The only two persons who had seen evidence of his weird presence had accepted it as something unexplainable. To Maria, The Shadow was a ghost; to Barbara Wyldram, the moving bolt had been a product of imagination.
Tomorrow, The Shadow would depart as Lamont Cranston. Meanwhile his purpose had been attained. He had studied evidences of crime within Montgard as he had examined the evidences that lay without.
Hidden wealth was at stake. Lives were in the balance. The Shadow was prepared to meet the coming thrusts. He was ready to protect those whom men of evil sought to harm.
CHAPTER XV
CROOKS STRIKE
“SO Maria has been seeing ghosts?”
It was Jarvis Raleigh who put the question. Seated at the head of the dinner table, the owner of Montgard was speaking to Quarley.
“Yes, sir.” Quarley’s reply was solemn. “Maria was prowling about in the second story hall. It was in the dead of night, sir.”
“A trivial matter. Nevertheless, you should have mentioned it to me earlier, Quarley.”
“I wished to do so, sir. But you were engaged with Mr. Cranston until he left about one hour ago.”
“Quite so, Quarley. It was well that you did not speak of the matter in Cranston’s presence. He had already been disturbed by that incident of last night.”
Within this reference to the disappearance of Merton Helmsford. Jarvis Raleigh glared toward the other diners. Solemn faces showed in the light of the huge candelabrum that adorned the center of the dinner table.
“Well?” Raleigh’s question was a sour snarl. “Do any of you have anything to say? Speak if you want to.”
“Ghosts do not concern me,” responded Stokes Corvin with a smile. “I think that their appearance would be trivial in comparison with the incident that you have mentioned. The disappearance of a living man is more surprising than the appearance of a ghost.”
“If ghosts are here,” warned Sidney Richland, solemnly, “they are of your bringing, Jarvis! Shades of vanished men should rightfully rise in horror at what has taken place within the walls of Montgard.”
Barbara Wyldram reclined forward to grip Richland’s arm. She could observe the scowl which had appeared on Jarvis Raleigh’s face. She feared a new outburst on the part of the master of Montgard.
“I saw something last night.” Barbara’s voice trembled slightly as the girl tried to bridge the ominous interruption which she had produced. “I came out into the hallway on the third floor. It was when Maria screamed about a ghost. I heard her from my room.
“Quarley was there with his flashlight. He went downstairs. I chanced to look toward the door of the guest room. I was sure that I saw the bolt closing to lock that very door. It was moving, of its own accord, inch by inch, yet no hand was visible.”
“Did you bolt that door last night Quarley?” questioned Jarvis Raleigh.
“Yes sir,” responded the servant. “Immediately after I left Mr. Cranston in his room.”
Silence followed. Jarvis Raleigh wore an ugly scowl. Quarley’s face was firm; one could not have guessed the servant’s thoughts. Sidney Richland, his hands gripping the table cloth, was staring through his glasses in frightened fashion. Stokes Corvin was looking toward Barbara, studying the girl’s face, while his own brow wrinkled.
JARVIS RALEIGH ended the situation. He arose from his chair and stalked silently from the dining room. He paused as he neared the door.
“The evening is warm,” he remarked. “You may leave the veranda open Quarley, for the next hour. I shall depart from my rule of keeping it closed after dark.”
“Very well, sir.”
The tension was broken. Sidney Richland smiled at the thought of a stroll on the cool veranda. Stokes Corvin also indulged in a smile as he considered the sudden turn in the conversation.
“One thing more, Quarley.” Jarvis Raleigh had paused at the door. “Has Jerome found the hound?”
“I do not believe so, sir.”
“Let me talk with him tonight when he comes in from the stable. Rox was a valuable dog.”
Jarvis Raleigh stalked from the dining room. Stokes Corvin arose, and addressed his companions.
“We have one hour,” he remarked. “Suppose that we adjourn to the veranda.”
Ten minutes later, the glowing of cigarettes marked the presence of Corvin and Richland on the open porch. The two men were leaning against the parapet. Barbara Wyldram was seated in a chair which she had brought from the library.
“Another evening,” remarked Corvin, in a jocular tone. “What new events will this night bring to Montgard?”
“None, I hope,” protested Richland. “Last night was terrible, Stokes. To think of it! Any one who enters here is in terror of his life!”
“Not Lamont Cranston,” observed Corvin. “The millionaire seemed to enjoy a pleasant stay.”
“A remarkable fellow, Cranston,” decided Richland. “He looked toward me while I was standing in the passage. Even at that distance, I noticed the clearness of his eyes. They were keen and searching. Cranston is a man of high intelligence.”
“I noticed his eyes,” observed Barbara. “To me, they seemed firm, yet kindly. In studying character, I believe that eyes—”
“Eyes!” A crackly voice uttered the word from the open doorway. “The eyes of a ghost! I saw them last night! They stared at me!”
All turned to see Maria standing in the doorway. The housekeeper was staring out into the darkness as though visualizing glowing eyes in the blackness above the lawn. As the persons on the veranda watched the woman, Maria emitted a crazed laugh and withdrew through the library.
“She gives me the creeps,” gasped Richland.
“Maria frightens me sometimes,” admitted Barbara. “I do not like to admit it—”
“I wonder,” spoke Corvin, thoughtfully, “if Maria did see something last night. You saw a bolt moving in a lock Barbara.”
“I thought I did,” declared the girl. “Yet it may have been only my imagination—”
Barbara broke off as a sound occurred below the veranda. The girl uttered a startled cry. Richland laughed; Corvin spoke soothingly.
“It is only Jerome,” he declared. “Going his rounds, with the Great Danes.”
The spread of a flashlight swept across the lawn. Jerome was heading toward the stable, off in back of the mansion. The blinks ended. Silence and darkness held sway.
MINUTES passed while random conversation ruled. Then came the sound of a wheezy motor from in back of the house. Sidney Richland made a comment.
“Jerome is going downtown,” he declared. “He will be back with the mail in about an hour. He is late tonight.”
The motor throbbed its way along the drive. Silence continued. The tones of conversation were subdued. At last a figure appeared in the doorway. Quarley was here to summon the three indoors.
Jarvis Raleigh’s hour of privilege had ended. Corvin and Richland tossed their cigarettes to the lawn. They and Barbara entered the library.
Shortly after the oaken door had closed, a stealthy figure moved from the lawn beside the veranda. Like a phantom of the darkness, it glided toward the front of the house. It reached the trees beyond the drive. Eyes from the darkness looked toward the windows of Jarvis Raleigh’s rooms on the second floor; those windows that formed panels of light on either side of the huge, darkened turret.
Elsewhere near the huge house, figures were in motion. By the fence at the rear of the estate, Mallet Haverly was talking to his men. Speedy Tyron stood beside his chief.
Mallet disappeared. He was heading toward the large house, choosing the course that led past the vacant dog kennel. The others waited. Long minutes passed. A tiny light glimmered from the side of the house, by the veranda. It was Mallet’s signal.