discern the shape which the Great Dane observed. He dragged the dog away and delivered a vicious slap, which started it ahead of him on his tour around the house.
The Shadow moved slowly upward. His precarious course took him higher and higher. He paused beside the window of a third-story room. His gloved hands examined the iron shafts that separated the panes. A soft laugh sounded from his hidden lips.
The Shadow reached the roof. Here, again, he could find no mode of entry. Moving cautiously along the sloping surface, The Shadow arrived at a sheer wall near one of the end turrets. His eyes peered downward.
There was a first-story veranda on this side of the building. The ground sloped to give the broad porch height. The Shadow’s form seemed to twist upon the sloping roof. His body dangled from the ledge. Firm feet found a hold upon projecting stones; a hand descended and gained a grip. The Shadow continued his descent.
He passed the second story and reached the veranda. Here, crouched under the cover of the high parapet, The Shadow passed another heavy door and peered in through a small-paned window. The lighted room, situated in a front corner of the house, was a library. It was finely furnished and huge bookcases showed along its paneled walls. The library was deserted.
Dropping from the high veranda, The Shadow crossed the lawn. He passed the stonework of an old well. He continued on until he reached a fringe of trees. His course was indiscernible. Ten minutes later, he emerged, as though conjured from space, near a clearing just beyond the iron fence that marked the boundary of the Montgard estate.
A light showed from a lowlying building. The Shadow approached like a ghost. He noted that the shades were drawn in the cottage. His gloved hands stretched upward. A thin instrument of blackened metal seemed to wedge itself between the portions of a window shaft.
The lock turned silently. The sash moved upward. The sound of low voices was audible. The window shade trembled, almost imperceptibly. The eyes of The Shadow peered between sill and lower edge of sash.
THREE men were seated by a rough table on which a gasoline lamp was resting. One was the man whose presence in this vicinity had been reported by The Shadow’s agents: Mallet Haverly. The second was the racketeer’s lieutenant, Speedy Tyron. The third was a rough-faced underling.
Mallet and Speedy were engaged in discussion, while their henchman sat silent. The Shadow, listening intently, could hear their words.
“We’ve got the lay, right enough,” declared Mallet. “So far as we know, Luskin gave us the right dope.”
“But we’re not sure, yet,” returned Speedy, “about the—”
Speedy paused as Mallet raised a warning hand. The lieutenant nodded. He knew that Mallet did not want the third man to hear too much.
“About the way things are fixed inside,” corrected Speedy. “Just because Luskin was right on what we’ve seen doesn’t prove he was right on what we haven’t seen.”
“I know that,” admitted Mallet. “If the guy was bluffing us, he would have told us the straight stuff about the outside lay and used his stall when he talked about the inside.
“But I’m counting on Luskin’s story being right. That’s why we’re waiting here. We’ve got to take time with this job, Speedy.”
“I can’t see that you’re getting anywhere yet,” objected Speedy. “Last night, you went downtown a while; then you came back and took a sneak up toward the house. But you didn’t get very far.”
“I couldn’t,” growled Mallet. “That one hound started to howl. That’s why I’ve sent Bagger up to the place tonight. He’ll fix the dog.”
“What’s one dog?” queried Speedy. “They’ve got a dozen of them around the place. Those big pooches are the worst.”
“The Great Danes? They don’t cut a figure if you’re careful. The squarehead who lives out in the stable takes them in with him after he makes his rounds.”
“Yeah; and I’ll bet he’s got them ready to send out as soon as the hounds start to howl in their kennels.”
“Don’t I know it?” Mallet laughed. “You can’t get near the house between those kennels — at least I couldn’t. One hound started a howl last night; another took it up. That’s why I scrammed.”
“So you’ve sent Bagger—”
“To nab one of the hounds. If he does it neat, that will make an opening. I can go by the empty kennel. I want to look the house over at close range.”
Mallet paused to light a cigarette. He looked toward the henchman who was listening in on the conversation. He uttered a growled order.
“Go on outside, Corky,” he instructed. “Take a look around the clearing. Make sure there’s nobody prowling here.”
“Corky” departed.
SPEEDY TYRON was smiling. He knew that Mallet’s order had a double purpose. The racketeer wanted to get rid of the henchman for the time. The order to search the clearing was a pretense.
“Listen, Speedy.” Mallet’s tone was persuasive. “I know the game I’m playing. I’m the fellow who talked to Luskin. What I learned from him is my business.”
“Sure thing,” agreed Speedy.
“I’ve told you enough,” continued Mallet. “You know that I’m after some real swag. That’s all you have to know. I’m taking it slow, because I want to be mighty sure that the boodle is where I think it is.
“I want to get up around the house and look it over. I’ve got to learn more about the joint — inside as well as out. When the time is ripe, we’ll be ready to hit.”
“But if you can’t get inside,” insisted Speedy, “how are you going to learn what you want to know?”