Barbara smiled wistfully as Stokes Corvin went to the corner bookcase and drew out two volumes of Dumas. She began to read her book. The concentration steadied her; she felt more confident when Stokes Corvin returned across the room and took a chair beside her.
Despite their tenseness, both Stokes Corvin and Barbara Wyldram were maintaining calm while they awaited the return of Sidney Richland. A second visitor had come to Montgard. Would he, like Lamont Cranston, enter safely?
Or did new mystery brew? Fateful seconds were ticking slowly while these two guests at Montgard awaited the impending outcome.
CHAPTER XII
NEW MYSTERY
WHILE people downstairs were concerning themselves with the arrival of a second visitor at Montgard, Jarvis Raleigh was deeply engaged with a demonstration in his experimental laboratory.
This room was on the second floor. It was situated between Jarvis Raleigh’s bedroom and his workshop. Closed doors indicated those other rooms. Lamont Cranston was looking on with interest, while the owner of Montgard stood beside a square-shaped tank.
The large container was filled with briny water. Above it rested a cylindrical device that was purring with the sound of an electric motor. A tube ran from the cylinder to a hinged cubical container.
The noise of the motor was sufficient to drown out all foreign sounds. In this closed room, it was impossible for the keenest ears to detect the noise which had been heard in the living room: the arrival of an automobile in the front driveway.
“This is the gold extractor.” Jarvis Raleigh was speaking in a loud tone as he pointed to the closed cylinder. “This is where the actual process takes place. Fundamentally, Mr. Cranston, my system of extraction is like those which have already been developed.”
“I understand,” nodded the visitor. “But how, Mr. Raleigh, can you manage to make the process a commercial possibility?”
“Through this vaporizer.” Raleigh smiled cunningly as he tapped the cylinder where the motor buzzed. “It reduces the liquid content of the brine.”
He placed his hand in front of an exhaust pipe at the side of the buzzing cylinder. He nodded as he drew his hand away. Cranston’s hand moved to the spot indicated. The visitor could feel a moist vapor coming from the pipe.
There was a loud rap at the door. Jarvis Raleigh did not appear to notice it. Lamont Cranston listened intently, then attracted Raleigh’s attention. Jarvis Raleigh appeared annoyed; then, nodding in recollection, he smiled sourly.
Pressing the switch that brought the motor to a dying whir, he went to the door of the laboratory and opened it. Quarley was standing there, his face totally unexpressive.
“Mr. Helmsford is here, sir,” he announced.
“Very well,” declared Jarvis Raleigh, sullenly. “I shall come down to see him. Wait here, Quarley.”
The owner of Montgard turned and entered the door to the bedroom. While Quarley stood somberly at the door in the hallway, Cranston studied the tank and its machine with keen, steady gaze.
TWO minutes later, Jarvis Raleigh reappeared. He had changed coats, leaving his white laboratory jacket in the bedroom. His eyes were suspicious as they fell on Cranston. Evidently, Raleigh did not like the close inspection that the visitor was making.
Cranston’s gaze turned. In a trice, the keen eyes detected Jarvis Raleigh’s expression. The Shadow knew what was passing in Raleigh’s mind. The owner of Montgard was in a dilemma. He did not know whether to leave Cranston here in the laboratory or to invite him downstairs. A thin, almost imperceptible smile appeared as Cranston’s lips voiced words that decided the issue.
“I chanced to hear your servant’s announcement,” came the remark. “He said that Mr. Helmsford was here. Did he refer to Merton Helmsford?”
“Yes.” Jarvis Raleigh’s eyes were narrowing. “I believe that is the visitor’s full name.”
“A private detective,” added Cranston. “I know him quite well. I have met him, in fact, while he has been doing operative work.”
“I shall not talk with him long,” announced Raleigh. “He has come to inquire about a matter of which I know nothing. I detest such annoyances.”
“Perhaps,” suggested Cranston, artfully, “it would be wise for me to meet him with you. If he should prove to be persistent, I can manage him.”
Jarvis Raleigh stared. His gaze was troubled. His hands clenched as he drew them toward his chest. Lamont Cranston, turning toward the door, faced Quarley. The servant stared impassively.
“Let us adjourn below,” was Cranston’s statement.
Quarley hesitated. Although the servant’s manner was one of stolidity, he seemed to be expecting an order from his master. Lamont Cranston caught his stare; then wheeled at Jarvis Raleigh.
“Come, my friend,” he said, calmly. “That turret entry is not a conformable reception room.”
Jarvis Raleigh advanced. He seemed to be choosing the lesser of two evils as he obeyed Cranston’s dictate. There was something about the visitor’s manner that made Jarvis Raleigh feel that it would be unwise to leave him here alone.
Quarley turned and led the way to the stairs. The servant’s footsteps were slinky. Lamont Cranston followed close behind him; Jarvis Raleigh brought up the rear, keeping a steady watch upon his visitor.
THEY reached the downstairs hall. Quarley went directly to the big door when they arrived at the curl of the passage. Lamont Cranston descended the final step. Glancing along the passage to the library, he saw the standing figure of Sidney Richland. The man fumbled with the ribbon of his spectacles as he caught Cranston’s gaze.
Jarvis Raleigh was still upon the step of the central passage. Lamont Cranston turned toward him and smiled. There was a significance in the motion of his lips that made Raleigh twitch.
“Your home is like a fortress,” observed Cranston, quietly. “I can see why unwanted visitors would find it unpleasant to come here.”
The last bolt clattered. Quarley opened the huge door. Lamont Cranston stepped aside. Jarvis Raleigh leaned forward. Sidney Richland came cautiously along the passage. He reached the end and stared with the others.
Not a sound occurred until a frightened gasp came from Richland’s lips. That outcry was the echo of the startlement that had gripped Richland’s brain. It was the voicing of a discovery that the other three had also made.
The outer door was barred on the inside, exactly as Quarley should have left it. Any occupant of the turret entry could not possibly have left the place. Yet the circular room was empty!
Merton Helmsford, private detective who had arrived here to investigate the disappearance of Reeves Lockwood, had vanished as mysteriously as the man whom he had come to seek!
CHAPTER XIII
DEMANDS ARE MET
LAMONT CRANSTON was the first of the observers to make a move. The millionaire’s tall figure cast a spectral silhouette upon the tiling as it moved forward into the turret entry.
Cranston’s keen eyes surveyed the stone walls. They turned upward toward the turret itself, then swept searchingly about the floor. They studied the bolted outer door, then turned toward the three men who stood within the house.
“Your visitor,” Cranston’s head inclined toward Jarvis Raleigh, “seems to have made a rather unaccountable departure.”
“So it appears,” snarled Jarvis Raleigh. “he must have decided not to wait.”
“The front door is bolted,” came Cranston’s next remark. “As I recall it, the same door was bolted while I waited in this entry.”