“Yes. Yet, in that case, there is no need to fear. I am on constant watch. Last night, Quarley did not bolt the door of my room. I am trusted now — much as Sidney and yourself.”
“You are right, Stokes,” nodded Barbara. “We should have nothing to fear. I have lived here for some time; no harm has befallen me.”
“Nor will it,” assured Corvin. “We can do more, Barbara, by quietly watching than by worrying the way Sidney is. If there is trouble here, I shall learn the truth concerning it.”
There was possessiveness in Stokes Corvin’s tones. Barbara Wyldram smiled with new reassurance.
“Jarvis Raleigh,” concluded Corvin, thoughtfully, “is an eccentric man. So, for that matter, is Quarley. It is possible that one or the other is playing a game of his own. There may be very little contact between master and servant.”
“That is possible,” agreed Barbara. “Quarley was one of old Windrop Raleigh’s servants. He was part of the legacy, so to speak. I can readily see why—”
The girl stopped speaking as Corvin gripped her arm in warning. The man had heard a footstep in the library. He turned to see Quarley standing there.
“Dinner is served,” declared the cadaverous servant. “Mr. Raleigh expects you at once.”
Stokes Corvin and Barbara Wyldram entered the library. Quarley bolted the big door to the veranda while man and girl followed the passage to the central point. They took the other angled passage and entered the dining room — an apartment much like the library in size and shape. There they found Jarvis Raleigh and Sidney Richland seated at the table.
DINNER was a gloomy meal. No comment passed between host and guests. Ice, clinking in glasses; the clatter of knives and tableware — these were the only sounds that disturbed the deathly stillness.
While dessert was being eaten, Jerome’s weird call sounded outside the house. Quarley left the dining room and returned several minutes later to pass a packet of mail to Jarvis Raleigh.
“Has Jerome found the hound?” demanded Raleigh.
“No, sir,” replied Quarley. “No trace of the dog has been discovered.”
“Humph.”
With this ejaculation, Jarvis Raleigh went through the envelopes, he passed one to Sidney Richland; another to Stokes Corvin. Both guests opened their letters; their actions showed that the mail was not important. As they pocketed envelopes and letters, Jarvis Raleigh uttered another grunt.
“Two letters tonight,” he declared. “Two visitors are coming here tonight. One is a man whom I want to see; another is a man who would do better to stay away.
“Lamont Cranston, a New York millionaire, has written that he has learned about my chemical experiments. He is anxious to see the new extractor which I have devised for removing gold from sea water. He is coming here tonight. He will be welcome.
“Merton Helmsford, a private detective, has also written me from New York. He states that Reeves Lockwood has been missing since he left New York to visit me on business. He will not be welcome, although I shall receive him.”
Rising, the master of Montgard tore one letter to pieces and threw the bits of paper on the table. His voice rose to a maddened pitch.
“Lockwood!” He screamed. “Lockwood! Am I always to be annoyed because of that man? I have no idea what has become of him! Let the detectives investigate elsewhere; not at Montgard!”
While Sidney Richland and Barbara Wyldram were staring, awed, at Jarvis Raleigh, Stokes Corvin looked across the dining room to study Quarley. He fancied that he saw a changed expression upon the old servant’s face.
Sidney Richland caught the direction of Corvin’s gaze. Barbara Wyldram did the same. This word concerning Reeves Lockwood had aroused the girl’s former fears. It damaged the assuring theory that Stokes Corvin had propounded.
WHO knew the truth of Reeves Lockwood’s disappearance? Barbara saw a lack of concord between Jarvis Raleigh and his servant Quarley. She felt that suspicion could well be directed to one, yet not to the other.
Which one?
That was the perplexing question. The others were again looking at Jarvis Raleigh as he stamped toward the door of the dining room. Barbara did the same. She saw Raleigh wheel as he reached the door.
“Remember my orders!” thundered Jarvis Raleigh. “My visitors are not to meet my guests. I want no talk between any of you and these two men who are coming here tonight.
“Do you hear that, Quarley? See that my orders are obeyed. Announce each visitor when he arrives and keep him waiting in the turret entry.”
With that, Jarvis Raleigh turned upon his heel. His footsteps echoed heavily along the passage while his three guests sat in silence.
New visitors to Montgard! All who sat there felt the tenseness of events that were to come.
CHAPTER XI
THE FIRST VISITOR
“A DETECTIVE!” whispered Sidney Richland, in an awed tone. “Coming here tonight! You see, Stokes, I was right! Something terrible has happened to Reeves Lockwood!”
Stokes Corvin placed his finger to his lips. He was seated in the library, his eyes fixed upon the door. Sidney Richland, leaning forward in his chair, glanced in the same direction. He saw Quarley passing along the corridor.
“Go easy, old man,” suggested Corvin, after Quarley had passed from view. “If matters are bad hereabouts, you don’t want to kick up a fuss about it.”
“That’s right,” agreed Richland, settling back wearily. “We must be calm.”
“Think a bit of Barbara,” added Corvin. The girl was seated across the library, reading. “She seems frightfully unnerved. We must do nothing that would cause her new alarm.”
“Very well,” nodded Richland. “Nevertheless, Stokes, I am worried about these men who are coming here tonight. Suppose that one of them should disappear like Lockwood. Suppose that both of them—”
Richland paused. Stokes Corvin was listening to a distant sound. Richland could hear it also; the throbbing of an approaching motor.
“A car coming in the drive,” stated Richland.
“Yes,” decided Corvin, “and it is not that decrepit conveyance that I hired at the station. This visitor is coming in his own vehicle.”
Sidney Richland was rising in faltering fashion. Stokes Corvin gripped him firmly by the arm.
“Where are you going?” he questioned.
“To the front door,” returned Richland. “To learn who has arrived—”
“Stay here,” ordered Corvin. “It is my turn tonight. You are unnerved, Sidney.”
With calm, deliberate step, Corvin strolled toward the door of the library. The clang of the front door bell sounded as he reached the passage.
Corvin was in no hurry as he kept onward. He could see Quarley unbolting the inner door. He paused to light a cigarette, while the servant entered the turret.
AS Quarley came back from the entry and began to shove the triple bolts in place, Stokes Corvin suddenly appeared from the passage to the Library.
“Ah, there, Quarley,” Corvin spoke in an easy tone. “One of our visitors has arrived, has he not?”
Quarley turned to stare at the questioner. He made no reply. Stokes Corvin drew his cigarette from his lips and smiled pleasantly.
“Come, my man,” he said to Quarley. “Don’t stand there like a waxwork figure. Jove! You look like an exhibit in Madame Toussaud’s chamber of horrors. You remind me of the days when I was a little tyke in London.”
Quarley stood as silent as before. His hand was on the last of the bolts. He seemed unable to cope with Corvin’s jocular attitude.
“Which one of our guests has arrived?” questioned Corvin. “The millionaire or the detective? King Midas or King Sleuth? Tell me, fellow, which?”
“I am announcing Mr. Lamont Cranston,” responded Quarley, in a slow, challenging tone. “I intend to wait, sir, until you have returned to the library.”